#pierce's place in the show is so odd

[greatkateweathermachine]

actually kind of fascinating that pierce's primary role in the show is to serve as this constant ghost of christmas future for jeff, and symbolize the person that he will become if he doesn't become a better person. nearly every plotline that's about the two of them goes back to this, but especially in biology 101 where pierce and jeff are treated as almost interchangeable within the group, down to the 2001 homage and pierce getting the empty spot in biology that jeff left behind. any time the show has a plotline that focuses on pierce, like advanced gay or the first documentary episode, it ends up circling back around and being about jeff.

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier leans in and places a gentle kiss on your cheek, which you dramatically wipe off with the back of your hand. “Eww, Xavier! Cooties!”

Xavier stares at you blankly, though a slight tightening around his eyes betrays his feelings. After a moment of silence that lasts just long enough to become awkward, he tilts his head.

“Cooties... are not real,” he states matter-of-factly, then adds, “but if they were, you would already have them. We have kissed exactly forty-seven times in the past 3 days.”

His head tilts slightly as he studies your face with quiet intensity. “Did I... misinterpret something?” he asks slowly. Before you can respond, Xavier slowly leans in again, his eyes locked with yours in quiet challenge.

Just before his lips touch yours, he pauses. “Would you like number forty-eight?”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

After a quick goodbye kiss, you dramatically wipe your lips and make a show of feigned disgust. Zayne freezes midway through the door.

“Gross, Zaynie! Do you know where those lips have been?” You start to regret pulling this prank on him when you see the hurt in his eyes masked by his still expression.

Zayne turns to face you fully. Without a word, he slowly walks back to you, his intense gaze never leaving yours. “Is that so?” he asks. “Let me remind you exactly where these lips belong, then.”

In one fluid motion, he cups your face with both hands and kisses you deeply, thoroughly, leaving no room for teasing. When he finally pulls away, there's a hint of smugness in his otherwise composed expression.

“Don’t wipe that one off. Please.” He straightens his tie with practiced ease before adding, “Doctor’s orders.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel plants a playful kiss on your cheek before flopping dramatically onto the couch. The moment he closes his eyes, you loudly smack your hand against your cheek.

“Ew, fish breath!” you exclaim with exaggerated disgust.

His eyes widen comically as you wipe his kiss away, his mouth forming a dramatic ‘O’ shape. “Fish breath?! Me?!” He sits up. “What kind of joke is this? Why would you say something so untrue?”

You collapse into giggles. “I’m just joking! It was a prank!”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously before a mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh? A prank, is it? Well, two can play that game.”

Suddenly, he’s launching himself from the couch, tackling you into a heap of pillows. “You want fish breath? I’ll give you fish breath,” he threatens, making exaggerated kissing sounds while you shriek and try to escape.

“Stop! I surrender!” you gasp between fits of laughter. He hovers above you with twinkling eyes. “Take it back. My breath smells like... what’s something amazing?”

“Like ocean breeze and sunshine?” you offer.

“Hmm,” he considers, still pinning you down. “I like that more.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

“Hmm… what an odd aftertaste…” you mumble loud enough for him to hear. “Did you really think I wanted that?” You wipe your lips with your sleeves.

Sylus doesn’t move for a moment, his piercing eyes studying you. Then, slowly, a dangerous smile spreads across his face—the kind that would make others shrink back, but you know better.

“Sweetie,” he purrs, voice silky with amusement, “if you’re attempting to wound my pride, you’ll need to try harder.”

You huff, not getting the reaction you wanted, but it’s expected. “You’re no fun.”

Sylus kisses you again with his usual confidence, gripping your chin with his fingers. “If you want to play games, you should know better than to challenge someone who always plays to win.”

“What are you planning to do about it?” you taunt, still smiling.

His face stops just inches away, whispering, “I’ll ensure my taste lingers,” just before he proves his point.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb gives you a quick, sweet kiss before turning to grab his jacket. You immediately swipe dramatically at your mouth. “Blech! What was that? Military-grade morning breath?”

He whips around with an offended ‘are you serious?’ look, then his shoulders relax as he catches the mischief in your eyes.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” he says, breaking into a grin. “You know what happens to civilians who mock Fleet officers?”

You back up a step, still giggling. “What are the penalties, Colonel?”

“Severe.” You squeal as he suddenly lunges forward, catching you around the waist and spinning you in a circle. “Take it back!”

“Never!” you declare, struggling half-heartedly against his strong grip.

“Then, I’ll have to deploy countermeasures,” he threatens, eyes bright with laughter as he dips you dramatically and hovers his face above yours. “What kind of countermeasures?” you challenge breathlessly.

His smile softens. “The kind that’ll make you never want to wipe away my kisses again,” he murmurs before demonstrating exactly what he means.

Damn, I haven’t written any fanfics for, like, half a year or something, lol. Consider my first post as me warming up and trying to figure out what format I should use.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[saylorsuniverse]

BAD AT LOVE --- paige bueckers

summary: you’re uconn’s golden girl, paige bueckers, next victim. but this time, things don’t go as planned – for either of you.

Warnings: pining (mainly paige) playgirl!paige, paige being cocky, reader is hard to get, also reader and paige are two years apart in age

author’s note: lmfao sorry this is so long, and a little all over the place, but yeah. i might write a part 2 of this.

word count: 4.8K

—

Paige Bueckers had it all: the talent, the fame, the spotlight, the money. And girls���so many girls.

Even before you arrived at UConn for your first semester, you’d already heard the stories from your older sister: how Paige would have her arms around one girl at her game, then kiss another at a party later that night. How she’d spread a few well-placed rumors about a boyfriend, only to swoop in as the comforting shoulder to cry on—and inevitably end up in bed with her. How she wielded charm and sweet talk like a weapon, effortlessly getting anyone she wanted.

Your sister’s warning was simple: you were her type—young, naïve, beautiful. But Paige Bueckers was toxic, and you were to stay far away from her at all costs.

It was easy to avoid her. Paige was a couple years older than you, so the odds of crossing paths in the classroom were slim to none. While you spent hours at the library, she was either at the basketball courts showing off or out partying with her teammates. And when you visited your sister at her off-campus house—which, coincidentally, she shared with one of Paige’s teammates—she always made sure to get you in and out as quickly as possible before she had the chance to even see the back of your head.

You’d never seen the blonde. Not in person. And you were certain you never would.

But bliss can make you careless. It can blindside you at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and with the wrong person.

It all started one afternoon before English class. You sat alone near the front, like always, your nose buried in a book, when Paige approached your desk—casual, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d ever spoken to you directly.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?”

The request wasn’t unusual. Different people sat next to you all the time—but only if they were fifteen minutes late. Paige, on the other hand, was five minutes early.

“Sure,” you replied coolly, your eyes flickering up to meet hers—striking, attractive, impossibly blue. 

She flashed a brief, effortless smile, and that’s when you realized you were looking at her a second too long. Heat rose in your cheeks as you quickly returned to your book, pretending not to notice as she pulled out the chair and sat beside you.

“You’re KK’s roommate’s little sister, right?” Paige asked casually—too casually for your liking, as if she already knew the answer but wanted to hear you confirm it.

Your eyes shifted from your book to hers, locking onto those piercing blue ones. You blinked, caught off guard by how she knew that. “Yeah, I am.”

“I knew it,” she said, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Thought I was seeing double the last time I was at KK’s house.”

Your stomach twisted. The last time you were at your sister’s house, you stayed over the night, and apparently you both were unaware of the basketball star’s presence.

“You always this quiet when someone’s talking to you?” Paige laughed, her voice light, teasing. She waved a hand slightly in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze.

“No, sorry,” you muttered, quickly slipping your book into your bag just as the professor started class.

It wasn’t much—hardly even a conversation—but it was the first real interaction with Paige, and more than enough for her to continue these interactions.

After that, it was the little things: a nod of acknowledgement in the halls, a quick “hey” whenever you both happened to be at your sister’s house. Your sister wasn’t thrilled about it. She warned you not to fall into Paige’s so-called “trap,” and you assured her there was nothing to worry about. You weren’t going to fall for her. It was nothing, you told yourself. Nothing at all.

But deep down, you couldn’t deny it. 

Paige was absolutely stunning—tall, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was captivating. And the truth was, you couldn’t help but notice the way her attention made you feel.

It wasn’t long before those brief interactions turned into something more—like you were actually friends. Paige started sitting next to you in junior-level English, sliding into the seat as if it were hers all along. She’d impatiently doodle on your notebook or pass notes to spark a conversation, her handwriting a mix of careless loops and sharp edges.

On the days she wasn’t in class, she’d wait outside afterward, leaning casually against the wall with that undeniably attractive smirk, ready to catch your eye as you walked out.

The day she started showing interest in you felt inevitable, though you wouldn’t have admitted it then.

You found her in her usual spot—leaning against the wall, one hand tucked in the pocket of her tracksuit, the other gripping her bag strap. And there it was: that little smile, just for you, as your eyes met.

“Game day?” you asked, glancing at her blue basketball tracksuit that somehow fit her too perfectly. She nodded, her gaze steady on yours, as if waiting for something you weren’t quite ready to give.

You had to admit it: Paige was magnetic. The more time you spent around her, the easier it was to see why everyone else fell so hard. She wasn’t just stunning—she was sharp, charming, and knew exactly how to hold your attention. The way she looked at you when you spoke, her eyes dipping from yours to your lips, was enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Well, good luck today, player,” you said, forcing yourself to break the spell. Her silence was too heavy, and her stare too dangerous. “I’ll see you around.”

Her smile faltered instantly. “Wait, you’re not coming?”

You hesitated, and Paige pounced on the crack in your resolve. She stepped closer, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face—so brief you wondered if you imagined it. “I was really hoping you’d be there,” she said, her voice softer now. “It would mean a lot to me.”

Her words landed harder than you expected, and it threw you off balance. This was her game, wasn’t it? The sweet talking, the subtle charm, the way she made you feel like the center of her world. You’d seen the aftermath of Paige’s attention before—heard the stories about the girls she left behind. You weren’t naive enough to think you’d be different.

But there was something unsettling about the way she looked at you. Like she wasn’t just playing this time.

You sighed, trying to steady yourself. “I can’t,” you said, your voice firm despite the pull you felt toward her.

Paige blinked, her smile slipping away completely now. For the first time, her confidence wavered. “Why not?” she asked, the words quieter, almost hesitant.

And just like that, you felt the shift. Paige Bueckers wasn’t supposed to look like this—unsure, uncertain, even vulnerable. The cracks in her polished exterior made her all the more dangerous, and for a moment, you wondered who was really laying the trap here.

“Good luck tonight, Paige,” you said, stepping past her before the heat of her gaze could melt your resolve.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel her eyes on you as you walked away, and it sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite explain. 

It wasn’t that you needed Paige’s attention. You were never the type to chase after it—in high school, people offered it freely, drawn to you for reasons you never quite understood. But you hated to admit it: the thought of having UConn’s golden girl wrapped around your finger was exhilarating.

And yet, there was danger in that thrill. Paige wasn’t just anyone. She was magnetic, larger than life, and the kind of person who always seemed to be in control. But what would happen if the tables turned?

The idea stuck with you, lingering like the heat of her gaze even as you tried to brush it off. Maybe it was her charm, or maybe it was the challenge she posed—a test of your willpower against hers.

You didn’t need Paige. You told yourself that over and over. But maybe… maybe you wanted her to need you.

The thought made you pause, and you felt the weight of your own hesitation. Was this what she wanted all along? For you to think about her, to wonder what it would feel like to have the upper hand? Or was it something else—something she wasn’t used to feeling herself?

Later that evening, as you sat in your dorm, her voice echoed in your head. I was really hoping you’d be there. It would mean a lot to me.

Three rhythmic knocks on your door broke your concentration, pulling you away from your computation analysis homework. You turned from your desk, ready to answer, when you noticed something sliding under the door.

A blue sticky note was attached to an envelope: Got these for you. Please come to my next game. - P.B.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you opened the envelope. Inside were two courtside tickets to her game against Notre Dame, each adorned with a little heart drawn in the corner. Typical Paige. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

As you slipped the tickets back into the envelope, another set of knocks came—slightly firmer this time. Slowly, you opened the door to find Paige standing there, one hand holding a single red rose. She wore a plain white t-shirt and black sweats, her hair loose and slightly messy, like she’d just come from her game.

“Paige,” you said, instinctively peeking your head out to check for any wandering eyes in the hallway, “what are you doing here? How did you even know where my dorm is?”

She gave you that signature smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I have my ways,” she said, twirling the stem of the rose between her fingers. “Besides, I figured if I couldn’t get you to come to my game with tickets, maybe this would help.” She held the rose out toward you.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing hers as you took it. “You do realize you can’t just show up to my dorm unannounced, right?” you said, lowering your voice but unable to mask the mixture of annoyance and curiosity in your tone.

Paige shrugged, her smirk softening into something almost genuine. “I figured it was worth the risk. You’ve been on my mind a lot, and I’m not great at subtlety.” She glanced past you, into your room. “Can I come in?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the question, and the weight of her gaze felt heavier than ever. You could feel the choice pressing against you like a double-edged sword: let her in and risk falling into whatever trap she’d laid—or shut the door and risk the regret of never finding out what this could turn into.

The consequences of the first option would have to wait.

You stepped aside, holding the door open as Paige slipped past you into the room. She moved with that same effortless confidence you’d come to expect, glancing around like she was taking in every detail. Your desk covered in notes and open books, the unmade bed in the corner, the pair of sneakers tossed haphazardly by the door—your space laid bare before her.

Paige turned to face you, her smirk softening into something more sincere. “Nice place,” she said, the rose still in your hand catching her eye. “Aw, you kept it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I just got it, Paige. What was I supposed to do? Throw it out in front of you?”

Her laugh was low and warm, and for a second, you felt the room shrink, the air between you both growing heavier. “I guess not. But I’d like to think it’s more than just politeness.” She stepped closer, her hands tucked into her sweats pockets, and you could feel her presence in a way that made it hard to focus.

“What are you really doing here?” 

Paige shrugged, leaning her shoulder against the wall near your desk. “I meant what I said. You’ve been on my mind. And, well…” Her eyes met yours, searching. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t stop thinking about you. That’s not something I’m used to.”

Her honesty caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. This wasn’t the smooth, overly confident Paige you’d expected. There was something vulnerable in her gaze, something real.

“And what happens if I say I don’t feel the same way?” 

Paige tilted her head, her smirk returning faintly. “Then I guess I’ll have to work harder to convince you. I’m not giving up that easily.”

You shook your head, trying to fight the small smile forming on your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, stepping closer. She was close enough now that you could smell the faint hint of her shampoo, something fresh and sweet. “But you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

“No, I haven’t,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip nervously as you took a small step closer to her.

You could practically hear the faint voice of your sister yelling in your head, telling you to get her out of her room before you become another one of Paige Bueckers’ victims. But the warning felt distant, muffled by the way Paige was looking at you now—her gaze steady, almost hypnotic.

And the truth was, you liked where this was going. The spark of tension, the thrill of standing so close to her, and maybe—just maybe—you were starting to like Paige too.

Paige tilted her head slightly, her smirk melting into something softer. She reached up, her fingers lightly brushing against yours as she took the rose from your hand and placed it on your desk. “I knew you’d let me in,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught as she leaned closer, her hand lifting to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The air between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken and undeniable. Her eyes flicked down to your lips, and without thinking, you tilted your head slightly, closing the space between you.

Just as her lips were about to brush against yours, you raised your hand and gently pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her. Paige froze, her eyes widening in surprise.

“You need to leave,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with reluctance.

Paige blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What?”

You stepped back, breaking the spell as you pointed to your desk. “I have a computation analysis exam tomorrow. And I need to study.”

A slow grin crept across her face, and she let out a breathy laugh, stepping back as well. “You’re serious?”

You nodded. “Dead serious.”

Paige shook her head, running a hand through her hair as she smiled at you, her confidence quickly returning. “Alright,” she said, her voice light but teasing. “But just so you know, this isn’t over.”

You rolled your eyes, walking toward the door and holding it open for her. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she said, pausing in the doorway. She glanced back at you, her smirk softening into something almost tender. “Good luck on your exam, by the way.”

You shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. Your sister’s voice echoed in your head again, louder this time, but all you could think about was how close you’d come—and how much you already wanted it to happen again.

That was when it all started.

The whole rollercoaster.

You had just played yourself right into the hands of Paige Bueckers.

The realization hit you like a perfectly timed crossover, leaving you unsteady, off balance. Paige Bueckers had a knack for pulling you into her orbit, and you’d just handed her the ball. You knew better—at least you thought you did. But there you were, caught between wanting to stay in the game and knowing full well she’d leave you in the dust if it suited her.

It wasn’t like she did it on purpose. Not really. Paige was... Paige. She had this quiet confidence, this magnetic energy that turned heads and made hearts trip over themselves. When she smiled, it wasn’t just a smile. It was a weapon, disarming and dangerous. And when she looked at you—really looked at you—it was like she could see right through you. Past every defense, every carefully constructed wall you thought you’d built to keep people like her out.

It started innocently enough. A few casual conversations. A couple of late-night texts that turned into marathon calls. You’d talk about nothing and everything—her games, your struggles, the kind of stuff you never expected to share with someone like her. She had a way of pulling you in, making you feel like you were the only one who mattered, even if just for a moment.

And maybe that’s what scared you the most. Because Paige wasn’t just anyone. She was Paige Bueckers. The golden girl. The star everyone wanted a piece of. And here she was, making you feel like you were something more than just another fleeting connection in her whirlwind of a life.

But that was the thing about whirlwinds—they didn’t last. They blew in, caused a mess, and left just as quickly. You told yourself you wouldn’t get swept up in it. You told yourself you wouldn’t let it go beyond what it was. But you also told yourself a lot of things.

And then there was that night in your room.

The one where her hand brushed yours, lingered for just a second too long. The one where her eyes held yours a question in them you didn’t know how to answer. The one where she leaned in, so close you could feel her breath on your skin, and said your name like it was something sacred.

You should have walked away. You should have never opened the door. But instead, you didn’t. You let her get closer. You let her in. And now?

Now, you were in over your head.

You hadn’t seen Paige in a few days, not since the night in your room. Your English professor canceled class because he was out of town, which meant no more doodling her name in the margins of your notebook, no more stolen glances when she wasn’t looking, and no more Paige waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall like she owned the place.

This was good, you tried to convince yourself. The time apart gave you space to concentrate on your studies, to focus, and to practically forget about the tall, muscular, attractive blonde who made your mind reel at the simplest thought of her.

But the universe, as it turned out, wasn’t about to make it that easy.

The party wasn’t your scene—too loud, too crowded, too much of everything. You’d only come because your roommate had dragged you along, promising it would be “chill” and that you’d “have fun for once.” Instead, you found yourself tucked into a corner nursing a half-empty cup of something vaguely alcoholic, counting down the minutes until it was socially acceptable to leave.

And then you saw her.

Paige.

She was across the room, laughing at something one of her friends had said. Her head tilted back slightly, her smile brighter than it had any right to be under the dim party lights. She looked... effortlessly perfect, as usual. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders, and she was wearing a fitted sweatshirt and jeans that somehow looked better on her than they should on anyone else.

You froze, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Part of you wanted to turn around, disappear before she saw you. But it was too late.

Her eyes found yours.

The laughter in her expression softened, replaced by something unreadable. She said something to her friends and started weaving her way through the crowd toward you. 

"Hey, stranger.”

"Hi." 

Paige glanced at your cup and grinned. "Is that what they’re calling ‘liquid courage’ these days?"

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the hint of humor to break the tension. "It’s more like ‘liquid regret.’ This stuff is terrible."

"Yeah, I’m not surprised," she said, crossing her arms and leaning slightly closer. "So, what’s a studious Computer Science nerd like you doing at a party like this?"

You shrugged. "Roommate dragged me here. Said I needed a life."

"And do you?" Paige asked, her tone teasing but her gaze steady.

"Do I what?"

"Need a life."

You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. "I guess that depends on who you ask."

Paige stepped closer, her smile fading slightly. "I would’ve asked in class, but... you weren’t there."

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in her tone. "Yeah, well, in case you don’t check your email, no class this week. Guess you’ll have to doodle in your own notebook."

Her lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Guess I will. But it’s not as fun without you sitting there, making it obvious you’re trying not to look at me."

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced away. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Sure you don’t," Paige said, her voice softer now. "Always playing games with me."

You punch her arm lightly, rolling your eyes at her comment. "Don’t even right now, Bueckers. I know the rumors about your little reputation. I know the effect you have on all the girls like me."

Paige raises an eyebrow at your words, her lips curving into that confident, knowing smile she always wore when she was about to push your buttons. She leans down, her face inches from yours, and whispers in your ear, "And what effect do I have on you?"

The air around you feels charged, every word she speaks a spark that ignites something deep inside. You try to pull away, to keep your cool, but it’s hard when she’s this close—when the warmth of her breath brushes against your skin, making your pulse quicken. You swallow, trying to steady your racing heart, but the words come out before you can stop them.

"T-that’s not what I meant to say–” you try to explain.

“Mhm, sure it is,” Paige intercedes, her smirk still remaining.

“No, seriously, I didn’t mean that. What I meant to say was–”

“That you’re in love with me?”

The feeling of alcohol coursing through your system and Paige’s insistence ticks you off slightly.

You scoff, rolling your eyes once again, but you feel a rush of something you can’t deny, something that’s been simmering since the moment you two first crossed paths. Without another word, you push past her, your heart pounding harder than you’d like to admit. You make a beeline for the door, desperate to put some distance between the heat building up inside you and the air in that crowded house.

But Paige follows you, steady, unrelenting, like a predator following its prey. She was not going to give up on you that easily.

"Hey," she calls from behind you, her voice more serious than the playful, teasing one. "Where are you going? Was it something I said?"

You ignore her, picking up your pace. Your mind is spinning, and your head feels a little dizzy from the alcohol. But you have to leave. You need to get away from Paige before you do or say something you’ll regret.

Paige was a player, you remind yourself. You’ve heard the rumors—your sister had made sure to fill you in on the stories. Paige was a heartbreaker, someone who never stuck around, who used people for a good time and then moved on without a second thought. And as much as you liked her now, as much as she made your chest tighten and your heart race, you knew how this would end. You’d be just another girl who’d fallen for her charm, only to be left behind in the dust.

You repeat the warning to yourself like a mantra: You will end up like one of those girls.

But then, her voice calls out again, softer this time, a touch of desperation in it.

"Hey, wait up."

Before you can react, you feel a firm hand grab your arm, spinning you around to face her.

"What are you doing?" Paige’s expression is a mixture of confusion and something else—something that might be vulnerability, but you can’t be sure. "Why are you walking away from me? What did I do?"

You want to push her away, keep the distance between you two, but the way she’s looking at you—like she’s trying to understand, trying to make sense of your actions—it makes it harder to breathe.

You yank your arm out of her grasp, taking a step back. "I can’t do this, Paige. I can’t be just another... another person you mess with."

Her brows furrow, her lips parting like she’s about to argue, but you’re not finished.

"I know the stories. I’ve heard them. And I’m not stupid, Paige. I’m not going to let myself fall into whatever this is and get my heart handed to me like all those other girls you left behind."

There’s a long pause, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she takes a slow step forward, her voice low, almost careful.

"I’m not…" her voice drones off, trying to put her words together. "I’m not here to break your heart, if that’s what you think."

You shake your head, feeling your chest tighten. "Then what are you here for? Because I don’t see anything else, Paige. You don’t stay. You don’t do commitment, and I don’t want to be your next... your next victim."

For a moment, it feels like the ground beneath you has disappeared. You’ve never seen her like this—quiet, almost... hurt.

"You think I don’t care about you?" she asks, her voice sharp now, but there’s an underlying pain to it that makes you freeze. "You think I’ve been trying to play you this whole time?"

You don’t answer, unable to find the words. Your stomach twists painfully at the thought that maybe you’ve misjudged her—that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this than you’ve been willing to admit.

Paige steps closer again, but this time there’s no teasing, no playfulness in her movement. She’s serious, her eyes locked onto yours.

"I’m not perfect," she admits, her voice steady now. "I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m the ideal person, but what I’ve been trying to tell you is that I want something real. I want you."

You blink, unable to process her words. "What do you mean? You don’t do real."

Paige takes a breath, as if steadying herself before continuing. "I know I’ve got a reputation. I’ve messed with people. But I’m not that person anymore. Not with you."

Your heart hammers in your chest as her words sink in. You want to pull away, want to keep the distance between you, but everything inside you is telling you to listen, to give her a chance to prove that she’s more than just the rumors.

"But why me?" you ask, your voice cracking slightly, a mix of disbelief and longing. "Why now? Why would you want me when I’m just another girl you don’t need?"

Paige’s expression softens, and she reaches out, gently cupping your face in her hands. "Because, for once, I don’t want something casual. I want this—us." Her eyes search yours for any sign of doubt. "You may not believe me, and hell, I don’t even know how I ended up here. But right now, with you, I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I want something more than what I’ve been doing."

Your breath catches in your throat, and for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, Paige Bueckers isn’t the heartbreaker you thought she was. Maybe she’s just... scared. Scared of what this might become, just like you are.

"I don’t know if I can believe that," you whisper, voice trembling. "But I don’t want to run away from this anymore, either."

Paige’s eyes soften, her lips curling into a small, hesitant smile. "You don’t have to believe it all at once. But please… just... give me a chance."

You hesitate for a beat, then nod slowly, letting out a shaky breath. "Okay. One chance. But if you mess this up, I’m out."

Paige laughs softly, relief washing over her features. "Deal."

Without another word, she steps in close, brushing her lips softly against yours. The kiss is gentle, a promise that maybe, just maybe, you can figure this out together.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe it.

[thevulturesquadron]

I see people making a big thing out of the ‘companions are not even asking Rook how they are doing, it’s just Solas when he is being manipulative’ twitter post.

And you know what? I stand by that one. While companions are always concerned about Rook’s well-being, there is something deliciously heavy in the vulnerability and risk attached to the fact that Solas IS the one asking directly and receiving a direct answer back.

The companions show time and again how much they care (they are even ready to pierce the Veil for Rook), but there is a heaviness in avoiding the direct approach throughout most of the game. They show care and concern by sharing with Rook who they are, by making Rook a part of their personal lives, by allowing Rook into what makes them happy: Neve shares her favourite spot in Dock Town, allows Rook to be part of the one habit that clears her mind. Lucanis takes Rook to the one place in Treviso that offers him peace and makes him reconnect with his own life, he takes Rook for a stroll in the Market as an insider, not a passerby, in hopes that what relaxes him can work for Rook too. Emmrich shows Rook the beauty of the Memorial Gardens. Davrin, repeatedly, takes Rook out for a breath of fresh air, much needed when they are drowning in impossible odds. Bellara allows Rook to mess around with the Archive, the one thing that keeps her focused when she’s navigating through her emotions. Harding spends time with Rook outside the Lighthouse. Taash takes Rook out for drinks and into their home. They all offer Rook numerous opportunities to unwind and to open up if they need to. But none ask the question directly because Rook is what keeps them together, so the answer to that question can’t be anything but ‘I am fine, we got this.’ It’s a mix of fear for what the potential answer could be and the realization that Rook won’t ever admit when they are out of their depth.

And then there’s Solas. When he checks in on Rook, it never is out of concern. It’s either because he relies on Rook to understand what is happening in the world or because he needs to make them lower their guard. And Rook can call him out on that on almost every occasion. But it’s also precisely what allows Rook to openly receive and answer that question, if they want to. Solas doesn’t depend on them, Rook doesn’t owe him anything, and that’s liberating. No need to put on a strong face because who cares if Solas is disappointed? And I think that’s such a fantastic aspect of their relationship. The distance between them, much like the rift keeping them apart, is also a source of safety for both. I am devouring that dynamic. There is something so liberating, for both probably, in the fact they HAVE to work with the other, and there aren't any emotional strings to pull or feelings to be careful about. Gloves are off, conversations are direct. Until one of them makes it personal.

They are both each other’s lifeline and ankle weight, not by choice but by circumstance.

[ceruark]

what do you want from me?

[fem! kaiser x fem! shy! reader. university au.] synopsis: kaiser’s just a mean girl who’s found amusement in picking on you, as if this is high school and not college. what else could it possibly be? wc: 4.5k cw: explicit smut: fingering, oral sex. MDNI. a/n: wrote this with one hand, my bad guys

kaiser terrifies you.

you would say her reputation precedes her, but her striking looks come before even that: uneven yet perfectly styled blonde hair with the ends dyed blue, piercing eyes outlined in bold red eyeliner, and of course, the blue rose tattoo that starts at her neck and spans the entirety of arm. 

her appearance alone is enough to intimidate everyone she comes across, but her attitude wards off anyone bold enough to still try to come close to her. cold, condescending, and mocking, kaiser is notorious for her scathing comments and superiority complex, so it’s not odd that you—and most everybody you know and talk to—steer clear of her. 

so when she plops down into the seat next to you during the first class of the term, you involuntarily freeze, the pen you’d been twirling between your fingers going still. your heart sinks into your feet, and you can feel yourself break into a cold sweat as she unpacks her laptop from her bag and settles in. 

surely it won’t be that bad. all you have to do is not speak to her—not too difficult, given that it’s a large class and this professor doesn’t really do small group discussion. if you just keep your head down and mind your business, everything will be fine, right?

wrong. 

kaiser doesn’t like to be ignored. not that you’re ignoring her—you can’t really do that when she hasn’t spoken to you at all—but it’s obvious you’re avoiding her. you sit as far away from her as possible, always avert your eyes and busy yourself with something when she enters the classroom, and you never glance in her direction the entirety of the lecture, scurrying out of the room the second it’s finished. 

you don’t realize that such meek behavior is what will catch a predator’s attention in the first place.

it’s the start of the third week, a few minutes before class starts, when kaiser leans halfway across the table and into your space. 

“hey, maus,” she says, angling her head so she’s right in your line of vision. 

you startle a little, and she snickers at your reaction. 

“jumpy little thing, hm?” she tilts her head to the side in a way that feels mocking. your stomach twists with anxiety. she nods at your laptop and asks, “do you have a charger i could use?”

“oh, uh—” you glance at her laptop, checking if it’s the same charging port. “yeah, sure,” you answer, and rummage through your bag to get your charger out. “here.”

her fingers brush over yours in a way that’s too precise to be accidental when she takes it from you. you pull your hand back just a little too fast, earning another laugh from her. 

you grit your teeth as you stare at the front of the room, where the professor is getting set up. it’s going to be a long semester. 

by the sixth week, you’re fed up with her toying around with you, and you decide to show up to class a few minutes after the time she usually shows up—and sit in a different spot, all the way across the classroom. 

a bold move on your part, one that you’ll surely pay for.

now you’ve turned it into a chase. it’s a constant guess of when you should show up, and eventually, it reaches the point where you’re sliding into a seat with mere seconds to spare just so you can avoid her showing up after you and sitting beside you. 

by the eighth week, she breaks the unspoken rule of your little game and approaches you outside of the classroom.

you’re scrolling through your phone and loitering in a hallway close to your class, waiting for minutes to turn into seconds before the bell rings, when you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder. you can see the black-ink vines wrapping around it in your peripheral, and immediately go rigid in response.

“fancy catching you here, maus,” she says in that tone that sends chills down your spine. you glance up at her to see her smirking down at you. “how about we walk to class together?”

you stop trying to avoid sitting next to her—it’s inevitable that she’ll find you, somehow, no matter where in the building you’re hiding. 

but it’s far too late to undo the damage your decision has done, as it seems you’ve opened pandora’s box; kaiser continues to pester you anywhere on campus, no matter who you’re with or what you’re doing. she even shows up in places you know she really has no business being in, and you start to feel like you’re being hunted for sport.

you might be, with the way she looks at you like she wants to kill you. your friends give you a pitying look when you express this to them, some even looking at you like you’re a little dumb, but you don’t really get why. kaiser’s just a mean girl who’s found amusement in picking on you, as if this is high school and not college. what else could it possibly be?

you seal your fate—the one your friends have seen coming from a mile away—when you somehow end up helping the blonde out.

now, kaiser is more than capable of holding her own; this much is obvious, given her reputation around campus, and her displayed behavior toward you.

but if there’s anything you hate more than a mean girl, it’s a man with a massive ego who can’t take a hint.

some guy has his arms propped up against the table, standing in front of kaiser and leaning into her space. her face is fixed in cold neutrality, but her eyes are blazing with irritation and barely contained fury.

“c’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” you hear him say as you draw closer to your spot next to kaiser.

“not your baby,” kaiser says dismissively. “get out of my face or i’ll make you regret it, you worthless clown.”

“oh, yeah?” the brunette leans even closer. “is that a threat, or a promise?”

kaiser’s eyes narrow, and she’s sneering now. “you don’t wanna find out.”

the guy laughs, cocky and grating. “already did the last time you spent the night, but i could go for a refresher.”

you don’t like kaiser—you can’t stand her most days. but you’d sooner keel over and die before you stand by and let this happen.

you loudly set your laptop onto the table, drawing both of their attention to you. you lock eyes with the brunette as you sit down, and tilt your head to the side as if deep in thought. then, you gasp softly and hold a hand to your mouth, widening your eyes as you turn to kaiser.

“is this the one you were telling me about?” you say, quiet enough to pass as a whisper, but loud enough for the guy to hear. “the one who couldn’t make you come?”

the person on the other side of you coughs loudly into their hand. it sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

you watch as the brunette flushes bright red in fury.

“stupid bitch,” he spits at kaiser. “you’re ran through, anyway.”

he storms out of the classroom just as the professor is entering, leaving the poor bespectacled man confused as he nearly barrels him over in the midst of his dramatic exit.

kaiser whirls on you the second the professor starts his droning. she leans into your space, a common occurrence at this point, and coos at you as she balances her cheek against her palm and tilts her head at you. “was my little maus worried about me?”

“worried? no, you can take care of yourself.” you huff, “i just thought it would do him well to be humbled.”

“oh, you don’t have to lie to me, pretty girl.” the name is enough to catch you off guard, but the pen that twirls a strand of your hair around it has you jumping like you were at the start of the semester. “it’s clear you care about me.”

you look at kaiser, and though that same dark look you’ve gotten used to seeing is present, you no longer think it means she wants to kill you.

and you don’t think whatever feeling is settling in your stomach is dread anymore, either.

and of course, because nothing in this world can ever go your way, the professor does something unprecedented, something he’s never done for this class: he assigns a partner project, where you and someone else in the class will have to write a paper and present on the topic in class.

kaiser latches onto you before you can even finish processing how totally, utterly fucked you are. you two spend the class period settling on a topic and doing preliminary research. by the end of the period, you’re exchanging numbers and planning a meeting outside of class.

“we can meet at my apartment on friday,” she says, “it’s on this side of campus, so we can just head there after class.”

“i was actually thinking the library would work better,” you suggest, impressed with how you keep the desperation out of your voice.

“it’s a late class, we’ll probably want to eat dinner, so my apartment will work fine,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. then she tilts her head at you in that calculating way, gives you a once-over, and asks, “you wouldn’t deprive me of a meal, would you?”

you spend the rest of the week mentally preparing yourself for whatever friday is going to bring.

it starts off fine. normal, even. she sets you both up in her room, claiming that her roommate might be back with some friends soon, so they’ll need the living room. you both sit criss-cross on her floor, laptops before you, and you actually manage to finish the essay and finalize your notes for the presentation.

you’re timing yourself on your part of the presentation when you sigh in frustration after stuttering over your words for the umpteenth time.

kaiser raises a brow at you. “what is it?”

you sigh. “i’m not good with being in front of people. surprising, i know.” you roll your eyes at her little smirk. “i just—if i look at someone when they’re looking at me, i freeze up. it’s distracting.”

kaiser hums. “so you have trouble presenting because of… distractions?”

you don’t like the way she said that, but she’s not exactly wrong. “i mean, i guess so.”

your stomach flips as she shuffles closer to you, sitting so close that your thighs are pressed together. “we’ll just have you practice with a distraction, then.”

she leans around you to start the timer on your phone, her chest brushing up against your arm as she does. you feel your mouth go dry.

“go on,” she says, staring at you. she still hasn’t leaned away from you. “you’re wasting time.”

clearing your throat, you begin reading from the script pulled up on your laptop. you’ve barely made it through three sentences when kaiser reaches up and begins trailing her fingers along your collarbone, occasionally snagging them on your necklace and giving it a tug.

after a mere minute of this, she unclasps the jewelry and sets it to the side.

then, she leans in and presses a kiss to your pulse.

you stutter to a stop, stiffening at the contact.

“so nervous,” she chides in between the quick kisses that she trails up and down your neck. “how do you expect us to pass if you’re going to freeze up like this, hm?”

swallowing down the want mounting within you, you continue reading, fighting to keep your voice steady.

you manage to get another uninterrupted minute in before you’re gasping as she presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw.

“keep going,” she whispers into your ear, her hot breath fanning across your cheek.

your voice trembles as she grips your waist and tugs you closer into her side. she trails her mouth low, lower, until she’s sucking loudly at the junction between your neck and shoulder. the end of a word trails off into a needy whine as she bites down, and you can feel her smirk into your skin.

you’re halfway through the presentation when her hand moves from your waist to your jeans and begins undoing them. your voice gets a bit high-pitched as she slips a hand down them and trails it along your thigh, voice getting higher the closer she gets to the wetness building between your legs.

your breath hitches when her fingers graze over the wet spot on your panties.

“you’re not finished yet, maus,” she croons into your ear. “let me hear you, hm?”

you get a minute more into the script when she finally applies pressure to the area, expertly rubbing circles into your clothed clit. you keen and buck up into her hand, your words coming out breathy and each sentence punctuated with a light moan as she continues petting you.

“okay, i—” you release a shaky exhale as kaiser begins sucking at your neck again. “i’m done.”

kaiser hums into your skin, then pounces on you fully. in a flurry of movement, she takes your pants and panties off in one go, leaving you barren on her floor. you squeak as she forces you into her lap, spreading her legs wide and hooking yours around hers to leave you split open for her.

“wait, i—” you grab her hands before they can make it to your dripping cunt. she gazes down at you, voracious and impatient. “i’ve never done this before.”

she laughs—a little demeaning, and also low and amused. “i know, maus,” she says before grabbing you by the jaw and pulling you into a deep kiss. when you part, she strokes your cheek with her thumb. “let me take care of you, okay?”

you nod slowly, and she presses one more kiss to your lips before forcing your face forward.

you flush bright red when you realize she’s positioned you both in front of her mirror. you can see yourself dripping onto her floor, your clitoris puffy and pink from being teased.

“we have to get you to overcome your fear of audiences, hm?” you squeak as she bites at your ear, which is quickly followed by a moan when she brushes her fingers against your clit. “don’t move your head. i want you to watch.”

she traces slow, agonizing circles into your clit with one hand, slithering one finger into your hole with the other. you seize up at the intrusion, not used to the sensation, so she sets a slow pace, working you into it before picking up speed and, eventually, slipping a second finger in.

by the time the third makes it in, you’re a panting, writhing mess. watching her fingers thrust into you, coming out coated in even more of your essence every time, just makes the heat pooling in your gut even worse.

“‘s too much,” you slur out between whines. “too full.”

“don’t complain,” she commands, lightly smacking your clit and causing you to jolt. “you’ll take what i give you, hm?”

she curls her fingers cruelly, causing your thighs to jerk and a loud moan to rip itself from your throat. “answer me,” she says.

“yes,” you whine. “yes, i will, i will.”

“good girl,” she hums, then starts scissoring her fingers in and out of you at a breakneck speed. she moves her other hand away for just a moment to wrap her arm around your waist and adjust you in her lap. your ass is planted firmly against her crotch, and she starts rocking her hips against you as she continues fucking you on her fingers. 

it's not long before the last thread inside you unravels and you’re throwing your head back, crying out as you come undone on her fingers, hips bucking up into her hands and thighs shaking erratically. she fucks you through your orgasm, not easing up until you go slack against her, slumping against her chest with soft whines leaving you.

she pulls her fingers out of you and holds the digits in front of your face, spreading them wide. you watch, entranced, as your cum fills the space between them in stringy, sticky lines.

“what a messy girl,” kaiser says lowly, “you should clean up after yourself.”

she presses her fingers to your closed lips. in your haze, you open them without protest, allowing them to enter your mouth and tasting yourself on them.

you lock eyes with her in the mirror. her gaze is dark, and you wonder how you ever thought she wanted to do anything besides devour you whole.

“suck,” she commands.

your cheeks hollow out around her fingers as you obey, and the shaky breath she exhales goes straight to your core, lighting it up again.

when you’ve sucked them clean, she takes her fingers out of your mouth and rises to her feet. swiftly, she unbuttons her own shorts and tosses them to the side, her panties, bra, and shirt following them. 

she sits down on her bed, then beckons to you with the fingers still wet with your saliva. “come here.”

on wobbly legs, you move to join her on the bed. she grabs you by the hips when you reach the edge, digging her nails into your flesh and squeezing at the plushness there.

“on your knees,” she instructs as she guides you into a kneeling position on top of the bed. she holds you by the waist so that you’re suspended in the air while she slips a thigh in between your own. her legs interlock with yours, and you bite your trembling bottom lip at the sensation of her bare pussy pressed against your thigh, and yours against her thigh.

her hands slide up your waist, fingers hooking into your shirt and tossing it off the side of the bed in one fluid motion. with one hand, she unclips your bra and discards it in the same manner. 

with both hands cupping your face, she pulls you in and kisses you deeply, rocking her hips and grinding down on your thigh. your soft whimpers are muffled by her tongue as she shoves it down your throat and traces the crevices of your mouth. she pushes you flush against the headboard with her body, the feeling of her breasts pressed and bouncing against yours making warmth flood the area between your legs.

hesitantly, you reach a hand up to cup one of her breasts, experimentally running a finger over her nipple. with a soft grunt, she places her own hand over yours and squeezes, encouraging you to be rougher. after only a few minutes of groping and pinching her nipples, she’s moaning into your mouth, her thrusts now faster and harder as she chases after her own satisfaction.

suddenly, she pulls away from your mouth, and you barely have a moment to process the long trail of saliva between you two before she’s grasping the back of your head and shoving you toward her chest.

she doesn’t need to say the command a second time for you to know what she wants; you part your lips and latch yourself onto her, sucking as much of her breast into your mouth as you can and running your tongue over and around her nipple.

a deep moan leaves her, reverberating through her chest and against your face. she snakes one arm around your waist and pulls you as close as she can, to the point where you feel like you’re going to be suffocated by her breasts. she ruts against you mercilessly, drawing low whines out of the back of your throat.

“fuck,” she groans breathily, scratching lightly at your scalp as you continue sucking. “you make the sweetest sounds, maus.” her hand untangles itself from your hair and suddenly she’s kneading and pinching at your chest, escalating your whimpers into soft, fast moans. “sing for me, hm?”

you keen loudly, and the sultry laugh she lets out in response is almost enough to tip you over the edge on its own.

after a particularly harsh suck that’s more teeth than lips and tongue, kaiser hisses and bucks her hips once, before a string of moans spill out of her mouth as she erratically spasms against your thigh. her hand flies up to the back of your head and she grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls as she rides out her high.

with one last groan that peters out into a huff of air, she slackens her hold on your hair and waist, coaxing you off of her breast and allowing you to rest against the headboard. you feel your face flush when you see the angry red, already purpling marks left all over her breasts.

kaiser chuckles, running her fingers along them. “hungry little thing, aren’t you?” she teases. she lifts herself off your thigh, and you get even hotter at the stickiness that momentarily stays suspended in the air between her cunt and your thigh as she does.

she grabs one of the pillows from the other side of the bed and slips it beneath your hips. your breath hitches when she trails her fingers along the inside of your thighs before grabbing them and pulling them apart. you begin to tremble again as she lowers herself between your legs, leering up at you from beneath lidded eyelids as she does.

“it’s only fair if i eat, too, right?”

you gulp as she presses a kiss to your clit. your whole body jolts with a mewl when she parts them and sucks the bud into her mouth, the pressure sending shocks up your spine.

“ka—” you break off into a moan as she slips two fingers into you and sets that ruthless pace from earlier, the pleasure mounting into something that is entirely too much, too fast. “kaiser—”

she pops off your clit suddenly, her hot breath teasing the abused area. “michelle,” she corrects. “say it.”

“michelle,” you whine. “please.”

“please, what?” she takes her fingers out of you and begins rubbing her thumb in slow circles over your clit. “use your words.”

“please,” you say, nearly a hiccup. “please make me come.”

she hums in approval, cooing, “well, since you asked so nicely.”

she increases the pressure she rubs into your clit, and any confusion over her finger placement is immediately cleared up when something else enters your hole. you squeal in surprise as she slithers her tongue into you, moving it into your gummy walls as far as she can and swirling it around. your stomach and chest heave as you moan her name out in loud pleas, your hand coming down to stroke her hair as you involuntarily jolt your hips up against her face.

you’re close, so close—walls fluttering and the pitch of your voice crescendoing into high-pitched whimpers—when she suddenly pulls away from you.

“michelle?” you whine in confusion. she smirks at you as she tilts her head to the side, resting it against your thigh. your leg twitches involuntarily as she traces a tantalizing finger up and down your clit.

she calls your name, the syllables of it dripping off her tongue like honey. “it’s almost the end of the semester, you know. will you forget about me once this class is over?”

as if you can forget her after everything she’s done to you this afternoon. “i won’t,” you whisper.

she sighs, all faux sorrow. “but how do i know that? after all, you were trying so hard to get rid of me earlier.” you hiccup as another finger begins teasing your entrance. it distracts you from the harsh edge her voice takes when she asks, “you’ll just toss me to the curb like trash like everyone else does once you’re satisfied, won’t you?”

“no,” you whine. “don’t wanna.”

michelle takes in your needy expression with dark eyes. “don’t wanna what?”

“don’t wanna with anyone else,” you say, too dazed to try and stop yourself. “only you.”

the teasing movements suddenly stop, causing you to whine. she ignores it as she asks, “do you mean that, maus?”

that snaps you back to reality enough to give a better response. “i wouldn’t be doing this with just anyone,” you say, averting your eyes to the floral patterned bedsheets. you blush as you admit, “you’re my first because i wanted you to be.”

after a long moment of silence, she calls for you again. “look at me.”

you feel your breath hitch as you meet her eyes again. she’s always intense, but her gaze is sharper than you’ve ever seen, downright predatory and something else that you can’t quite place.

she licks a slow, agonizing strip up your folds before she says, “i’m going to make you come, then you’re going to be mine, got it?” she kisses your cunt again. “no one else is ever going to see you like this.”

before you can respond, she’s shoving her tongue back into your hole, fucking into you with a ferocity that wasn’t there all afternoon. her fingers expertly pinch and prod at your clit, rapidly working you back up to the point you were at when she stopped.

“michelle,” you cry out, “‘m gonna— ah—”

she moans into your pussy and gives one harsh pinch to your clit. with one last jolt, you throw your head back and devolve into a mess of whines and spasms as michelle works you through your orgasm.

you’re so out of it that you don’t even realize she’s pulled away from the space between your legs until she’s settling herself on top of you, straddling your waist. she takes a moment to admire your fucked-out expression before bringing her thumb to your lips and forcing them apart.

she presses her lips to yours, and you whimper as she shoves her tongue into your mouth, still coated in your come. after spitting and transferring most of it into your mouth, she pulls away, guiding your lips shut with her fingers.

“swallow,” she orders. she’s so close, her blue eyes taking up your entire vision as you gulp down what she’s given you, what she’s fed you so tenderly.

after watching your throat bob, she presses another kiss to your lips, surprisingly soft.

she pulls your head to rest against her chest, running her fingers through her hair. “so good for me,” she whispers. “you’ll stay right here, hm?”

you hum in agreement as your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion beginning to weigh down on you.

“good.” the feeling of her lips brushing against your ear has your eyes flying open again, your heart rate quickening.

“because i’m just getting started with you.”

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Simon Catches You Giving Johnny Head

Warnings: 18+, Implied Smut, Oral (Male receiving), Infidelity, Johnny being a Manipulator, Slut-Shaming, Implied Dub-Con Elements, Cum Swallowing, Stomach Bulging, Stomach Ache, Skin Irritation, Sexual Punishment, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Wordcount: 833 words

Simon had walked in on you giving Johnny head. And when you saw your boyfriend’s hulking silhouette take up the entire doorway, you scrambled off Johnny’s soaked shaft and looked up into Simon’s eyes with a wide, frightful stare.

Simon was immediately ready to berate you, to seeth his vengeance into you and destroy you from the inside out, but your voice came out in a tiny whisper.

“Just wanted to learn how to do it properly, Si,” you said, sniffling. Your eyes glistened and Simon couldn’t tell if it was from Johnny’s cock hitting the back of your throat or the fact you were caught in such a compromising position. “Just wanted to—“ you sobbed, lightly — “to make you feel good.”

And when you looked up at him with those puppy-dog eyes, he could almost excuse the fact that you’d been shoving his best friend’s dick down your throat for god knows how long. Or rather, that Johnny had coerced you into doing so, so eager and willing to let you – make you – guzzle his cum, filling you from the inside with thick ropes of semen.

How many times had Simon rested his hand on your stomach, unaware of the fact that remnants of another man lay just beneath his fingertips?

His blood boiled.

He knew Johnny must’ve had something to do with this. You’d never do anything of the sort without believing Simon would be okay with it, and Johnny’s silver tongue was nothing short of legend. 

He wouldn’t – couldn’t – let Mactavish off the hook, either. The image of the Scot’s hand encompassing the back of your head, pressing you down further and further onto his member, the slick noises of your tongue working his girth with his head thrown back in stolen pleasure sparked a blaze in Simon’s chest that he would put to good use.

Simon sighed. Deeply. He decided to be lenient. Merciful. 

He grabbed you by the hair and dragged you to sit between his legs as he took a chair, the object whining under two-hundred-and-odd pounds of skin, muscle and hate. 

“Let’s see,” he said, gripping you tightly with one hand, watching you writhe at the pressure and pull on your scalp like a fish on a hook. With his other hand, he unzipped his pants, lifting his hips and yanking them down to his thighs. His half-hard cock leaked with pre, weeping.

You tried to plead with him, tried looking over to Johnny for help. The latter watched, just as terrified as you, having hastily stuffed himself back into his trousers, mirroring Simon’s growing condition.

“‘Nough talk.” Simon’s voice was gruff, unlike anything you’d ever heard. His eyes were blackened, too, entirely devoid of humanity.

“Let’s see how well Johnny’s trained you, hm? Put that whore mouth and all you’ve learnt to good use.”

You were willing to do anything to make him stop looking at you like that – like he loathed you – to rid his face of his furrowed brow and hard glare. You begged to please him, told him how you could take all of him — every inch — and how you were so ready to do so.

Simon listened. He raised you.

“Seein’ as y’so keen, I’ll strike you a deal. If y’can make me cum in the next sixty seconds, I won’t punish you.”

Your core tightened. 60 seconds?! That’s it?

Simon’s gaze found Johnny, still bolted in place by the periphery of the former’s wrath.

“But if y’don’t,” he pierced his once-friend with a look that could maim, torture and destroy. Johnny swallowed, held his gaze. “I’ll just have to show you and your teacher how it’s done.”

Neither you nor Johnny could talk, run or call for help after Simon had made ample example of you, both for the numb, raw ache in the back of your throat and the fact that Simon had you working his dick more often than there seemed hours in the day, forcing you down deeper and deeper onto his length, enjoying the sensation of you choking and gagging on his tip, the back of your throat tightening around him as tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving your skin itchy and red.

You could hardly move for the weight of Simon’s loads sitting heavy in your stomach, giving you a noticeable bump that neither Simon nor Johnny could take their eyes off. He never let you spit, even when you complained that your stomach hurt, churning and filled past full with the amount of cum swimming inside you. Swallowing every drop of his semen was mandatory for your redemption, he said. 

Don’t worry, he made Johnny work, too. Whenever you’d been a good little whore for Simon, taking everything he gave you without complaint, he’d make Johnny give you the same treatment he’d coerced from you in the first place.

“Go on,” he’d say to the Scot, staring him down. “Since y’were so keen on makin’ (Y/N) do it, you’ve gotta return the favour.”

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[yanderefarm]

yandere pornstar

cw; choking, p in v, heterosexuals, nsft, murder, violence against women, dub con, dark content

ive had this one sitting in production for a minute but it's one of the darker ones in my opinion. i think he's so interesting and so fucked in the head. his yandere isn't as explicit in this but that's kinda on purpose. he's obsessed with you but he's good at hiding it especially because he's definitely also battling some internalized homophobia. like he will not examine how badly he wants to be your girlfriend no sir he'll just ask you uncomfortable questions and date women who he thinks are your type. and even then it doesn't matter if you don't like women because he'll just date women who remind him of you.

you live in a nice modern style house. the kind of house you'd usually find belonging to a billionaire who thinks having natural light is a personality trait. never in a million years would you be able to afford this place but a few months ago you'd found this guy looking for a roommate. the rent was dirt cheap, like the kind of dirt cheap that meant this was probably a scam. honestly, even after 3 months living there you were waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under you but as far as you could tell it was real and your roommate was just a nice guy. 

he was a large guy, his chest was broad and he was extremely tall. he was pretty hot too, he had piercings and tattoos and he was always wearing tight obscure rock shirts or horror shirts. personality wise he was a bit of a loud obnoxious guy, he could act like a real frat bro but he was nice? nice enough. the only real quirk about being his roommate was the part about sex. apparently your roommate was in porn and would often record videos in his house. it was like living with a frat bro in effect, he'd have big networking parties and sometimes that turned into big networking orgies. sometimes you would come home to see him and a young woman half naked surrounded by a camera crew. it was weird. but rent was cheap and your room had good noise insulation so you adapted. 

sometimes you would wake up in the morning and go to the kitchen only to find a random woman with messy makeup sitting there checking her phone. the first time it happened you offered to make her some pancakes and she appreciated the gesture. it was an odd morning routine but it was kind of nice making pancakes for your roommate and whatever girl he'd spent the night with so it became the norm. all in all living in this place was odd but comfortable, all it took was getting used to it. you even got used to your roommate's weird personal questions, the way he'd ask you about what kind of porn you liked or what kind of people you were into. it was awkward but you got used to it as just part of his personality.

eventually you started noticing the same girl at the kitchen table over and over again only with progressively more bruises and cuts on her. it's not really your place but you can't help but ask her if she's ok.

"oh! yeah don't worry it's from work."

"what kind of work do you do?"

"wanna see?"

she shows you her only fans account including her most recent post, a scene where she's in a familiar looking room with a masked man choking her out while they have sex. that's definitely your roommate in the video, it was definitely filmed in his room. your body couldn't help but react to the stimulation and you awkwardly excused yourself to eat breakfast. she didn't mind, in fact she said it was a compliment so atleast she was cool about it. still embarrassing.

it doesn't help that at some point she clearly told your roommate who's embarrassing personal questions start to shift. are you into choking? receiving or giving? do you think his girlfriend is hot? is she your type? you have to stop him from showing you more of their videos together because he's just way too eager.

in the end you do shamefully subscribe to her only fans. she's pretty for sure but you're more interested in your roommate and the scenarios they act out. she makes a lot of dark content; things like a kidnapper using her for his own entertainment and threatening to send the video to her parents, or a drunk friend breaking into her room, or a serial killer having fun with her before he kills her. in her older stuff before she started working with your roommate the guys who would bust into her room didn't have the right body type or demeanor to sell it. some of them acted like the cringiest internet doms. for some reason your roommate was so good at it.

you watched his arm flex around her throat while he held her in a headlock, her body bouncing on his lap while he looked at the camera. part of you wondered how good he'd look if he was in her position instead, his big muscles and large dick completely useless as his kidnapper made his eyes roll back. you really shouldn't have those thoughts about your roommate, you know that, but you can't stop fucking your fist to the thought of him. he's straight, nothing will ever come of it.

for the sake of your cheap rent and comfortable room you just pushed your feelings down only letting them out late at night into a bunch of tissues. that's until you come home one night to the living room dark and a tripod set up in front of the couch. that's not such an unusual sight, its not even the first time you've walked in on your roommate in the middle of work. it is the first time you've caught him actually balls deep in someone. he doesn't even take his hands off his throat when he looks at you with a stupid smile.

"hey, welcome home."

you were trying so hard to look anywhere else. "sorry.. uh im-im gonna-"

"oh! hey, babes!" his girlfriend was also smiling at you now.

you were hard. why were you hard. why did he notice that you were hard. you watched his eyes flick from your hard on to your face and back again a wide smile cracking across his face.

"yo, you like what you see? wanna take a ride?"

you don't know how they both actually convinced you to do this, maybe you were hornier than you realized. your roommates large rough hands were stroking your heavy cock while his girlfriend was on her knees in front of you her tongue stuck out to catch every drop of precum. you leaned your head back against his shoulder and moaned as he squeezed your tip. you looked at him for a moment, your face flushing red as he gave you a confident smirk. his girlfriend wrapped her lips around your tip and began licking and sucking trying to drain you of every drop while your roommates hands squeezed your cock so firmly it felt like he was trying to push your cum out. you moaned louder this time, one of your hands gripping onto his forearms to steady yourself.

"baby, you should give him a nice reward for all his donations."

oh god he knew. of course he knew. his girlfriend pulled her mouth off your cock with a wet pop and moved onto her back. your roommate guided you onto your knees in front of her, his breath heavy in your ears.

"you ever do this before buddy?"

all you could do was shake your head, most people probably have never been in this scenario before either.

"gonna make you feel so good. gonna fuck her real nice."

he guided your large cock along her folds, rubbing it against her clit and soaking you in her juices. you watched as he pressed your tip against her hole and pushed it in drawing a loud moan from her. she was definitely a pornstar the way she reacted and played up your cock filling her, moans and arching her back and tightening her cunt. it felt good but you soon came to miss the feeling of your roommate's hands squeezing you as they instead moved to help guide your hips. he kept you at a fast pace until you were the one maintaining it yourself, hips drilling into her as hard and fast as you could.

"why haven't you cum yet? you like it don't you?" he grunted in annoyance. "here let's tighten her up, huh?"

he moved his hands over your own and wrapped them around her neck. it took you a moment to notice and you immediately tried to squirm and pull away.

"you know how much she likes it"

"mmmhmmm~ c'mon babes.. make me see stars..."

his hands squeezed around your own forcing you to choke her as your hips began to slow down a bit. you didn't know what you were doing, this seemed incredibly unsafe but his hands were stronger than yours. her pussy squeezed around you but the stimulation wasn't enough to keep you hard as your panic was more overwhelming. your hips stopped entirely when her face started to get red.

"stop! pl-please i want to stop!"

"i'll stop when she makes you cum."

you knew that wasn't going to happen but you didn't know what else to do. your hips picked up a frantic desperate pace as you tried so hard to feel good. there were tears splashing onto her reddening face as you began to cry and babble your apologies as best you could.

her eyes started to roll back and you still hadn't gotten any closer to cumming so with an annoyed huff your roommate pulled your hands off of her. she sucked in a gasp of air her entire body heaving as she could finally breathed. your roommate moved away from you letting you pull out and you crawled over away from them, sobbing.

"tch... guess you didn't like her that much huh?"

you couldn't speak just whimpering and rubbing your hands.

"poor guy..."

he easily lifted you in his arms and carried you to your bed. you thought he said something else but you didn't catch it as your body started to relax. you managed a small thank you before his figure disappeared.

you expected it to just be a weird story and an awkward breakfast but she never came to sit in the kitchen. you had finished making all the pancakes when the front door opened and your roommate walked in looking dour. he stopped when he looked at you, looking away from you then back.

he took a deep breath. "... she's dead."

your eyes widened and you felt your stomach churn.

"last night i brought her back to my room but she wasn't feeling well and i thought she was just tired... when i woke up she wasn't breathing."

you covered your mouth with your hand as tears flooded your vision. you moved to get your phone when your roommate grabbed your hand tight enough to hurt.

"you get it right? you killed her." you were forced to drop your phone which cracked on the tile. "i hid the body, made sure no one will ever know. I'm willing to help you cause you're my friend but you gotta be good."

you couldn't speak all you could do was slowly nod.

"thats a good boy."

[solxamber]

Hello! I have two things to ask:

1, Do you have a Yuusona? If so, what’re they like?

2, Neige request; A Neige with a reader a lot like the delinquent stereotype in anime. Like piercing, cutting class, riding a motorcycle, etc.

Even if you’re not still open for requests, please remember to pace yourself and take care of yourself when writing! You don’t want to burn yourself out, and there’s nothing wrong with taking a break! Remember that you are the person you should aim to please most in your writing, so it should be done on your own timeline. I hope you have a great day :)

hi! i do not have a yuusona rn! and i will take breaks when i need them, thank you for the incredibly kind message!

also this barreled out of control but i hope you like it!

Campus Scandal || Neige LeBlanche

Neige: hopeless romantic. You: begrudging (absolutely willing) participant.

or: Opposites attract— you, the resident delinquent and Neige, the campus golden boy, fall for each other.

w.c: 4k

The classroom was empty when you arrived, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on the rows of desks. You glanced at the clock, scowling when you realized you’d somehow arrived thirty minutes early.

Mandatory classes weren’t your thing, but attendance on the first day was non-negotiable. Not that you cared much about school rules—your 2% attendance record spoke for itself—but you figured showing up on day one would keep the advisor off your back for a little while longer.

With a sigh, you dropped into the farthest seat in the back, kicked your feet up on the desk in front of you, and pulled your jacket over your head. Might as well get some sleep if you were stuck here. The soft hum of the air conditioning was surprisingly soothing, and soon enough, you were out like a light.

By the time other students began filing in, you were dead to the world, a picture of absolute delinquent indifference. Your tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves of your shirt, the silver of your piercings catching the light. The sight of you—motorcycle helmet resting on the floor beside your desk, boots propped up like you owned the place—was enough to send whispers rippling through the room.

“Is that them?”

“Yeah, the one with the bike. I heard they got in trouble for skipping finals last semester.”

“Do they even go here? I swear I’ve never seen them in class before.”

The whispers grew quieter as more students trickled in, each one taking great care to avoid the seat next to you. Nobody was brave enough—or foolish enough—to risk waking you up.

Enter Neige LeBlanche.

Neige was never late. He was the type to set his alarm thirty minutes early, leave the house with a perfectly packed bag, and still have time to pick up pastries for his classmates on the way to school.

So, naturally, he was horrified when his alarm didn’t go off that morning. After rushing through his morning routine at record speed, he burst into the classroom, cheeks flushed and hair slightly out of place—a rarity for him.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was full. The second thing he noticed was the empty seat in the back, right next to someone who looked like they’d walked straight out of a biker gang recruitment poster.

Neige hesitated, clutching his notebook like it was a lifeline. He’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. You were the mysterious rebel who showed up just enough to avoid expulsion, with a motorcycle that could be heard roaring across campus at odd hours of the night. You were intimidating, sure, but Neige wasn’t one to judge people based on appearances. Besides, he didn’t really have a choice.

With all the courage he could muster, he approached your desk and tapped you lightly on the shoulder. "Um… excuse me?"

You stirred, one eye cracking open to glare at him from under your jacket. “What?”

“Ah, sorry to wake you,” Neige said, his voice as soft as ever. “But… is this seat taken? It’s the only one left.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, taking in the rosy flush on his cheeks and the faint scent of sugar and flowers that seemed to follow him. He looked like the kind of person who helped old ladies cross the street and spent his weekends rescuing stray kittens.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, dropping your feet from the desk in front of you. “Do what you want.”

Neige practically beamed. “Thank you!”

He sat down, carefully placing his notebook on the desk, and tried to focus on the professor who had just started lecturing. Tried being the operative word.

From the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at you. Everything about you screamed cool—your half-lidded eyes, the way your piercings glinted in the light, the lazy slouch of your shoulders like you couldn’t care less about anything or anyone. Even the scowl on your face seemed effortlessly stylish.

For the first time in his life, Neige LeBlanche felt self-conscious. His usually immaculate white sweater suddenly seemed plain. Was he staring too much? He was staring too much. What if you noticed? What if you thought he was weird?

Meanwhile, you were too busy trying to stay awake to notice anything. You caught snatches of the professor’s lecture, but most of it went in one ear and out the other. The only thing you did notice was the faint, almost nervous energy coming from the guy sitting next to you.

“Stop fidgeting,” you muttered, not even bothering to look at him.

“Ah—sorry!” Neige straightened in his seat, cheeks pink.

You rolled your eyes but said nothing more, settling back into your slouch. Beside you, Neige tried not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. For someone so intimidating, you sure had a way of making his heart race.

And class had only just started.

Neige was screwed.

Absolutely, completely, irrevocably screwed.

Because this—this dizzying rush of warmth in his chest, this fluttering in his stomach, this unstoppable urge to look at you every other second—wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him.

He’d been on stage in front of thousands without breaking a sweat. He’d received countless love letters and confessions, always accepting them with gentle grace before kindly turning them down.

He was not supposed to be this much of a mess over someone who, as far as anyone knew, only appeared on campus about twice a month. You were a phantom, a ghost of the school roster, a local cryptid people whispered about in the hallways.

And yet here he was, sitting in his room after class, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how the universe had conspired to throw him headfirst into whatever this feeling was.

It was your fault, of course. If you hadn’t looked so effortlessly cool napping in that back corner, he wouldn’t be in this situation. If you hadn’t let him sit next to you with that lazy, unimpressed nod, he wouldn’t be losing his mind. And if you hadn’t existed, period—well, Neige wasn’t sure how to finish that thought.

When he walked into class the next day, he half-expected you to be gone, vanishing back into the mysterious ether like you always did. That’s why he nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw you in the exact same spot as before, jacket thrown over your head, looking as indifferent and untouchable as ever.

His heart skipped a beat.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn’t a big deal. He was just sitting next to you because there were no other seats. No other reason.

(That was a lie. He absolutely could’ve sat somewhere else. Half the class had seats open now that attendance was starting to dwindle. But Neige LeBlanche wasn’t one to lie—except, apparently, to himself.)

He made his way to the back of the classroom, his footsteps soft as he approached your desk. You shifted slightly under your jacket, one arm draped over your face, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Good morning,” Neige said, his voice gentle.

You peeked out from under your jacket, your expression groggy but still sharp. He thought you might tell him off, tell him to get lost or take another seat. But instead, you just gave him a single nod, as if to say, Whatever. Do what you want.

Neige couldn’t help it—he smiled. Wide and bright, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle and his cheeks flush. “Thanks,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you.

You froze.

It wasn’t like you cared what people thought of you. You’d spent years being judged for your tattoos, your piercings, your habit of rolling into campus on your motorcycle with exactly zero regard for the stares or whispers. It didn’t bother you. You liked being the outsider, the delinquent, the one who couldn’t care less about anyone or anything.

So why the hell was your heart pounding so hard just because Neige LeBlanche had smiled at you?

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to focus on some invisible speck on your desk. It was just a smile. A stupid, friendly smile. Nothing to freak out over.

But it wasn’t just the smile. It was the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way the soft flush on his cheeks made him look even more radiant, the way he looked at you like you were something more than a rumor or a passing shadow.

“What's that stare for?,” you muttered, your voice quieter than you intended.

Neige blinked, startled. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, still avoiding his gaze. “Just… nothing.”

Neige nodded, biting his lip to keep from smiling again. He didn’t want to push his luck. But as he opened his notebook and started jotting down the professor’s notes, he couldn’t help stealing another glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You were sitting there, pretending to be unfazed, but the corners of your lips were slightly quirked.

And suddenly, Neige didn’t feel so screwed after all.

It was freezing.

Neige tightened his scarf as the cold bit at his cheeks, his breath visible in the night air. He shuffled down the street, the empty to-go cup in his hand a sad reminder of his dorm’s coffee machine betrayal.

He couldn’t believe this was how his midterms week was going—a late-night coffee run because he couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish his notes.

The streets were quiet save for the occasional car passing by. Neige adjusted his scarf again, grumbling softly to himself, when the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle engine split through the silence.

He turned his head just in time to see a bike pull up beside him, its rider clad in the usual mix of leather and defiance that made you impossible to miss.

“LeBlanche,” you called, your voice cutting through the cold air. “What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?”

Neige blinked, startled. “I, um…” He held up his cup like it was a shield. “The coffee machine in the dorm broke. I needed—”

You rolled your eyes. “Get on.”

“What?”

“Get. On.” You jabbed a thumb at the empty space behind you. “I’ll drop you at the coffee shop and back. You’ll freeze your ass off walking like this.”

Neige hesitated. It wasn’t like he was scared—okay, maybe he was a little scared—but it wasn’t every day someone offered him a ride on their motorcycle.

“C’mon, it’s cold,” you added, impatience flickering in your tone. “You don’t want to get sick before midterms, do you?”

That was all the convincing he needed. Awkwardly, he swung his leg over the bike and settled behind you, clutching his cup like it was his lifeline.

“Hold on tight,” you said, your voice firm.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Neige hesitated again, then gingerly wrapped his arms around your waist. His cheeks flushed as he realized how close he was to you. The warmth of your jacket, the faint scent of leather and something faintly sweet—it was… distracting.

When the engine roared back to life and the bike shot forward, Neige yelped and instinctively clung to you tighter, practically burying his face in your back.

You felt his grip tighten, his forehead resting against your shoulder, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you didn’t tell him he could’ve just held onto your shoulders instead.

The ride was quick, the cold air biting at your face as you sped through the empty streets. You pulled up outside the coffee shop, parked the bike, and glanced back at him. “C’mon.”

Neige scrambled off, looking a little dazed but mostly exhilarated, and followed you inside. The warmth of the shop was immediate, and the sweet scent of coffee and pastries filled the air.

You both walked up to the counter, and Neige looked over the menu. He ordered some kind of overly sweet monstrosity with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, while you stuck with something more straightforward.

When he tried to pay, you shoved his hand away and slapped your card onto the counter instead. “I got it.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me, LeBlanche,” you said, cutting him off.

He looked at you for a moment, then relented with a small, flustered smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you found a table by the window, the silence between you surprisingly comfortable as you sipped your drinks.

Neige, though, was fidgeting. He glanced at you, then down at his mug, then back at you again. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Would you… maybe want to do this again sometime? I mean, not because of the coffee machine breaking or anything, but just—”

You raised an eyebrow, cutting him off with a laugh—one that came out louder and more incredulous than you meant. “You’re insane, you know that?”

The way Neige’s face fell made your stomach drop. His shoulders slumped, his smile faltering as he looked down at his mug, and for the first time, you realized how fragile he could look.

You cleared your throat, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, yeah. Sure. We can do this again. Whatever.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze and hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered you were. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But when he smiled—radiant and genuine, like he’d just been handed the moon—you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your answer.

Neige had a way of looking at you that made your chest tighten, like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. It wasn’t the kind of look you were used to—there was no judgment in it, no wariness or fear. Just pure, unfiltered awe, like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

And it scared the hell out of you.

You weren’t blind. You’d seen the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention—the soft smiles he tried to hide behind his coffee mug, the way his face lit up when you walked into class, even on days you were late. It was written all over him: Neige was smitten.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same. How could you not? He was… everything. Kind, warm, patient in a way that didn’t feel forced or performative. He saw the best in people, even you.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neige was sunshine, pure and untouchable, and you… well, you were the storm cloud everyone avoided. People whispered when you walked by, flinched when you spoke too sharply, or straight-up bolted if you so much as scowled. You were used to it. Hell, you encouraged it. It kept people at arm’s length, where they couldn’t get close enough to disappoint you.

But Neige had never been afraid of you. He talked to you like you were normal, smiled at you like you were someone worth knowing. And now, every time you caught him staring, every time his voice softened when he said your name, you could feel the weight of his feelings pressing down on you.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him. But you knew yourself, and you knew your reputation. People like you didn’t get to keep people like Neige. He’d see the cracks eventually—the temper, the flaws, the parts of you that didn’t match the person he thought you were.

So you let him look. You let him smile. And you let yourself pretend, just for a little while longer, that none of it meant anything.

It was better this way, you told yourself. Better to let him think you were clueless than to risk ruining what you had.

But then he’d smile at you—bright and genuine, like you were the only person in the world—and for a moment, just a moment, you wondered if maybe you were wrong.

The shift in campus perception was honestly more amusing than anything. People used to scatter like birds at the sound of your motorcycle engine; now, they smiled at you nervously, whispered in tones laced with intrigue rather than fear.

You had Neige to thank for that—his perpetual sunshine seemed to have melted the icy rumors that clung to you like a second skin.

Not that you cared. Let them think you were some misunderstood rebel who just needed the "right person" to bring out your hidden soft side. Whatever. As long as no one tried to cross your boundaries, they could make up whatever fairy tale they wanted.

You were mid-thought, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets, when someone bumped into you. Instinctively, you reached out, steadying them before they could stumble.

"Ah, thank you!" they said, looking up at you with wide, shy eyes, a faint blush coloring their cheeks.

And then they smiled.

That was new. Usually, people avoided eye contact like their lives depended on it, let alone smiled at you. You stood there, blinking, thrown off by the sheer normalcy of the interaction.

It was in this moment of confusion that you noticed Neige in the distance, his usual radiant expression frozen mid-bloom. He was staring, though his smile quickly returned—but something about it was... sharper. Too sweet, like honey laced with arsenic.

Before you could process it, Neige was suddenly beside you, his sugary demeanor dialed up to eleven.

"Ah, pardon me," he said with a voice so warm it could melt glaciers. He turned to the person you'd caught, his hand gently pulling theirs from your grasp. "Thank you for keeping them company, but we'll be on our way now!"

The stranger opened their mouth to protest but quickly thought better of it under Neige’s disarmingly sweet gaze.

Without missing a beat, Neige hooked his arm around yours and steered you away, his grip firm, yet not tight enough to hurt.

"Coffee?" he asked brightly, as if nothing had happened.

You at him, raising a brow. "You good?"

His smile didn’t falter, though his hold on your arm didn’t either. "Of course! I just thought we’d get a head start before it gets crowded."

You weren’t buying it. His cheerful tone was laced with something you couldn’t quite place—possessiveness? Jealousy?

Whatever it was, it made your heart skip in a way you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

The weight of Neige's silence sat heavy between you as you parked your bike and pulled him gently to a quieter corner of campus, away from prying eyes and ears. His hand was still gripping your arm like a lifeline, but he avoided your gaze like he thought it might shatter him.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked firmly, voice softer than you thought yourself capable of. “Just spit it out, Neige. What happened?”

He shook his head, his hair falling slightly into his eyes, still refusing to meet your gaze. Frustration bubbled up, but it wasn’t directed at him—it was at the tears threatening to spill over in his red-rimmed eyes.

You sighed, stepping closer, and placed your hands on his face, tilting it up so he couldn’t avoid you anymore. “Look at me,” you urged, voice gentler now. “Neige, tell me what’s wrong. Who hurt you?”

The dam broke. Tears welled up and fell freely, and he didn’t say a word before throwing his arms around you, burying his face in your chest. His grip was tight, desperate, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, shielding him from whatever invisible storm he was weathering.

“Neige,” you murmured, your voice soft yet insistent as you ran a hand over his hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, alright?”

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, his body trembling against yours as he clung to you. Slowly, his breaths evened out, and the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

When you finally pulled back enough to look at him, his eyes were still glassy, his cheeks flushed from both the crying and how close you were holding him. You wiped his tears away with your thumbs, your touch careful, your voice low. “Tell me what happened.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching your face like he was committing it to memory. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. His lips were soft, desperate, and warm against yours, and for a split second, you froze, completely blindsided. But then everything you’d been holding back—every stolen glance, every lingering moment, every unspoken word—burst out of you all at once. You grabbed his jacket, pulling him closer, kissing him harder, pouring all the feelings you’d been too scared to admit into that single moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, lips swollen and faces flushed. Neige’s wide eyes met yours, his voice trembling as he finally spoke.

“I-I thought I was losing you,” he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve liked you since the day I said hello to you, and I thought—when I saw you with someone else—that maybe I wasn’t as special to you as you were to me. And it hurt. It hurt so much.”

Your heart clenched as you cupped his face again, your thumb brushing gently along his cheek. “Neige, you’re the most special person in my life. I’ve liked you too, but I held myself back because of your reputation. I didn’t want to ruin how everyone sees you.”

His brow furrowed, and for the first time since you’d known him, Neige looked genuinely upset—though it was more at your reasoning than at you. He raised a hand and gave you a weak punch to the shoulder, his pout oddly adorable. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me,” he muttered, his cheeks still red.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, pulling him close again. “Okay, okay. That’s fair. Then let me ask you this: Neige, will you be mine?”

The tears welled up again, but this time, they were accompanied by a bright, teary-eyed laugh. “Yes,” he said, his voice cracking as he buried his face into your neck, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go. “Of course, yes.”

The campus was abuzz the moment you and Neige stepped onto the quad together, hand in hand. Conversations hushed, heads turned, and phones subtly (or not-so-subtly) appeared to capture the moment.

There you were, the campus’s local delinquent, the untouchable cryptid who never gave anyone the time of day, walking side by side with Neige LeBlanche, the golden boy who could charm the birds out of the trees.

But what really sent the gossip mongers into a frenzy was how soft you looked. Gone was the usual detached scowl, replaced by a faint flush on your cheeks, your usual sharp demeanor melted into something almost bashful.

And Neige? Oh, he was radiant as ever, but there was an unmistakable air of triumph in the way he held your hand—a sweet, subtle smugness in his satisfied smile as he glanced at you, completely wrapped up in your presence.

The whispers grew louder with every step:

“Is that…?”

“Are they holding hands?!”

“No way. Them?!”

“Neige really bagged them?”

“They really bagged Neige?”

But honestly, who cared? You sure didn’t. Not when Neige looked at you with that gentle, heart-stopping smile, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand as if to remind you he was there.

The rumors, the stares, the whispers—they all faded into white noise. None of it mattered when you had that smile aimed at you, lighting up every corner of your world and making you fall for him all over again with each passing second.

Masterlist

[gnocchibabie]

Desire and Blood (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC(Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 4.9k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

Notes: You can find the rest of the chapters on my masterlist!

If you like the first snippet of this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

Atop the cliffs that line Dragonstone, Jaenara Velaryon watches the tide crash against jagged rocks littered below. Crystal blue waters lap at the sandy shores and white wispy clouds pass by overhead. She thought it unfair that a picturesque day such as this be wasted on tragedy. Jaenara grips the ground beneath her, plush green grass filling her palm and tickling the skin. Gripping harder, she reveals the dirt underneath as grime is pushed underneath her fingernails. She is alone now, away from her mother and brothers. From her step-father and step-sisters. Away from all prying eyes and listening ears. Away from hushed whispers, the only sound that fills her ears are that of the breeze that whips around her and the ocean below. 

She is finally free to weep. 

Tears litter the ground she sits upon. Although she is alone she chokes back a cry, as if fearing that the winds would carry her sorrow back to the castle. Her tears muddle in the dirt below, and Jaenara recounts the events of the past fortnight.  

— — —

Sunlight spills into the Chamber of the Painted Table, where Rhaenyra and Daemon are positioned at the head. The war room had seen more activity this past week than it had in many years, Jaenara had thought. She and her twin brother, Jacaerys, had sat in on a few meetings with members of her mother’s council. The passing of King Viserys had left the realm in disarray, and while her eldest uncle had made no claim to the throne yet, Jaenara understood that time was not on their side. 

“The instruction of a mother can only do so much, especially for a boy as unruly as Aegon,” Rhaenyra had said to her council, “While Alicent may urge her son to heed the wishes of Viserys, Otto and his council are surely whispering ideas of betrayal and usurpation into my half-brothers ears.” 

“I will not wait to see if Aegon honors my rightful place on the throne. It is time to act.”

Her mother had said this before leaving for King’s Landing, much to the dismay of some of her council. The presence of Prince Daemon - no - King Consort Daemon, had helped to quell some of their anxieties, as well as Jaenara’s. Though she knew, better than most, that her mother was a force to be reckoned with even on her own. They had left Dragonstone on Syrax and Caraxes, a formidable warning to the Hightowers and anyone else who opposed Rhaenyra’s claim.

Jaenara’s desire to accompany her mother and step-father had fallen on deaf ears.

“Jace and I must ride with you,” she had urged her mother, “dragons are stronger together.” 

Rhaenyra smiled at that. “There is truth in what you say, sweet girl,” her mother ran a hand through her daughter’s thick black mane. So unlike her own white-bonde hair. “But this is a delicate time. We may yet be on the brink of war-

“All the more reason for us to come!” Jaenara pleaded.

“You, Jace, and Luke are needed here.” Rhaenyra had not raised her voice at her daughter, though her piercing violet eyes scolded her all the same. “Keep a watch over Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon,” Jaenara let out an over-exaggerated sigh at that, turning away from her mother. 

“As well as watch over Dragonstone, atop Aetherion, Arrax, and Vermax.” Her mother added.

The princess turned around at this. 

“We can only hope your uncle and his council of vipers will allow this transition of power to be peaceful. But I need you and your brothers to remain here, to ensure that no one dares to bring harm upon this castle.”

The prospect of riding her dragon alongside her brothers seemed to satiate the princess’ desires. That had been the end of it. 

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

A week had passed. A cloud of tension hung over Dragonstone that Jaenara could only escape by mounting Aetherion. She patrolled the surrounding waters, in search of any signs of a siege on their isolated stronghold. Her dragon, still young and only slightly larger than a warhorse, danced across the waves below the castle. His dark, purple wings almost dip into the sea, allowing Jaenara to taste the salt in the air and feel the mist spray across her face. She had not a drop of Velaryon blood in her, though she enjoyed the water all the same. 

I am no true Velaryon, Jaenara had thought to herself - a truth she would never speak aloud. But I may yet prove to be the blood of the dragon.

She reins Aetherion upwards, into the clouds above.

The princess is handing Aetherion over to the dragon masters when she finally learns of her mother and step-fathers arrival home. Her ears perk at the faint roars of Syrax and Caraxes in the dragon pit, surely feeding by now. Without another word, Jaenara turns on her heel, and sprints into the castle. 

“Your mother requests your presence in the war room!” A servant had shouted after her. 

Still in her riding leathers, she makes a sharp turn down the hall leading to the room and stumbles into her twin. “Jace-” Jaenara catches her breath, “Mother and Daemon are home! You must come with m-”

“I know.” Her brother responds shortly. 

A pause.

“You have already met with them?” she asks.

Jaenara studies her brother and notices he will not meet her eyes. Her gaze drops to his fists, white knuckled at his side. “Go speak with her. We can talk afterwards.”

And before his twin has the chance to respond, Jacaerys is gone. 

A sickly feeling settles in the young princess’ stomach as she faces the large doors of Dragonstone’s council room. She decided that there was no point in stalling whatever awaited her on the other side. Jaenara pulls open the doors and steps inside. 

Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon turn towards the young woman, and Jaenara feels even more unease spread through her. The feeling nearly subsides when she looks upon her mother.

“Nara,” Rhaenyra sounds as though she has not seen her daughter in years rather than days. Arms outstretched towards her daughter, Jaenara breaches the distance between them and embraces her mother. “Sweet girl” Rhaenyra breathes.

“Mother,” Jaenara exhales and realizes just how much she had missed her. 

A moment passes before Jaenara finally pulls away. She eyes Daemon, and notes an unreadable expression etched upon her stepfather's face.

“Well,” Jaenara breathes, “I would venture to guess things went well?” she jokes.

Daemon turns away from mother and daughter and walks towards the large windows, looking out to the sea. 

Rhaenyra looks upon her only daughter. The blood of her blood. Her long black hair spills over her shoulders. Her black and crimson riding leathers, crested with the symbol of House Targaryen, grips her form. She meets her daughter's lavender eyes. The rest of her daughter’s physical image, so unlike her. But not her eyes. Lighter than her own, but still undoubtedly Targaryen. 

A deep breath from her mother. Daemon remains silent at the window. 

“An agreement has been reached. I will take my rightful place on the Iron Throne, just as your grandsire intended. Alicent Hightower, members of the council, and even some lords throughout the Seven Kingdoms rallied to my cause - vouched for my legitimacy as heir. Your uncle, Aegon, seems surprisingly content with this arrangement. His mother tells me he has no true interest in ruling. He only wishes to retain his status so that he may live his life in his own…selfish ways.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “We have the gods to thank for allowing reason to prevail so that the realm may be spared from being plunged into needless war. There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, and no war so bloody as a war between dragons…” Her mother trails off but finds her voice once again. “But there are terms to this peace - I have agreed that your uncle has a seat on my council.”

Jaenara looks between her mother and step-father incredulously. A scoff breaks from her throat. “That’s it? Well this is good news!” she exclaims, “And Jace, he should remain your hei-”

“Tell her the rest of it.” Daemon turns from his place at the window, finally facing his wife and step-daughter. 

The princess looks to her Queen, eyebrows raised.

“Mother?” Jaenara looks to her mother and sees a woman haunted. 

“You are to marry Aemond Targaryen, and you will preside over Dragonstone together.”

Silence fills the room.

“Surely you jest, mother.” Jaenara bites out. Her voice is as cold and hollow as the room now feels.

“Your mother is not so cruel as to make a joke out of this.” Daemon says to his stepdaughter. The princess of Dragonstone stares at her parents. Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. A position they have paid for with her hand. Her hand.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra turns to her husband, “A moment alone with my daughter.” It is not a question but a command. He steps away from his place at the window and begins to leave the Chamber of the Painted Table. Daemon reaches his step-daughter and places a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes it. Leaves.

The door shuts and Rhaenyra moves towards her daughter, but not before Jaenara draws back.

“All my life,” she gasps, “All my life, you have told me you only wish that I may marry as I please. That I should not be in the position you found yourself in as a young girl. That I should not be some token of peace - some possession to be given away! You have allowed me to remain free in this position, even now at eight and ten!” Her hand finds her neck, as though she might start to choke. 

“And now…now you - you give me away to him. To that - that man. Who tormented me throughout our childhood together. Tormented Jace and Luke! Surely it will be a loveless marriage.” She looks the Queen in her violet eyes. Eyes that mirror her own. “But anything for your throne, right?” She spits out. 

Rhaenyra’s face falls at that. At a time such as this, she is reminded of herself in her youth and of her own mother. She remembers Aemma, her sweet mother, in her final days. Of when she had told young Rhaenyra that royal wombs as theirs are to serve the realm. Rhaenyra remembered the discomfort that had filled her, hearing her mother say this. And discomfort still surrounded her at the thought of her daughter following in her own footsteps. She remembered the gatherings of lords and their sons that had taken place in her teenage years. Auctions for her hand. Power hungry men only wishing to share her bed for a glimpse at the throne. 

There was the evident truth. She had given away her daughter, in exchange for the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra had condemned her only daughter to the same fate she had suffered.

Jaenara immediately regretted the vitriol she had spouted at her mother. Her mother, who faced hostility and disdain all her life - from even those who were supposed to be her friends. Her family. Deep down, Jaenara understood what was necessary to avoid all-out war. She had told herself she would do whatever she would need to, to secure her mother’s crown and to preserve House Targaryen. But it was not supposed to be like this.

As a dragon-rider, she was supposed to forge the path to the Iron Throne through Aetherion. Alongside her brothers. Her step-father and step-sisters. Her grandmother, Rhaenys.

Not through a marriage pact. 

Rhaenyra gathers her thoughts and speaks, “My love…this is not a decision I made lightly. You see now why our visit to King’s Landing lasted so long. The negotiations were a labyrinth to be navigated. I know this is not fair to you, but we inhabit a world that is unfair to women. A world that deals in our lives and in our misfortune. A world built by men, for men. But when I sit the throne…I will build a new world. I will forge a new path. One that your grandchildren may be happy to live in.” 

Jaenara physically recoils at the thought. The Queen continues, “Though for now…we do what we must.” She takes her daughters hands in hers, “There are whispers about my ability to rule. There have always been, though now they are more present than ever. But you-” Her voice wavers and her grip tightens, “You have the opportunity to help me in ending the question of my capabilities. You can unite our house - we would all be the better for it. You will do the realm a great service in avoiding a war of fire and blood.” The mother finishes, squeezing her daughter’s hands again.

Jaenara breathes, low and steady. “Mayhaps I would rather see the realm put to the torch than marry a man such as him.”

“You do not mean that, daughter.” Rhaenyra is quick and stern in her reply. Now, her words burn Jaenara as well as her eyes. Jaenara does not shrink back, though she does not mean what she says. Not really. They are empty words, born from the heat of the present moment. It is not her mother she is angry with. The princess of Dragonstone is angry with the world, that it was made only in the interest of men. Angry with the gods, for making her a woman. Angry with herself. Angry at her now betrothed, for being who he was - for hating her so.

“I do not.” Jaenara finally replies. “But mother, he will not have me! Just as I will not have him!” Aemond Targaryen knew what Jaenara Velaryon was.

Memories of hurtful epithets from her youth—bastard, his Strong niece, the daughter of a whore—echoed in her mind, whispered by Aemond and Aegon alike, haunting her even now

All phrases that had been hurled her way in the days of their youth from him and Aegon alike. Words that followed her and her brothers throughout the corridors of the Red Keep. Words that coaxed tears out of the eyes of little Jaenara in the darkness of her bed chambers, where no one may see them. 

Aemond would not settle for someone he viewed as inadequate as his niece, and Jaenara would not stoop so low as to marry someone as detestable as her uncle. 

It would be a relationship doomed from the start.

Her mother’s words surprise her. “Aemond has agreed to the union.” Rhaenyra reasons with her daughter, “Alicent is very persuasive in her ways. She knows you to be good natured-”

The remarks earned a bitter laugh from Jaenara.

“-And not unlike him! You have both changed since the days of your youth. You are more alike than you may think.” Rhaenyra continues, “You would not be far from me daughter. Not far from the protection of myself and Daemon. As well as Jace. You would remain at the Red Keep for a time - before and after my coronation and your wedding - and leave for Dragonstone when you are ready.”

“He is vile. He despises me. And you.” Jaenara tells her mother.

“And yet my time at King’s Landing revealed a different side of my half-brother. He was not pleased with this proposal - though he took it much better than you have, Nara.” Rhaenyra reveals. A certain glint shines in her daughter’s eyes upon hearing this revelation, though it leaves as quickly as it had appeared. “Taking his hand will keep you close to me. You will both hold significant positions of power. You need not worry about being shipped off to the Riverlands, or gods forbid - the North - to marry a lord you barely care for-”

“I do not care for Aemond.” Jaenara interrupts.

“I would rather you take the hand of the devil we know rather than a devil we do not.” Rhaenyra remarks.

Jaenara left her mothers grasp and looked around the room before her. The room, which now belonged to her. And Aemond she thought bitterly. She had come to find profound comfort within the walls of Dragonstone. Some would call the castle dark and unwelcoming, though she knew its warmth came from the people within. Its merriment came from her time overhead, in the skies. But now, Aemond meant to ruin her home. Is nothing sacred? The princess wondered. In this moment, her thoughts felt so numerous that they may yet crack open her skull. Her emotions were so varying, she felt as though her heart would erupt from her chest.

Rhaenyra waits for her daughter to face her, and to finally give in to the Crown’s wishes. Instead, Jaenara lets out a noise akin to a wail and rushes out the door.

And Rhaenyra is alone.

— — —

Jaenara Velaryon’s tears finally stop and she feels as though she can finally catch her breath. She recalls the circumstances of the morning over and over, as if it were all just a bad dream she would soon wake up from. Wind whips her dark hair into her face. Salt kisses her lips. Salt from the air and from her teardrops mingle together.

A dragon does not weep.

“Dragons do not weep!” She echoes the words aloud, as if speaking them into existence will make it any more true. The words are carried away by the breeze and escape her.

“Everyone cries, child.” 

Nara does not turn around. She doesn't want her mother to see her cry, as though she were a child reprimanded. Rhaenyra settles into the grass next to her daughter and takes her into her arms. Jaenara feels as though a coldness inside her melts from the warm embrace of her mother, and she allows herself to cry. She was still her mother’s child.

“I am sorry, my girl. My Nara.” Rhaenyra wipes her daughter’s tears away as her own begins to pool in her eyes. 

Huddled in the warmth of her mother, Jaenara feels the anguish of her mother and sees the sorrow in her tears. How cruel it is, she thinks, that a mother could not save daughter from the same fate she once suffered — despite sitting on the most powerful seat in The Realm.

The princess understands sorrow to be a condition of life. A condition of womanhood, especially. But did sorrow have to become a hallmark of her life — for the rest of her life? Jaenara takes a shaky breath. She was a princess, a reality she had enjoyed as a luxury until now, when the weight of duty descended upon her. Marriage, a princess’s duty—she resolved it would not become her undoing, nor the source of her sorrow. Her duty is for The Realm. For her family.

In a moment of clarity, Jaenara understood the folly of her tears..

She sits there another moment, in her mother’s arms. She begins to picture Aemond Targaryen. His one eye, staring back at her with intensity. His sleek, white hair. The curl of his lip. Jaenara knew she could never come to love the man, and would never be able to love her. Duty, Jaenara thinks, is the death of love. 

The princess finally rises up to look at her mother. Sorrow has been replaced with resoluteness.

Rhaenyra had always seen echoes of her past lover, Ser Harwin Strong, in her daughter’s features and had cherished her for it. But now, watching Jaenara, she sensed a dragon’s fire within her.

“I will do it mother.” Jaenara begins, “I will do my duty, I will serve my kingdom and you as its Queen - I will wed Aemond Targaryen.”

— — —

The One Eyed Prince rises from a dreamless sleep. He remains in bed for a moment, his eye adjusting to the early morning light that had begun to creep into his bed chamber. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if today will finally be the day that an agreement would be reached. 

His half-sister and the Rogue Prince had descended upon King’s Landing on dragonback days ago. He regarded the gold and scarlet dragons with little interest. No matter, he had thought, mine is bigger. 

During their lengthy stay, Aemond observed the frenzy that had been set upon the Red Keep. A frenzy that had started after his father’s passing and had only grown. He had sat in on a few meetings between Rhaenyra, his mother, grandsire, and members of the former king’s small council. Some meetings he and Aegon had been privy to - some they were not. His elder brother did not seem at all perturbed by the prospect of his possible throne being wrenched out from under him. He understood Viserys had no intention of leaving him with the crown. And Aemond had thought that the realm was the better for it. 

Aemond and his mother had witnessed first-hand the kind of man Aegon had grown up to be. His sweet sister, Helaena, knew better than the both of them combined. It seemed the only person who wanted Aegon to sit the Iron Throne was their grandsire Otto - though he did not seek this out of the belief that his grandson could unite the realm. He only sought after a new puppet, one he could pull the strings of whichever way he pleased. 

Alicent and Rhaenyra had grown closer in the past few months before the King’s passing. Letters carried by ravens were exchanged, and now the two women almost seemed like the close childhood companions the court had once known them to be. Almost. It was still uncertain if time could truly heal all wounds.

Aemond thought his mother naive. Easily bent to the will of his half-sister. A phantom pain settles in the socket of his eye.

It was no matter now. As a second born son, Aemond had nothing to gain either way. If the gods were fair, he would have been born the eldest. And his weak, malleable father would have named him heir, rather than Rhaenyra. It was no matter now. Dwelling on fleeting possibilities would do him no good. 

Aemond is securing his leather patch over his sapphire eye when there is a rap at his door. Alicent Hightower stands before him. Dark circles sit below her eyes and loose, red curls frame her fair face. The negotiations between his half-sister and his mother’s family were taking their toll. “Your presence is needed in the council chamber. Rhaenyra and Daemon will be there, as well as Aegon and members of the small council.” She tells her son. 

“And so we finally relinquish our power,” Aemond breathes, “under what conditions?”

Alicent’s eyes drop from her son’s and she walks away without another word. 

His mother had always been a distant shroud. As a child she was wordless when he craved encouragement. Out of reach when he yearned for a motherly embrace. He tried not to blame her for this. He heard the stories that circulated the castle - of a girl who grew up without a mother of her own, forced to bring forth babes when she was not much older than one herself. 

So, he was used to her aloof nature. Though her lack of explanation at a time such as this did unnerve the prince. 

Aemond enters the council chamber where everyone else has already gathered. 

“The man of the hour!” Aegon bellows. 

Aemond regards his brother and wonders what has lifted his spirits at such an hour. Aegon delights in the misery of others, and in remembering this, Aemond feels unease.

“Aegon, enough.” Alicent is stern in her words, “Aemond, please sit.”

Prince Aemond sits opposite his half-sister Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon. Rhaenyra’s eyes rake over him, and he meets her neutral gaze with his cold one. Daemon lets out a wry chuckle at the wordless exchange. Ser Criston Cole, positioned at a corner of the chamber, stands stock still.

Alicent clears her throat and begins, “This council has come to a consensus,” Aemond looks to his mother.

“Rhaenyra…will be made to sit the Iron Throne, as King Viserys intended.” she shoots a sour look over to Otto Hightower, who sat on the far side of Aemond. Dismayed grunts and whispers circulate the chamber. “Aegon is to serve on Rhaenyra’s council. Jacaerys and Baela Velaryon are to stay here in King’s Landing. As heir, he will attend council with his mother and will make a place here.”

Aegon shifts in his seat and stares at a corner of the room, obviously bored. As if he had heard this to him recounted numerous times by now. 

“The more the merrier.” he says in a voice so low, Aemond wonders if anyone else had heard him. Aemond then wonders how his brother can be so content with relinquishing rule over the Seven Kingdoms to their sister. He hears Rhaenyra draw in a breath and his cold gaze finds hers once more.

“Aemond. We find ourselves in unprecedented times. One of the last things our father wished was for the infighting amongst his family to cease. We cannot expect the realm to watch as sister fights against brother.” She pauses and Aemond senses the hesitancy in her words. Alicent picks at the flesh around her fingernails. Rhaenyra continues.

“I only wish to unite our families and ensure that everyone has a place amidst my rule. Amongst my court. To do this…your mother sees it best to…” Aemond wishes she would just spit out her decree and be done with it. 

“I wish to wed you and my daughter, Jaenara Velaryon.”

Now that gives Aemond pause. 

Aemond had seen his niece a short time ago, when she and her family had come to King’s Landing to defend her bastard brother’s claim to the Driftmark throne. He had eyed her as Vaemond Velaryon was cut down by Daemon, intrigued by her unwavering gaze despite the horrific scene. He watched her at dinner that night, finding a smile gracing her face at times. He noted the joy she took in watching Jacaerys dance with Helaena. He felt her burn holes into him as he toasted to Jaenara and her brothers. His Strong niece and nephews, he had said. 

She despised him. And he gave her many reasons to. He did not have time to recount the enumerable times he had tormented her and her brothers during their childhood together at the Red Keep. A torment that was dealt back to him by the hands of his nephews.

Though Aemond could not deny, he held some sort of strange admiration for his niece. 

His half-sister's voice returns the prince from his thoughts. “Aemond?”

Aegon does little to suppress his glee. “What do you say, brother?” He laughs and gives him a rough slap on the back. “Will you have your bastard bride?”

Daemon Targaryen slaps a hand down on the table. “Daemon.” Rhaenyra stops her husband before he can speak or act. Aegon quiets once more, though a smug smile settles on his face.

Despite the truth in his brother’s words, Aemond takes offense to them. He found himself feeling that way more often lately, when the slights towards his niece had not been dealt by him. His thoughts return to the situation at hand. 

Aemond understands the position that he is in. This is not a request. It is a command by his new Queen. And by his mother. He considers that this may yet be a fortunate outcome for him. As the second-born brother, he has a small hope of ever sitting the throne. He had dreaded the day his mother would finally pass his hand onto the daughter of a lord that the Targaryens and Hightowers only wish to form political alliances with. Is that the only purpose children served? We are the bartering chips of our parents, he had thought bitterly. But with his niece - with Jaenara - Aemond would rule over the ancestral home of House Targaryen, and that seemed a better lot in life to have. They would retain their status. It could prove to be a comfortable position. But Aemond wondered if this is how low his family truly thought of him - to marry him off to a bastard. A so-called pure-blooded descendant of Old Valyria with hair as dark as the night. 

It was no matter now.

As Aemond considers the future that has been thrust upon him, a new thought crosses his mind. The line of succession.

Jacaerys is her heir.

And if something were to happen to his betrothed’s twin brother before he were to have an heir himself? If The Stranger were to come for the eldest male heir of the crown? Well, then Jaenara would be next in line. The realm had already accepted Rhaenyra as their ruler - surely they could come to accept another woman.

Jaenara Velaryon - or Targaryen - Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. And her King Consort:

Aemond Targaryen. 

It was hard to suppress the wry smile that began to tug on the prince’s lips. Aemond may yet use the cards he had been dealt to his own advantage. He could feel the cold steel of the Iron Throne beneath his fingers - power he may yet reach through his niece. He sat there another moment, as if still mulling over his options.

A sigh escapes him as Aemond once again meets the violet eyes of his half-sister. 

“As you wish, your Grace.” The One Eyed Prince bites. 

[ange1heavensent]

College!Ellie Brings You to Joel’s Farmhouse in Texas for the Summer -Headcannons

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Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

w/c ≈ 1140

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☆Ellie is nervous but excited as she drives you down long country roads to Joel’s farmhouse in Texas. She’s been looking forward to this trip for weeks, wanting to show you the place she spent so much of her life and, more importantly, introduce you to Joel. It's a huge deal for her to bring you home. The nervousness is written all over her face, though she tries to play it cool.

☆The reality of farm life hits quickly. On your first day, Joel hands you a pair of gloves and gives you a rundown of tasks you’ll be helping with: feeding the animals, harvesting vegetables from the garden, and assisting him with odd jobs around the house. You weren’t expecting a summer of manual labor, but the way Ellie grins at you makes it worth it. Ellie, of course, helps out too but is more inclined to sneak off with you whenever she can, convincing Joel that she's “just showing you around.”

☆The next day, Joel takes you into town to get a pair of proper cowboy boots. He raises his eyebrows at your low-top Doc Martens, chuckling softly. "Those ain’t gonna last long out here," he says with a knowing grin. You spend the afternoon at a local store, where Joel helps you pick out a sturdy, well-worn pair of boots that actually fit in with the work on a farm. Ellie watches from the side with a smirk, making jokes about how you’re becoming "one of them."

☆When Joel sees Ellie’s new eyebrow piercing for the first time, his reaction is immediate. He narrows his eyes at her, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. "What the hell is that?" he asks, though you can tell he's not really angry, just playfully irritated. Ellie grins at him, shrugging nonchalantly. "Got it like a month ago, looks good right" she says, like it’s no big deal. Joel rolls his eyes but doesn’t say much more. You catch him later, glancing at Ellie’s piercing with a small, hidden smile, though he’ll never admit he secretly thinks it suits her.

☆Ellie insists on being the one to drive you everywhere in Joel’s beat-up truck. The truck is ancient, with worn leather seats that creak, an air freshener that smells like a mix of pine and motor oil, and a radio that only catches country stations. Ellie loves it though, she drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh as you cruise down dirt roads, dust swirling behind you. You watch her in admiration as she taps her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.

☆Ellie starts laying her Texas charm on thick, especially when you’re alone. She exaggerates her accent, drawing out each “sugar” and “darlin’” with that slow, playful drawl just to watch you blush. She finds it endlessly amusing to tease you like this, especially when she calls you pet names in front of others, making you smile and roll your eyes in mock annoyance.

☆It’s underneath the vast Texas sky you and Ellie go to unwind each night. After long days of work, you and Ellie find yourselves lying out in the open fields, fingers intertwined as you gaze up at the stars. Ellie points out constellations with precision, her voice soft yet filled with excitement as she names each one. She talks about the myths behind the stars, of distant galaxies, and other wonders of the universe, drawing you in with every word. You listen in awe, occasionally sharing a quiet joke or stealing a kiss, your laughter mingling with the peaceful sounds of the countryside.

☆On the Fourth of July, you drive into the nearby city with Ellie, Joel, and Tess. The smell of fair food wafts through the air as fireworks begin to crackle above you. Ellie pulls you closer with every explosion, her arm wrapped around your waist as the sky lights up in bursts of red, white, and blue. It’s a rare, peaceful moment with everyone together, the sounds of laughter and celebration mixing with the warm night air. You catch Joel watching the two of you with a soft smile, seeing just how happy Ellie is.

☆Despite her usual boldness, Ellie becomes more reserved with public displays of affection around Joel. It’s not that she thinks Joel would disapprove - he’s always been supportive - but there’s something about showing that kind of vulnerability in front of him that makes her feel awkward. Instead, she sneaks in small gestures, a hand on your back, a quick kiss when she thinks no one is looking. Keeping most of her affection behind closed doors.

☆After a long day on the farm, you and Ellie find yourselves sneaking off to the barn for some privacy. The air is warm, hay beneath your feet, and the soft glow of moonlight filters through the gaps in the barn’s wooden boards. You’re mid-makeout when the barn door creaks open. Suddenly, Joel steps inside, immediately freezing in place when he sees the two of you. He clears his throat awkwardly, looking everywhere but at you two, before mumbling, "I'll uh... be outside," and quickly backing out. You and Ellie stare at each other, wide-eyed, before bursting into quiet laughter, trying to recover from the embarrassing moment. Ellie teases you about how you've officially broken Joel's ability to look her in the eye for the rest of the trip.

☆Mornings are spent in the garden with Tess or Joel, picking vegetables or watering plants. The work is slower and more peaceful than dealing with the animals, and you enjoy the chance to learn from Tess, who teaches you little tricks about gardening that Ellie never seemed to care about. Ellie lounges nearby, watching you work, occasionally offering to help but mostly just admiring you from afar with a lazy grin on her face.

☆While farm life involves hard work, it doesn’t take long for Ellie to find you more often than not cuddled up with the sheep instead of actually doing your chores. You’ll disappear for hours, only to be found in the barn snuggled up to a particularly friendly sheep. Ellie teases you about it, but secretly, she loves how gentle and soft you are, how even the animals seem drawn to your warmth.

☆It turns out Ellie has a ridiculous fear of the hens on the farm. One morning while feeding them, you watch in disbelief as she freaks out, practically running away from the clucking birds as they flap their wings at her. You laugh so hard you can’t stand, holding your stomach as tears stream down your face. Ellie glares at you, but the corner of her lips twitches up, seeing how happy you are here.

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Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

[jakeyispuppy]

INCUBUS | PARK SUNGHOON

🔗Pairing: Sunghoon, Sex Demon! x Female Reader, Stalked Girl!

🔗Genre: Smut.

🔗Warnings: Oral sex, vulgar language, incubus, sex against the wall, mention of witchcraft.

🔗Words: 1K.

🔗Description: The reader decides to move out on her own, but strange things start happening in that small apartment that seemed so peaceful to her.

After a long time, you'd made the decision to live alone. What did it matter? You thought, you were an adult now and should make your own decisions.

You found a small but cozy apartment in a quiet area of ​​Seoul. You were surprised by how no one had bought it in years, yet it still maintained its picturesque state, with both its interior and exterior in perfect condition. So you asked yourself, why not buy it?

That's how you ended up in that apartment, unpacking your belongings and decorating it to your liking.

Everything was perfect; you were happy in your new place and loved how cozy it was; it almost felt like home. Or that was until the nightly dreams began. They weren't nightmares, they weren't dreams; it was as if you were trapped between your conscious and subconscious.

You thought it would be a one-night stand, and the tiredness would leave your body as you tried to sleep better. But a month had passed, and you still felt as if something or someone was draining your life energy.

The dream was clear. Every night, a boy with an athletic build and a chilling smile, his face blurred, buried himself between your sheets. It always started the same way: he touched your body, your breasts, left marks on your neck, and touched your vagina with desire, shoving his hand inside your panties to caress you until you came. You'd think it was just a dream if it weren't for the marks on your body and the fact that your panties had been stained with your fluids the next day.

You'd reached the point where you felt you needed to discover the cause of those dreams and your tiredness. So you investigated, discovering that it might be an incubus. They fed on the sexual energy of their victims until they consumed and killed them.

Upon reading that, you couldn't help but feel afraid that your life would be affected by a creature like that. So you took the initiative to contact him. It would soon be Halloween, so the spiritual energy was much more powerful.

In the middle of the night, with the lights off, you took five candles, forming them into a star with you in the middle. You whispered a few words in Latin, trying to cast a spell that would catch the incubus's attention. Perhaps a few minutes or two passed before the candles went out, your only source of light being the city's spotlights. You turned around, seeing a shadow begin to take the form of a person until it became a handsome boy who stared at you intensely, arms crossed. You should have been scared, but you only felt intimidated by his black irises that scanned you intensely. You had seen him in dreams, but never his face, and he was much more handsome than you imagined.

"What do you want?" he said reluctantly, crossing his arms. His tone was cold and husky, causing you an inexplicable feeling.

"Mm... Well, I... The thing is..." You stammered, unable to say a word in the face of the boy's intimidating yet seductive appearance.

"Wow, you're so interesting when you're awake," you heard him say in a sarcastic tone. "You don't even know you're stupid." You looked at him in surprise when he smiled slyly. He was making fun of you, and you knew it.

"What did you say?" you asked, very offended by his words. "For your information, I'm not stupid. I just want you to leave here and let me sleep in peace," you told him, feeling brave in front of him.

"What are you saying? You're the odd one out here." You saw him roll his eyes and approach you. "I'm sorry, honey, but your sexual energy is too attractive for me. Why not come and drain you until you die?" His piercing gaze and arrogant smile only showed that he was amused by this situation.

You stood up, exhilarated by his confession, leaving the circle of candles.

"You." You paused and approached him. "How can you say something like that so calmly, you're killing me, idiot," you yelled at him somewhat angrily.

He stood in front of you, pointing out the large height difference between you.

"Mmm... Maybe." You saw him smile and move the hair that fell on your neck to one side. "But maybe you already noticed, but I'm an incubus and no one is going to break our bond darling, now you bear my mark." His hand grazed your neck until it reached the beginning of your breasts."I like your tits, although I think they are better without being covered." He took the straps of your blouse and pulled it down until your breasts were exposed to him, since you weren't wearing a bra. He squeezed your nipples, drawing a surprised moan from you. "Very good baby, moan, that's like music to my ears. Now that we're" "Face to face, how about we have some fun?" His words were laced with sensuality and flirtation. You wanted to complain about what he'd said, but he got there first, pulling you into his body and kissing you intensely. Maybe you were crazy, but you felt like he was much better than in your dreams.

He pinned you against the wall, making you feel his erection against your stomach, getting you aroused by the knowledge of his desire for you. He finished removing your tank top along with your shorts and panties. Then he stepped back for a moment and removed his own clothes.

He began to trail kisses from your neck to your stomach, stopping when he reached your crotch. He placed a few kisses on the sides of your inner thighs, making you shudder until his skillful tongue found your clitoris, drawing circles on it, causing slight spasms that made you arch your back. He grabbed your left leg, gaining more access to your intimacy, managing to find your entrance with his tongue. With his free hand, he circled your clitoris while penetrating your hole with his tongue, drawing intense moans from between your lips, which were parted with pleasure. You grabbed the back of his neck, pushing him closer against you, wanting to take him all the way, moving your hips, grinding against him in search of your release. You watched him pull away from you with an amused smile as he licked his lips, glistening with your fluids.

"Hey, beautiful." He rose to your height, lowering your leg and kissing your lips, making you taste your own fluids mixed with his hot saliva. "Even an incubus like me needs to breathe. I know you want me to make you cum, but let me do it at my own pace."

You blushed, embarrassed, making him laugh. He took your leg again, wrapping it around his waist, then did the same with the other, pinning you against the wall. He took his large length in his other hand, beginning to stroke himself, becoming more erect than before as precum flowed from his hole, making you gasp. He ran his tip along your slit, drawing soft moans from you, your fluids mixing with his, bathing his penis in them, thus easily entering you.

He began to thrust into you quickly, gripping your ass tightly, making his thrusts deeper. You leaned against the wall, pressing your hands against his shoulders, digging your nails into them a little. He pounded so deliciously against you, turning you into a messy sea of ​​moans. You admitted this; it felt better than in your dreams; you felt like you would cum at any moment. Until it did, you climaxed, clenching around him, releasing yourself in his cock as you let out a loud moan. You watched him silence your moans in an intense kiss, and his thrusts became haphazard until he came inside you, staining your walls with his white semen. You didn't care if he was an incubus, draining you completely with someone who fucked as well as he did; you didn't care if you died at his hands.

©All rights reserved.

For translations or adaptations, please remember to ask my permission beforehand.

[candycandy00]

I Got a Goth Santa Boy for Christmas! - A Dabi x Reader Fanfic

You ask Santa for a hot goth guy to fuck you stupid. Dabi shows up at your door. 

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Dabi as Santa’s Helper. Spanking. Degradation. Humiliation. Squirting. Faint Praise. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

It’s Christmas Eve, a little before midnight, when you hear a knock at your door. You’d just settled in with a mug of hot cocoa and a blanket on the couch, ready to watch looping classic Christmas cartoons as you fall asleep. But before Santa can even begin bullying poor Rudolph, you get interrupted. 

Sighing as you peel the blanket off and sit down your mug, you wonder who could be knocking on your door at this hour. You went to a small Christmas party at a friend’s house earlier today, but if you’d left something there they would have just texted you, right?

The knocking is getting insistent as you reach the door. “Alright already!” you yell as you unfasten the lock and swing the door open. “Stop knocking so loud on Chris-“

Your voice dies in your throat, because what you find on the other side of the door is a very strange sight indeed.

It’s a man in a bizarre Santa suit. The parts that should be red are jet black, and the edges of the coat are frayed and stitched at odd angles. He’s wearing black gloves and boots, both a little too stylized and a little too shiny leather to fit the Santa look. His hair, what you can see of it beneath the black Santa hat, is snowy white and his eyes are bright blue. He has piercings dotting his face and ears, but what strikes you most of all are his scars. 

Rich purple burn scars cover the lower half of his face and form half circles under his eyes. They contrast beautifully with the blue, making his eyes seem to glow. 

He’s gorgeous. And he’s so very much your type that if a friend saw him out in public, they’d snap a photo of him and send it to you. 

You finally find your voice again. “Uh, can I help you?”

He looks at you with an almost bored expression. “Yeah, I heard a naughty little slut lives here. That you?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Excuse me?!”

“Oh? Did I get the wrong place again?” he asks, pulling an electronic tablet from his coat and tapping the screen to turn it on. He looks from the screen to your face, then holds the tablet out for you to see. “This is you, right?”

On the screen is a picture of you with your name and address beneath it. “That’s me,” you say, “but I’m not a slut!”

He pulls back the tablet and taps the screen a few times. “Really? We got this letter from you. ‘Dear Santa, send me a hot goth guy to fuck me stupid for Christmas!’ Didn’t you write that?”

Your face immediately burns with embarrassment. You did write that. As a joke. And you never showed it to anyone, much less mailed it. How the hell did this stranger get ahold of it?!

You cross your arms defensively. “Even if I did write that, as a joke, it doesn’t mean I’m a slut!”

He taps more on the tablet. “Maybe not, but Santa’s surveillance network is pretty good. We’ve got these videos of you playing with yourself every night.”

“WHAT?!”

Suddenly you hear sounds coming from the tablet, your own voice moaning and crying out in pleasure. The stranger grins, and you can see him using his fingers on the screen to zoom in on something. 

“Wow, look at you go! If this ain’t a horny little slut, I don’t know what is!”

You lunge forward, trying to grab the tablet, but he jerks it out of your reach, holding it up high. On the screen, you can see your own fingers rubbing your clit. “Turn it off!” you scream, absolutely mortified that this hot guy is seeing something so private. How did he get these videos?!

“Oh? Gettin’ worked up?” he asks, laughing as you continue trying to grab the device. 

“I’m not a slut,” you yell out, “I’m still a virgin!”

Both of you freeze. Did you just yell that out to a complete stranger? He’s staring at you, the video still playing, your cries reaching a crescendo as you cum on screen. His eyes flick back to the tablet. “Holy fuck. Never seen a virgin squirt like that!”

You feel tears stinging your eyes. You glare at him in silence for a moment, then step back into your apartment and slam the door in his face. 

“Hey, don’t be like that!” you hear him shout through the door. “I’m your present! You asked for me, right?”

“I didn’t ask to be humiliated!” you yell back. 

You hear him sigh. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? You’ve been good enough to get your wish granted, but Santa thinks you’re spending’ too much time flickin’ the bean. I’m supposed to punish you, but in a fun way, yeah?”

“What do you mean, in a fun way?”

His voice is sultry as it glides into your ear. “Let me in, and you’ll find out.”

You stand there facing the door, having a full on mental debate. Should you let him in? He’s an asshole, but he’s fucking gorgeous. You’ve been wanting to lose your virginity for a while now, and you have the hottest guy you’ve ever seen at your door, ready to do the deed. But how did he get your letter, and those videos? 

Oh shit. Santa Clause is real. And this guy works for him. 

Once you accept that, everything else starts to make sense. The guy seeming to be tailor made to fit your taste, him knowing all about you, the way he’s dressed. 

So he’s your present from Santa? 

You take a deep breath, then open the door. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the opposite wall in the hallway. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and gets to his feet. 

“I have a question,” you say, a little uneasily. You’re still grappling with the fact that this guy has watched you masturbate. 

He dusts off his black Santa suit. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Did they make you do this?”

He tilts his head and frowns. “They?”

“Whoever you work for. Santa or the elves or whatever.”

He bursts out laughing then. “No, doll, the elves ain’t whorin’ me out. I volunteered after they showed me those videos!”

You look up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Got me all riled up. And besides, those little fuckers can’t make me do anything,” he says, a smirk on his handsome face. 

That’s a relief to hear. You don’t want to do this with someone who’s here against their will. 

“So?” he asks, blue eyes gleaming. “You want your present or not?”

You step back inside your doorway and to the side, gesturing for him to come in. You can barely look at him as he walks into your apartment. You’ve fantasized about something like this for years, and you’re certainly horny enough, but now it’s actually happening. Just thinking about it makes you nervous. 

He doesn’t say anything as he follows you to your bedroom, but once there he glances at the bed and grins. “There’s a familiar spot!”

You grimace. “Please stop reminding me of that!”

“Why?” he asks, his eyes not so subtly sliding up and down your form. “You were hot as fuck in those videos.”

The comment makes you blush. Did he really like watching you? Still, you’d rather forget all about that. “Let’s just pretend that never happened, okay?”

He shrugs, standing near your bed. “Okay, so do you wanna unwrap your present now?”

Before you even answer, he’s opening up his furry black Santa coat, revealing no shirt underneath. Oh god, the scars are all over his body, making such a lurid patchwork. You can’t take your eyes off them. 

He sits down on your bed and pats his thigh. “Come sit on Santa’s lap,” he says. 

You cross over to him, your candy cane striped socks making no noise at all on the carpeted floor. You’re wearing a red tank top and green pajama shorts. Nothing fancy or sexy but it’s not like you expected any of this to happen. 

When you get close enough, he suddenly grabs your hand and pulls you over, so that you’re laying across his lap, face down. Your ass is slightly raised in the air, and you squirm a bit in surprise. 

“H-hey!” you shout, trying to wiggle off him, but one of his hands is gripping your thighs while the other is holding your back down. 

“I gotta punish this naughty little slut before we have fun,” he says as the hand on your thighs slides up, over your ass, and then hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and panties. In one smooth motion he pulls them both down, exposing your ass and leaving the fabric around your knees. 

You squirm around in his lap, making a show of struggling, but the truth is that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. He raises one hand in the air, then brings it back down in a harsh slap to your ass that makes you yelp. 

“How many do you think you deserve?” he asks, then brings down his hand again. 

You’re trying to keep from moaning, clamping one hand over your mouth, hoping he doesn’t notice how wet you are. 

Another slap. “Come on, answer the question!”

You move your hand from your mouth. “Ahh, I don’t… know!”

He laughs. “Well, tell me how naughty you’ve been and we’ll figure it out.”

Another slap. “I’ve been… very naughty!” you squeak out. 

“I can see that,” he says as his fingers slide down, between your legs. “What naughty things have you been doing?”

“Y-you already know!” you cry out, your voice shuddering as his fingers probe your wet folds. 

“Yeah, but you gotta say it, doll.”

His hand withdraws from your pussy, and you feel another slap, this time to the backs of your thighs. 

“I… I masturbate too much!” you blurt out, feeling your face burn. 

Another slap. Is it your imagination, or does his hand feel unusually warm? 

“Such a dirty little slut,” he says, giving your ass another slap. “So how many whacks does that deserve?”

“Uh… ten?”

You’re too embarrassed to look at his face, but you can practically hear the grin when he says, “Ten? Goin’ a little easy on yourself, huh doll?”

He gives your ass a firm squeeze, and you bite back another moan. Why is his hand so hot? And why is this making you so wet? 

“Well, whatever,” he says. “Ten it is. One…”

Another whack, and you twist in his lap to look back at him now. “One? You’ve already given me a bunch!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t countin’ those.”

You groan and bury your face in the nearby pillow on your bed. If this keeps up, you’re gonna cum right here, while being spanked. 

The next nine whacks go by with you biting your knuckles, whimpering from the strain of holding back. You refuse to cum in this position, even when he pauses halfway through to rub your sore ass and dip his fingers into your quivering pussy again. 

When all ten whacks are given, he suddenly flips you onto your back on the bed, making you wince when your raw bottom collided with the mattress. Before you can complain, he jerks your shorts and panties off your ankles, pulls your legs apart, and moves between them. “Ready for the fun part?” he asks, leaning down, licking his lips. 

Oh god. You’re so ready. But you’re afraid you’ll make some embarrassing sound if you speak now, so you nod emphatically. 

Then, all at once, his face is in your pussy, his tongue parting your folds and circling your clit. Your body arches off the bed, your legs spreading wider automatically. Your breaths come quicker, shaky and hitching. 

His tongue feels so much better than your fingers! You’ve never felt anything like this, so warm and wet and moving expertly over the little nub. When his thumb takes over for a moment, rubbing your clit in a slightly rougher way, your legs begin to tremble. 

He’s looking up at you from between your thighs. “Gonna squirt for me like you did in the videos?” 

“N-no!” you say, trying desperately to contain yourself.

His thumb rubs upward on your clit, pushing back the hood, making you almost buck off the bed. “Show me how dirty you can be, naughty girl,” he says, then lets his tongue go back to work. 

You can’t stand it any longer. It just feels too good. You let out a cry as you cum, squirting all over him in the process. You squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back against the pillow, your body spasming with pleasure. Once fully spent and panting, you gather your nerve and look down. 

His face is glistening, your juices dripping from his chin. He’s licking his lips and grinning back at you. 

Face burning, you grab your own pillow and pull it over to hide your humiliated expression. But the man gently tugs it out of your grasp. “Don’t hide,” he says. “You look real cute right now.”

You slowly open your eyes. “I do?”

“Yeah. Now how about I give you the rest of your present?” he asks, drawing back on his knees and unbuckling his black leather belt. 

Oh god. It’s happening. You’re equal parts scared and excited as he opens his pants. You’ve never seen a dick in person before, though you’ve seen plenty in porn. This one is, surprisingly, very pretty. The piercings dotting it catch the light in such a lovely way, and the small patches of scar tissue contrast with his pale skin. 

He leaves on the open Santa coat as he pushes his black pants down his hips and pulls your lower half into his lap. He lines himself up, then slowly pushes in. 

You feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and there’s a bit of a sting, but not as bad as you’ve imagined while pleasuring yourself. When he starts thrusting lightly, the friction feels good. You can feel the cool metal of the piercings and the warm heat of his hard cock as it slides in and out of you, going deeper each time. 

When he finally gets all the way in, his tip pressing against your cervix, you gasp at the fullness, at feeling him so deeply within you. 

You’re losing your virginity to a guy who works for Santa, whose name you don’t even know. But it feels so amazing, you don’t care. You clamp onto him, throwing your arms around his neck as he pounds into you. 

You hear his voice at your ear. “This what you wanted for Christmas, doll?” 

“Yes!” you cry out, gripping him harder, not wanting to ever let him go. 

He’s practically slamming into you now, your whole body jerking with his thrusts. You’re holding yourself up off the bed by clinging to his neck, and he’s got one hand on the back of your head, cradling it as he fucks you. His other hand, which had been holding your hip steady, slides down between your bodies and finds your clit. He gives it a pinch, and you moan, your mouth pressed against his collarbone. 

Now he’s rubbing small circles into it with his fingertips, and you know you can’t last much longer. Your body is already quivering again, on the edge of release. 

He gives a few more especially deep thrusts while his fingers continue stroking your clit, and you come undone. The orgasm smashes into you, making you scream out as the pleasure washes over you. 

Almost immediately after, as if he were waiting for you, the man cums inside you, clenching his teeth as he shoots his load into your waiting pussy. 

Your arms slide from his neck, and he lowers you to the bed. It takes you a long moment to catch your breath, during which he pulls out of you and buttons his pants. 

“Your name,” you mumble, still dazed. 

He looks at you. “Huh?”

“What’s your name?”

He hesitates, looks away, then mutters, “Touya.”

You laugh weakly. “I thought all Santa’s helpers were elves.”

He sits down on the edge of your bed. “Most of ‘em are. I’m a special case.”

You raise up, pulling a sheet over yourself. “Special how?”

He grins. “This is my community service, to make up for all my fuckups when I was alive.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you… dead?”

He laughs at your reaction. “Nah, dead isn’t the right term for it. ‘Between lives’ works better.”

“What does that mean?” 

“It means I was on the naughty list in my previous life. Did a whole lot of bad shit,” he replies, looking a little nostalgic. “So I got an offer. Do some good deeds for a while and start my next life with a clean slate.”

“How long is a while?” you ask. 

“Sixty-five years,” he says. 

You shoot straight up in bed. “That long?!”

He laughs again. “It’s not so bad! I help out at the workshop a few months a year and spend the off season ice skating with elves.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Are you, uh, allowed to leave the workshop?”

His eyes slide over to your face. “Why? You want me to come visit you?”

You’re immediately flustered. “No! I mean… maybe. If you want to.”

He stands up and leans over you, kissing you on the cheek. “You’re really cute right now,” he says, then straightens up and heads for your door. Before he leaves, he looks back at you. “We’re pretty bored up there around Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’ll come see you.”

You find yourself smiling. “I’d like that.”

He raises his hand in a casual wave as he walks out, saying, “Merry Christmas!”

Tag List:

@coldluminarykoala @atomicweaselpaperapricot @chocoyanchan @calculust-prime

[vampiree-555]

"Please, I need it."

c.s - drvgdealer

contains: smut , slight(?) angst , mentions of weed , degradation , pet names

It was a long day. One of the more excruciating days I'd had in a while. I'd gotten home and immediately rushed for my stash of weed that I kept in the underwear drawer of my dresser. I was so excited to finally be able to relax and take the edge off until I saw the empty container that I kept my weed in.

"Shit." i whined to myself.

I gritted my teeth as I knew what I had to do, though I desperately did not want to do it.

My dealer was one of the hottest people I'd ever laid my eyes on... but he was scary as hell. He knew how I felt about him so anytime we would meet, he'd always keep it short and simple. Though last time, we had a bit of an argument.

{flashback}

"Thanks Chris." I took the small baggie from his hand but he didn't let it go. He stared at me with his intense and cold blue eyes that pierced daggers into you. I stared back at him with my eyes wide and my breathing had obviously gotten heavier.

"Why don't you like me, y/n? I don't know if you've noticed this, but I always under charge you, I give you extra, and I'm nice to you. Which is not something I always do. So why don't you like me?" He spoke in a monotonous tone yet I could tell by his eyes he was angry.

"I've been your dealer for 2 years and you never text me unless you need weed, y/n." I shook my head and slightly chuckled nervously.

"That's what dealers are for, Chris. I'm your customer. I'm not your girlfriend." his grip on my hand tightened as I spoke. I saw him clench his jaw and grit his teeth. He laughed softly and threw my hand down along with the baggie.

"Find a new dealer. I'm done with you." he turned his back away and walked into the night, not knowing where he was headed.

I picked up my phone hesitantly and opened his contact. I know he said he was done with me but I secretly knew he didn't mean it.

ׂ╰┈➤ texting

y/n ; hey. i need stuff..

Chris🚬 ; i thought i said i was done w u y/n.

y/n ; you did , srry but im out nd need more

Chris🚬 ; ur killing me y/n l/n

y/n ; thx chris

I smiled to myself as i set my phone down. I had a weird attachment to him. I liked him as a brother... I thought.

I changed into more appropriate clothes for meeting Chris. My white tank, black zip up hood, and my noticeably short jean shorts. He liked when I showed off my ass and as an apology for last time, I did just that.

Soon I heard my front door open and I rolled my eyes. He always walked into my apartment like he owned the place.

"Where you at ma?" my heart beat out my chest once I heard his voice. I was nervous to see him again. I took a deep breath before stepping out into the living room where he made himself comfortable on my couch.

"I'm right here, no need to yell." I said playfully at him. He looked me up and down before softly biting his lip and looking up at me with his piercing and narrow blue eyes. The way he looked at me really got to me somehow. I could feel my cheeks flush and I couldn't stop my small smile from forming on my lips.

I sat next to him on the couch and could feel his eyes on my ass while i sat. I narrowed my eyes at him and he scoffed before looking away from my gaze.

"You know just how to make me feel better baby." he spoke so softly you could miss it, but it was so quiet in that room you couldn't not hear his every move.

He pulled my usual amount that I bought from him out his hoodie pocket and threw it on the table. I slid him the cash and he stared at the bills for a moment before shaking his head.

"No. That's not what I want." He looked at me and I tilted my head in a confused manner. He sucked on his teeth before a small smirk formed on his face. He leaned in closer to me where his lips were barely brushing my ear.

"I want you, mama." I leaned back from him with my eyebrows furrowed.

"Chris," He didn't let me get another word out before he crashed our lips together in a possessive rage, for some odd reason, I didn't pull back. I let him kiss me, and I kissed back.

He held his hand on the back of my neck to deepen the kiss and let his free hand roam my waist. In a quick motion he turned us so that my back was pushed against the couch and he leaned over me.

He kissed down my neck which tended to be more sensitive and I let it be known with the small noises that escaped from my lips. I felt him smirk against my fragile skin and let him snake his hands down my waist, and to my thighs. He swiped off his shirt and let me sit up to do the same while he bent down to unbutton my shorts and throw them across the room, along with my underwear, I did the same with my shirt and Chris with his own clothing.

I felt the ocean that formed in my panties once he undressed me and apparently Chris did as well.

"Already so wet for me? hm?" his hand trailed down to my soaking cunt and he rubbed circles around my clit with his thumb while with his other hand, he entered his middle and ring finger, curling them against my G-spot causing loud moans and whines to escape my lips.

"f-fuck~ feels so good.." I heard his godforsaken chuckle as he listened to the sweet noises that escaped my glistening, plump lips. He removed his fingers and jammed them into my mouth.

"Suck." and I did just that. I stared at him with my pleading and desperate eyes as he looked down at me, like I was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen, yet his eyes were also filled with infatuation and desire.

He removed his fingers from my mouth and spit into that same hand, stroking himself before pressing his tip against my core slightly teasing me. I whined and looked at him with my puppy eyes before he scoffed into the air.

"Don't look at me like that y/n. You have no idea what you do to me." The last part was just barely a breath, I almost missed it.

He slowly began to enter into my core, his own grunts and groans mixed with mine, filling the air with a wave of ecstasy.

He pushed himself in slowly before pulling out to where his tip was just barely at my entrance before slamming his hips into mine. I let out a loud scream like moan as he continued at a fast and hard pace. A rhythm at which I'd never seen or felt before.

"h-holy fuck~" At this point my brain had turned into mush as my only point of focus was Chris and how he made me feel in that moment. I instinctively arched my back as I felt the all-to-familiar knot form in my stomach. Chris could tell I was getting close, and obviously had no intention on slowing down.

"m' close.." I moaned out. I looked at Chris after having my eyes closed for nearly the whole time out of pure pleasure. He was staring down at me with complete anger in his eyes and my heart started to race in my chest.

"You're such a fucking slut. All you do is fuck for drugs. You're mine y/n. All fucking mine." Chris spoke through clenched teeth. I would be lying if I said that didn't make me inch closer to my climax.

Chris then pulled out just as quickly as he entered inside of me and began gathering all of his clothes, putting them back on piece my piece. I looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. My chest was rising and falling and my skin glistened due to sweat under the warm light.

"Chris wha-" I was cutoff once more by an aggressive kiss from the man once he got all his clothes on, followed by a soft slap across my face.

"Don't text me again." And with that, he left my apartment, slamming the door behind him.

[littlemelaninfics]

Hey girl❤️🥰As a POC I absolutely love your work. You truly do make all of us feel so seen. I have a kinda odd(?) request for a Buck x Reader imagine. Obviously you don’t have to write it if you aren’t comfortable with it but I feel like you’d be able to do it justice

Could you write something about the reader having a bad period and Buck being there to comfort her/take care of her and then some period sex after…yk? I feel like that could be good and I really wanna read something like that.

A Crimson Connection ❤️ || Evan Buckley Smut

WARNINGS: Period Sex, 2.55K words (I got carried away and that's a warning in itself🥰)

A/n: I love you so much! That really means a lot to me and is the whole reason I create for Black (POC) readers 🤎 Thank you for your request and I'm so sorry it took me two months to complete! Period sex is a different kind of horny. You’re SO sensitive and a little sore. A little embarrassed <3 and blood feels so different from your usual pussy lube. Thinner, less viscous, and there’s so much of it. Uh, or so I've heard 👀

After being woken up by a piercing pain in your stomach, you rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Even though you didn’t have to go, hunching over in a solid seating position helped the cramps pass a little easier. You could feel the pressure rising and started to get really nauseous, really fast. Before you knew it, you were prying the lid open and down on your knees.

You closed and flushed the toilet, still breathing heavily. You slouched over, gripping your abdomen and squeezing your eyes shut in pain as another deep pang hit you. It was then that you heard the bathroom door slide open and you didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Buck. You were still moaning and groaning in pain while he slid down next to you, taking you in his arms. You mold into him, but you weren’t prepared for the cold sensation on your forehead and jumped slightly,

“Whoa, sorry. It’s just a rag, baby.”

“Hmmm."

Buck felt bad that your period was this painful every now and then. You suffered from random ovarian cysts that affected your cycle and made you violently ill for at least 24 hours. You two were in the ER two weeks before when your suspicions of the sharp pain were correct. The ultrasound showed a decent size cyst on your left ovary and you were just happy it wasn't both like last time.

He continued to wipe your face with the cloth, pulling you in more and kissing your clammy forehead,

"Is there anything I can do, baby?" He spoke with his lips still touching your temple. The vibrations his voice went through you, sending a calming sensation over your body and mind,

"Mmm mmm," you replied.

"Can you stand?" You just nodded and he began to get up from the floor, you gripping onto his forearm to not lose balance. He walked over to the tub and turned on the shower,

"I need to brush," you said softly while pointing to the counter.

"Shower first. The hot water will feel good, I promise."

You debated extending your argument, but you instead found yourself gripping on to Buck's shoulder riding out another cramp. It faintly passed and you accepted your boyfriend was right. You breathed heavily and nodded your head. Buck helped you pull your night shirt over your head before kneeling to help you step out of your panties. He placed a kiss on your hip, then swiftly stood to his full height,

"I'll be right in the room. Just yell if you need me, okay?" He said as he helped you over the tub.

"Thank you." He smiled gently and kissed your head once more before exiting the bathroom. You slugged your feet to move under the shower head; heavily debating on sitting down but quickly remembering you wanted to clean the tub earlier that day and never got the chance. The hot water sent chills down your spine as it ran though the rows of individuals and onto your scalp.

You grabbed your wash cloth drenching it in the hot water and placing it on your abdomen while you took a few deep breaths. The pain subsided minimally, but you took advantage and quickly finished your shower. Exiting the shower, you grabbed your towel and immediately went to the sink to brush. Instead of opting for your already simple night routine, you made it even simpler by just applying moisturizer, hair oil, deodorant, and chapstick.

You rewrapped your towel before bending down to pick up the clothes you were wearing earlier to put them in the hamper when you felt something run down your inner thigh. Thinking it was water, you wiped it away when you realized it wasn't water. You quickly cleaned yourself up before looking under the cabinet just to find that you never moved the new box of Tampax to the bathroom. Tears immediately started to well as you prepared to leave the bathroom. Buck could hear the sniffles and knocked on the door gently enough not to scare you,

"Baby?"

You didn't answer, but tried to move faster,

"Y/n?" He called through the door while pushing it open. He found you with your clothes bunched in your arms and tears in your eyes,

"Baby! What happened?" he asked as if you were a little kid. And well, you responded like one with your face bunching slightly and the tears falling freely. You couldn't help it. He might as well have asked, "are you okay?".

Buck waited with his eyebrows up, but not actual worry yet. He waited for you to catch you breath, soothing you through your spell,

"I started my period and my tampons are out here, but my cramps are too bad to leave a tampon in right now and I don't have any pads and I didn't want to wear underwear, to be honest. But now I have to pick one because it's usually light the first night so I would've worn my granny panties and no tampon and it would've been fine. But I don't wanna wear underwear," you sobbed out; the words basically strung togther.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Baby. Baby. It's okay," Buck said bringing you into his chest trying really hard not to laugh. He would never laugh at your pain and/or the fact that you were upset. It was simply the reason you were upset. He held you in the threshold of the bathroom while you calmed down.

"C'mere, Baby." You followed as he grabbed your hand and led you around to the foot of the bed. He reached behind you and grabbed the shirt he picked out for after your shower. Buck unwrapped your towel, letting it fall on the hardwood beneath you. He inhaled deeply while shamelessly taking a flashing glance at your naked frame in front of him before sliding the shirt over your head. This drew an instant blush to your cheeks as you knew what was going through his mind. No. His reflexes. He went against his own instinct to push you back onto the bed and fuck you into oblivion.

He picked up the panties and chucked them across the room, earning a laugh from you,

"There she is," he said smiling widely, "think you can stomach some Tylenol?"

"Please," you said almost begging for a less painful nights sleep.

He walked to your side and grabbed the medicine and water he set out for you.

"You really thought of everything. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And almost everything," he said turning to leave the room. You were confused as you took the pain reliever, but relished in the way the water felt going down your stinging throat. You heard the thudding foot steps coming back and Buck coming back in, when he unrolled a maroon colored towel down on your side of the bed.

"Everything!" He said sticking his arms out and displaying his goofy grin. You were beyond grateful, but instinctively declined because you didn't want to risk anything,

"Y/n. This way everyone is comfortable and if anything happens, who cares?"

You take him on his word and climb into bed. He reaches for your scarf and helped you neatly wrap your hair. Buck leaned down to kiss you, softly running his tongue over your lips. You reach up and grab his neck when he groans begrudgingly and pulls apart. You smile, feeling warm that he still wants you even at one of your lower times. You snuggle in, getting comfortable with the new texture on your butt, while Buck strips down to his briefs and climbs in next to you.

You want to lay on your back, but the medicine hasn't kicked in yet and another cramp was coming. You turned over on you left side and curled into a ball. Buck immediately turned his body your way and brought you close. The cramp faded and you slowly uncurled,

"This sucks."

"I'm so sorry," Buck replied while kissing the good spot behind your ear.

"Mmmm."

"That sounds a little different than before. Does this-" *kiss* "-feel good?" *kiss*

"Mmm hmm."

"Mmmmm," he moaned lowly as he kept kissing that spot. He kissed a spot that was only 3cm over, but it tickled like no other, so of course Buck took advantage and kept kissing that same spot, then all over your face.

You were laughing hysterically when you couldn't breathe,

"Okay. Okay. OKAY! Ha Ha! Stop! Stop! Stop! Don't make me laugh! I'm not wearing underwear! Ha Ha!"

Buck let out a hearty laugh before diving in one last time, just to reach over you and flick the lamp off. While his torso was extended over your body, you could feel his semi-hard cock press into you. He plopped back down next to you, taking you back into the position he had you before. Your eyes were open, but you were surrounded by darkness.

“Mmm. I love you, baby.” He said lowly in your ear,

“I love you too,” you replied. Buck kissed your right shoulder, tightening his arm around you to bring your body closer to his. He rested his head down and got comfortable with you in his arms. As his muscles we tensing and relaxing with each movement, he let out a string of low hums and throat clears.

It’s nothing new. In fact it didn’t take you long to realize he’s just making boy noises. But this time, you’re feeling the vibration of his chest against your back and his mouth is basically connected to your ear. You start to wiggle slightly and let out little moans of your own, but they didn’t mean the same thing as his.

Or maybe they did.

He removes his arm from around your torso and starts to gently rub the side of your thigh, trying to get you settled. He planted one more kiss on your shoulder and you’re pretty sure he felt your body react. You take his hand and slickly snake it up to your chest. He pulls you once more, this time with more intent as he squeezes your tit.

He picked up right where he left off and started placing kisses to your spot again. His groans laced with lust and desire as he attacked your skin, nipping down to the side of your neck. You hips are grinding into each other. Your eyes go wide, realizing there is a point of no return and you're approaching it rapidly.

You halt your movements and push your hand back to stop Buck. Your chests are rising and falling, your bodies getting flustered so quickly.

"Buck. We've never...."

"And we don't have to if you don't want to."

"You want to?" You asked, craning your neck back to look at him in the dark.

"I crave you in any form you're in. So yeah, I want to. I want you." He whispered the last part like a sly fox.

"But-” you cut yourself off trying to think of an excuse as to why this is not a good idea,

“Let me help you feel good, baby,” He said, nudging your head back to the side to kiss your spot again. Your eyes close gently and your arm reaches back to hold his the nape of his neck. Buck begins to slowly grind his hips back into your t-shirt covered bum, nipping at your skin while still peppering kisses. His fingers hook your jaw and he brings your lips to meet his. It takes no time for the fight for dominance to take place, but you retreat. Letting Buck take the reins tonight.

Your kisses deepened, passion overcoming any lingering uncertainty. As your tongues explored one another’s mouths, giggles and warmth filled the air. It felt liberating, shedding the last remnants of hesitation and embracing the whole of each other, unfiltered and raw.

His hand travels down your silhouette, softly tracing his fingers along your thighs once more. He brought his body even closer into you, making you moan into the kiss. You reach back, palming his cock through his briefs and getting a similar reaction from him. Buck hand starts to inch in towards your pussy, causing you to break away,

"I'm okay tonight. I just need you."

"Are you sure, baby?"

"Mmmhmm," you say, pulling him back in. The truth is you were hesitant enough about having sex on your period and the thought of staining his fingers red was too much to handle right now. Buck moves his lips to nibble on your shoulder through your shirt as he frees his cock, wrapping his left arm underneath your body and puling you back to him like a little doll.

He rubs his cock against your slick hole before gently prodding. You lean your head back on his shoulder while he takes his left hand and lightly wraps it around your throat,

"Are you ready, baby?" He asks directly in your ear.

"Yes, please. I need you," you beg, reaching your hand back to pull him in this time. He chuckles lightly at your impatience and reminds you of your safe word. Buck finally pushed his hips forward, both of you moaning at the stretch. His movements were cautiously slow, paying attention to every single reaction. The pain was a lot at first, but focusing on the pain slowly turning to pleasure distracted you from the blinding cramps.

Your bodies moved together with a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. Every touch, every whisper, felt electric. You was surprised to find how the experience intensified your sensations. Rather than feeling restricted by your period, you were allowed to feel empowered. You and Buck created a world for yourselves that night. One where you could fully embrace your desires without boundaries.

Buck transcended your whole being into an unknown world. You both thought you had little left to explore together, yet here you are with the love of your life on the adventure of a lifetime. The moans and deep grunts filled the room as you both chased down that high. When he knew he could, Buck applied more weight to your hip as he pushed himself up and deeper into your body. Practically now fully on top of you.

His thrusts became more frantic, yet never missed the mark. He lowered his torso over yours, cradling your angelic face and your orgasms crashed into both of you. His movements never stopped has beads of his sweat started to drip down on your from the tip of his nose.

Buck's hips finally slowed as he leaned down for a lingering kiss, the kind that lingered longer than any other, filled with warmth and connection that transcended the physical. In that moment, you felt closer than ever—a bond deepened by you willingness to break societal taboos and embrace your bodies as they were.

You welcomed his weight on top of you as your breathing started to slow. Rain began to patter against the window, and you two drifted off to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms. The night held no judgments, only the promise of a love that was true and unashamed, building a foundation on trust, intimacy, and the freedom to explore the beautifully messy reality of life together.