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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

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Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some talk of traumatic injury

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.2k words

At five thirty in the morning, you send Sirius a text.

Be on time, and there’s a caramel latte in your future. If you’re late I’m giving it to Marcello.

Marcello is the guy who comes in early every morning to resurface the ice. You actually ordered a drink for him, too, but Sirius doesn’t need to know that.

The morning air is cool and refreshing, sweeping across your cheeks in the self-made breeze of your brisk steps. You can only have one hand in your pocket with the other holding the drink carrier, but you don’t mind the bite of cold on your fingers. You’ve always loved the sharp, clean feel of winter weather. Though Sirius complains this time of year about leaving practice just to encounter yet more cold outside, the chilly air has always made you feel alive, invigorated. It wakes you up as you walk to the rink.

Marcello leaves the staff door open for you every morning so that you can practice early. He’s still out on the Zamboni, so you leave his drink on the front desk where he’ll see it. You know you’re not the first person to the rink, but it surprises you that you’re not the second.

It surprises you even more to find your new coach in the off-ice room.

Remus is lying on the floor, one knee bent and the other ankle crossed over it in a stretch you recognize. His eyes are closed and his expression pinched. His chest rises and falls with deep, measured breaths.

“Hi.”

You try to announce your presence softly, but Remus' eyes fly open like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You find yourself taking a step back as though to avoid frightening him.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, and automatically, Sirius’ For what, doll? sounds in your head like an overplayed song. You set your shoulders back and walk over to Remus, crouching to set his drink beside him on the floor. You’ve wagered your bets on a plain tea; he seems like the no-nonsense sort. “I didn’t expect anyone else here this early, but this is for you.”

“Thanks.” Remus grunts quietly as he sits up, and you pretend you don’t hear. He takes a tentative sip from his cup. You deduce that you’ve wagered correctly when his eyes close blissfully. “I can go if you want the room to stretch.”

“That’s alright. Plenty of room for both of us,” you say awkwardly.

But as soon as you set your foot up on the ballet bar, you second-guess yourself. Is it difficult for him, watching you do things he can no longer do himself? You knew about Remus’ injury—everyone does—but seeing his face creased in pain doing such a simple stretch is another thing entirely.

You watch him covertly as you bend over your leg, feeling the pleasant strain in your muscles, but Remus’ expression doesn’t change. He only stands, taking his ankle in one hand and wrapping the other around the bar as he stretches his quads.

Remus has long fingers, you’ve noticed. Pianist’s fingers. They make you think of every routine of his you’ve seen a million times, arms and hands always outstretched to emphasize the facile grace of his movements. He was art in motion, in his day. Now you’re not sure what he is. Still lovely, but something else.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Remus’ voice breaks into your reverie so gently that at first you think you’ve imagined it. You look up at him, bemused, and his gaze is steady on yours. It’s that skater’s poise. Quiet, resolute.

“I didn’t mean to shout at you yesterday,” he says. “I was frustrated because I feel like you really could get past that jump with just a tiny adjustment—” his face tenses as some of that frustration seeps back into his voice now, but Remus quells it “—but I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Sirius was right, I wasn’t telling you in a way that was helpful.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to, but the air in the room feels thick and awkward. You’re not used to needing to have these conversations with people on your team. You, Sirius, and your coach used to be a unit. There was no need for shouting matches and make-ups. You had years of history together; you knew how to handle each other. You miss that ease terribly now.

“What I should have said,” Remus goes on, “is that I’ve noticed you hesitating before a lot of higher difficulty jumps. You’ll be about to go into it, and then you second-guess yourself and under-rotate. That doesn’t work on the ice.”

You drop your gaze, nodding. “I know,” you say as you swap legs on the bar. “I’ll try to stop.”

“We’ll work on it.” Remus’ voice softens, and you glance up to find a sheepish sort of kindness in his eyes. One corner of his mouth lifts tentatively. “And I’ll work on giving better feedback the first time around.”

You return his smile, a heavy load in your chest lifting just slightly. It feels like the return of your cautious optimism from before yesterday’s practice, like flirting with the possibility of everything being all right after all. Maybe you can salvage the season after all.

Sirius practically stomps into the room, dark circles under both eyes and looking like he hates the world and everyone in it. Remus’ almost-smile evaporates.

“Here you are.” You pass Sirius his coffee magnanimously. “Thank you for being on time.”

He takes a long sip. Once he’s finished, he says gravely, “This can’t continue.”

“You’ll get used to it,” you promise as Remus lets his foot drop and steps away from the bar to make room for Sirius.

“Ten minutes of stretching,” your coach says gruffly. You feel your lips purse dissatisfiedly; you take this to mean that although he’s apologized to you, he’s not over his tiff with Sirius from the day before. Remus turns from the room. “I’ll see you out there.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You manage to get through practice without bloodshed. Remus is short and businesslike, but while his pointers don’t leave much room for conversation he does take the time to make sure you understand him and he praises you when you improve. Sirius doesn’t spare many words for your new coach, though you know him saying little is likely an improvement over what he’d have to say if he did speak up. Still, he’s not exactly thorough in making sure Remus doesn’t see the smirks and derisive looks he sends your way every time your coach’s voice reaches you across the ice. The other boy pretends not to notice.

It doesn’t escape you either that Remus has far less critiques for Sirius than for you. Sirius is more likely to get ahead of himself so that he falls out of sync with you, whereas you’re more likely to fall in general.

You didn’t used to be like this. Just a handful of weeks ago you and Sirius were an equal match, but recent events have planted an anxiety in you that makes you bail out of your risker jumps and sabotages your routine. Remus is right; you’re hesitant. Sirius throws himself into every move, full-bodied and artful, but you just can’t do the same. Until you can catch up and get back to where you were, you’re a liability.

You land most of your jumps, fall on more than usual, and by the time practice wraps up you know you’ll be bruised all over. If Remus is frustrated with you again, he’s better at hiding it. He only instructs you to work on whatever mental block is hindering you, promises to see you both tomorrow, and goes.

Then Sirius can’t contain himself any longer.

“God, what a prick,” he fumes as he puts guards on his skates. He starts undoing his laces, nails cut short for the season but still painted a shimmery black. “I hate that stupid line he gets between his eyebrows right before he lays into us. He’s like a sixty-year-old schoolteacher stuck in a twenty-something body.”

You look down to hide a smile. “He was nicer today, though. That’s something.”

Sirius scoffs. “Yeah, so was I. Did you lay into him, too?”

“Didn’t have to,” you say complacently. “He apologized himself. You know, like adults do.”

“Don’t be daft. He’s not taking the high road, he just doesn’t want to lose his job.”

You turn to give Sirius an exasperated look, only he’s looking back at you with a similar expression.

You know Sirius thinks you’re being too trusting of your new coach. He only wants to protect you, both of you, but something he’s never been able to grasp is that optimism doesn’t have to be blind. You can be wary of Remus, can have that same desire to protect the team you and Sirius have built together, and at the same time be hopeful that he really will be the thing you need. You’re desperate to make this work for the both of you. You’re a pair in repair, and though it was your former coach that broke you, if there’s a chance that Remus could fix things you’re ready to welcome him with open arms.

Peter was Sirius’ friend before he was yours. He fell into coaching you both almost by accident, it felt so natural. Both you and Sirius had coaches throughout your childhoods, but it was nice to have someone around your own age, who viewed skating through the same lens as you did and could talk to you on a more personal level. Peter was your friend in a way your other coaches hadn’t been. That made his betrayal sting all the worse.

There had been a hearing, when Peter’s texts came out. The International Skating Union had gotten involved. He’d been sharing things—tips, secrets, videos of your entire routine from start to finish—with another team. It felt odd, reading about it in the news. Almost invasive. It felt like something you should be discussing back at Sirius’, the three of you sat in your usual places around his living room, hashing it out the way you always did. But you weren’t a unit anymore.

Sirius didn’t want another coach at all after that. You could keep each other in check, he said, and realistically anyone you hired would know all about your recent disaster with Peter. Your names were attached to one of the largest figure skating scandals the community had had in years. You saw the logic in your partner’s reluctance, but you still thought you needed an outside perspective to tell you when you both were going wrong. You needed a real coach. Then, you’d thought of Remus.

You wish you could say it was Remus’ illustrious figure skating career that drew you to him. He was the golden boy of the sport for nearly a decade, shooting up into stardom at an unprecedented age. He earned enough medals to likely break whatever shelf his family tried to put them on, and he took home gold for Britain at just seventeen. But truthfully, it was his isolation that appealed to you.

Remus Lupin left the figure skating community entirely after his injury. He’d returned to his hometown in Wales, reportedly to be with his family but more likely to heal—physically and mentally, from the hip dislocation that cost him Worlds and then the rest of his career. By all accounts, he would have been the last person to follow your hearing or any of the ensuing gossip everyone else you spoke to seemed to take as gospel. You had to fight tooth and nail to get Sirius to let you hire Remus, and even still he’s resistant to the addition to your team. But it’s in Sirius’ nature to expect people to hurt him; you have to be the opposite to compensate.

“He said you were right,” you say lightly.

Sirius blinks. “Pardon?”

You shrug, feigning insouciance. “I don’t think it’s likely he’ll ever say it to your face, but this morning Remus told me that you were right, and he does need to communicate his feedback better. He seemed better about it today, right? I think it’s sweet that he’s trying.”

Sirius scowls, standing while you finish packing up. “He’s kissing your ass because he knows you were the one who wanted him. He doesn’t give a shit about us.”

“I didn’t mention anything,” you reply. “And he may not, but he definitely gives a shit about skating. I walked in on him stretching in the off-ice room this morning. It was…sad.” A small part of you feels wrong for sharing this, even with Sirius; it felt like a private moment you’d intruded on, although Remus had been stretching in a public place. “You can tell he really misses it, you know?”

Sirius is quiet for a beat, and when you look over he’s sucking his teeth. Peering at you in that way of his, like he’s got you all figured out.

“You should have a heart-to-heart with him about it,” he says blankly. “He seems like the sort of bloke who really enjoys a pity party.”

“Prick.” You stand, bumping your shoulder into his roughly. Sirius wraps an arm around them to bind you to his side, walking you towards the exit. “We’re stopping for donuts on our way home. You owe me after I bought your coffee.”

“Oi, bribery’s no good if I have to pay it back. And what would your new favorite coach say about us eating those during the season?”

“The same as any coach; nothing, because we’re not gonna tell him.”

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lecl3rcw · 11 days ago

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Keeping Up With The Leclercs |

a/n: this is the more detailed version of the chapters!! y/n has no face claim, the pictures I use are just for reference.

———————————————————————————

It was an unusually rainy day in Monte Carlo as the Leclerc twins sat at their mother’s house. y/n was on live with her fans building a lego set while arthur was playing the piano in the back.

“y/n what’s the lip oil you use, it’s so pretty, aw thankyou! I use the Dior lip oil in the shade poppy coral!” She smiles showcasing the product before putting it away.

“oh by the way, I’m back home in Monaco for a bit so that’s my brother playing the piano, he’s very good at it” she says as she continues to build a Lego sit, well atleast until her brother arthur comes into the screen.

“c'est tellement moche” that’s so ugly he says chuckling as her jaw drops. “tu es du genre à parler” you’re one to talk

Soon, Arthur had started helping her as the soft rain pattered against the window of their maman’s cozy house. “y/n who’s your favorite sibling, hmm…” she goes into deep thinking as arthur looks at her expectantly, “Lorenzo” she simply says as arthur scoffs “Not your twin brother?” “…definitely not” she chuckles as they engage in their usual sibling banter.

“I guess someone’s upset a certain someone is out of their league” Arthur nudges her, she gave him a warning look, “aw what’s the matter? You upset that Jo-” before he could finish she puts a hand on his mouth “fermez-la!” Shut up!

arthur chuckles as he nodded “bien sûr chéri” sure cheri he says as they continue building it. It was a studio ghibli's "howls moving castle" and it was so cute. Once they were finished they showed it to the people watching the live, “it’s so cute!” She says admiring their work. It was late so they decided to end the live saying goodbyes to everyone who watched.

y/n.leclcerc posted a story

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, charlottedipietro and 67,000 more…

Now, she was in the middle of packing up her suitcase as Arthur scrolled through his phone laying down on her bed. "So how long are you going to be in the US for?" Arthur casually asks, "hmm about a month, and then ill meet up with Charles and Alexandra in Venice for a bit" she says as she packed everything.

"Damn, booked a lot of jobs for once? I'm surprised anyone would cast your ugly face" he chuckles making her roll her eyes, "don't you have some relationship problems to worry about" she fires back making his face drop. "Thats not fair! you know Carla-" before he finishes, their mother Pascale comes in as well.

"Salut Maman" hello mama they say unanimously, as she smiled at them. "Tu pars déjà ?" you're leaving already? she asks y/n as she sighs, "oui mama" yes mama she says hugging her mom. Pascale wraps her arms around the girl tightly, "ton voyage a paru si court, reviens plus souvent à Monaco ma petite fille" your trip felt so short, come back to Monaco more often my little girl. y/n smiles, "I promise I will maman" she says as she packs the last of her things.

Pascale takes a seat next to Arthur on y/n's bad, "so what all do you have planned for the month?" Arthur asks. y/n sits down, "I'm actually not sure, Lucille sent me an entire list of my schedule, I'm actually so grateful for my manager" she chuckles as she pulls up her schedule on the phone. "How is Lucille by the way?" Arthur says his cheeks a bit red, she glares at him "You stay away from Lucille" she says as his face drops "What! why!" he says as Pascale looks at them in confusion, "why cherie?" she asks confused as well.

"A. you're a terrible boyfriend, B. you have to sort things out with Carla because I love her, and C. I'm not going to let you mess up a good thing going on for me" she says crossing her arms, Arthur groans "I am not!" he says to his twin who scoffs "Do you know the amount of friendships I have lost because of you and Charles?" she says. "Fine fine ill stay away from Lucille quelle galère" what a drag he says rolling his eyes. "Maman tell him to stay away from Lucille" she says, "ok ok je pense qu'il comprend" ok ok i think he gets it she says in her usual soft voice. Once things settle down, Arthur and Pascale exit the room so that she could get some rest before her very long and tiring flight.

The next morning as she's brushing her teeth she gets a call from Lucille, "Goodmorning y/n! I just sent you a screenshot of the boarding pass!" Lucille chirps, "Thankyou so much Lucille, ill see you when I land" she says as she hangs up. She quickly gets her hand bag ready making sure she has her essential such as her passport, and some self care products.

Arthur and Pascale drive her to the airport, she hugs both of them tightly, "I'll miss you guys" she says pulling away, "yeah yeah I guess I will too" Arthur says playfully rolling his eyes to which she punches his shoulder. "oh ma petite fille, envoie-moi un message quand tu atterris" oh my little girl, text me when you land as she pulls y/n into another tight hug to which she reciprocates. "oui maman" yes mama she says before finally going into the line. "she waves to them with a quick I love you and before she knows it, she's on the plane.

y/n.leclerc's story

charlesleclerc replied > safe travels cherie!

alexandrasaintmelux replied > see you soon ange!

she smiles as she responds to their messages, she shuts her phone off after a while. Her head resting on the airplane window as she extends her legs since she was in first class. her work in the US hadn't even started yet and she was already feeling so stressed. she had 38 modeling shoots, two runways, and about 7 public events, one of them including seeing one of her biggest crushes in just a month. she decides to just shut her eyes and let it go to the back of her head.

y/n.leclerc

monaco 24' you will be missed <3 @ alexandrasaintmleux, @ arthurleclerc, @ chanel

liked by lorenzotl, charlesleclerc, and 1,200,0000 others.....

alexandrasaintmleux mon petit amour💌 my little love

^ y/n.leclerc mon ange 💞 my angel

lorenzotl vous me manquez les gars ☹️ miss you guys

^ y/n.leclerc tu me manques davantage😔💞 miss you more

chanel that's our ambassador!🫡

^ y/n.leclerc my fav brand💌

lec1ercs sososo pretty

lilymean1 your white dress is so pretty! where's it from!

^ y/n.leclerc Chanel! the 2023 summer drop :)

asmcloset I love her friendship with Alex

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc x reader

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year ago

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Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

2K notes · View notes

missfrustration · 1 month ago

Text

moss fertilizer (roronoa zoro x f!reader) 18+

Rating: Explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

Tags: pwp, smut, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hardcore, choking, brat, dom/sub, degradation, oral, creampie, improper use of glasspanes, hook-up, vaginal fingering, squirting, dirty talk, saliva, tears, size difference, dubious consent

A/n: a fanfic i posted on ao3 a year ago. hope you enjoy!!

word count: 3.9k

You started the night partying with the Straw Hats on the Sunny. It was Chopper’s birthday, which gave the whole crew the perfect excuse to go wild. You participated in all the usual activities: drinking games with Nami, karaoke battles with Luffy, and outrageous storytelling with Ussop. It was a great night, and you were all tipsy. When Luffy started strong with charades that were too specific for everyone (for the general gestures he made), you sat back and watched as everyone spitballed answers. You marveled at all the crew’s various guesses until your eyes landed on something too interesting to look away from.

In the background, Zoro was reclined in his seat, staring at the stars with a tipsy grin. His thumb and forefinger tapped on his beer pint, and you saw a slight flush on his cheeks from the alcohol. You flushed red, cursing yourself for thinking something so mundane was so hot. Still, you kept staring, intrigued at the scene before you.

Something in him must’ve sensed someone's eyes were on him as he looked down for the culprit until he saw you. Despite your heart beating out of your chest, you look back with a sly grin. He knows you’ve been watching, so what? At this point, you didn’t care to look away. The alcohol was making you feel too cocky for your good.

Zoro knew what would set you off right then. That’s when he tilts his head low and gives you a lustful smirk. It was a look of pure flirtation.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You were caught off guard entirely. As you look at him, you flush more and more red. You slowly turn your eyes back to the charade party, not wanting to look like you are, in reality, freaking out.

You try to switch all your attention to Luffy’s duck impression, flapping his arms in abstract zigzags. While you admit it was funny, your efforts to quell your imagination are useless over the look Zoro gave you. You take your beef pint off the table on the left of you and down half of it in one gulp.

Heat pools as fast as your drink goes down. You have been feeling a different way around Zoro lately, and you can’t longer deny your lust for him. In the past, you excused the feeling; maybe I just wanted to be closer friends with him. Although you were right on the ‘close’ part, it wasn’t about being friends.

You were eager to approach him in a more than friendly way. The alcohol is clouding your common sense, telling you it’s the absolute right choice to make. However, the fear of him turning you down is too great for you to be so bold.

After a few moments, your heart settles, and you put your cup down back to the left side of you. You decide not to turn your eyes back to the swordsman for the rest of the night to quell your imagination. You focus on Luffy’s now rather impressive orangutan act when you suddenly feel the seat to your right shift.

You turn to your right and spot a head of moss-colored hair. Before you have time to register, you catch his face inches before yours.

Wait… what?

“I think you have something that’s mine,” Zoro husks. His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine and heat in your core.

He’s leaning forward, face level with yours. your closeness has you in a frenzy. Your hand, raised awkwardly in surprise, hovered over his chest. His kimono wrapped loosely around his body, giving a generous glimpse of his chiseled chest. His breath reeked of booze. Yet, Zoro gave a domineering swagger that was too hot for your good. Nevertheless, you swallow the butterflies and reply.

“...and, what’s that, Mosshead?” You reply overly sweetly, fluttering your eyes.

Zoro doesn’t react to your nickname.

Instead, he moves in closer to you.

It’s so slow that it feels like minutes are replacing seconds. Zoro doesn’t once break eye contact while you do the same. Your heart is on fire, and your breath hitches as your lips are so close to touching his. You feel his arm reach to the left side of you.

If he’s making the first move forward like this, you prepare to go all out. It didn’t matter if the others were there anymore. You needed him now .

As you readied to feel his hand on your side, you saw him grab your beer pint from the corner of your eye.

Wait.

Oh, there’s no fucking way-

“This.” He holds up your pint of beer in his hands as he gives the biggest fuck-you smile you’ve ever seen. The closeness of your faces disappears as quickly as it came. While he still holds your eye contact, his face quickly retreats, and he moves to get up.

Your jaw opens in absolute shock. You close it, trying to pick up at least some of your dignity left, only to reopen it again. You watch in shock as the swordsman takes his leave, leaving you looking like a fish out of water. There is no way.

There's no way he got the last laugh like that.

“Roronoa,” you slowly begin, pointing a not-so-convincing finger at him. “You did not just do that for half a drink.”

Zoro looks behind his shoulder and calls out. “See for yourself, princess.” With that, he holds his arm with the pint, puts it to his lips, and rapidly drinks the rest. After one gulp, Zoro holds up the empty cup, tosses it, and walks away, grinning.

You hold your stare as you see him saunter off the deck of the Sunny, clearly proud of what he’s just done.

You hold that same expression as petty rage sets in.

There is no way he made a fool out of your desires for a drink. You could’ve died from the embarrassment if the crew were to have seen that. Your anger and alcohol mixed dangerously. No way in hell he gets away with this.

You have to get back at him.

And while your drink clouds your common sense, you must do it tonight.

—

Eventually, the rest of the crew is depleted from the night’s party festivities. Chopper was the first to call it a night, still smiling from pure joy as he dozed off on Sanji’s shoulder. Nami and Robin leave right after to tuck him in. Soon after, the rest followed off the deck into the rooms to get their shut-eye.

You, though? You aren’t done with the night quite yet.

You have some revenge work to do.

Zoro made a fool out of you an hour ago. Since then, he’s been absent from the party, and you haven’t seen him in any of the other common areas below deck. You’re positive he’s at the crow’s nest. If you can’t find Zoro anywhere else on the Sunny, he’s there.

You climb up to the crow’s nest, careful not to fall while being tipsy. You reach the latch, open it slowly enough to climb in, and softly shut it.

You turn around, instantly spotting Zoro on the other side of the room. He’s standing up, facing the stars out the window, and curling an abnormally large dumbbell. The window pane facing him shows his figure in the dim moonlight. He’s shirtless, with sweat glistening down his back and grey sweatpants covering his bottom half. The glow of the moon reflects off of his muscles. It defines each one, making the scene before you even more irresistible. You stare at him momentarily, in awe and surprise he hasn’t yet noticed you. He must be focused on his curls.

This is the perfect chance, however. Since he doesn’t notice you yet, you can plan out the ideal way to-

“Fuck.” Zoro rasped. His arm gave out on the last rep with a grunt, causing him to stop his curls.

On the other end of the room, you freeze at his voice. It was a rough and deep grunt and went straight to your core. Paired with legs worn from climbing up to the nest, you kick over an extra pair of dumbbells, causing you to trip over them and land with a thud.

“Fuck!” You said. Your body painfully collided with the hardwood, leaving you sprawled and uncoordinated. No, no, no, no. My plan. You tried to stand back up as fast as you fell, but it was too late.

Zoro had taken notice of your presence even before you tripped over but didn’t turn until you made an ass out of yourself. He was nowhere near as startled as you.

You looked to Zoro to see him fully facing you now with a sly grin. He raises his eyebrows, “Oi. Missed me or something?”

Although you are embarrassed, you need to execute the plan. You met eyes with him, rising while doing so, not saying a word. He broke eye contact first by turning around and putting the dumbbell up.

Zoro took a cocky sigh and continued, slowly turning around, “I would’ve figured you’d come around at some point. You need to face it somehow. You-” he cut off his sentence after you fully stood up. His eyes widened slightly, and his grin dropped as he noticed what you were wearing.

Your top was a very tight-fitting crop tee that hugged your curves, with thin shorts that looked more like panties than anything. Compared to the relaxed clothes you usually wear daily, this was as revealing as Nami’s attire.

You had him. You were the one who was smiling now. You picked up where he left off, feeling as cocky as he was, “I what , Zoro?” You said, each word building you up with more confidence.

He didn’t respond, meeting your eyes with a slate expression. You can tell his teeth are clenching together by how his temples move.

You notice he hasn’t moved a bit, worried that you may be going a bit too far. Still, you take a gamble and stop until your face is inches away from his, mimicking how he acted earlier tonight.

“You got something to say, moss head?” You tilt your head to the side, taking in the view. He’s… sweating more? At least more than when you first saw him. You take in the aroma of musk.

“Or is something else… up ?”

You take the gamble, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your breasts into him. You can barely see the garment covering your chest at that angle. Still, you make an innocent expression, looking up at him as if you didn’t know you were being a tease. Except for his mouth, his expression didn’t falter. His lips were now slightly parted, while his arms were still unmoving by his sides.

Your heart is pounding. You feel Zoro’s moist breath dancing on your face and try not to look down at his lips. You needed to prove to him you’re unfazed by this, by what he did earlier tonight. Even though you feel your breath hitch and your core begins to tighten…

You need to break him before you do.

You both stay like that for a moment without saying a word. You were finally waiting for him to respond, but he stared at you with the same expression. It was annoying.

“Aww, you don’t have anything to discuss now, huh?” You finally broke the ice. Hopefully, after this, he’ll get flustered now.

You gently move in next to his right ear, wrapping your arms around him as you say, “I guess I don’t either.”

You inch away from his face, slipping your hands off him, and turn to walk away. You didn’t even risk looking back at him for fear of him seeing the widest grin you had. Your plan to rile him up as he did to you worked. Now you could go to bed knowing you had the last laugh. You walk to the nest latch before feeling a firm grasp on your arm.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Zoro growled.

Man, you liked this game you’re playing. You clapped back, “What’s wrong, Mosshead? Can’t take a joke or what?”

The grip on your arm tightened as Zoro turned you around. His grip gives out as he pushes you up against the wall of the crow's nest. The sudden impact makes you gasp harshly and let out a small whimper.

You look at Zoro and are met with him staring straight at you with furrowed brows. Your thoughts scrambled, you retort, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You try to pick up your relaxed attitude to no avail; You both know who’s in charge now.

His face twists in offense at your words. “Let me make myself clear.” He says, looking deep into your eyes with a certain edge you cannot describe. “You can’t tease me and think you’ll get away in one piece.”

“Well, don’t think you can do the same thing and think you can get a–”

You’re interrupted by Zoro’s mouth clashing against yours. You immediately moan into his mouth as he cups your face and runs his hands through your hair. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck. His body presses against yours, and you smell the slight scent of musk and the dampness of his sweaty skin. His breath is so warm.

He’s the one who breaks the kiss first, turning his head down to admire your figure. Your paper-thin shirt reveals your hardened nipples, and your thighs instinctively rub together under his gaze. He lifts his head and looks into both of your eyes. He calls out your name.

“...Fucking hell.”

Your breath hitches. He pins your arms to the wall on either side of your head and continues his assault on your mouth. You let out breathy moans as his mouth slowly travels down your throat. He bites your pulse point, which causes you to cry out in pleasure. You are so aroused that you barely hear him say small profanities in between bites,

Your sensations are so intoxicating that you could melt into him. You breathe out, “Zoro, please don’t fucking stop.”

“Who said I was?”

He looks back up at you, now moving his hands that were pining you to the wall to explore your body. You meet lips again and feel one hand playing with your left nipple as the other lifts up your shirt.

He locks you in another feverish set of kisses and breaks away every few moments to look down at your figure. You can’t help but gush in the attention.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

You look down at him with lust in your eyes, wondering how he’ll respond.

“Yeah?” He replies in a breathy tone. He lets go of the grip on one of your arms to reach out and gently lift your face with his forefinger.

“Oh, then I’ll show you how much you need this.” He says.

Your eyes slightly widened as you registered what he said.

“But, are you sure you want to do this?” He genuinely asks. His eyes plead with you to say yes, but his face stays steadfast and calm, prepared for anything you could say.

You look into his eyes in earnest, “Fuck yes. Please, I need you.” You lean into his ear. “I need all of you right now. I need to feel you in me.”

That was all Zoro needed to turn his almost worried expression into one of pure lust. The darkness of the shadows on his face accentuates how his mouth curls up.

“I’m not going fucking easy then.”

Zoro steps back, taking your shirt in both hands and quickly ripping it open to reveal your chest. You feel the cold air settle on your hardened nipples as you gasp. He tosses the cloth aside before diving in to cup your left breast in his mouth and toying with the other. The force of his mouth and hand pushes you back into the glass pane wall and earns another soft moan out of you. You run your hands through his hair as he breathes in sharply through his teeth at the touch. You travel your hands down to his strong shoulders and caress them, feeling your shorts dampen from arousal.

He look into your eyes as he reaches his hand down to grab your ass. He grips it repeatedly, slowly rocking your whole body from his touch. You gasp under his touch as he takes in your reaction.

“Ah, you really like that, huh?” he playfully teases. He leans into you. You relent with a raspy moan as he grips it harder.

Your eyes travel slowly, stealing all the looks you’ve wished to take for ages. You smell the musk of him from working out and the scent of alcohol that only entices you to him. You drink up his body and muscles until you reach his sweats. You slightly widen your eyes as they focus on the prominent imprint against the cloth. You bite your lip at the thought. If only the sweats were gone so you could admire it.

You made it obvious when staring down at the imprint his dick made in his sweatpants that Zoro knew what you wanted. He releases the merciless hold he had on your ass and starts to palm his cock through the fabric. His other hand touches your bare stomach, quickly traveling up the skin to reach your neck.

You hum in delight as he begins to grip the tender skin around your throat, tenderly grazing the areas you desperately wanted him to touch. It’s as if his finger asked you it was okay to squeeze. You grab onto his arm as heat begins to warm up your face, and heat pools to your core.

You nod to him to continue. Soon, you feel yourself being grasped by the man’s calloused hands. His skin is so rough, pressed into a neck so delicate, you lose sensation in your wobbling legs. You bite your lip to keep any sound from coming out, only looking desperate and panting at his touch.

“You like this too, brat? You’re more fucked up than I’ve taken you for.” Zoro uses his hand on your neck to pin you against the wall.

Your hands give in to your inner thoughts, touching yourself seductively to tease the swordsman. You move your hands to your breasts, gripping the skin to show it's supple surface. Zoro leans back to look at the sight. Your demonstration is enough of an answer to him, but that’s not enough to satisfy him.

“What do you want me to do, exactly? You’ll need to tell me; I’m a little stuck on the details.” Zoro says.

He knows you’re a prideful girl who will never back down from a challenge–but he knows your pride will hold you back from saying what you want. You squirm under his gaze, frozen by his rough grip on your neck. This man can be such a hot asshole.

“Please…” You whimper, voice barely reaching above a level you wouldn’t catch unless you two were this close.

“Please, what?”

Zoro constricts your breath with such intensity that it’ll be trouble if you keep quiet. You struggle to keep cool, but you know your poker face isn’t fooling anyone. Not when Zoro manhandles you like this. Your body feels so small under his domineering presence–both physically and mentally–that you can’t help but want to itch that scratch. You can’t help but give in to what he wants.

“Please, fuck me.” You say, managing to hold a grip on your consciousness. He looks down to see those skin-tight shorts now sodden with your arousal. He can’t help but grin at the sight.

“You must have a death wish, girl.”

He forcefully turns you around, slamming your face into the cold glass of the window. You shiver from the sudden chillness and immediate condensation formed on the pane at your bated breath. He takes the hem of your shorts and jerks them down in one fluid motion.

“I will make every man you’ve fucked before me feel like nothing if that’s what you want.” Zoro says, smacking your ass repeatedly. The hot, searing pain mixes with the pleasure of his other hand reaching to grope you every which way.

You squeak as your bare chest presses against the chilled glass. Zoro doesn’t care, only pushing you further against it. You feel less embarrassed now, turned away from him and being degraded like this. Now, you are more daring to say more.

“I bet you can’t, Zoro.” You whisper to him so sweetly, but with an edge he can’t ignore. You know your sing-song tone allures him to do more, to brush your features beyond saving so you don’t ever tease him again with that gorgeous mouth. You know you hit a nerve when you hear him pause. When your own hair rises at the taunts you spew, you know he will prove you wrong.

“Oh, you want to be treated like a slut, don’t you.” Zoro laughs, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I can give you just that.”

He takes your right arm, yanking it behind your back with vigor. An intense pain jolts up your spine from the crank of your shoulder, causing you to jump and press into the glass. Nothing can deny the sweet noise of pleasure you make because of it. The filth you crave feeds you to press your luck like you’ve done.

“If that turns you on, I can wake everyone up from your screams by taking my cock.” He whispers in your ear. It was the gentlest whisper he’s given tonight, but you know the subject is anything but delicate.

“We don’t have to go that far.” You laughed it off, but Zoro’s words went straight to your pussy.

“Didn’t know you were the one to decide that, brat.” Zoro catches your intrigue at his words, reminding you you’re the one at his beck and call. He licks a hot stripe up your neck to your ear lobe, pressing his large chest into your body.

His dominating presence further excites you. You kick at him like a horse would a farrier, hiding a grin familiar to the one Zoro wore drinking your favorite beer earlier.

“I won’t scream for the likes of you. Let’s see if you can even get there first.”

“Fine, then. We can play that game.”

He rips your panties off of you in one clean swoop of his grasp, finally revealing your soaking pussy to the air. He dives in to fondle you immediately.

It all felt like a flash. The calloused hand that levers your arm lets go, only to grasp onto the revealed skin. You whimper against the glass as his fingers glide from your ass to your slit.

“Shit, you’re so wet.” His finger dives into your dripping cunt. You instantly arch into his touch, giving him a better angle. How his fingers efficiently pump inside tells you how wet Zoro has made you.

He adds another finger, curling them to the delicious gummy spot. Your hand moves to cover you mouth, you feel your head going light from pleasure but don’t want to give him the satisfaction to hear you. How would you give him his present so easily after the shit you talked?

You struggle when his finger makes contact with your clit. It rubs a few teasingly hard circles as he leans into you. His hot breath towers down on you, showing you how tall he really is. He starts to pick up the pace, but not without taking your hand off your mouth with force.

“Who said you needed to be quiet?” He says, now traveling to your slit, fingers rushing to grab as many juices as it can before he rubs it on his length.

“Just behave for me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Before you can respond, he pounds into you, filling you up instantly with one rough push. You scream out in pain as you spasm around his pulsing dick. It’s overbearing. “Shut up and take it, girl. I know you can.” He says, wrenching your arm more into your backside.

You sputter as you struggle to take him. There is nothing for you to do except lean into the glass.

“That’s it.” He says, gripping your hips so hard that bruises could form.

“It’s so much. I can’t. Ah!” Before you can finish your sentence, Zoro thrusts into you in a deliciously divine way to cut you off.

“You don’t make the rules anymore, princess . Am I too much?” His hands push your hair aside, feeling a hard grip wrap around the small of your neck.

“No, no, please don’t stop. Zoro, I– I need this.”

“That’s my slut.” He scoffs. His hand is so big that it’s shy of fully clasping over your throat. For a second, it seems like he wants to guide your pace with his hand on the back of your neck.

But that’s not the purpose.

No, he adjusts his fingers instead, feeling for the front parts of your throat. It’s right on top of your carotid artery,

And Zoro presses. Hard.

It’s harder than last time. Your knees give out as your vision starts to spot. A whine hushes through your throat as you chant Zoro’s name.

He continues the constant punching bag of pumps into you. He watched with lust as your pussy swallowed his dick over and over again so well. It was too good not to go harder.

You, on the other hand, can no longer take his dick standing and slowly lower yourself to the ground as your legs give way.

Zoro sees this, taking the hand, not clutching your neck and hoisting you up by your waist, snaking his arm around your waist to your inner thigh to keep you steady. He pushes you further into the window, burrowing his cock into you.

“You need to take all of me. Are you ready for that?” Zoro coos, knowing you’re more than stuffed already.

You barely get a word in but whimper your consent throughout moans. That’s all he needed.

A new wave of pain sears into you that is quickly replaced by pleasure. His fingers start to linger on your crotch for better support, now mercilessly holding your body as it pounds into his hips.

Saliva drools down your mouth as tears prick your eyes. Your head feels light in his iron grip. But still, the sweet release is so close that it makes you crave more.

“Please.. squeeze harder.” You spit out, covering the glass pane in a light mist.

“What did you say?” Zoro asked in disbelief as he slowed down his jackhammer speed. “There’s no way I heard you right.”

Your hands fled to your neck and latched on to his fingers. You repeatedly press into his fingertips in pulses.

“Squeeze… harder. Squeeze… squeeze.” You whisper.

“Oh, man. You nasty fucking vixen.” He pants.

He continues his assault with his hips once more. The entire room is filled with the clapping of your bodies.

“You can barely tell me that, but you want it even harder, huh? You dirty girl.” Zoro grunts.

“Just squeeze.” You blurt out, now dangling your legs from the need.

Now you feel it. The fingers around you start to constrict more, digging into those sweet spots on your neck that make the room spin so divinely.

“And here I thought you were some sweet, innocent girl.”

He leans forward to bite your shoulder, causing a silent cry to pass from you. His tongue laps to your neck, now latching onto the skin. Your skin pricks from the pressure of his mouth sucking on to it, and it comes off with a loud pop. Spit picks out his mouth, reaching your ear in a husk.

“I know you too well now. I know you love every second of this.”

The chokehold is making the room blackout. You bite your lip, feeling your head throb from those calloused hands hooked onto your body. His hand that hoisted you now has clicked onto your clitoris. The pressure of the circles he gives you makes you so close.

“Now be a good little girl, and come on my cock.”

The world disappears instantly as you close your eyes, feeling, hearing, seeing nothing.

Then his hands unravel from your throat, giving you back all your senses to crash at once.

Light pours into your eyes, the room is visible, the pleasure is overwhelming, and you hear an animalistic scream pour out. It’s from your mouth.

You convulse and push against the glass as Zoro keeps you from falling over yourself: your back arches and clamps onto the hands that hold you. Tears spill from you as you feel the overwhelming wave of your orgasm. Your head throbs incessantly, but you can’t help but cum onto the one who has helped you all this way. One thing is sure, however.

Zoro doesn’t stop.

His pace is now erratic as he uses your orgasm to start his high, causing him to slop into you in messy spears.

Throughout your screams and moans, you make out his grunts as he jackhammers into you.

“You’re so fucking wet .” He says. He hunches into your body, gripping your hips as you’re pushed into the glass. All the strength in Zoro is now honed onto slamming his cock into your body.

You sputter out to say you’ve finished already, expecting him to slow down at least. But his pace is so intense you feel another climax build up. Your body craves another orgasm from Zoro within seconds of finishing your last. The immediate need is so rampant that you can’t help but succumb to your wants and moan. Your arms whip around and your hands dig into his back, and your teeth grit as he fucks you nonstop. You try to ride it but can’t overcome the overstimulation as you scream louder. At this point, your moans are more audible than your bodies punching the glass.

“Come on, girl. I know that pretty pussy can come one more time for me.” Zoro says. He takes his nails, digging from nape to ass in a rigorous pressure that leaves your skin burning red, reigniting that feeling you were sure not to miss.

You can’t feel your body when you come again. You sound indistinguishable from a wild animal as your body goes limp. Your body thinks and feels beyond heaven now. It is higher than anything you’ve ever felt that you doubt heaven could compare to this. Nothing but blankness fills your thoughts, and white-hot pleasure earthquakes your body.

You would have stopped there. You would feel like a feather gently leaving the skies back onto the soft ground. You would have woken up to your senses and gone from there.

But no, Zoro won’t let you go clean like that. He continues the pillage that now goes beyond human comprehension. Your joints jolt when you feel messy intervals of pressure pounding into your cervix that can’t keep your mouth closed. The blood rushes to your head, leaving your body as your control to move your spit-covered mouth is long gone.

No heaven could feel like this. It is much darker than that, darker than any waters you’ve ever been in before. There’s a special place that Zoro has put you into now.

It’s your garden of earthly delights that will never let you into the pearly gates.

“...so much. So…” You can no longer fight it. You can barely speak anymore. Your attempt at words makes you realize you’ve gone so brain-dead on his cock that you can’t go back to normal.

But oh. It’s too good to deny any longer. There is no filth here—only pure and unfiltered freedom.

Zoro fully unsheathes himself from you, lifting you into the air. Feeling yourself fly into the air without a care is almost blissful. Just when you think it’s over, he grips onto your airborne form to fully plaster you into his entire cock. Your walls swallow him from head to sack, not letting go as he gives his all into cementing his entire cock inside you. That’s when you feel his hands and hips lock onto you without pulling out, and you feel something churn inside you.

Zoro shies of moaning as he releases his seed into you, feeding you the last he possibly can as he rocks his hips back and forth for additional stimulation. You hiss as you take it, face thoroughly wet with what you can only assume is your filthy sweat, drool, and tears you so gracefully left behind. But that’s not the only juice of yours you released.

Zoro slowly pulls out, now creating a lovely mess of you. Your pussy seeps out his cum, dripping in heavy loads like the drool that gushed from your mouth. The white seed of his mingles with yours, creating a creamy symphony. But not without one last thing.

You feel your body release something else, now dripping onto Zoro’s abdomen and down the crevices of your lower body.

You squirted onto Zoro right after he pulled out. But he didn’t move away. Instead, he relishes the feeling. You squirted all because of him, after all. Why would he not take what was his? A true pirate wouldn’t have it any other way. Your body leaked in every way he wanted it to, and he clamored for more of you.

You feel so blessed that you could probably soak into the floor you were being gently put down on. However, The feeling was short-lived as soon Zoro stood back up, fully facing you again.

“Clean me up,” Zoro says, smacking his dick with his hand. It waved back and forth, still semi-erect from the ordeal but now sun-bleached from your creamy seed.

There was nothing else inside of that slutty head of yours except his order now, knowing you will not disappoint.

Before his dick stops shaking, you latch onto it. You feverishly lick up any trace of you and him both dripping off of the shaft. You taste the tanginess of your cum and squirt that soaked onto his skin, thoroughly sucking it off of his body. You do it all with no hands.

Thank god he wasn’t fully hard. When you take all of him in your mouth to clean, it causes you to choke on him. You scrunch up your nose as your eyes get wet again. Pulling back when you hear him scoff. You look up at him.

“Careful now. You’ll make your case much harder if you tease me like that.” He puts one hand on your head, making you feel the weight of it before he pulls back. “Do it quick before I can’t control myself.”

Your eyes widen. Your jaw dropped so much you barely feel his dick slide out of it.

“Jesus Christ, Zoro. Don’t tell me you can do more tonight?”

“Oh, does the slut want more, I hear?” Your eyes are the size of fucking cups before he smiles. “Nah, let’s call it a night. You’ve had more than you can chew for a while.”

Relief is evident on your face as you relax. There’s no way somebody can withstand more of Zoro in one night without feeling lobotomized after. You know that much now.

“But just know…” Zoro brings you out of your thoughts with a firm grip on your hair. He jerks your head to face him fully, and he looks into you with dilated eyes that tell you all you need to know.

“You’ll be hearing from me more. I’ll make you come begging for me every night if it suits me. Do you understand, princess?”

His words scream demanding, but his voice tells differently. Zoro won’t admit it to you, but you both know you’re hooked on each other. Now that you both have a taste, this won’t be the last time, right?

Absolutely not. With a pirate like Zoro, you know he will claim what is his until the day he dies. As long as you can cry and mewl against his cock like that, he is certainly not letting you go for a long, long time.

#zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece #fanfic #x reader #fem reader #one piece zoro #my fanfic

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fuctacles · 5 months ago

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The first one of many

for @stevieweek Day 4: Special Outfit + first dress + fantasy and for @steddiemicrofic "one" G | 1111 | no cw | ren-faire, pre-relationship, transfem Stevie, smitten Eddie | Ao3 Stevie Week: Day 1 | Day 2 (art) | Day 3 (art) | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

"Do you like this one?"

Eddie appears by her side so abruptly, she jumps out of her skin. He smiles apologetically.

"Sorry," he says, but doesn't let himself be distracted. He reaches out to touch the sleeve of the dress Stevie's been eyeing.

It's yellow and white, with a floral pattern and a square neckline. The sleeves are slightly puffy, and the corset can be laced on the front for adjustment. It's one of the flashier ones at the stall, but Eddie wouldn't expect anything less from the girl standing next to him.

He's still surprised she agreed to come with them, to for a few days taste and touch the world her friends love so much. She told him earlier, that she liked everyone's costumes, but it's the first time anything has captured her attention like this.

"Do you want to try it on?" he asks.

"No, that's okay." She shakes her head immediately, but he won't be having it.

"Come on, we're here to have fun, all of us. And if trying on dresses is fun for you, then let's do it!" he encourages her, putting his infectious enthusiasm into the words.

She's still hesitant, but he can tell the garment in front of them is like a siren's call.

"I don't know..."

Dustin bumps into them while eyeing some of the leatherwork displayed nearby, and Eddie holds his breath, hoping it's one of these times his lack of filter is helpful. The boy looks at his friends and the garment they're facing.

"You guys buying a dress?"

"No," says Stevie.

"Maybe," says Eddie.

Dustin studies the dress with his judgmental eyes, gaze darting from it to Stevie and back again.

"You should at least try it. It's your color," he says, before walking away.

Eddie turns to his friend triumphantly.

"Well?" he grins. He can see in her eyes that she wants to but is having a hard time admitting it.

"I guess?" she says eventually. "I mean, it's just for fun, right?"

"Of course!" Eddie quickly flags down the seller, before she can change her mind. "Excuse me, good sir! Is there somewhere we can try it on?"

Which ends up with them ushered to the back of the stall, with instructions on how to operate all of the dress's clasps and lacings.

"I'll wait here. Tell me if you need any help," Eddie says before pushing his friend behind the partition, dress in her hand.

He can hear the rustle of fabric behind the heavy curtain, Stevie's clothes dropping heavily to the grass beneath while he's doing his best not to think about her undressing. She's cursing and huffing while pulling on the new dress and it helps to quell his nasty thoughts a bit. And then everything goes silent.

"Stevie?" He frowns. "You alright there?"

"Yeah," she answers, but it's so tiny he can barely hear it.

"Can I come in?"

"Uh-huh."

He pushes the edge of the green fabric aside and slips inside the little alcove. In the tight space, Stevie is staring in a full-body mirror, hands smoothing down her hips, pulling her hair forward, pushing up her breasts.

Eddie finds himself enchanted by her, not for the first time.

"You look beautiful," he says.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Though, your corset lacing needs some practice." She huffs at that. "Can I?"

The way she turns to face him, full of trust, makes his heart melt and slide down his ribs.

Delicately and trying not to touch her chest, like a true gentleman, he unlaces the corset to tighten it at the waist. Her gasp makes him bite his lip painfully.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. You can go a bit tighter."

They work together until her waist and hips make a beautiful curve, and her tiny breasts are pushed up in a flattering way. She seems to be especially fixated on them, on the bit of skin peeking out from the low neckline.

Eddie can share that sentiment.

"Thank you," she whispers once she's facing the mirror again, fingers tracing the newfound shape of her body.

"There's nothing to thank me for, you're just naturally beautiful." Eddie smiles, reaching out to tug her hair forward again, so it falls against the bare skin of her collarbones. The sight makes his mouth go dry so he decides to move his thoughts elsewhere. "I think it's the first time I've seen you in a dress."

Stevie hums.

"That's because I don't have one."

"Huh?"

"I've tried on Nancy's or my mother's, but I don't have one of my own," she clarifies with a shrug.

"That's unthinkable," Eddie declares. "We're getting it." The thought that her first dress could be a nerdy, ren-faire one, makes his stomach flip.

"It's too expensive." She shakes her head, but he can see she's sad about it. "I can get a dress at the mall for a third of this price."

Eddie nods along.

"Yes, you could get a cheap, boring rat mall dress," he agrees. "Or you could buy one of a kind, handmade with passion and care, worthy of a princess."

Watching her cheeks flush is worth the risk of exposing his feelings.

"Where would I even wear it?" she keeps digging her heels in the ground. And, while she has a point...

"Here, for starters. And any other ren-faire I'll take you to just so I can show off how pretty you are."

With the way she looks up at him, she might already know.

He just hopes he has enough money. He pulls out his wallet and Stevie frowns.

"You're not getting it for me."

"Oh, I am." He hopes he is, at least. In a rush of bravery, he smiles to add, "Consider it my first courting gift," and leaves before she can protest.

When he's counting his money and wonders who he can beg for a loan, Dustin approaches him with a wad of cash.

"I saw the price earlier and figured you guys could need it." He smiles with that self-satisfied smirk of his, but for once, Eddie doesn't mind.

He hands the money to the merchant and runs back to Stevie.

"Hey, does it count as a courting gift if the twerps pitched in?" he asks through the partition and is promptly pulled inside.

"Are you serious about the courting?" Stevie asks, with her face so close to Eddie's, he has trouble processing her words.

"Deadly," he whispers, hoping they're on the same page.

"Is there, like, a nerdy ritual I have to follow for it?" she asks.

"Uh, a kiss would be nice," he says. Pleads.

She smiles and leans in.

#stevieweek #stevieweek24 #steddie #mine #cj x stevieweek #stevie harrington #stevierything #transfem stevie harrington #steddie fanfiction #steddie microfic #cj x steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjuly #steddiemicrofic #steddie fluff #transfeminine steve harrington

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wriothesleysgf · 1 year ago

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𖹭 ࣪ 𓈒 ⊹ cough syrup — wriothesley ₊ ◌ ۪ ࣪

ᝰ .ᐟ ꩜ fortress of meropide gets intense cold spells, but everything is bearable when you have a loving man to keep you warm. ⟢ [ f ! reader , sfw . ]

fall always came with a shift towards colder weather. the leaves began to brown and the sweet tunes of fontaine's songbirds were carried by gentle gales. then winter snuck up ever so unsuspectingly; divination experts and meteorologists alike began to predict snowfall, and the court's streets became bustling with those preparing for the upcoming holidays. you, however, were rarely privy to any of this.

such an infatuation with the lord of meropide meant that you spent a significant portion of your year in the ocean's depths. although you'd initially been terrified of the deep sea and what unknowns lurked there, wriothesley quelled your fears and managed to enlighten you as to the true beauty of life down here. whether it was watching the jellyfish float about or cheering on up and coming fighters in the pankration ring, the man truly managed to make you feel at home all the way down here.

the one thing that you'd never managed to get used to, however, was the damn cold. sure, you'd experienced the same transformation in weather when you were living in the overworld, but such a change was more intense down here. wriothesley was accustomed to it after all of his years in the fortress so it took him a second to realize why you opted to stay bundled up in the warm sheets of the bed that you shared.

"doll, is everything okay?" he asked, looking over at you as he picked out his shirt for the day— it would surprise some how many greyscale button ups he owned.

"mhm," you hummed, not wanting to worry the man before he headed off to deal with the necessary duties for the day. however, once he heard the small sneezes coming from you, he noticed what was most likely going on.

"you cold, baby?" he cooes, finding your small nod adorable. you were buried in the sheets at this point, with only your eyes peeking over the top of your pile of blankets.

wriothesley wasted not a moment in striding back over to you. he lifted the blankets and came directly to you, wrapping his large arms around your figure and pulling you into his broad chest. though many assume those with cryo visions tend to run on the chillier side, wriothesley's size and stature had him radiating a fair amount of heat at all times.

"you're freezing," he comments.

"'s so cold down here... i thought i'd get used to it but... clearly not."

he chuckles softly, walking back towards the bed. he shrugs off his coat and removes his boots before sitting down next to you. "come here, love," he pats his thighs.

you oblige, crawling into his lap. of course, the pile of blankets come with you. wriothesley finds it absolutely adorable. he fawned over you, ensuring that the blankets were positioned to perform at peak efficiency. he did debate running ti the infirmary to see if sigewinne had any hot water bottles that he could borrow, but couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone for a second.

"bless you, doll," he cooes as you sneeze once again. wriothesley reaches over to his waistcoat, retrieving a small hankerchief from his pocket. to be honest, it was rare that he needed to use it himself, rather keeping the object on him at all times should you ever require it. "why don't you try to sleep, sweetheart? i'm not going anywhere,"

"but what about-" you tried to protest, knowing he most likely has work that he needs to tend to.

however, before you could even finish, he cuts you off in one of the most caring tones that only few were privy to. "you're always my priority, princess. everything else can wait; i guess that's a perk of being the warden," he chuckles softly.

you decide to not protest, curling into wriothesley's lap and resting your head on him. it was quite easy to doze off with the combination of his hand against your hair and the lullaby of his heartbeat.

#♡｡ now tracking: kfairy ☆.ᐟ #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff

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the-kr8tor · 17 days ago

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COMPLETELY FORGOT TO CHECK UP ON YOUR WELL-BEING I'M ASHAMED OF MYSELF

How are you Katy?

I have another twins request (surprise surprise)

The twins being sick (my poor babies 🥺)

And Reader being so tired after trying to look after them because they're so clingy for Mummy and they won't stop sniffling (nooooo my poor children)

And Hobie coming back from patrol as early as possible after sensing his girls' discomfort and taking care of the babies (my eyes are filling with tears)

Awwwww, they're already my kids in my head, that sounds so sad but I love them 😭🥺

Hello, ml! I'm fine, thank you for asking ❤️ I hope you like this one!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, description of illness, brief mention of vomit, Billie and Ramona AU, twin AU, Dad AU, Dad! Hobie, Mum! Reader. Fluff.

Dad AU Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your shirt is covered in a combination of toddler snot and a hint of throw up. You would've changed by now but with the twins clinging onto you like you're their lifeline has you practically glued on their sides. Billie refuses to let you go with her tiny hands balled around the collar of your (Hobie's) old band shirt. She sniffs relentlessly, lashes wet with unshed tears. Meanwhile, her sister, Ramona has finally fallen asleep on your shared bed. She holds onto her baby blanket with the little guitars embroidered on it like it's the last cookie in the cookie jar. Still, even in her sleep she still refuses to let you go with her other fist enclosed around the hem of your shirt.

Sighing, your eyelids grow heavy and your stomach grumbles from hunger. You've only had sips of their chicken noodle soup you made a few hours ago. They wouldn't even have a little sip if you don't try it before them like a taste tester for a couple of princesses afraid of getting ‘poisoned.’ You have to start telling them the usual fairytales instead of actual history. You guess it was your fault when you accidentally left the telly open on the history channel instead of teletubbies like you were supposed to do. You kind of blame Hobie and his relentless kisses whenever he gets home, effectively distracting you from changing the channel to a more toddler appropriate one.

But thanks to the cooling weather, not even history lessons could calm them down from their fever and sniffles. This is the first time they've gotten this sick since you've brought them home from the hospital when they were just newborns. Everyone was right when they told you that when one kid gets sick, the other will surely follow. You can handle it, but with your growing hunger and fatigue, you really need Hobie to get home now.

You can't blame him for leaving while they're sick, the city needs him when he heard from his radio that goblin’s wreaking havoc downtown and the team couldn't handle it all on their own. He promised he'll be back quickly with meds and hot soup to quell their illness. It's been a few hours since then, now you're starting to worry. Add that with the girls' sickness acting up, your nerves are through the roof.

Mona gurgles in her sleep, her tiny fists unfurling around your shirt for only a brief second before clamping back down. Patting her back, you feel how clammy she is under her pastel pink pajamas.

“Mummy?” Billie lifts her curly head up from the crook of your neck, lips pouting, and snot dripping from her nostrils. She pats your cheek with her sweaty hand, an indication that her fever's going down so as her sister's, thank goodness.

“Yes, baby?” You whisper to her sweetly.

“‘m hungry.” Her frown deepens, eyes similar to Hobie's are staring back at you through wet lashes. “I want biscuits.”

You remember when she could barely keep the noodles down, moreso if it's cookies instead. But if cookies are what she wants, then cookies she shall get. Maybe it'll magically cure her. “Okay, but you have to let mummy go so I can get it for you—”

“No!” She immediately shoves her face back in the crook of your neck, then the sniffles follow. “Stay!”

You rub her back up and down to placate her. “Mac, your sister's sleeping.”

Billie kicks her tiny socked feet about, hands tugging relentlessly at your shirt. “Mummy, stay!” Cue the tears.

“Okay, okay, mummy will stay.” You coo at her, wincing when Ramona stirs from her slumber.

“I want biscuits.” She once again lifts her head up, sobs quieting down to a soft sniffle. “...Sorry.”

Your heart softens at her adorable apology, she definitely reminds you of her father. “It's alright, promise you'll be quiet for Mon-mon?” Billie nods, arms enveloping around your neck as you begin to sit up. Now for the daunting part, you have to escape from Mona's hold without waking her up.

Hand holding onto Billie, while the other gently unfurls Mona's fingers around your shirt, you take your time lest you have another grumpy and sick kid in your hands. With her pinky finally letting go after you tug at it, you smile victoriously while fixing your hold on Billie.

The bed squeaks as you stand up, wincing at the sound, you look back at the still sleeping Ramona curled around her baby blanket. Sighing, you stare at Billie, who has her index on her lips in a shushing motion. You tamp down a chuckle at her antics.

With one step at a time, you tiptoe around the messy room. The twins' clothes and towels are littered around the floors, same with tissues that have managed to miss the bin when you threw it haphazardly.

“Mummy, quiet?” Billie whispers or tries to when she still hasn't figured out how to actually whisper.

“Yes, baby, we need to be quiet.” As you get to to the door, the cold doorknob is stinging against your palm, the bedroom window squeaks open and before you could whirl around towards the sound— Hobie's heavy boots are already thumping loudly against the hardwood. “Hobie—”

“I got the meds and the soup—” Mona's sudden wailing stops him in his tracks. Tears roll down her chubby cheeks as she kicks her feet under the blankets, her rough coughs hurting your chest. “Ah shi—” you give Hobie a look. “— sorry.” He winces just as when Billie joins the cacophony of crying.

—

The sheets have been changed, the girls are showered and fed. Their temperatures are completely normal now, and their coughing and sniffing is down to a minimum. You're also fed thanks to Hobie's famous sandwich he made specially for you. And thanks to the shared effort and teamwork, both girls are sleeping and you've finally cleaned yourself up.

As you get out of the shower, you catch Hobie pressing gentle kisses atop Billie and Mona's heads. He pecks them both equally, adding one to Billie and Mona simultaneously before repeating it when he thinks that the kisses aren't equal to one another. Billie's cheek is squished on Hobie's side while Mona curls around his other side sweetly.

“They won't grumble if you don't give them the equal number of kisses.” You whisper to him, wet hair still clinging to your cheek as you put on a clean shirt. Fully dressed, you see him tilt his head with a playful smile tugging at his pierced lips. You smile back, admiring him in his soft clothes with your socks on his feet. You cross the small distance towards him whilst he tries to reach out towards you with his arms full of sleeping toddlers. “But I will.”

He makes grabby hands at you. “Kiss?”

Sitting down next to him, he scooches as much as he can while the girls are clinging to him in their sleep. “How could I say no?” With your soft lips on him, you kiss him back gently until he's satisfied that you got an even number of kisses. His eyes are still closed when you pull away. “You sure you're okay?” You reach over Billie to fix his windblown eyebrow, index laying it down carefully.

Hobie leans tiredly against your hand, and in turn you cradle his cheek, thumb running along his jaw. “‘m fine, nothin’ I couldn't handle. Are you?”

“Well, I don't smell like sick anymore.” You shrug, beaming down at him. He chuckles softly, neck craning to kiss the pads of your fingers. “And you're home safe and sound, I'm okay.”

He sighs, eyes completely soft for you. “I'll stay with you this time, and the next, I promise. ‘m sorry I left you alone.” The warm light of the lamp shines on his apologetic face.

You lean closer, careful not to wake either of the girls nestled in each of his arms. “I know, but you can't promise that. I knew what I was getting into when we had them. And I'm perfectly fine with that as long as you come home to us…” Your nose nudges his own, he hums slowly, like a cat purring in content. “...Preferably in one piece.”

Hobie chuckles, heart eyes blinking slowly at you, and pursed lips reaching towards the tip of your nose. “Thank you, love.”

Your palm rests on his warm chest, feeling his heartbeat through his (your) shirt. “Part of the job, Hobie.” With a smile, you feel him tug at your collar, pulling you down towards him further to meet with his lips. “Careful, we might wake them up—” A sneeze rises up your throat, suddenly releasing it on Hobie's shocked face. The girls barely stir. “Shi– sorry.” You sniff, throat feeling like it's full of spikes.

“Ah shit.”

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hoejosatoru · 2 years ago

Text

Best Birthday Gift

Parining: Fem! reader x college au! Hinata, Ft. Bokuto

Summary: Hinata has a huge crush on you. He wants you bad. There are just 2 problems: you were dating his best friend, Bokuto, and he was virgin. However, when Bokuto has a little surprise for Hinata’s birthday.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Virginity loss (hinata), Hinata has a few pervy thoughts I guess?, pussy job, cum eating, use of good boy, voyeurism kinda, subby Hinata, not proof read. MDNI

Hinata’s pulse quickened as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to quell the flutters in his stomach. No, he was not on the court for a game. He was at his birthday party, sweating over the little sundress you showed up in. He replayed you hugging him when you showed up, your boobs squishing against...

Stop it, he thought trying to shake the thought out of his head. He couldn’t think about you like that. Not because he thought you were out of his league, which he totally did, but because you were his best friend’s girl friend. Hinata was currently watching you hold on to Boktuo’s arm, looking at him with a suggestive spark in your eyes. He hoped that seeing you with him would shut the thoughts up, but all that was playing in his mind was how badly he wanted you to at him like that.

He ran a hand through his tangerine hair, cursing himself. He felt guilty for thinking about his friend’s girlfriend like that. And that was one of his more innocent thoughts. He knew it was was wrong, knew that you were totally off limits. No matter how big his crush on you was, he would never, ever do something to get between you and Bokuto. He care about you both too much. Still, that wasn’t enough to get him to stop thinking about how your lips would feel pressed on his nec- okay he really has to stop watching you two.

“Christ, Shoyo, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Hinata startled, not realizing Sakusa had appeared beside him. He was eerily quiet like that. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hinata grumbled, a little too quickly, tearing his eyes away from you. Sakusa followed where Hinata’s gaze had been, landing on you and Bokuto. He was the most observant and intelligent of Hinata’s college friends, easily putting two and two together.

“Are you jealous?” Sakusa teased, jabbing Hinata’s shoulder.

“I am not jealous,” Hinata responded in a way that Sakusa knew meant he was, in fact, very jealous.

“Oh, Hinata,” Sakusa snickered, taking a sip of his drink. “I always knew you were an idiot, but this is something else.”

“Shut up.” Hinata snatched the drink out of Sakusa’s hand, gulped down a few burning sips, then shoved it back to him. He knew it was freak the germaphobe out. “You’re taste in alcohol sucks.” With that, Hinata stormed off, pouting.

Some birthday this is, he grumbled to himself. Hinata slid back into he house he shared with his teammates, Sakusa, Bokuto, and Atsumu, shutting the party outside. He flopped down on the couch, downing a drink in the quiet hoping it would ease his frustration. He wasn't sure exactly how long he was sitting there when you appeared in front of him.

“What’re you doing inside, Sho?” Sho. He loved the little nickname you gave him, how sweetly you said it.

Hinata shrugged, trying to remain calm as you say next to him. “Sakusa was just being a dick.”

“Ugh, he’s always in a shit mood,” you replied. Your thigh was pressed against him, which absolutely did not go unnoticed by Hinata. He felt his face heat up as he shifted nervously, hoping you didn’t notice. “What can I do to make you feel better?” Your words slurred ever so slightly. You were not drink, but definitely buzzed. You were looking at Hinata with big, sweet doe eyes, which made his pants feel tight. The way you were leaning into him made the top of your dress hang lower, giving him an extra peek at your boobs. Fuck, he thought.

“N-nothing, I’m okay.” He wasn’t sure if he sounded as nervous as he felt, or if it just seemed like he was drunk. He was definitely feeling quite tipsy after downing that last drink and prayed you thought it was the latter.

“Oh come on, Sho,” you pressed, placing a hand on his thigh. It was a simple, innocent gesture. You probably hadn’t thought twice about it. But Hinata could feel himself getting hard. “There’s gotta be something I could do.”

Of course, Hinata had a long list of things you could do. Or he could do to you, if he knew how. However, even if you weren’t dating Bokuto, he didn’t think he could ever get himself to say it. See, Hinata’s other issue was that he was a virgin. He knew it shouldn’t matter and that it was totally normal, but all his friends weren’t. Atsumu in particular loved reminding him of that fact. He discussed his numerous hook ups in such detail that Hinata thought he could probably use it as a how-to guide.

Hinata knew if he really wanted to, he could probably find a girl to hook up with and just get it over with. However, he knew he was not into random hook ups. He wanted to do it with someone he knew and trusted. He’d tried to develop relationships with other girls, but he would just compare them to you and it just never worked out. Thus, he remained a virgin.

“I-I think I just need to lay down.” Hinata tried to stand up, but between his nerves and his buzz, he flopped back down on the couch, making you giggle.

“C’mere,” you pulled his head onto your lap. His heart was pounding and he knew he shouldn’t indulge in this, but your thighs were so soft he couldn’t tear himself away. He tried to not think about how close he was to a... um, certain body part of your and just closed his eyes as you ran your fingers through his hair. Yeah, he definitely couldn't complain about this. “I think you drank too much.”

A laugh escaped Hinata’s lips, mostly out of relief. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” You were smiling sweetly down at him. Your lips looked so soft and he found himself wondering how they’d feel on his.

“Trying to make moves on my girl?” a familiar voice asked. Hinata shot up so quick, his head was spinning.

“No Bokuto I was ju-” The larger man cut him off with a laugh.

“I was just teasing you, Hinata.” There was a look shared between him and you that Hinata couldn’t quite decipher. “You seem pretty drunk, bud.”

Hinata’s head was still spinning. Maybe he was a lot drunker than he thought. “I may have over done it.”

Bokuto laughed again. “Shame, we’ll have to give you your gift tomorrow.”

***

Tomorrow came and Hinata found himself in the passenger seat of Bokuto’s car. “So why do we have to go to y/n’s place for the gift?” He’s been to your apartment a few times and didn’t mind going. He liked that it how it smelled like you. However, he was a little nervous to see you again after yesterday’s close call.

Bokuto put the car in park outside your building, a strange smile on his face. “You’ll see.”

Hinata followed Bokuto up to your apartment. You weren’t in the living room to greet them, which Hinata found strange. When he walked into your bedroom, he saw you, laying on your bed in a black lacy babydoll lingerie top and silky shorts. Hinata gasped his hands flying up to his eyes.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Hinata was mortified that he walked in on you dressed like that, clearly not expecting him. He was thoroughly confused when you both busted out laughing.

“Hinata you don’t have to cover your eyes,” Bokuto said. Hinata didn’t budge, even though he really wanted to get another look at you.

“Is this some sorta test?”

“Really, it’s okay Hinata.” It was your voice that convinced him. He slowly lowered his hands, drinking in the sight of you. He had seen you in a more revealing bikini once at the beach, yet this was so much more arousing to him. He was thoroughly confused as to why you nor Bokuto were not upset, as well as nervous that they would see how much he was enjoying it.

“This is your gift,” Bokuto explained, gesturing to you.

Hinata’s eyes flickered between him and you. “I-I don't undersand.”

“I know you like y/n.”

Hinata’s eyes widened, his heart stuttered. “Did Sakusa tell you? I didn’t mean to-”

Bokuto laughed again, cutting him off. “He didn’t have to tell me. You weren’t exactly good at hiding it.” Hinata’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “But I get it. Look at her, she’s fucking hot.” Hinata took the excuse to look at you again. Yeah, you very fucking hot. “And I know you’ve been wanting to lose your virginity.”

“And there is nothing wrong with being a virgin,” you interjected, trying to soothe his embarrassment. “I was virgin, too, until I met Bokuto.” It did make Hinata feel better, since you didn’t meet Bokuto until college. Still, he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt thinking of the two of you being intimate like that.

“Right, of course,” Bokuto nodded, “But if you wanted to lose your virginity, I figured we could get it out of your system like this.”

The shocked look on Hinata’s face made you giggle. “Come here.” You patted the spot next to you on the bed. Hinata’s body could not resist following your instructions. Somehow you looked even better up close. You cupped his flushed cheeks, thinking it was sweet how nervous he got around you. “Do you want to have sex with me Shoyo?”

Hinata nearly laughed at how absurd that question was. “I- yes I do, I just... I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” As much as he wanted you, he would feel icky and wrong if you were just doing it out of obligation for feeling bad for him.

“No, I want to Sho.” Your finger trailed down his torso, pausing at his waistband. Youur eyes flicked back up to his. “I think you’re really cute.” Hinata could have died in that moment and he would go out a happy man.

“And you’re okay with this?” he turned to Bokuto again for confirmation.

Bokuto nodded. “We talked about it a lot and we trust you. I don’t have to stay for it if you don’t want, but I can if that would make you feel better.”

Hinata thought it over. Maybe it was weird, but he would feel better with Bokuto being there. Just in case he changed his mind, he could stop them. Hinata would feel better knowing there would be no lines crossed. “You can stay.” Bokuto nodded and took a seat in the chair across the room.

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

He felt your fingers on his jaw, turning his face back to you. “Can I kiss you?” Hinata nodded, not trusting his voice. His eye shut as you leaned in and next thing he knew he was kissing you. Your lips were even softer than he imagined. You kissed him soft and gently at first, letting him relax into you. You crawled into his lap, feeling his body stiffen. “Relax, Sho,” you breathed into his ear.

Bokuto’s soft chuckle didn’t even register to Hinata. He was too preoccupied with he feeling of your body on top of his, the taste of your lips. You slid your hand over his, guiding them up to your boob. “Fuck,” he gasped, getting your boobs a squeeze through the lacy fabric.

“You can touch me wherever you like,” you murmured into his neck. Hinata gave your boobs a few more squeezes, before letting his hands explore the rest of you. He was too nervous to touch you there yet, but he was loving the feel of your curves. You could already feel him hardening against your thigh.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, tossing it to the side. “So strong,” you noted, kissing down his chest, abs, waistband. Hinata’s stomach hitched as you looked up at him. You didn’t touch him below the waist, not yet at least. Instead, you kissed back up his body. You paused before reaching his lips, sitting back and pulling your top off.

Hinata’s dick twitched in his pants seeing you topless. “Wow,” was all he could manage. You giggled lightly. He really was the sweetest. Hinata didn’t need your to guide his hands this time; he happily played with your tits as you kissed him again. You gave an experiment rock of your hips, pulling a gasp from his lips. Smirking, you continued to grind against him, loving how he whined with every drag of your hips. “I-I’m gonna cum in my - fuck - p-pants if you keep doing that,” he stammered.

This time both you and Bokuto laughed, sweet and lightheartedly. “Let’s get them off you then, yeah?” Hinata bit his lip nervously but nodded. You slid his shorts and boxers down in one go. His dick was flushed and leaking at the tip, looking achingly hard. He was larger than you thought, and not just for his size. “Mmm, so big Sho.” You stroked him up and down.

Hinata was on cloud nine even as his pulse drummed in is ears. As you touched him, he couldn’t believe this wasn’t some sort of a dream. He was about to pinch himself when you asked if he wanted to take your bottoms off and then he decided if he was asleep he did not want to wake up right now.

Hinata’s hands were shaking slightly as he slid the shorts down your legs, revealing you fully to him. He let out a groan seeing you naked for the first time; it was better than he ever imagined and, yes, he had imagined it. You could feel his cock throb in your hand as he took in the sight of you. You took his hand and brought it between your thighs. “Feel how wet you made me.”

Hinata couldn’t believe how good it felt. He ran his fingers through your lips, getting comfortable with touching you. His head was spinning at the thought of being inside you.

“You seem a little nervous, Sho,” you pushed hair off his forehead. You knew he was trying to put on a brave face, but he looked a little like a deer in headlights, albeit a happy deer. “Why don’t we start a little slower?”

Hinata nodded, willing to follow whatever you wanted to do, but slow did sound pretty good. You let his cock lay flat against his lower torso, carefully lowering yourself down on him. The second your warm, wet pussy made contact with him a low groan escaped his lips. You rolled your hips slowly, letting him enjoy the new sensation. He already felt himself struggling to stay composed with you just sliding your pussy over his cock he couldn’t imagine how he would survive being inside you.

You placed your hands on Hinata’s strong chest to help you increase your pace. Hinata’s fingers dug into your hips, little curses escaping his lips. Each time your clit nudged against the head of his cock, waves of pleasure went through you. It felt so you good you forget yourself a bit, moving your hips even faster as you chased your high.

Hinata’s breath was ragged. “Shit I’m gonna- fuck!” His head fell back as he orgasmed, his cum spilling over his tummy. Once he came down from his high, his face and chest flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry I-I didn’t mean to cum so fa-”

You licked a stripe up his stomach, effectively shutting him up. You swallowed the release you collected on your tongue. “No need to apologize. You’re being such a good boy for me,” you purred. Hinata had a full body reaction to you calling him a good boy. You could feel him getting hard again as you lapped up his release. “Look at you already hard again for me. So hot, Sho.” Any embarrassment Hinata felt had dissipated, but still he wanted to prove himself.

“Can... can I be on top for it?” he asked.

You smiled. “You wanna fuck me?” Hinata blushed and nodded. Of course Hinata would not just lay there, it wasn’t in his nature even when he was nervous. He was always going to try pushing his limits. You traded places with him, feeling the weight of him on top of you. He wasn’t as heavy as Bokuto, obviously, but he was still nice and solid.

“Hi,” Hinata said looking down at you, a nervous smile on his lips.

You giggled, “Hi Sho.”

“Do I need a condom or something?” You nodded to your bedside table, where he picked up the little metallic packet. He ripped it open, though struggled to get it on himself.

“Lemme.” You took him in your hand, slowly rolling the rubber down his length.

Hinata smiled shyly. “Thanks.” He lined himself up to you, feeling the heat of your pussy against the tip of his cock. He knew nothing was going to change really once he pushed into you, but still he nervous. He took one last deep breath before pushing inside you. “Oh fuck.”

Even after feeling your pussy on his fingers and on top of him, he couldn’t believe how wet and warm you were. How tight you were. He’s never felt anything like it in his life. The way your pussy squeezed him made his breath hitch. He rocked his hips slowly, wanting to adjust without accidentally humming too fast again. He was very afraid of that happening; he could already feel his balls getting heavy, aching for release.

“You feel so good, Sho,” you moaned. And you meant it, you weren’t just trying to make him feel good. He was a nice size, giving you a little stretch. His ass and thighs were strong from years of playing volleyball, making each thrust have weight to it. He loved the way you sounded moaning his name; he was motived to hear more sweet sounds from you.

“She likes when you play with her clit,” Bokuto offered. Hinata almost forgot his friend was there he was so tossed in you. He nodded and followed Bokuto’s instruction. He pressed his fingers to your clit, rubbing circles over it.

“Fuck, Shoyo, just like that,” you gasped. It took everything in him to not bust. He moved faster knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer. Bokuto was loving watching you get worked up. It was hotter to see you get fucked by his friend than he thought it was going to be. He shifted in his seat as his pants started feeling tighter.

Suddenly you gasped and moaned his name. Your pussy squeezed him impossibly tighter as you came around him. Hinata couldn’t hold himself together anymore. He moaned you name as he came for the second time. He slowed his hips, milking every last bit of his orgasm. It was easily the best he ever had. He knew having sex would be different from jerking off, but he couldn't believe just how much better it felt to cum with someone.

“You’ve officially ruining jerking off for me,” Hinata said breathlessly. Both you and Boktuo laughed.

“You were so good, Sho,” you told him, “You made a girl cum your first time. Not many guys can do that.” Hinata was beaming; he could hear you talk about how good he was all day.

“So, pretty good birthday present, huh?” Bokuto teased.

Hinata nodded, “The best.”

“Y/n had so much fun with you, might just let you fuck her again.” With that, Hinata was sure that Bokuto was the best friend in the entire world.

#hinata x reader #hinata shoyo smut #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo x y/n #bokuto x reader #hinata headcanons #hinata shoyo imagine #haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyu headcanons

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thelov3lybookworm · 10 months ago

Text

Remember me? (Part 17)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: eh. i dont know. this was going to be longer, but then i decided to let it be. kinda filler i guess. not much happening.

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The gasps and looks Eris and Y/n's third dance had received would forever be embedded in her mind.

Y/n would have given herself a judging look if she could if she was being honest. She didn't know what she was thinking when she told him she wanted to continue dancing.

Almost an hour after their dance ended, she was still wondering and chastising herself.

People were still looking at her strangely, but that she could not care less about.

Was he asking me to marry him?

Y/n ignored the thought the moment she had it.

Despite her attempts to quell her questions, though, one question kept coming to the forefront of her mind.

Am I in love?

She did not know how to answer, so she either kept trying to stop thinking, or tried to think if she did love him.

Butterflies kept erupting in her stomach, and she desperately tried to stop them from taking flight by washing down several glasses of wine.

Not much help, if she said so herself. But still nonetheless effective in that it made her feel freer. And she felt like she could ignore the others better when she was busy trying to lick the dregs from the bottom of the cup or having a staring match with the few droplets that for some reason refused to leave the cup.

She was not drunk, not by any means. She was just trying to pretend that what happened earlier was planned. Or that it did not matter to her.

A gentle touch to her shoulder brought her out from her current staring match with those bastard droplets that for some reason hated her, and she turned her head around to see who had the audacity to disturb her.

Roland grinned at her, nodding his head towards the raised platforms at the end of the gigantic room where long tables stood with high backed chairs surrounding the length of it. Steam wafted up in tendrils from the food that had been set on them by the servants who now hurried to get out of the way of the haughty autumn court nobles.

There were two platforms, one for all the court nobles, and a higher one for the high lords who would dine together. Only the high lords and a chosen member of their court would sit on the table on the higher platform.

Since Y/n's arrival, two balls had been held. Eris usually chose his highest and most trusted advisor to sit with him in these things. Y/n usually sat at one of the chairs on the lower platforms.

She began to move towards her usual spot when she felt Roland stopping her again. She scowled at Eris's personal guard and oldest friend.

His grin only widened, completely unbothered by her glare, as if she was a harmless little female. She was just about to give him a piece of her mind and show him exactly what she could do when he glanced behind her, trying to contain his smile as he jerked his head to behind her.

She glanced towards where he had nodded to, and found Eris staring at her as he stood next to his chair at the head of the table, his hand on the chair on his right.

Her brows furrowed when she realised his advisor was nowhere nearby.

She glanced around, wondering if he was not attending, but to her surprise, she found him sitting on one of the table on the lower platform, muttering in low tones. By the looks of it, he was not very happy with the seat arrangements.

She turned to Eris questioningly.

He simply pulled out the chair to his right, one that was always reserved for the highest ranking official after the high lord himself.

Only after a moment did she realise that he was waiting for her to sit in it.

Her eyes widening, she looked behind her to Roland, something akin to panic festering under her skin.

He simply nudged her lightly with a hand to her back, and Y/n turned forward again, telling herself she would kill him the first chance she got.

She clutched at the soft, velvety fabric of her skirts as she walked forward, a hush falling over the room as everyone again stared at her as she passed the empty chairs, and then continued on until she stepped onto the higher platform.

At this point, everyone had definitely realised that the high lord had removed the advisor from his normal seat to have someone who was not even a member of the court sit next to him.

She stared at Eris the whole time, wondering what he was playing at.

He did not look away either, simply moving away for her to sit.

He pretended as if nothing happened, toasting to unity of the courts against all evil and things Y/n did not bother to listen to. It was only some courtly bullshit, she knew.

She knew she could not listen and focus even if she tried. She was too busy thinking about what he had done.

After a few moments, everyone dug into the dish. It was a small piece of spiced chicken placed in a crunchy and edible bowl like structure, drizzled with a slightly sweet and sour sauce.

The high lords chatted among themselves. The couple from winter court sat next to Y/n, the lord simply staring at his wife as she chatted with Morrigan, who sat next to her.

Directly across Y/n sat the high lord of day court, his boisterous laugh at something Eris said echoing slightly from the high walls and ceiling of the room. Y/n simply waited, chewing slowly as she contemplated how she would talk to Eris about it.

Eris gave his signature cruel lord smirk to Helion when he said something. Then Helion tuned away to say something to the High lord of dawn court, and Y/n took that as he chance to give Eris a piece of her mind.

She slowly ran her heeled toes against the nearest leg she could find, trying to see if it was Eris. She was sure it was Eris, she was just making sure.

Eris paused his chewing, his eyes moving from his half eaten plate to her. He rose a brow.

If Y/n didn't know better, she would have thought he began blushing too.

She then pulled back her leg, and after waiting a moment, she kicked him. He jerked and jumped in his seat, biting his lip. He tried to recover by pretending nothing happened and taking another bite of the chicken on his plate. After he was sure no one had seen him caught off guard, he glared at Y/n, betrayal swirling in his eyes.

Y/n smiled at him, wide and unrestrained, before she turned back to the last bite that was left on her plate, the sauce having smeared all over.

Eris said nothing as the servants scurried out from their places against the wall to clear up the tables and then bring everyone a bowl of soup. They were silent, their feet hurrying to get their work done and then go and stand in the shadows again, to not be a bother to the elites of the court who already had a problem with the lower faeries existence.

Y/n smiled and softly thanked the bark skinned fae that placed the soup bowl in front of her. The fae seemed shocked for a moment, before they ducked their head and hurried away.

After the people resumed their eating, Y/n turned to Eris, who glanced at her.

She leaned close to him, and he put his head next to hers to listen to her amid the chatter in the room.

"You might as well marry me right now. Or have you already planned to do it?"

A small smirk made its way onto his mouth, and Y/n chided herself for giving him the chance to tease her. "If that is what you want, I would declare my love for you and marry you, right here, right now, my dear."

Y/n's face heated, and she sat back, avoiding his eyes.

For the rest of the dinner and until all the high lords save for the spring high lord and the night court inner circle left, Y/n avoided him like the plague.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

Eris Taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @tele86

Remember me Taglist: @holb32 @awoa1 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @luvmoo @we-were-beautiful @eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913 @j-pendragonx @thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz @esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten @txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman @leeknows-wife @aria-chikage @amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover @kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta @fides25 @nocasdatsgay @acourtofbatboydreams @stained-glass-eyes0708 @glaciuswduo @wallacewillow0773638 @cassie6392 @quackitysdrugdealer @txzii @anuttellaa @coisas-da-dani @hnyclover @sassyslytherinshai @historygeekqueen @why4anne @mybestfriendmademe @going-through-shit @thisblogisaboutabook @thehighlordishere @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #a court of mist and fury #mating bond #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #pro eris vanserra #acotar

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peachesofteal · 1 year ago

Note

if we combine all the angst au’s over the past few anons i believe we have ultimate angst:

darling finding out she’s pregnant the day before simon and johnny break up with her ✨

because we all know darling, she’s not gonna stick around and tell them… 👀🫢

SCREAMS! This is gold. A gut punch. An ultimate angst for sure. I could kiss your brain. This could be an entire fic, honestly. 🩵

18+ Mature themes. Disco baby AU (the AUs, they’re multiplying) Reader is pregnant unintentionally.

Just tell them. The words repeat in your head all the way home, over and over. Just tell them. They’ll understand. They won’t turn you away. They won’t be mad. Just tell them.

Easier said then done, you guess. You imagined them, at home, relaxing on the couch, maybe just coming back from the gym, waiting for you walk through the door after work. How could you drop this giant bomb in everyone’s lap, and expect it not to blow up?

You still couldn’t even process it, couldn’t think about this morning, when you were in the bathroom at work, peeing on a little plastic stick, trying not to throw up.

You take a breath in the elevator, trying to steady yourself, trying to relax, desperately, but it doesn’t do much to quell your nerves. You can’t not think about how they might react, how upset they might be or… if they’ll be mad at you. Disappointed.

It's not like you didn't want kids. You've always loved them. Always thought, it might be nice, to have a child, or two. But it's not like you were the best at taking care of yourself, and the nightmares of your own mother played on repeat in your head whenever you considered it. Could you be a good mother? Could you take care of another human?

It wasn't until you met Johnny and Simon that you thought it might be possible. That you might, be able to do it. With them. The three of you, together. Raising a family.

Used to feel like a pipe dream. Now it feels really, really fucking real.

When you finally get through the door, you’re not surprised to see them on the couch. Their posture seems stiff though, like something is off, and you frown while you put your stuff away. A uneasy feeling curls around your heart, and when you step over towards them, Johnny looks distressed.

“What’s wrong?” Your fingers tighten in the cushion, and Simon motions for you to sit, and you do, nervously.

“We have some news.” Johnny says, voice thick. His hand reaches for Simon’s, and you try not to let your breath shake on the exhale. “We’re going out on an op and…” he trails off, and Simon takes over.

“It’s going to be a long mission. Months. Possibly six, to twelve.” The earth fucking tilts on it’s axis, and you can just feel the blood draining from your face. "We don't know when we'll be able to come home, at all." Nausea pitches in your stomach, and you try not to spew the bile that's collecting there to come out through your mouth while you consider his words. Six to twelve months. Gone.

You'll be alone. You'll have to do this, this pregnancy, alone. Without them.

Maybe if you tell them, something will change. Maybe they can stay.

An overwhelming feeling of despair creeps over you, urges you to just spit the words out, tell them your news and let it be done, let the chips fall and see what happens. Surely, the three of you can figure this out. Surely, you all can find a way forward, together.

"We've transferred the ownership of the flat to your name," What? You don't even realize you'd been looking at the floor until your head snaps up, and you see Johnny trying to hide his face for a moment. "And we've decided, that what's best for you, and us, all of us, is that we... take a break, from this relationship, during this op."

No, no no.

It's funny, how the words don't register right away. How they seem to hang in the air, flailing, like they're looking for a place to land. You stare at Simon, and then Johnny, eyes flicking back between the two until it finally hits you, what he said. What he's saying. What he means.

You're going to be sick.

"I-" Your stomach heaves, and you cover your mouth with the back of you hand before swallowing it. Simon looks pained, like he's actually experiencing physical pain, while Johnny just stares at you, red rimmed eyes and all. "I don't understand? What... why?"

Please. Don't do this. Please don't leave me. You promised. You can't. You can't leave me.

You want to scream at them. Hit them. Beg them. Barter.

You'll be better. You'll be stronger. You'll be good. You promise.

Don't leave me.

"It will be healthier for everyone. We... we think it's for the best." Johnny croaks, and hot tears roll over your cheeks, splashing onto the couch. "When we get back, whenever it is, maybe we can have lunch, and catch up. See how we're all doing, and-"

"Have lunch?" the words are incredulous, shocked. You're surprised they come out so clear. "Have... lunch..." Have lunch? Lunch? You'll probably have- oh god. You could have a baby by then.

Their baby.

You stand. You don't know why, except for you need to put immediate space between you and them, and your legs shake while you step away from the couch. You wipe your face hastily, holding your breath to keep yourself from bursting into tears, or worse, falling onto your knees and begging them not to leave you.

"Darling-"

"Don't call me that." you snap, and Simon swallows. "Don't, please." He nods.

"We've arranged a place to stay, for the next two nights, until we leave. We didn't want to stay in your space after..."

"After you dumped me." you finish for him, and he shifts uncomfortably. "Are you already packed, then?" Your voice is higher, pitch like nails on a chalkboard, nearly hysterical. When they both nod, you bark out a sharp laugh, and the palm of your hand presses to your stomach, where a clump of cells sits inside of you. "Well, don't let me hold you up." You step aside, moving halfway into the kitchen and pointing at the door. "Get out." They both hesitate.

"Darling, we still care about you, we still lo-"

"Don't... say that." you cut him off. "I don't need your pity, or whatever this is. I just... need you to leave."

"We don't want to go until we're sure-"

"GET OUT!" you shout, scream as loud as you can. Loud enough the people on the floor above you probably heard. They exchange an uncomfortable glance. "Get. The. Fuck. Out." You point at the door. "Or I'm calling the police." You won't, but they don't know that, at least they don't know it now, and Johnny raises his hands in surrender.

"Okay... okay. We'll go. But, we want to make sure you're okay, we-"

"Leave!" you hiss, and turn your back. You can't even look at them.

Please don't leave me. You promised.

As soon as the door shuts, you fall to the floor, crumpling into a ball while you lose your composure, tears tracking down your cheeks as you scream against the carpet. You scream like your heart is being torn from your chest, scream like your body is being ripped in two. The gaping hole where your love, your life used to be sits rotting, and black. Eviscerated.

Alone. You were alone. You were going to have to do this, make this choice, alone. You were always going to be alone.

#peaches asks #tw pregnancy #ghoap x reader #disco baby au #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #fem reader

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trancylovecraft · 1 year ago

Note

Can I get l lawliet x reader headcanons?

(DEATHNOTE) YANDERE L LAWLIET x READER: General Headcannons

Thank you for ordering!

Come back soon!

⦁ Oh wow, This isn't looking good for you.

⦁ L as a yandere is Possessive, Obsessive and you guessed it.. Manipulative.

⦁ He's possessive in the way he just won't let you go, You are his. That is that. Don't try to fight him on this, He won't listen and simply just won't care.

⦁ Obsessive in the way he must know every little thing about you. Your schedule, The way you think, What is your favourite dessert or why you act the way you do. L must know it all, It's compulsive, An itch he just can't scratch out until he figures everything out.

⦁ Manipulative is pretty explanatory. This man uses his inhuman intelligence to his advantage. After he does figure out how you think and the fundamental basics it's extremely easy to make you do the things he wants you to.

⦁ I can see this starting a few ways. I don't think you or L would ever come into contact at first, I'm imagining it that maybe you were a figure in the Kira investigation. Maybe you were Lights sibling or maybe you were just a figure he saw one day going throughout their daily life.

⦁ Either way. There was just something about you that he couldn't stop thinking about. It could've been the way you looked or something you excelled in like intelligence or a particular skill, Whatever it was it captivates him and makes him want to know more.

⦁ L will instantly use his influence to get information on your life. He's gotten access to your camera's at work, He's gotten Watari to set up cameras everywhere in your apartment and made sure to keep a log of your every move.

⦁ Anyone around you he'll instantly take a disliking to, He doesn't really know why he just doesn't like people being around you at all.

⦁ He's multi-tasking both the Kira investigation and his not-so-guilty pleasure of observing you on the side. L likes looking into the monitor, Watching as you come home as he bites his nail in interest.

⦁ Of course that's all it starts as, Simple interest. It's nothing more than that at first and he's completely content with just observing you.

⦁ But of course, If that's all it became I'd be out of a hobby. As time goes on and the investigation progresses he starts to feel strange. L doesn't understand it, It bothers him and distracts him from the investigation and makes him watch you more and more.

⦁ Watari himself has to explain to L what he's feeling and at first L shoves it off as preposterous, He doesn't believe that can be the case at all. But as time goes on and on it starts to become more reasonable than he thought, All until it becomes the accepted yet surprising truth.

⦁ Afterwards just monitoring you isn't enough to quell his obsessive urges.

⦁ L gets Watari to steal stuff from your apartment, Thing's he will replace with the exact same product once taken. Stuff like clothing, Makeup, Jewellery or special trinkets that remind him of you.

⦁ He keeps these close to him while doing the investigation, It keeps him focused for a while. L even starts eating stuff that you enjoy, Mostly your favourite treats but if you don't like sweet stuff this point is moot.

⦁ If any of the task force ask him about what these objects are doing around him L will just shoo them off. He doesn't need to explain anything to them, Besides they'll probably just shrug it off as another one of his quirks.

⦁ Watari is really the only one okay with this. If this keeps L focused on the investigation and his detective work then he doesn't care, If not pity you a little bit.

⦁ Eventually even the objects surrounding you is too little for him. L needs you, He can't think straight when its not about you. He momentarily sets aside the investigation until he's got you in his clutches.

⦁ You've been living your normal life this entire time, You're completely unaware of everything that's been going on. So when you enter your work the next day you're suddenly met with your boss, Who tells you that you're fired.

⦁ You are shocked. You've been doing everything right, Getting your assignments in on time and have generally been a pleasure to work with. When you ask them however your boss tells you that you've been slacking off and therefore let go.

⦁ You're angry and confused as you leave the building, Even more confused when a non-descript white van pulls up out of nowhere and you're suddenly tossed inside by a squad team.

⦁ You're thrown to the back, Mouth duct-taped and your hands tied behind your back. While L would've manipulated you into his hold before he just couldn't wait to have you anymore.

⦁ Besides, Now that he got you fired from your job there's no one left to report your missing file. You have no family and your rent is being paid off by him, There's no one who will miss you.

⦁ After this, You two will enter the domestic stage.

⦁ You'll be confined to a single room with basic necessities. Bed, Bathroom and a few books for entertainment also with a single TV. You're confused and terrified once it turns on and a single "L" appears on screen.

⦁ He explains to you your situation and why you are here. Stating the fact that he's in love with you without any emotion or feeling whatsoever making you horrified and baffled to what's happening

⦁ Watari delivers your meals being mostly your favourite food. L knows it from all the times he's been watching you and it's one of the only comforts in this place

⦁ You'll not see L in person. Sometimes he comes back on the TV to give you announcements or orders but on rare occasions he'll try to start up mindless conversation, To which you ignore easily in favour of your stubbornness.

⦁ Every time you go to sleep, In the deep hours of the night you can swear you feel someone running their fingers through your hair. Sometimes you can barely make out whispers not coming from the TV anymore and sometimes you can even feel a body cuddle up next to you. But as soon as you try to awaken you instantly fall asleep with the single prick in your neck as a reason why.

⦁ The Kira taskforce will have no clue about you. Especially once Light is in the fold he makes sure to make it known to only himself and Watari for your protection and not to give Kira any blackmail.

⦁ L will provide whatever you request. More books, Blankets or different food though it all goes through a screening process to make sure it's safe or isn't anything you can use to escape.

⦁ Then again, If you do escape there is absolutely no way it's staying that way for long.

⦁ L will put your face on no flight lists. Watari will be 24/7 focused on finding you again, Police will be informed and told that you're a major suspect in the Kira investigation and will be patrolling for you.

⦁ Once you're forcibly pushed back into his arms that's when you finally get to see the bastard. Sitting there in such a weird position as he scolds you with a mechanical look on his face.

⦁ You know you'll never get away as he places you on his lap, Whispering little passive-aggressive remarks into your ear. You know you can't fight back either with your wrists restrained.

⦁ All you can do is sit there and hope to whatever god is up there is that it's all just a bad dream

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qwimblenorrisstan · 3 months ago

Text

Surprise Pt. 4 | Soap x Reader

Summary: Taken by someone from your past and tortured for information, memories from long ago, and truths unspoken begin to resurface.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Warnings: water boarding, torture, gas, dead bodies, guns, blood, grenades, flashbacks, injuries, kidnapping, yknow, the usual

A/N: (in matpats voice) the LOOOORE bonus: can you guess the two people at the end?? if you can you get extra creditt <3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Your head was pounding.

The first thing you registered was your aching wrists, rubbed raw from what you assumed to be a rope around them. You slowly tried testing out your body, trying to find any injuries or at least a general feeling of what was still functioning.

Your fingers were cold, but still movable. Arms worked all right. Your torso was sore, especially your ribs and your cheek was throbbing as well. Feet, legs, and toes still seemed to work, from the feel of it, though they didn’t feel great either. A thick blindfold lay over your eyes as you tried to open them.

Your memory slowly started to come back, and you quelled down the panic that rose within you. The accent of the men that had taken you…it sounded as if they were vaguely Iranian. And with the slight roll of their r’s? Maybe a hint of Mexican.

Not good.

Forcing yourself to focus on something else than the mind-numbing pain of your ribs, you strained to hear anything that could give you more information. You could loosely hear a fan in the background, or some sort of AC at the very least. A steady dripping, probably from the roof to the floor. Sounds of scuffling outside what must’ve been a thick door, before the sounds of metal creaking reached your ears, and you heard footsteps. Walking closer.

Very not good.

“Well, well…we meet again, compadre.”

A mocking tone. One you recognized all too well. You tried to focus on anything else, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking nervous or afraid. You stopped your fingers from fidgeting, and your wrists from squirming beneath the ropes.

“Aw, not going to talk? That’s alright, we have some convincing methods in store for later.”

A lilt to his tone, the accent still there. The black canvas blindfold was ripped off, and your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room.

He paced around the four stone walls, occasionally glancing at the tiny, barred window too high for even you to reach. The steady dripping continued. A constant melody.

“I have a few questions for you, mainly about those new roommates of yours, or that little plan you’ve been putting together for so long.”

Drip.

The puddle seemed to echo.

You wouldn’t tell him a thing, not when he’d already taken Nalani — oh god, poor Nalani.

Who would find her body? Would the boys come home from a mission and find it? Or would other friends come to visit and find her sickly dead form, contorted with a hole in the back of her head? How long would it be before her family knew?

She hadn’t known anything about it. About you. Who you were, what you were. She’d been innocent, a mere pawn in the game, and she’d still been crushed and pushed aside. No hesitation, no mercy.

“They had no idea, did they? Who they were living with. You really fooled them, didn’t you?”

Your gaze focused on the puddle.

Drip.

These walls became a cage all too quickly. A familiar cage, one you’d been forced in before. A cage you’d escaped before, spreading your wings and taking off. But now, your wings were clipped, and there was nothing to save you. No one to help.

“So,” He drawled, pulling out a rag and a watering can full of a liquid you assumed was water.

“Why don’t you tell me all about the reason behind your little trip to America?”

Your lips remained sealed, even as you mentally began reciting what had happened leading up to this, up from the very beginning. The boys had no idea. You’d tried to lay out hints, clues, a breadcrumb trail, but they hadn’t caught on.

He gave a tsk, wetting the rag with the water, and placing it over your face. It was cold and damp, biting against your skin. His hand slid to your throat, where he shoved your head backward, to tilt back, before pouring the watering can down.

Drip.

Water was filling your nostrils and your mouth opened to gasp for air, but-

You couldn’t.

There was no air.

You turned to one side, gasping, getting half a breath in.

Before the water came down again.

“Let me know when you’re in a talking mood.”

He said, continuing.

Even as you thrashed in that chair, a bit of your mind began reminding back, reflecting on events without telling. It had all started two months earlier, in the meeting.

“We have reason to believe a terrorist group is taking refuge near [REDACTED], we want you to find cover in a nearby area, assume the role of a new transfer student, and keep your eyes peeled. This won’t be quick, and it won’t be easy, but you’re the most qualified we have.”

“Bullshit. What about my men?”

“They’ll be taken over by [REDACTED].”

“You’re sending my team to that American pussy?”

“Are you in or out?”

“…”

“Wasp?”

“I’m in.”

Water poured down.

Drip.

Your senses filled up with what felt like cotton balls, and you only got a moment of reprieve, a few seconds to breathe before the water began pouring down again. The cloth was heavy and irritating against your skin.

You didn’t speak.

Memories blurred together in your mind, too disoriented to tell what from what, you let yourself fade back into that dark space. The little cave that became your refuge when it was all too much to handle.

The back of your mind, where you’d buried some of those memories so far deep that they could barely be coaxed out now. Older memories.

Drip.

Gunfire reigned everywhere.

You ducked behind a pile of sandbags, gun held tight to your chest. Your hair was dirty, tied back with spare rope. Two magazines left. You needed to get to him.

“Grena—“

Your ears rang as dust exploded into the air, bodies of your brethren shredding as angry Arabic made it to your ears. Some Spanish, too, but not as much.

The main building was to your left. You couldn’t cross over.

That was, until, that grenade had gone off and given you all the cover you needed to sprint into the building.

Gunfire that narrowly missed you, and your finger pressed down on the trigger, putting holes in the bodies of more soldiers. You moved, running, up the stairs and clearing it if you could. You were running off of pure adrenaline at this point, and you knew it.

A few more minutes, and you’d be out cold, dead, or worse.

Five doorways in this hallway. He was in one of them.

You opened the first one, unlocked. Nothing more than an office, much like the second and third.

The fourth was a weapon’s room of sorts, five men inside. As soon as you opened the door, they were shouting. Numb fingers unclipped a grenade, pulling the pin, throwing it in before shutting the door.

Shouting. A loud pop. Silence.

Moving to the fifth door, you heard it. His voice, in there.

“Hermanos mios, esta escoria no nos puede desanimar!”

Kicking the door open, you found him seated at a wooden chair, talking on what looked to be a live video. He turned, whirling around, brandishing a small gun that he didn’t get a chance to use before you smacked it to the ground with your gun.

Shoving him into the chair despite his screams and struggles, you took another grenade from your belt, or the poor excuse of a belt you had, anyways. The last one left.

Forcing his jaw open, you pushed it in, shoving his mouth closed around it even as he began muffled begging and a bit of tears as well. You had no pity. Not when you’d seen what this man had done to people, these people in this camp. You leaned in close, right near his ear, looking him in his soulless eyes.

You began humming, a simple song, even as you pulled the pin out. A song he would understand despite any language gap.

“Round and round the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel,”

He began crying, shaking his head in a silent expression of horror, begging for something, anything else. He wouldn’t get it.

“The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun…”

The live continued going. He knew this, as he frantically glanced towards it. You wouldn’t turn it off. Let them see the truth behind their ‘fearless’ leader.

It was only a matter of time before…

“Pop, goes the weasel.”

“Still not eager to speak, eh? You’re tougher than before, chica.”

He gave you a moment of a break again. This time, however, he peeled the wet cloth off of your face. The drain under your chair made deep noises as it sucked all the water up. The puddle beneath your chair was large.

You blinked away whatever water remained by your eyes, and he glanced down at the now-empty watering can, making a little mocking pout.

“A shame, yes? I’ll go fill this up, and give you time to think about your roommates. I want to know all about them.”

His footsteps echoed through the now empty room that held you. Your mind began working overtime, trying to get out.

You weren’t sure how long you could last, and if you broke…it would be disastrous. On the boys. On you. On your entire team. Everyone would be in danger. So you had to get out of here.

You tried maneuvering your wrists, wincing when the raw flesh rubbed against the rope. Your ankles were left untied, for some strange reason.

Odd.

It was common knowledge to tie the ankles. You’d never exactly tied anyone down more than once or twice, but even you knew that. Was it on purpose? To make you doubt yourself? Or just to give you a glimpse of hope and snatch it away?

For whatever reason it was, you could use it.

Slipping your shoe off by pushing the back of it against the leg of the chair, you did the same and managed to push your sock off as well.

Your knife was gone, still embedded in some man’s neck, so there was no getting that back. Glancing around the room, you tried to notice anything nearby. Anything that could be used. The very basics of guerilla warfare, use anything around you to your advantage.

Nothing much in the room. The puddle, the dripping, your chair…

The chair.

There was a small piece that was fraying off down on the bottom of one of the legs, and if you managed to get that sharp wood off, it might be your ticket out of here.

Using your free foot, you trapped the piece of wood between your toes, and began pulling against it as hard as you could. A few cracks. Some more footsteps. Shit, you needed to get out of here.

Shouting from down the hall.

The wood splintered but didn’t break all the way.

Almost there….

Frantic Arabic, Spanish, and even a few other languages you didn’t catch became more than apparent throughout the building, a hissing sound releasing faintly somewhere else.

The wood broke free.

It cut the sole of your foot open, but you grabbed the piece of sharp wood with your toes, somehow maneuvering your leg over to put it in your hand. Your numb fingers grasped it as that one foot began struggling to slip the sock and shoe back on amidst the slippery blood now coating the floor.

You began moving the sharp wood against the rope. It began fraying before….you were free on one hand. Immediately moving to the other wrist, you freed that one as well.

The shouting slowly went further away, and your head began feeling fuzzy. Your shoe was back on now, at the very least. Getting up, you rushed to the door, pulling it open, immediately being greeted with a thick green gas in the air, wafting through.

Gas.

You broke into a sprint down the hall, looking for any sort of gas mask there was. The people in the hall’s cells were coughing before collapsing, their eyes brimmed red and some throwing up stomach acid. There were no gas masks.

One struggling soldier who had fallen behind was around the corner. The only reason you knew was because you heard the heavy breathing of him.

Crouching down, you tried to wait, before deciding there was no time and lunging around the corner. He fell to the ground as you tackled his legs, groaning, reaching for a gun, but too late as you lodged the piece of wood in his throat. He gasped, fingers fumbling still, but you grabbed the gun first, yanking his gas mask off as you shot him in the head.

You shoved the gas mask on as quickly as you could, holding the gun close, trying to force your weak limbs to move. Your head throbbed from the injury you’d relieved earlier, aching in pain.

Maybe you’d already inhaled too much of the gas. It might be too late already. Your knees gave out five steps into the exit, and you began crawling, arms and hands hauling your otherwise limp body across the floor. Your arms gave out about six feet in.

Two people came rushing in, gas masks on, guns up. A woman, and a man.

You tried to signal that you were still alive, to barely any avail, only able to twitch and try to crawl to them. They didn’t look like the rest of the soldiers.

“Bastards tried to gas us out. Killed their hostages.”

The man spoke. He sounded American.

“Not all of them, look..” The woman had a thick accent. She reached down to you, feeling for a pulse, and getting one. Their words slowly faded in and out.

You were being dragged. Your body limp. Someone eventually took your mask off even as you tried to protest, your tongue a dead weight in your mouth.

Minutes, maybe hours later, you were gulping down fresh air as you were pulled into a truck and sat up against what felt like maybe a seat in the back. Seats on the sides.

“…you hear me?”

Voices flitting in and out as you toed the line between unconscious and conscious.

“Find…-ntification.”

“..ma’am.”

The more air you took in, the more everything came back to you. Someone was digging around in your pockets. The American. They pulled a silver necklace out, but not just any silver necklace.

A silver necklace that wasn’t a necklace at all.

“Ge’ your’ bloody hands off ‘at.” A raspy voice spoke. Your voice, you realized. Much more British than when you’d been in that school.

The American didn’t flinch, reading the dog-tag aloud.

“Y/N “Wasp” Riley.”

He said, before dropping the dog-tag into your buzzing hands. He cocked a brow at you.

“Well, Y/N, why were you-“

“Don’ call me that.”

The woman driving the vehicle upfront spoke.

“What do you want us to call you, then?”

A pause.

“It’s Captain Riley to you.”

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