#reblogs are off but comments should still be on!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 2

Warnings: suggestions of death, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You watch the witcher set off into the fog from between the slats of the barn. It’s been a fortnight crammed into the space. The stench has faded to something tolerable but the tension hasn’t. 

The now orphaned maiden clings to your arm. That’s what she is now. The man in black all but confirmed it. His horse tramps off into oblivion without hesitation as he sits tall in his saddle, disappearing into the haze. You sit back as your companion sniffles. 

“They’re dead? All of them?” 

“It would seem,” you sigh and lean on the wall.  

Your sister was a sweet girl but even before the revelation, you had little hope. Especially as your mother went to search and did not return. Your father has only you and your brother left. Marsh is a child still but he will grow into his legacy, so long as you father lasts that long. 

“How could this happen to us? Why Krescent? We are a good pious village,” she whines, her sniveling grating your addled nerves. 

“Bad things happen to all, regardless of prayers,” you resign. 

“That is blaspheme,” she accuses. 

“It is the truth. It has happened to all in the wretched place. And if this witcher should be able to slay the evil, then I too shall walk off to my own doom, only a living one.” 

She looks at you with her watery eyes. They are such a pale shade of green that they look almost yellow. She always reminded you of a swampy witch, the ones in the stories you whispered so the elders did not hear. 

“I suppose...” she begins, “marriage is destined to all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.” 

“To him?” You wonder grimly. “Perhaps, at least, I will be away from this cursed land, that I should not look upon it and think of my...” your voice catches as the witcher’s words crash upon you. Your legs buckle and you slide down the wall and fold against your knees. “They truly are gone.” 

Caralyn mops away her tears as she kneels at your side. Your own eyes do not weep though your chest concaves. You brace your head as your elbows rest on your knees. You take a deep breath. 

“My father did not protest,” you murmur. “He is too dumbed without my mother to do anything.” You look at her, still hunched, “you must promise to look after Marsh.” 

“I promise,” she avows and brushes your sleeve softly. “I will keep him close to my own brothers and sisters, now that it is up to me to see to them.” 

You nod and frown deeper, “I’m deeply sorry for your parents, Caralyn. They were always so kind.” 

“So kind, I do wonder why it should be them instead of me,” her eyes spring with tears again and she lowers herself to her bottom. She wipes her nose messily and heaves.  

You wring your hands. You wonder the same of your mother and sister. How can it be that Lessa would wander off and you would be left behind to miss her. Your mother was always the order in your life and now it is chaos. 

Along with grief, is more terror. What should happen should the fogler, or whatever he called, it not desist? What if the witcher were to defeat the monster? Should he really claim your hand? A wife?  

Caralyn is right, it is not great surprise to be wed. It is a young woman’s fate but this... what sort of wife can you be to someone like him. The tainted. The sort spat upon at even the lowest tavern. 

“He was not... hideous,” Caralyn suggests as if reading your thoughts. 

You scrunch your nose at her, “how he looks is the least of my woes.” 

“Tall. Strong.” She offers. 

“Car, stop,” you chide. 

“You must... must try to hearten,” she shifts closer so her legs touch yours and she leans a little, as if to comfort you. “As our mothers would always tell us, we must be good wives one day. No matter who. I’m certain if you prove a good loyal wife, he would not treat you as one of his beasts.” 

You stare at her and hum. She is not incorrect. You were never to choose your husband so it should be that it doesn’t matter so much who it is. Only that you serve him well. 

“A man is a man, even if witcher he be,” she declares. 

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Aftermath

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Synopsis: In the aftermath of Eddie’s death, you visit Wayne and you grieve Eddie together. You admit to him you never got to tell Eddie how you feel, but unbeknownst to you, Eddie hears your confession and is trying to make his way back home to you from the Upside Down. 

Warnings: heavy angst; grief; depression; mention of character death; smut (18+ minors dni); oral (m receiving); piv/unprotected sex; dirty talk; sub/sort of switch!eddie; smoking

A/N: I wanna shout out @punkrockmlchael @keeryhours @losingmygrasponreality and @munsonsmixtapes y'all are great- thank you for letting me talk to y'all about this fic <3

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! And requests are currently open :)

Everything still didn’t feel real. As the dust settles and Hawkins begins to pick up the pieces, you still feel like you’re stuck underwater. He’s gone- and everyone around you celebrates like they're better off for it. People rise from the ashes, content to keep the world turning- so much progress yet you are completely paralyzed. And it feels like no one else cares. 

They do care. They’re just happy. Relieved to be rid of the devil worshiping, fork tongued, serial killer that they fabricated and made the villain of this nightmare. They celebrate, and embrace, treating the aftermath like an uplifting time. You’re stuck- paralyzed by the immense pain that sits deep in your chest. It weighs you down, and you wished for anything but this. 

You wished for Eddie, because he’s the one person who’d pull you out of this when you’d spiral. You can’t feel grounded because your rock is gone. Your heart hangs so heavy with regret as you mourn your best friend and the love of your life. And you never got to tell him. 

As Jason and his friends created a witch hunt, everyone’s priority was to keep Eddie safe- there  \were so many times you felt like you should’ve said something. Your inner voice yelling at you to do anything- something before it was too late. You chickened out every time, petrified of rejection and worried you’d ruin what you had more than it had already been threatened. 

Now you don’t know how to feel anything at all. He’s just gone. And the rest of the town moves on. And you can hardly breathe, covered with dust as you stay exactly where you were. You weren’t there at the end, and you wish you’d had. To be with him, comfort him, make him know just how much he means. You’re angry you didn’t stick up for yourself when the group suggested you didn’t follow them. You’re angry you let Eddie convince you to stay behind when they traveled into the Upside Down. You should have been there. 

So now, like a body possessed, you go through the motions to get by with hardly living. You’re a shell, floating aimlessly from one thing to the next but you aren’t there. Because Eddie isn’t there. You miss him so much your brain can’t handle the amount of grief that’s overtaking you. You feel consumed by such an immense sadness just all the time. 

Dustin was the first person you saw, and you both held each other as you both wailed. He didn’t have to say anything, you instinctively knew. Both of you, tangled up in pain, holding on to the last bit of him you both had in that moment- each other. You both crumbled , and you cried so hard until your bodies exhausted themselves. 

Compelled to just make yourself feel anything, sick of the numbness- just wanting to expel the dark cloud sitting inside you, you find the strength to make your way to the Munson trailer, just hoping Wayne would be there. You knew Wayne needed you, and you needed him. You needed Wayne in your life- the father figure that stepped up for Eddie, but also for you. 

When Wayne opens the door, you notice he looks completely destroyed. His eyes, like yours, are bloodshot from tears and a man who you once thought was the tallest man in the world, looks so very small. The same small cloud that has dwelled in you since he died, also festered and plagued Wayne. 

The second he opens the door, you need a hug. Suddenly, you feel like a little kid again, safer now that Wayne is around. In his embrace, you feel heard, without needing to speak. You know he’s feeling the same pain, the same loss, and he’s the only person in the whole world that you need to be near right now. You just pray that he lets you in.

“He didn’t do it,” you sob, clinging to Wayne’s flannel shirt. He rubs your back comfortingly. 

“I know he didn’t,” he soothes you, but you can still hear that he’s crying as well. 

Wayne holds you and it gives him some solace for the first time in weeks. He’s relieved that you’ve come back to visit. You're the first of Eddie’s friends to make the journey over. But, of course you were. 

Once you manage to pull yourself somewhat together, you pull away from the hug. “I wanted to know if I could still come visit,” you ask meekly, desperate to encase yourself back into Eddie’s world. Wayne nods, hugging you again, stroking your head to comfort you as the tears begin to fall again. 

“I loved him, I love him,” you confess pathetically and Wayne shushes you like a child needing to be comforted. It’s a sound you’re familiar with. There have been many moments in your life where Wayne was the one there to pick up the pieces. Bullies would be mean to both you at school, Eddie and you would run home with tear stained cheeks, and he’d hold you both like how he’s holding you now. 

“I know, kiddo,” he soothed. “I know.” 

“Can- can I go to his room? Just for a minute,” you plead. 

“You can stay as long as you want,” Wayne promises, stepping aside to let you in. 

The trailer hasn’t changed- it’s got that look about it, always. It’s comforting to look around it and just feel him. It sounds so crazy but you swear you can feel Eddie- your senses are just overwhelmed with so much of him after weeks of an extreme emptiness. 

His room is untouched, you can tell Wayne hasn’t been ready to go in. His unmade bed, his dirty laundry, his tapes- everything is exactly as he left it. The bed he won’t crawl back into, the tshirts he won’t wear, the new tape that he’ll never hear- it’s all paused. A room that was once as lively as the boy who lived in it now felt like a time capsule that is the only proof that he was there. 

You sit on his bed, trying to commit it all to your memory. You feel so dizzy, and all you can do is fixate on every detail. Petrified you’ll forget something, which will turn into something else, and then before you know it you’ve lost all of the pieces that make Eddie. 

Laying on his bed, you stare up at the ceiling, you just let yourself sink into your sadness. You feel engulfed by him, his essence. It’s the closest you know you’ll ever get to the real thing again. You burrow into his pillow and blankets and just let yourself become fully cased in, you close your eyes and you can almost pretend he’ll be there when you open your eyes. He’ll be there, sitting on the floor strumming his guitar like he had done a million times before. You swear you can feel him there. 

He’s screaming for you, begging you to hear him. He’s scared and alone and can’t get out. He’s stuck in this limbo. He can see you, he can see everyone- no one knows he’s alive. He’s trying to reach out to you as he stands in his room, only in the Upside Down. His face is messy with grime and tears, his whole body aches. He can’t muster up the strength to run anymore. Seeing you like this though? Worse than anything else he feels like he’s been through. He needed to get back home, but he couldn’t figure out how. 

 He hears a gentle knock on the door, and it feels like a million miles away. Even if it doesn’t matter, he steps aside still trying to talk to you when he watches Wayne walk in. For the first time, Eddie’s speechless. He gives up on his talking for just a moment, he scrambles around his room, looking for any way to send the two of you a sign. 

Wayne takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He rubs your back gently over Eddie’s comforter. He doesn’t want you to think he wants you to leave. Eddie’s looking through the wreckage of his bedroom in the Upside Down, he needs to find his radio. He can see it on top of his dresser in the real world, and he’s trying to find the one there. If he can play something, anything, maybe he has a shot that the two of you will hear it. 

“I called your house, they know you’re with me,” Wayne says soothingly. He can see the blanket move so he knows you nodded. “I was hoping you’d take me up on having dinner here,” he adds. “I’m so used to cooking for two..,” he trails off, not wanting to make you any sadder. He sees the comforter nod again, and he pats your shoulder to make his exit. 

“Did you know?” you ask suddenly, Wayne turning around in the doorway. “Do you think he knew?” You ask, sitting up a little and wiping your eyes. Eddie stops his search and his eyes are just focused on you. 

“Did I know what, sweetheart?” Wayne asks softly. You take a few shaky breaths. 

“Was it obvious..,” you are embarrassed, “Was it obvious that I liked him? I never told him…”

“We didn’t really talk about stuff like that,” he responds. “But, you and Eddie had such a special bond… You meant so much to him, don’t let that be the thing you focus on.”

“I waited and then it was too late,” you sniffle. 

“Eddie loved you more than anything,” Wayne reiterates, and you know it’s true. You just didn’t know in what way. 

Eddie thinks he might be sick. He jumps over a pile of his dirty clothes to kneel on the bed in front of you. He knows you can’t see him, it doesn’t matter. He stares into your eyes even though he knows you aren’t seeing him back. 

“The whole time?” he laughs, tears welling up again, he hits his fist to the mattress. “Of course I liked you, oh my god. I couldn’t have been more obvious! On what planet would I not be completely head over heels in love with you?” He exclaims. His laughter sounds almost delirious- he feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. “Oh my god, baby, I- Fuck this,” he grumbles. “This is bullshit,” he says, looking around the room again for something to use. “I’m getting back there,” he announces to the void, “I’m getting back there and I swear to god, the first thing after I kiss you- I’m making fun of you for being so stupid to think I wouldn’t like you. Christ, where the fuck is my stereo?” 

His foot kicks something and he curses, but then he laughs triumphantly because he hears static. He uncovers the stereo from under one of his shirts and thankfully it looks salvageable. He sits down, pulling it onto his lap, and messes with the frequency. “Please, please, please,” he mutters over and over again, hoping to get some sort of signal out. Nothing. He tosses it aside, racking his brain trying to remember anything the group told him. “Lights, lights!” he says, scurrying over to the switch on the wall, frantically flicking it on and off. 

The lights in the room suddenly flicker, and your head tilts, looking up at the ceiling light. Your first instinct is to brush it off, the bulb probably just needs to be replaced. The annoyance of the flickering switch is enough to get you out of bed to turn off the light. You walk over to flip the switch to off, and you realize the overhead light is already switched to off. Puzzled, you look over, and see the lamp on Eddie’s bedside table is flickering now too. Then, the hall light flickers, like some electric current is running the length of the house messing with the lights. The lights over the kitchenette start to flicker next, and it makes Wayne jump. 

You follow the light trail, trying to figure out what’s going on. You look to Wayne and he looks just as mystified as you. Eddie, in the meantime, is banging the walls, flipping the switches, trying anything to get your attention. He’s yelling incoherent nonsense, jumping around, hitting things- fuck the monsters, he’s not afraid anymore. He’s not letting an opportunity to let you know that he’s there slip by. 

“Might be the generator acting up,” Wayne muses, explaining the odd sight away. You aren’t convinced, but you don’t know any better. So many parts of the journey, you were left out- you didn’t know about the electromagnetic elements of the Upside Down. You were left out of the loop, Eddie insisting you stay back for your own safety more times than not. You were mad at him still for that, honestly. Eddie knew Jason could’ve used you in some way to get to him. The less you knew, the better he felt. You resented it, knowing you could’ve handled Jason and his goons. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

“You think so?” You mumble, unconvinced. You observe as there seems to be an obvious pattern to the flickering of the lights. It was like someone was running up and down the length of the trailer, messing with the switches. The generator is the easiest answer, and the rational side of you tells you to just let it be. The other side of you, maybe the delusional side- looking for any sort of sign, thinks it’s something. 

“Can I use the phone?” You ask, and Wayne nods. You grab the receiver off of the base and start dialing Dustin’s home phone number. Wayne continues to work on dinner, turning on his portable radio to offer you some privacy as you make a call. 

“Hi Mrs. Henderson,” you say when Dustin’s mother answers. “I understand that it’s dinner time, I’m sorry. I was just hoping Dustin could talk for just a few minutes? I understand, ma’am. Please, just this once? Thank you, ma’am.” 

Dustin sounds confused when he says your name on the other end of the phone. “What’s going on?” He asks, understandably confused. 

“The lights in Eddie’s trailer are going haywire,” you explain, not sure how to explain it to him. “It’s so weird, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s random- but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s just Wayne and I here, but it’s like someone is flipping the switches over and over again.” 

Eddie says a little prayer that Henderson will pick up on the fact that he’s trying to let you guys know he’s there. He watches you intently as you listen to Dustin, and answer his follow-up questions. He watched as you try to hold back a smile, the first one in weeks to Grace your pretty face. 

“Are you sure?” You ask again in disbelief, listening to Dustin’s theory. You’re skeptical, you can’t let yourself believe Eddie might be alive. You couldn’t bear the disappointment. 

“We’ve seen it before,” Dustin says, and you can tell he’s rushing off the phone. “Trust me, let me figure something out. Do you know Morse code?” 

“No,” you answer dejectedly. You also don’t know if Eddie would know any Morse code, but maybe Dustin knew more than you. 

“That’s okay,” Dustin says, you hear him scribbling something down. “See if there’s something you can figure out. A pattern, anything- I got to go. My mom is gonna flip out if I’m not back like now.  I can call you back after dinner- use Eddie’s walkie.” 

Dustin hangs up abruptly and you place the receiver down, dejectedly. You smile towards Wayne and the lights finally settle down. You offer to help and Wayne happily takes you up on the offer. It’s a small space, but the two of you make it work. It’s a nice silence, but it also weighs heavy among you. It shouldn’t be like this. It should be chaotic and messy and loud and he should be here. 

“Remember that one Halloween you took Eddie and I trick or treating, and we both wanted to be Casper,” you reminisce. Wayne offers a deep, throaty chuckle. 

“You both tricked me, I dropped Eddie off at your house and it wasn’t until I was halfway back home that I realized I had the wrong kid,” Wayne huffs, and you break into a fit of giggles. “Just like that,” he points at you, “you laughed just like that under the sheet and you gave yourself away.” 

Wayne hands you a plate and you both sit down at the tiny kitchen table. You’re happy to see him like this. He’s not okay, and you’re not okay. But for now, he’s letting you in- and he’s letting you in so he can heal, even if never fully. He knows Eddie would want you here. 

You settle back into a comfortable silence again as you both eat. Both of you just happy to not be alone. You know your other friends feel this loss- everyone is just pained with losing Eddie. Everyone’s spirits are broken. Wayne and you knew Eddie best, the longest. Everyone is mourning their friend. Wayne and you are mourning Eddie in every phase of his life. 

Grief is a fickle thing. It comes down in waves. Unpredictable and always messy. And always uniquely different. It’s an anchor that sits on your chest and the seams that hold you together in the moments where you miss them the most. It also makes you emboldened. Too sad to care about anything- it lowers inhibitions and makes you realize how life is too short to be embarrassed. And it hits you all at once, and you don’t even know when you started crying into your food. 

It’s an ugly cry- the kind where you struggle to breathe, your nose runs uncontrollably and it sounds inhuman. Wayne comforts you the best he can, resting a hand on your shoulder. You can hardly speak as you manage to talk between heavy sobs. 

Eddie’s devastated. It hurts him so much to see you like this. He’s never seen this and he hopes soon he won’t have to again. Because he’ll figure out how to get home to you. As Wayne pulls you into a hug, Eddie makes a vow that no matter what he’s getting back. He racks his brain, trying to remember what his friends told him about the Upside Down. He wishes he could contact Dustin- he’s in no condition to even try to head over to his house. He needs to stay here- hoping you will continue to pick up on the clues. 

You ask Wayne if you can stay in Eddie’s room a little longer after dinner. He of course says yes. You help him with the dishes, and then head back to Eddie’s room. On his desk, you’re shifting through the clutter to try to find paper. So you can make notes of any weird occurrences. Eddie watched intently as you carefully move the amps, and find a composition book he had stashed away. It’s just a junk notebook, he’d use it to scribble or write down song ideas or brainstorm campaigns. 

You flip to a blank page as you take a seat at his desk chair. Eddie’s thankful he remembers a little Morse code- at least he learned something for the very brief time he was a scout (before he was kicked out). He walks over to the switch on the wall. 

One short flash, one long flash 

One short flash, one king flash, two short flashes 

Two short flashes 

Three short flashes, one long flash 

One short flash 

He repeats this over and over again, not sure what else he can do or what else he can relay. He knows you don’t know Morse code, and it needs to be simple enough that you can pick up the sequence and tell it to Dustin. He watches over your shoulder as you write down what you’ve seen. 

He watches as you look around until you locate his walkie. You press the button to speak. 

“Dustin?” You ask hesitantly, feeling a little foolish. 

“Dustin, over,” you hear him say, and you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah- there’s definitely a pattern here,” you say. 

“Say over when your done talking, over.”

“That’s stupid, over,” you quip. 

“Do you want my help or not? Over,” Dustin replies, obviously getting frustrated. 

You read off your notes to Dustin and it takes a few minutes for him to respond. The waiting is what’s killing you. Eddie tries to think of something else he can relay with the lights. Hopefully what he's done is enough, he thinks. 

“It spells alive, over,” Dustin says at last. You can hear the excitement in his voice, and it makes you feel like you’ve been able to take a full deep breath for the first time in weeks. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, trying to hold back. You can’t let yourself spiral. You can’t let yourself get your hopes up. It would break you. “Oh shit, the lights are doing something else now!”

One short flash 

One long flash, two short flashes 

One long flash, two short flashes 

Two short flashes 

One short flash

“What’s it say?” You ask impatiently. 

“It spells out Eddie,” Dustin responds, and Eddie can hear the happiness in his voice. 

“Oh fuck,” you exclaim, excitedly. You get up and pace anxiously. “How do we get him back, Dustin?” You ask, panicked, “How do I get him home?” 

“Shit,” Dustin replied, “We need to open the gate.” 

“How do we do that?” You insist. 

“Standby,” Dustin states matter of factly. “Can you stay at Eddie’s tonight?” 

“Sure, of course- whatever I need to do,” you say with certainty. 

“See if you can get anything else. Maybe he’ll send us something,” Dustin instructs. “We need to rope everyone else in on this. So we can do anything until tomorrow.” 

“We just found out that Eddie’s alive, stranded in hell and you’re saying we aren’t waking everyone else up and dealing with this immediately?” You’re angry. 

“We need to strategize, we can’t just half ass this,” Dustin rationalizes. “We need to figure out what to do,  we can’t exactly just call Eleven and just have her open a gate. Everyone is still looking for her. Besides, we don’t know if it’s actually Eddie yet either.”

“Of course it’s Eddie!” You interject. 

“We also can’t hurt him,” Dustin explains. “If we open the gate, it might send creatures his way that he isn’t strong enough to deal with. We need to do this right.” 

You can’t explain how it happened. It was really Dustin who headed the whole operation. You did your best to help, remembering some things from before. You watched your friends in awe, everyone banded together- no one stopping round the clock. It was incredible to witness. Your heart swelled. Everyone just loved Eddie, and no one was stopping until he was home safe. It was a group effort. Even Susie was phoned in from out of state to help out. It was sweet, watching Dustin get flustered as the two of them talked over walk-in talkie. You’d been waiting in the back of Nancy’s car,  Robin anxiously playing with the walkie- the three of you on stand-by as Steve, Jonathan and the others disappeared into the woods, hoping to bring Eddie out. You all wait, silently begging for any sort of update. And then you see them, huddled together- a group effort to carry Eddie. 

Eddie. 

He feels like he can finally breathe. The clean air fills his lungs and he feels like part of his old self again. Slung around Steve for support, he’s limping still from his injuries but he might as well have been running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Real life doesn’t feel real, it suddenly feels better. Especially, when he lifts his head and sees you right there, waiting for him. 

He smiles, that dopey perfect smile of his, like nothing happened. All he can do is just see you, it’s all he’s thought about and he’s just taking it all in- just you. In the flesh, standing right in front of him, waiting for him and loving him. He made it back to you, his girl, just like he promised himself he would. 

You can’t bear it any longer, you rush to his side, taking the weight of him from Steve- pulling Eddie in to a panicked embrace, like you might lose him again. He’s here, he’s actually really here. You realize you can’t squander this- not taking time for granted again. Not when he’s made it back to you like this. You sob, overwhelmed. The feeling of him after all this time has left you stunned. Everything else just fades- nothing matters now except him and the feeling of him against you like this. 

“Hi to you too, sweetheart,” he coughs, happily throwing his arms around you. Steve steps back to give you both space. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles against your hair, kissing your forehead. Although it makes him wince to move his arm, he tilts your chin up to look at him. “And I’m so sorry I never did this sooner.” 

He presses his lips to yours, and you gasp softly in surprise at first. His hand cups your jaw and you feel his smile when you begin to kiss him back. His lips are so soft, except for the small cut that’s starting to heal. You’re too wrapped up in him to even notice. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in close. 

“I love you,” you rush, pulling away from the kiss- desperate to finally tell him. “I love you so much-“ he cuts you off with another kiss, not able to get enough of you. He knows! Oh God, he knows and he wants to sing it from the rooftops when his body doesn’t ache like this. But, fuck- he knows. And that is the best feeling. 

Wayne waits patiently, watching the two of you. He always knew you’d end up like this. He wasn’t one to interfere- but he knew before either of you. He considers himself so lucky to have watched your story together unfold. Shit, tears well in his eyes. His Eddie is home and safe. That’s all he cares about. His boy is alive and well and loved. Everything is going to be alright again. You all can move through this, together. 

“Love you so much,” Eddie says, pulling back. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “I gotta see Wayne,” he whispers and you nod, helping him walk the rest of the way up the small dirt road to the trailer where Wayne waits in the doorway. You pass Eddie off to him, and it makes your heart swell watching Wayne pull him into a big hug as Eddie buried his face in Wayne’s shoulder like he would when he was little. 

Wayne helps Eddie into the trailer, and you follow closely behind after everyone says their goodbyes for now. You and Wayne help ease Eddie onto his bed, and all of the muscles in his body relax. He sighs, relieved, resting his head against his squished, unkempt pillows. Wayne pulls the blanket over him, and you head to the kitchenette to get Eddie water. A few seconds later, Wayne emerges from the room, slowly to avoid making noise.

“He passed out,” Wayne chuckles and you smile. He looks back to the closed bedroom door and then back to you. “I can’t believe I have to leave him already and go back to work,” he sighs. He looks to the clock on the wall, he’ll be due for his shift tonight. “I hate to have to go, but he’ll probably sleep the whole time.. right?”

“I think so,” you reassure Wayne. “Can I stay?” You ask hopefully. 

“Honey, you’re family. You stay as long as you want- you don’t need to ask me that.”

“I know, I just- I always just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome.” 

“You’re a good kid.” 

With that, Wayne’s gone for now. Somehow miraculously back to the same Wayne you always knew. Everything has begun to settle. All of the parts that fragmented and tore him up are all falling back into place. He can do what he’s always done. His life revolved around Eddie- and he’s so relieved it can continue to do so. So for Eddie’s sake, he forgoes missing work again, and heads to his next shift. 

You look to the door of Eddie’s bedroom, suddenly a place that filled you was such an immense pain sparks butterflies and giddiness in your stomach. The space feels alive again even though he’s sleeping so soundly when you slip back inside. Your sweet, beautiful Eddie- taking up all the space in the room again and captivating your attention. He looks so exhausted but you still think he looks so angelic, as always. 

You don’t want to hurt him, so you keep your distance the best you can when you slide into the bed to lay next to him. Settling in on your side, you watch his gentle inhales and exhales and study all of the little details on his face like you have before- just so happy that you can do it again. Eddie wakes up shortly after, his brown eyes, that always make you seem to melt, are looking at you- taking in all of you again, just like you to him. How could ever not know he loved you when he looked at you like that? 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, his good arm reaching out to pull you in closer to his side. Hesitantly, you scoot closer, not wanting to hurt him. He picks up on that, always so good at reading you, and pulls you flush against his side. “So much better,” he sighs, kissing the tip of your nose. “There’s my girl.” His lazy smile makes you feel so warm. Your eyes linger on his lips, wanting desperately to kiss him again, just all the time- so you do, because you finally can. 

He helped save the world and he got the girl. This was not the way Eddie thought life would turn out for him. He’s not the main character, he’s not the hero- not like this, never like this. These were the stories he’d write about- a story like this is something he would just live through vicariously. But after everything, after all the heartache and the loss and the tragedy, he feels like he’s finally lived. But most of all, he feels like that because of you- he’s unapologetically yours. After years of silent, hopeless pining- secret yearning that he keeps hidden deep in himself- he feels so indescribably happy. It’s all due to you, and the way you’re looking at him at this moment. 

You offer Eddie nothing but sweet, soft kisses- scared to take it further because of his injuries. You don’t know how he’s feeling, so you feel yourself holding back. It’s still just as perfect as you always imagined kissing him would be. Tangled up in his sheets, your leg rests over his and your hands delicately rest on his chest. You fill his senses, and he swears despite how he must look, he’s never felt better. He wants to deepen the kiss- hell, there’s so many things he wants to do right now. His fingertips graze under the hem of your shirt, touching your soft skin. 

“Is this too much?” you ask, biting your lip. You’ve shifted so you’re hovering over him. Your hands rest on his shoulders. You’re worried about taking things too far, you don’t want to hurt him, but god, you don’t think you can keep holding back much longer. 

“Fuck no,” he exhales, his hands find your hips and pulls you down so you’re resting your weight on him so your stradling him. You can feel how hard he is, and it makes you surge with a little bit of pride, just knowing how you have this effect on him. Experimentally, you grind against him as you kiss him again. He moans against your lips and it sounds so strangled and desperate- it goes right to your core. He wishes he could reciprocate more- god, he really did. As soon as he’s better, he promises. 

You smirk, against his lips, pleased with yourself that you can make him sound like that. It’s addicting. You need more, you want to experience everything. Testing the waters, you kiss his neck as you reach down to unzip his jeans. His head falls back against the pillows and he sighs, contently as you free his hard cock from the confines of his jeans and his boxers. Fuck, he’s gorgeous like this. You can tell he’s insecure- the scars on his body from what he went through, and you’re going to show him that you think he’s stunning. 

“You’re so pretty, Eds,” you reassure him, trailing your fingertips down his torso and then pulling up his Hellfire t-shirt. You bat your lashes at him and he feels his knees grow weak. You pull your own shirt over your head and toss it haphazardly aside. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and his eyes widen. The sight is almost too much for him to take. There’d been so many nights where he’d imagined you like this- but nothing, absolutely nothing in his head measured up to this. It’s all you- his best friend, the love of his love, perched on his lap oh so prettily looking at him with a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest and he’s speechless. 

You move so you can bend down and press your lips to his leaking tip. You kiss and lick the precum away before slowly taking his cock in your mouth. The noises he’s making are filthy, breathy moans and it only fuels your desire to unravel him. You’re only getting started. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he wines, and you bob your head up and down the length of his shaft teasingly slow. It’s almost methodical, you pulling him apart like this. Slow and purposeful- long drawn out fucking teasing thats making his entire body shake with need. You hum content, pleased with how he’s responding to you. You look at him, from behind your eyelashes, wide doe eyes connecting with his before you pull away, a string of your saliva stretching between your swollen lips and his head. He thinks he might pass out and your hand wraps around his cock. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, smirk forming on your lips as you feign innocence. You watch as his mind stutters, unable to form a coherent response. He nods, his eyes closing tight from the sensation. It’s all too much. You press your lips to his neck, trailing kisses across his jaw. “Use your words, baby,” you purr, your breath warm on his face. “Don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper, and then suck gently leaving a little mark on his neck. 

“Please,” he whimpers, not even sure what he’s asking for. He pants, it’s all too much. 

“Please what, love?” you smile, kissing down his chest and your fingertips trace his scars lovingly as you admire his exposed skin. You move his bangs out of his eyes delicately as you gaze down at him. 

“Need you,” he pleads, leaning up as much as he can to reconnect his lips to yours. “Fuck, need you so bad, baby.” 

You pull off your jeans and toss them to the floor near your shirt. Now, you’re just left in your bra and panties. You’re a little nervous- but you shouldn’t be. There’d been so many instances over past summers where you and Eddie have gone swimming together. This isn’t showing any more than that, but this is different. This is so different. Because you wouldn’t see him staring at you, gawking at how you’d look in your two pieces. He’d keep his desire hidden away, so you never knew how crazy you made him. Now, there’s no stolen glances. It’s all laid out in the open, and he’s staring at you with such an intensity that you can’t focus on anything else. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he sighs, reaching out to feel you. His hand trails across your side, running down your curves. He rests his hand on your hip, feeling the soft fabric of your panties. “I like these,” he winks, releasing the band and watching it snap back into place against your hip. “So pretty.”

You reach behind you as he smiles up at you, and unhook your bra letting it fall. You watch his Adam's apple bob as you pull the material away. His eyes darken as he gulps, god you were so fucking perfect. “Fuck, you have perfect fucking tits,” he groans, reaching down to stroke his cock, needing to relieve himself if only just a bit, as he takes in all of you. You shimmy out of your panties quickly, wanting to be close to him again as soon as possible. You press your lips against his, and you straddle his lap again. 

You can feel the coolness of his rings against you as he lines himself up with your entrance. You slide down onto his cock and the stretch feels so goddamn good. You moan, holding onto his shoulders to stabilize you. “Mmm Eddie,” you gasp, surprised when he thrusts up and his hands rest on your hips. He guides you, letting your hips do most of the work then- guiding you to fuck yourself on his cock. Your brain is fogged with lust- it feels so fucking good. He feels so good. It’s all so incredible, you can’t think straight as you lose yourself in the movement, working up to a steady rhythm. 

“That’s it baby,” he praises. “You’re doing so good, fuck. Use me, sweetheart. Want you to get yourself off with my cock.” He smirks when you whimper, loving the way he’s speaking a little too much. Your whines are his favorite sound, he decides. It’s all too much, he doesn’t know how long he can hold out. Your blissed out expression, your tits bouncing in his face, your hips moving against him, your pussy taking his cock so well… it’s so much better than he could’ve dreamed. You’re like an angel, and he’s mesmerized taking it all in. 

“Fuck, your so big, Eds,” you whine, moving your hips and grinding against him. Without losing your pace, you lean and kiss him hungrily, and you feel the all too familiar knot start to form in your stomach. “‘M so close,” you mumble, cock drunk and chasing your own orgasm. “Wanna cum together,” you plead against his lips. You straighten your back, and you decide to give him a show. You bring your hands up, massaging your tits and tug at your hardened nipples as you continue to bounce on his cock. 

“Fuck, baby, I-“ he strains, reaching around you and grabbing your ass, squeezing as he matches your pace and thrusts up into you. His fingernails dig into your flesh and the sensation makes you dizzy. It’s all too much, it all feels too good. You feel like everything is heightened, your senses are all too overwhelmed in him. He sits up fully, pressing fevered kisses on your torso, mumbling how much he fucking loves you, and it’s enough to send you over the edge. 

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock, is enough to make Eddie orgasm shortly after you. Whimpered sighs of relief escape his pretty lips as he finishes inside you, you moving your hips until he’s pulling out, all of his energy spent. He collapses back into his pillows, his chest rising and falling heavily to catch his breath. His hair strewn about on his pillow messily as his eyes fall heavy as he basks in the feeling of this total bliss. 

You lay down next to him, both of your bodies glistening with sweat. You take a moment to also catch your breath and you catch his eye. “Shit,” you exhale, and giggle. He smiles softly, reaching across to tuck your hair back out of your face. “That was..” you begin, not able to finish your thought and you stare at his ceiling. 

“Yeah,” he sighs in agreement. He turns his head to look at you, smirking. “You had a crush on me,” he teases. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble, hiding your face in your hands. “You’re such a dork,” you mumble, tossing a pillow at him playfully.

“You really didn’t know I was in love with you?” He asks with a chuckle, leaning over carefully to grab his box of cigarettes from his dresser. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Well you didn’t know either,” you say defensively, getting up to go to the restroom. You grab your shirt and pull your panties back on- just to have something on when you go to the bathroom. When you return, Eddie’s taking a drag and he beckons you back to lay down beside him. He lifts his arm so you can take your place snuggled up to his side. He lets out a long exhale and the smoke wafts up and out of the vent in the ceiling. He kisses your forehead, and Eddie just watches as you slowly drift off. 

He’s fighting against sleep so he can finish his cigarette. He eventually realizes he can’t force himself awake much longer. He taps it out and drops it in the ashtray, the temptation of dozing off with you overtaking everything else. He wraps his arm around you and pulls the blankets up, resting his chin on the top of your head. Wrapped up in each other, the two of you sleep better than you have in months.

TAGLIST: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington @mrsjellymunson @fanficfantik @the-unforgivenn @punkrockmlchael @keeryhours

[juchioris]

No Yandere Simulator: Undine Eisner

My entry for the No Yandare Simulator au by @quartztwst. I'm sending Undine out to play with the neighbours' kids!

repost from my reblogs under the templates, now as one Masterpost - you are welcome to comment and ask questions in the post's comment section :)

(excuse the traditional art, I don't have the digital drawing skill, lol)

Under the Cut: Role in the Plot, Introduction, Official ten Questions answered

Role in the Plot: Potential Rival

- will investigate murders and murder attempts (turns up after murder and failed attempt) - will try to protect everyone (after failed murder attempt: guards the intended victim, no matter who it is) - will intervene in fights if she comes across them (tries to stop the fight, so no one gets injured/killed) - will try to stop a murder attempt, if she walks in on it (fights the attacker and tries to capture them) - will sneak/run away, if someone has a gun (Undine knows what she's made of and that she can't win against that)

Introduction

In this AU, she moved with her family from Germany to whereever this school is, while her friends stayed back in Germany, so she is on her own at this school (still in contact with them though). Her family is actually political very right and hates foreigners, so they also hate to be foreigners, but one parent got such a great job opportunity here, you know: money. At any rate, Undine tries to be a "good" foreigner and "integrate" (assimilate). So, she prefers to get into fights (only with "bad guys" who "deserve it", of course) after school, to not be bad at school by breaking the rule against fighting there.

Other "values" taught at home are racism and queerphobia. With the bad influence of her parents instead of the good influence of her friends, Undine believes in these "values" much more. By mouthing off about her outdated and cruel points of view, Undine has ruined her own reputation at this school.

Her desire to be heroic and popular (even stronger in this AU) is constantly thwarted by herself. It's not just that she ends up discriminating students in her mindset to look down on differences to put herself higher, she also comes across as annoying, ignorant and patronizing when she tries to help people with little daily struggles (because there are so little big stuggles at this lame, mundane school).

While it is unclear, if Jade really has a romantic interest in Undine (as rumour has it, but that rumour could easily be false), he is certainly interested in the contradiction between her heroic kindness and her villainous rude side and the resulting "entertaining behaviour". Undine is curious, if the rumour is true, but won't ask Jade outright. She wouldn't risk to get rejected by someone she doesn't even have a crush on. Goes against her pride.

In an AU, where she is not at a disadvantage with others having magic, but she herself not, Undine is pretty strong. She won't admit it, but her motivation to get stronger in the Martial arts club isn't just her wish to be heroic and save people, but also her less heroic lust for power (which physical strength is).

Her close friends call her "Dini" - but she doesn't have any close friends at this school.

I hope Undine isn't too problematic with her discriminatory ways, but I thought if murder is okay, then her misdeeds should not be too hardcore for the AU. Undine can change and learn to be a better person - with some good-influence-friends, patience and learning from mistakes it's possible, even in this AU.

Undine Eisner No Yan Sim AU Q&A

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Yes. Undine lives with her parents and has a good relationship with them. Her parents, followers of right-wing populism, are a bad influence, raising their daughter (only child) to be racist, queephobic etc. The teachers at the school step up and try to teach her to be more tolerant.

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

Quartz has an unusual skincolour, so... While Undine doesn't outright bully people with a different skin colour, her racism manifests in a casual form, by her avoiding them, being wary of them and being less kind to them. For example, Undine would help Quartz, if she sees another student bullying/attacking her (unless she knows of a context that justifies it, like... you know... Quartz trying to kill someone), but she wouldn't help her if she fell down or dropped some things, when she would help white students in such little scenarios. Since she is so distant, Undine isn't close to Quartz at all. She barely knows her. Undine has no idea, what she's up to. While Undine isn't crass enough to admit it out loud, she is more suspicious of not-white people, so she will easily suspect Quartz to be a criminal.

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Undine has no respect for guys who have a harem (which Azul has in this AU apparently, lol). Someone who can't choose and commit isn't worth her (romantic) interest. Normally, Undine stays away from Azul and his admirers. She has actually never met him alone until now and has never had a proper conversation with him. She only knows him from seeing him around and hearing other people's stories about him. She will protect him from harm and danger, but out of principle - Undine will try to save every student, whose life is in danger.

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

Crowley: If Miss Eisner gets sent to my office one more time for political incorrect commentary, I shall have her put together and hold a presentation about why discrimination is unacceptable and the benefits of tolerance at school. A recording of that will look good on the school's website - I mean it is good to share the resource with the public, so that everyone can learn from it...

Azul: Undine is easily one of the most foolish students here, very naive and narrow-minded. I don't like people like her.

Vil: Undine is a perfect example of someone who has neither skill nor talent in acting. Unfortunately, she tries to put up her nice-girl-act every day, despite that. It's so bad, that no one could fall for it...

Ace: Yeah, Undine is really way too nice. She just agrees to help me with everything I ask of her, as long as I don't want her food or ask her to go throw my trash away. I found out that her limit of taking requests from the same guy is two per day, then she catches on that she gets used as maid and gets snappy, hehe.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

First year

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Get good grades, do good, be heroic.

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Outrageous! Undine will prove her innocence and look for the real killer! If she knows who framed her, she can guess the killer is also Quartz.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Yes.

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Undine doesn't skip class. She eats lunch in the cafeteria. She is usually alone.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Overall good, but nothing special. She's failing English, because she is too far beneath the first language level, that is taught here.

Undine outside of this AU

Link to Undine's Debut on my Blog

Link to my TWST Fanfic starring Undine and her friends

[buckysouvenir]

between the lines (chapter 3)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

warnings: none.

word count: 933 words.

author’s note: hey guys! officially started the tags so if anyone else wants to get tagged so they can be notified when there’s a new chapter, just ask me! also the chapter are almost 1k words and i keep feeling like they are so short 😔 i love long chapters so tell me if you like the way it’s going or want longer chapters!

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

bucky barnes masterlist⠀ |⠀ series masterlist⠀ |⠀ last chapter⠀ |⠀ next chapter

It was another quiet evening at S.H.I.E.L.D., and Y/N was ready to kick back and relax. Her friends were already preparing for Movie Night in the lounge, something they did every week to unwind from the chaos of work. They’d pick a cheesy action flick or an old classic, and for a couple of hours, the world outside didn’t matter.

She grabbed a bag of snacks from the desk in her room, checked the time, and headed toward the lounge, trying not to be too distracted. But it was hard not to think about Bucky. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened. Every time she crossed paths with him, something in her chest fluttered. And it wasn’t just the awkwardness of their accidental collisions that left her rattled. No, it was the way his smile lingered longer than she expected, the way his eyes didn’t look away so quickly. It was the quiet moments between them that made her feel like there was more than just a casual acquaintance.

But tonight, she had to focus on movie night. It would be easy to forget about Bucky in a room full of her friends. Or at least, that was the plan.

She rounded a corner, lost in her thoughts about how her friends would make fun of her movie choice. But as always, life had other plans.

Y/N looked up to find Bucky Barnes standing right in front of her. 

“You sure you’re not following me?” she teased.

Bucky smirked, clearly amused. “You caught me!”

She playfully swatted him with the bag of snacks. He raised his hands in mock defense, laughing.

“So, what’s the deal? Out for a stroll, or are you just trying to bump into me again on purpose?” she asked with a teasing grin, her gaze lingering on him a second longer than she intended.

Bucky looked at her for a moment, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe I am trying to bump into you. What’s it to you?” he countered, his voice soft but laced with something playful.

Y/N felt a twinge of heat rise in her cheeks, but she kept her composure. “Well, if that’s the case, I should warn you—I’m heading to movie night with my friends. You know, the loud bunch who can’t sit still for five minutes.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Movie night, huh?”

Y/N grinned. “It’s just a way to unwind after a long week. We pick something mindless, order too much pizza, and complain about bad plot twists.”

Bucky chuckled, his smile growing. “Sounds like a good time.”

Without even thinking, Y/N found herself saying, “You should join us. We’re in the lounge. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” She instantly regretted the invitation. It was too much, too soon, wasn’t it? He wasn’t part of the team, not really.

But Bucky didn’t look put off in the slightest. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice a little quieter. “You sure? You might regret it. I’m terrible at keeping up with the movie talk.”

Y/N bit her lip, trying to keep her cool. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, nodding, clearly amused. “I’ll come. Can’t say no to an invitation like that.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he agreed. It wasn’t like he had to say yes. He could have politely declined, but he didn’t. There was something about the way he’d responded that made her feel like maybe he was just as interested in spending time with her as she was with him.

As they walked toward the lounge together, Y/N couldn’t help but steal glances at Bucky. There was something about the way he carried himself—confident, yet guarded. He was still adjusting to this new life, but there was a certain ease to him now. It wasn’t the same Bucky she’d seen when he first arrived months ago, tense and unsure. He was becoming a part of the team, piece by piece.

They entered the lounge, where her friends were already lounging around. Daisy, Leo, Jemma, Grant, and Antoine waved them over.

“Who’s this?” Daisy asked with a mischievous smile, clearly already in a teasing mood.

“This is Bucky,” Y/N said, giving Bucky a playful nudge as she introduced him.

Bucky grinned. “Hey.”

“You’re a bit weird. You’ll fit right in,” Leo said, handing him a bowl of popcorn as if it were a regular Friday night for him. 

Jemma and Antoine exchanged a knowing look as they started the movie, and soon, Bucky was settling in beside Y/N on the couch.

For the next couple of hours, they slipped into the rhythm of the group—sharing laughs over cheesy lines, throwing out ridiculous theories about the plot, and shoving popcorn into their mouths. Y/N noticed how comfortable Bucky seemed to get, more relaxed as the movie progressed. Every now and then, he’d throw out a sarcastic remark or laugh at something someone said, and Y/N found herself smiling at how effortlessly he was blending in.

As the movie wrapped up and everyone started to pick up their stuff, Y/N turned to him, her voice teasing again. “So, you survived movie night. What do you think?”

Bucky leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms behind his head. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he said with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess you’ll be coming again next week, huh?”

“You know it,” Bucky replied, his grin wide and genuine.

#tags: @cjand10

[freaklets-daily]

i suppose there is a sort of plausible deniability, for lack of a better word, with brachycephalic breeds because not every single cat of these breeds is severely affected - unlike folds and lykoi, where the gene that causes their distinctive traits inherently causes pain - and there's no way to really tell from a photo alone if the specific cat has BAS or not.

sorry for dropping in your inbox unprovoked no one i know has any interest in philosophizing about cat pedigree =/ᐠ-ꞈ-ᐟ\=

Previous ask: "not accusatory, genuinely interested in your take. why do you avoid folds and lykoi, but not brachycephalic breeds (persian, himalayan, etc)?"

I'm glad you asked!! I've thought about it a lot. What I've concluded is that there's a difference in their treatability and severity.

A lykoi *will* develop painful cysts all over their body, and a scottish fold *will* have arthritis from birth. These are problems that can't be bred out. On the other hand, it's possible for a cat to be quite brachycephalic and live a full, healthy life.

So like... brachycephaly isn't great, I think a lot of breeders out there are producing unhealthy cats, but exotics aren't doomed to a life of agony in the way some breeds are.

Lykoi and folds cannot be ethically bred. Exotics can, so it's extra sad when a lot of breeders continue selecting for worse and worse brachycephaly even though it impacts their ability to breathe.

Here is an illustration of a persian That i drew with my mouse

[cybergothvox]

At the end of the day, is kin just someone who identifies as their kintype or not? Is it anyone who actually identifies as their kintype, or do they have to perform all these 'correct' behaviours and social dances to prove that you kin- pardon, that you are kin- correctly?

[jortenthusiasst]

Mild aftg rainbow crate spoilers

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Annoyed ppl are sharing the extra stories from the rainbow crate editions of aftg for free Considering the books were almost $200 ..... but anyways. The extra stories were nice, i skipped Aaron's ofc. Was happy to see Andrew and Bee interactions tho.

[gulfportofficial]

I'm so sorry, I cannot take any sexuality-related discourse seriously anymore after the Asexual Boom. I think the last time I engaged on it was in someone's online queer discord and a girl was commenting on the "gal pals" thing people say (that people say about lesbians to avoid acknowledging that women can love each other). This person was saying, like, "haha well, it's true, sometimes it is gal pals! Like me and my girlfriend. We ARE just gal pals because we're ace!" and I was like, "I mean, if she's your girlfriend she's obviously not your gal pal! You don't have to have sex to have a "real" relationship, ace lesbians are still lesbians, and homophobes aren't asking how often you do it before they insult you. You're still allowed to find this dismissive and homophobic!" And then like 10 people jumped in to be like, "She's ACE she said! Stop ERASING her reality to fit your HOMONORMATIVE NARRATIVE, you aphobic bigot" and I was like, "Ok well if her point is laughing about how she's not affected by homophobia, why the fuck is she commenting about homophobia against lesbians at all?" And then I got banned from the channel. That was just a last straw in a biiiiiiiig number of nearly identical ones being piled upon the camel's back so. As I say. Never again. Actually, I tell a lie, come to think of it. I think the ACTUAL last time I had this exact conversation was on some Facebook group, and in THAT situation, in the same exact discussion, with the exact same response, I just felt really bad that the girl in this case was commenting about how she and her partner were like, inventing homophobia against lesbians by being ace while together. Like as in, people took her and her gf's non-sex having as confirmation. People see us and we ARE "gal pals" type thing, and that upset me so I told her it was not her fault, it was homophobes' fault. Her gf was her gf, and she could have exactly as much sex or as little as she wanted, and it was nobody's business, and she was not responsible for what bigots say. And I got exactly the same response and was also immediately banned lmao. Like I get it, if you're ace, you're ace, and nobody should try to contest that or try to call you anything else. But if that's how you feel then WHY would you even join in and bring it up in a conversation about homophobia against lesbians? This is ALWAYS the context in what I'm describing above. In the scenarios I'm describing, people commenting are always responding, specifically, to homophobia against lesbians. That is always the opening line of the situation: wow, isn't it shitty when people bend over backwards to dismiss your serious lesbian relationship and sometimes they do it by just aggressively pretending you're Just Friends instead of partners. This is the exact conversational salvo scenario in everything I'm describing or am thinking of that I have not described here, and it has happened so many times. Commenting at that point, and then being, haha, we're ace tho, but NOT lesbians... at that point it just feels like your response is, "haha, lesbians." Which I don't really appreciate tbqh. Still feel bad about that one girl thinking that she and her gf were the cause of homophobia against lesbians simply for being lesbians who didn't have sex with each other though. Like, really bad. I think about it all the time.

[scrollypoly]

Ok, so with all these posts going around aboht election interference and calling for a recount, i wanted to find evidence that weren't twitter screenshots

Tl;dr - bomb threats yes, 3 fires at ballot boxes (1 had damaged ballots and theyre fixing it), 20 million unaccounted votes is FALSE, this shit takes time to count so be patient, cuz they are STILL COUNTING

Bomb threats at polling places:

This claim is legit, as well as the source being from russian email domains. No actual bombs were placed or set off.

Burning ballot boxes:

3 incidents of burning ballot boxes have been confirmed for this election in Portland, Oregon and one in Vancouver, Washington, both of which are suspected to be from the same individual. Republican and Democrat officials have spoken out against this, ballot boxes were guarded after the incidents started, and fire suppression systems inside the ballot boxes saved the majority of the ballots, except for one box where 488 ballots were damaged due to a malfunction of the fire suppression system.

Fires were also confirmed in Arizona by a man who apparently just wanted to be arrested and had no political motivations.

No fires were confirmed in Georgia, despite repeated claims that most of the fires were in Georgia. Georgia changed their election laws in 2021 in regards to absentee votes. Ballot boxes have been notably targetted for election conspiracy and mistrust. Take this into account when you see outcry about ballot boxes in any way.

Votes not being counted:

The screenshots im seeing particularly note California, which is the state with the largest amount of registered voters. California is also dealing with massive wildfires rn. Its gonna take a couple days, and the election isnt officially over yet. Calm down

20 million unaccounted votes:

Yall . . .

This shit takes time. Theyre not "throwing your ballots out" or "deliberately not counting votes". Be so for real

Some of this shit is valid, and should probably be known. Some of this shit is making yall sound like trumpers in 2020. Be smart. Have critical thinking.

If youre gonna reblog or comment with claims i better see credible evidence to back your claims up or youre getting blocked

Edited to add a TL;DR, no other changes

[spider-stark]

LADY STRONG

Benjicot Blackwood x Velaryon/Strong!Reader

Summary - Stuck in the Riverland's on a marriage tour, you pretend to be Lady Strong when Benjicot Blackwood doesn't recognize you as the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

Warnings - none except not edited!!

Word Count - 3.1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

As if the prospect of a marriage tour was not horrid enough, your first stop was proving to be positively dreadful.  

You had imagined the lands surrounding the Trident to be beautiful. A lush, verdant landscape—filled with fragrant herbs and bright, blooming flowers, painting the Riverlands in rich, colorful hues. You pictured babbling streams and plush grass, stunning castles and, perhaps, some equally as stunning men.  

What you hadn’t imagined, however, was the weather.  

Even from within the confines of Riverrun—the ancestral castle of House Tully—you still feel the effects of the merciless heat beating down upon the sandstone walls.  

Your handmaids had tried to dress you accordingly, stuffing you into your thinnest—and, consequently, your least regal—gown, in hopes that it might prevent sunstroke. Yet still, even as three of Lord Tully’s own servants try fanning you while you sulk in the dining hall, you feel as though every inch of your body is drenched in sticky sweat.  

“This is miserable,” you groan to Ser Lorent, the Kingsguard who had been assigned to your tour. Flanking your right, you spare the knight a pitiful, sidelong glance. “I believe I would sooner die a spinster than be forced to live in this sweltering purgatory!”  

The servants, haphazardly positioned around the table, remain utterly stone-faced, not letting on if they found your comment about their homelands to be humorous or offensive.  

Ser Lorent merely laughs. “The Riverlands are known for their humid summers, princess.” With a wink, he adds, “If you ever bothered with your studies, you would know this.”  

“I study!”  

“With the blade, perhaps,” Ser Lorent muses, his teal eyes twinkling with lighthearted mockery. “But certainly not with books, princess.  

Rolling your eyes, you slump further into your chair, your body practically melting into the upholstery. “Leave the geography lessons to Jace,” you tell him, waving an idle hand. “After all, he's the heir to the Iron Throne. I am merely the prized broodmare—” focusing on your plate, and the half-eaten lunch upon it, you try swallowing the bitter tang now filling your mouth—“a royal womb to be sold off to the highest bidder.”  

And, at times, you aren’t even sure if that is considered an honest truth… You’ve certainly never felt royal.  

Like your brothers, you were born extraordinarily plain-featured. With no silver hair or lilac eyes, you appear more like a common-born peasant than someone of prized Valyrian stock—and it didn’t help that, unlike your brothers, you had no dragon, either.  

Ser Lorent watches as you absently push a piece of seared cod around your plate, sighing. “That isn’t true, my princess.” His words are tinged with sympathy. “You are being sold to no one. Your mother wishes for you to have a marriage born of love—not duty.”  

“Ah, yes,” stabbing the fish with the prongs of your fork, you bring it to your lips, “which is why I’m being forced to spend my summer meeting with the haughty sons of fat country lords—for love.”  

His tongue clicks with disapproval. “Your mother has given you a choice in selecting your own husband, princess; which is a luxury not granted to many women.”  

Frowning, you pop the piece of fish into your mouth, turning his words over in your head.  

Gods.  

You hate it when he’s right.  

“Fine,” you relent, still chewing. Turning sideways in your chair, you raise your fork to him in a mock threat, “But my earlier statement stands! If I must take a husband, then it certainly won’t be anyone from here—lest I become no more than a puddle of sweat.”  

Ser Lorent cracks a smile at you. “Should you turn to a puddle, princess, then I vow to mop you from the floor.”  

“How valiant of you, Ser Lorent,” you laugh. “I’m unsure of how I might ever repay you for such loyalty.”  

“I’m not sure you have to worry about that, princess—I don’t believe that puddles are much concerned with matters of debt.”  

Turning back to the table, another soft laugh spills from your lips. “I suppose you’re right, Ser.”  

All too soon, however, your amusement begins to fade. A warm breeze blows in through the many open windows lining Riverrun’s dining hall, the stifling air only accentuating the stickiness of your skin.  

Sucking in a deep, heavy breath, you ask, “How long do we have?”  

Ser Lorent doesn’t ask for clarification, knowing almost at once what you were asking him. “We’re expected back in the Great Hall in a little under an hour, princess.”  

You blow the breath out, groaning slightly.  

An hour—that's all the time you had left before you would be forced back upon the dais, expected to once again smile and be cordial as men and boys from all across the Riverlands made their case for your hand.  

How many of them could possibly be left? This morning alone you had met with dozens upon dozens of them, their voices all blurring into a monotonous hum as they spoke of the history of their Houses—if one can consider nonsensical legends from the ancient Age of Heroes as true history, that is.  

Noticing the dreadful pall cast over you, Ser Lorent clamps a comforting hand on your shoulder. “How about a walk before we go back? It might help to clear your head,” he suggests. Then, with a wry grin, “Perhaps you might wish to think back on the men from this morning—see if any of them might make you change your tune about life in the Riverlands.”  

You pin him with a playful scowl. “There’s not a man alive that could change that tune,” you vow. “But you’re right—a walk might be nice.”  

Rising from your seat, the servants around you lower their fans, silently dismissing themselves.  

“Will you be accepting my company on this walk?” Ser Lorent teases—though you know what he’s really asking is: will you be accepting my protection.  

“After this morning, I believe I’ve had enough company for a lifetime.”  

The knight’s brow draws tight, an apprehensive frown beginning to pull at the corners of his lips. You roll your eyes.  

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Ser Lorent. It gives you wrinkles,” you tease. Adjusting the slit running along one side of your dress, you reveal the dagger holstered on your thigh. “I assure you that if any of these Riverlanders dare lay a hand on me, they’ll lose some fingers.”  

Ser Lorent snorts, head shaking. “It’s not you I worry about, princess,” he jokingly admits. “Just stay close by, understand? Your mother will have my head if anything happens to you.”  

“Yes, yes—understood,” you dramatically gripe, already walking past him to the exit.  

“Oh, and princess?” He calls out just as the guards pull the doors open for you to leave. You glance over your shoulder at him, brows lifted. “At least try not to injure anyone.”  

With one last roll of your eyes, bright with mischief, you shout on your way out, “No promises, Ser Lorent!”  

Wandering through the outer yards of Riverrun, the blistering sun beating down upon your skin, you find yourself overwhelmed by a sudden ache in your chest.  

You miss home. Desperately.  

You miss Dragonstone’s near-constant cover of clouds, forever shielding you from the heat. You miss the cool breeze rolling in off the Blackwater, the air peppering your cheeks with salty kisses.  

But even as you dream of a reprieve from the muggy Riverlands, you can’t help but miss your family—your brothers—most of all.  

Perhaps it is that feeling that led you here, to the training yard, guided by the familiar lull of splintering wood and steel slicing through the air, the sound offering a much-needed remedy to the homesickness twisting in your gut.  

Smaller than the one at Dragonstone, Riverrun’s yard was no more than a cramped stretch of dusty-dirt, lined with old training dummies and archery targets. Mostly encircled by the towering sun-bleached stones of the castles, only a small part of the yard remained open to the sprawling gardens beyond, sectioned off by ornate iron fencing.  

Striding over the open gate, your attention falls upon the lone boy standing in the yard's center.  

As the sunlight beats down overhead, long shadows dance around his feet as he glides through a set of movements—each step calculated, every strike deliberate.  

You step closer, keeping your steps light as you approach. With his back turned to you, you watch as sweat drips down his neck, glistening. It soaks into his tunic, the thin black material clinging to his lean, muscled back.  

He’s talented—you think, studying his form.  

Talent is something you're familiar with—intimately. You were raised around warriors—trained by the Rogue Prince himself. Yet never before had you found yourself so utterly bewitched by a fighter.  

He didn’t move like other boys.  

He wasted no time on the flowery style displayed by so many summer children—the ones who thought of battle as a performance rather than a matter of life or death.  

Instead, he moved with the lethal prowess of an apex predator—his blade cutting through the air with a controlled ferocity that, while lacking the flourish of other warriors, was undeniably impressive.  

Dirt flies as he throws himself into another set of movements—a series of strikes and parries, executing with unbelievable precision. With every twist and pivot, muscles tense and shift beneath his tunic, his body as powerful a weapon as his sword.  

He lunges forward—and wood cracks! as he slashes his blade along the belly of one of the dummies, a move that would have disemboweled a living opponent.  

Cutting through the sudden stillness, you bring your hands up to your chest, filling the yard with a slow clap. Back still turned to you, the boy's spine goes ramrod straight at the unexpected sound.  

“Impressive,” you muse, taking another step towards him. Mere feet remain between the two of you, now. “You move well—better than most, I’d say.”  

The boy spins around to face you, his once elegant movements now blundering as he nearly trips over his own feet. Biting your tongue, you try to hold in a laugh.  

Big, storm-cloud eyes meet your gaze, pinning you in place as he blinks, visibly thrown-off by your presence. “Sorry-” he stammers, out of breath. “I didn’t think anyone else would be coming out here-”  

You lift a hand, cutting him off with a smile. “Oh, no—don’t apologize on my account! I enjoyed the show,” you tell him. “Seems that you have a real talent for swordplay.”  

His cheeks flush, his lightly sun-kissed skin turning a stark crimson. “Thanks.” His laugh is a nervous, awkward thing—endearing, too. He sticks a hand out towards you, the other still limply holding his sword. “Benjicot. Blackwood,” he introduces himself, fumbling over his words, “but you can call me Ben or Benji—or anything, really.”  

You take his hand, biting your lip to mask your amusement. “Pleasure to meet you, Benji.”  

A beat of silence passes before confusion finally tugs at his features, his hand falling back to his side. “Uhm—” another sweet, awkward laugh— “and you are…?”  

Realization dawns on you, leaving your brows to shoot up to your hairline.  

Seven Hells. He doesn't know, does he?

A sudden speechlessness grabs hold of your tongue.  

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised—after all, you aren't what many expected of a Targaryen princess.

Plain-featured and dressed in thin, common clothes, you imagine you likely appear no different than the servants surrounding you at lunch, fanning you to keep the heat from going to your head.  

Even so, it's rare that you met someone who doesn't know who you are. And, selfishly, after a morning filled with insincere compliments from haughty Lord’s, you like the idea of remaining nameless—titleless—for the first time in your life.  

“Wow—sorry—that was thoughtless of me, wasn’t it?” Tapping a finger to your temple, you laugh. “I’m Mylissa,” you lie, stealing the name of one of your handmaidens. “Mylissa Strong.”  

“Strong?” He echoes, brow furrowing. “Strange—you don’t sound like you’re from the Riverlands. Your accent is—”  

“Southern?”  

Benji nods.  

“Well, I’ve spent the better part of my life in the Crownlands, so I suppose I’ve picked up their accent,” you explain. “I’m here with the princess, actually—as her lady-in-waiting.”  

The mention of the princess—you—turns his skin a pasty white.  

Keeping a tight leash on your curiosity, you try not to sound too intrigued when you ask, “And what about you? Raventree Hall is a decent ride from here, is it not?” On horseback, the ancestral seat of House Blackwood was two days away from Riverrun, if not three. “Are you here to meet with the princess?”  

Benji shifts his weight, leaning from one foot to the other. “Supposed to,” he begins, his words tumbling out, “but I don’t know—I’m not so sure that I’ll go through with it.”  

Your expression falters, disappointment washing over you like a cold wave, combatting the intolerable warmth of the sun.  

“Why not?”  

He shrugs—a timid, shy gesture that feels so unlike the predator you had snuck up on. “There are over a hundred men in there,” he waves an arm to the castle, to the Great Hall within, “all waiting for an opportunity to impress the princess—meanwhile, I can hardly get out a single sentence without choking on my own spit.”  

Your laughter bubbles up involuntarily, a few giggles spilling past your lips. The Blackwood boy shoots you a playful glare from beneath long, dark lashes.  

“Well,” you begin, absentmindedly toeing the dirt between you, “perhaps the princess might find it endearing, don’t you think?”  

Benji scoffs. “Doubtful. I mean, think about it!—she’s a princess!”  

Your eyes widen, glimmering with mock-offense. “And what is that supposed to mean?”  

Once again, that crimson tinge returns to his skin, crawling up his neck, this time.  

“I meant no offense,” he defends himself, mistaking your expression for one of a Lady meaning to defend her princess. “But what could I possibly offer a princess?”  

You tilt your head, pretending to think on his words. “Well, the Blackwoods do have a history of being valiant warriors, do they not? And you seem to be quite skilled yourself,” you say, daring to let your stare drift down to his arms, the short sleeves of his tunic revealing well-muscled, sweat-slick biceps.  

He snorts. “I’m willing to guess that the princess would likely care naught for my skill with a sword.”  

“Then you would guess wrong,” you retort, a faint, teasing smile on your lips. “Many say that the princess herself is quite skilled with a blade—I imagine she would quite like a boy that’s capable of challenging her.”  

Benji’s eyes darken a shade, an unreadable expression crossing his features. “And what about you, Mylissa?”  

The false name catches you off-guard, but you do your best to hide it.  

“What of me?”  

A bit nervous, he asks, “Would you like a boy that can challenge you?”  

Your heart stutters in your chest—skipping several beats as his stare lowers, dipping past your waist and falling upon your thigh. On the dagger sheathed there, no doubt.  

Heat begins to crawl up your neck, hotter even than the sun's blistering rays. “Oh—” You stutter, words lost upon you.  

It’s true that you were used to the attention of men. After all, your morning has been filled with it, and soon enough the rest of your day will be, too.  

But this was different.  

Benji wasn’t giving you attention because you’re a princess, a mere royal womb to strengthen his House’s bloodline. Rather, he was doing it simply because he wanted to—a feeling that was utterly foreign to you.  

Wiping a clammy hand on his sweaty tunic, Benji misreads your silence, taking a half-step back. “Apologies, my Lady—that was too forward and-”  

You don’t let him finish his rambling. Taking a step forward, you close the gap he sought to create between you. “I’ll make you a deal.”  

“A deal?”  

You nod. “As you know, the princess will be in the Great Hall for the rest of the evening, holding court with the other Lord’s who’ve come for her hand. I'd like for you to meet with her.”  

Benji cocks his head, confusion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I truly mean no disrespect to your princess, my Lady, but I was asking if you might be interested in–”  

“I know what you’re asking, Benji.” You lift one shoulder in a casual shrug. “And after you meet with the princess, if you still wish to inquire about my hand,” you say, placing a palm to your chest, “then I will happily hear you out.”  

In the distance, a bell sounds out—signaling the time, you realize.  

“If you’ll excuse me,” you start, already taking a few small half-steps backwards. “I’m expected inside.”  

Letting his sword drop to the ground, Benji lunges forward to catch your wrist. “So you agree to meet with me after court, then?”  

“If you’re still interested,” you muse, a tinge of anxiety laced through your tone, “then yes.”  

The corners of his lips twitch into a bashful smile. “I give you my word that–”  

You planned to interrupt him. To tell him not to make oaths he wasn’t certain he could keep, knowing that he may very well change his mind about you once he realizes who you are—that you’re not technically a Strong. But, before you can, another voice intervenes.  

“Princess!” Ser Lorent calls out, exasperated, as he walks through the gate. “We must hurry, princess,” he continues, pausing only to give a wary glance at Benji’s hands wrapped around your wrist. “We’re late.”  

Your pulse begins to pound, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins at being exposed as a liar by Ser Lorent. 

Benji’s face goes blank—then his eyes go wide, big as saucers as you snag your wrist from his grip.  

“Princess...” He utters, voice laden with disbelief. “Princess?!”  

You can hardly bring yourself to do anything other than grin stupidly at him, nearly stumbling over yourself as you back-up to where Ser Lorent is waiting impatiently.  

“It was lovely meeting you, Benji!”  

You hope he can hear just how genuine your words are.  

“I’ll see you in the Great Hall,” you call out over your shoulder, sparing him one last glance as Ser Lorent guides you to the gate, watching as he blinks in astonishment, still processing the revelation.  

Walking back towards the inner-castle, Ser Lorent glances down at you with a knowing look. “You seem giddy.” There’s a teasing glint to his words that makes you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. “So,” he continues, his brisk pace never faltering, “does this mean that your statement from lunch no longer stands? That, perhaps, this sweltering purgatory may yet grow on you?”  

You bite your cheek, a permanent grin still etched onto your face.  

“Let’s just say that I’ve decided it’s best to keep my options open, Ser Lorent.”  

a/n - you may ask yourself: lainie, why would you refer to him as mostly BEN in the last fic and BENJI in this one??

and the answer? I have not ONE clue. my brain is rotting and benji is cute.

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one! feel like I got to explore more of his personality here. additionally, I need HBO to know that if this boy ends up not being benjicot blackwood then I'm gonna fucking riot

benjicot blackwood tag list - @a-song-for-ages @ghostinvenus

[classyrbf]

TAP OUT, TAP OUT! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...the jjk men react to you doing the ‘tap out’ dance trend on tiktok

INFO...jjk men (gojo, geto, nanami, toji) x fem!reader, fluff, suggestive comments, possessiveness (in a cute way), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

GOJO

as soon as you set the phone up, gojo thought you were gonna do a cute couple video with him while he was sitting on the couch. He was smiling, completely oblivious to what you were about to do. You stood in front of the camera and waited for the music to start, turning around before the time hit one on the countdown.

As soon as Gojo heard the music he damn near leaped off the couch and grabbed your phone. “Satoru!” You gasped, turning to him with wide.

“Uhn uhn, baby. I can’t have you throwing your goodies back for everyone else to see!” He holds your phone over his head, making sure you couldn’t reach.

“Satoru, I wasn’t gonna post it!” You laugh, reaching for you phone. “I just wanted to see if I could do it!”

“See if you could throw it in a circle?! Baby—”

“Wait a second, how do you know about this trend?” You questioned, slowing raising your brow.

“Uh…um…Suguru showed me.” He awkwardly cleared his throat.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“It was one video! Baby I swear!” He dropped to his knees, clinging onto your shirt.

“Get up, you drama queen!”

TOJI

“Toji, I wanna show you this new dance I learned!” You excited propped your phone up, smiling as you set the timer and turned towards him. “Look!”

“I’m watching, mama.” He sighed, resting his head in his palm while standing beside you. That’s when the music started and you began to do the dance, the first few seconds of it completely harmless. It when you started shaking your ass that Toji’s eyes widened and he immediately grabbed your waist and threw you over his shoulder to carry you away.

“Toji! I was showing you the dance!” You laughed.

“That wasn’t no damn dance. Can’t have anyone seeing my girls ass like that.” He finally put you back on your feet, staring at you as you had a full on laughing fit.

“That was so funny! You were so quick to drag me away!” You fanned yourself, still chuckling with tears in your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t wanna hear it. Should know that ass is mine.” He grabbed a handful of your ass.

NANAMI

nanami was sitting in his office, typing away on his computer before you barged into his room, nearly giving him a heart attack. Without exchanging words, you propped your phone up and hit record. He closed his laptop and turned in your direction, brows furrowed as he wondered what you were up to.

He heard the music and watched as you began dancing, bending over lower and lower and it finally clicked in his head what you were going to do. He stood from his seat and stood directly in front of the camera, blocking the view of your ass.

“Nice dance, sweetheart but it should only be reserved for me. Don’t you think?” He smirked down at you as you stood back up, smiling at him.

“I wasn’t gonna post it!” You grab your phone, laughing at the moment when he completely blocks the view with his broad back. “I was just showing you!”

“Uh huh, just like all those other dances you were showing me?” He raised a brow. “Nice try.” He pecked your lips, walking back to his desk. “Your ass did look great, by the way.”

“Aweee, Ken!” You giggled.

GETO

as a prank you weren’t even going to do the dance, but instead close the bathroom door and blast the song to make geto think you were. You heard the audio on his phone a few times, knowing he’s seen the videos and what better way to prank him than to show him how it feels when youre shaking ass on the internet.

You quietly closed the bathroom and set up your phone against the sink, turning your volume up all the way and pressing the timer. You stood against the wall, a mischievous smile on your face as you waited for the moment he’d bust through the door. Over the music, you heard his footsteps and laughed to yourself when he flung the door open.

“What are you doing?!” He stood there, peaking his head in to see you were recording. “I swear if you’re out here shaking ass…Baby, I will literally crash out again.”

“I was pranking you!” You laugh, pointing at your phone. “That’s what your ass gets! Haha!”

“Baby, I swear you’re gonna be the death of me.” He glares at you, taking in a deep breath.

“How romantic.” You step towards him. “How about I actually do the dance, but…I dance on you, hm?” You question and immediately his eyes widened in excitement.

“I like the sound of that.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Study Buddy 5

Warnings:this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

Despite feeling entirely out of place, you can’t resist the draw of sleep. Nestled on the couch beneath a blanket, a soft pillow under your head, you drift away from the tension rippling off your study buddy. Even in the next room, you sense the density in the air. 

You’re so tired, you hear yourself snoring from the depths of your unconscious. Your brain is sludge and your dreams are murky. You only wake up as you sense the murmur of voices. 

You open your eyes to the glare of the TV in the pale light of day. You rub your cheek as your vision clears. You blink at the screen as the teen drama plays out. 

“You snore louder than my dad,” Faye snorts. “Morning, sunshine.” 

You lurch up, almost top-turning from the suddenness of it all. You remember where you are in an instant. You knead your temple as you try to sort yourself out. 

“Um, good morning,” you croak through your dry throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” she grins, still in her pajamas as she drapes her legs over the armrest of the chair. “How about you?” 

“Urgh, tired,” you drop your hand as the blanket falls to your lap. “Sorry, I should go--” 

“Daaaad,” Faye hollers over you. 

You flinch and turn as you hear footsteps. As you glance over, Walter emerges in a bathroom. You can tell by the glimpse of his furry chest and the glisten in his curls that he just got out of the shower. 

“Your friend’s awake.” She chirps. 

He looks at you and his shoulders square. He really doesn’t like you. You can’t help but wonder why he insisted you stay. 

“It’s alright, I’m just about to head out,” you stand and fold the blanket and set it neatly on the cushion. “Thanks, again.” 

“You should at least have breakfast. Dad made waffles.” 

“Waffles? Oh,” you glance at him. “I wouldn’t want to... impose.” 

“No big deal, I saved some batter. Iron heats up in a snap,” he shrugs. 

You face him as you cross the room. You stop by the doorway into the entry, “it’s very nice of you but I’m okay. I really should try to catch a bus.” 

“Gimme a few and I’ll drive you.” He offers. 

“Really, it’s...” 

He’s already stalking away before you can finish your protest. You sigh and grimace at his back. He really doesn’t give you a chance to argue. With anything. Would it be easier to just have him look at the paper before you go and tell you everything that’s wrong? 

“My dad likes you,” Faye giggles. “He doesn’t like anyone.” 

“Um, I don’t think so,” you lean on the doorframe and stare at the TV, trying to make sense of the snarky conversation. 

“He does,” she insists. “I know, I’m the only other person he likes.” 

“Sure,” you tut. “Does it matter? I just need to get this project done.” 

“Don’t you think it’s funny? My dad taking a writing course? He doesn’t really seem like the creative type. More the bashing skulls type,” she cackles. 

“I don’t really know... him.” 

“What did you think when he showed up? I’d be pissing my pants,” she doesn’t look away from the TV as she speaks. 

“I don’t know, I thought someone named Walter would be skinnier... maybe have glasses and a pension?” 

She laughs even louder, “oof, don’t say that too loud.” 

You let yourself smile. She’s not a bad kid. If you were her age, you might be friends. 

“I’m just going to get my stuff together,” you say, “uh, Faye, it was nice to meet you.” 

“You too. Nice to have someone around to keep the wolf from coming out in the full moon,” she snipes. 

You snicker softly and leave her. The analogy isn’t far off. Walter does fit the type. He’s a bit furry after all. 

You check that everything’s in your bag and ben to put on your shoes. You pull on your jacket and Walter appears; he wears a black hoodie and dark jeans. He pulls on a jacket and leaves it undone before he grabs his boots. 

You zip up your coat and hook your bag on your shoulder, “thanks, again. You know, I have a bus pass.” 

He grumbles and you quiet. Don’t push your luck. Hopefully he only needs to revise a little and you can be done with all this. 

You flinch as he suddenly moves toward you. Your eyes round and you hit the door with your back. He tilts his head as he reaches past you for the handle. You look down and cringe. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t... paying attention.” 

He hums and you shift out of his way. He opens the door and lets you out first. You step into the sunshine, a deceptive beacon as your breath puffs out visibly. You cross your arms as he locks the door. 

He gestures you ahead of him to his truck. You go down the walk and to the driveway. You wait on the passenger side until the locks click. You open the door and climb in. He has a much easier time stepping into the high vehicle. 

He pulls his seatbelt down as you do the same. He turns the engine and lets it rumble as he turns the dials for the vent. He checks the mirrors and grips the wheel in one hand. He leans his elbow on the arm rest as he backs out. 

“You know,” he says as he rights the tires. “I got eye surgery so I don’t need the glasses anymore.” 

You squint at his remark. What? It takes a moment before you realise. Shoot. 

“It was a joke,” you say. “Obviously...” 

“No pension for another fifteen years at least and, well, helps to have a bit of bulk in my line of work.” 

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You really didn’t mean anything. 

“I’m sorry, I... yeah, I say stupid things.” 

He’s quiet as he steers. He sucks his teeth as he stops at a sign, “it was a good joke. Better than Faye’s werewolf schtick.” 

“Oh, uh, right,” you flick your thumb nervously. 

“You seem like the werewolf type. Know any good books?” He asks. 

“Werewolf type? Um, didn’t think I put out that vibe but... maybe Mongrels? I don’t read a lot about that stuff actually.” 

“Mongrels,” he nods. “I’ll check it out.” 

You’re almost flattered that he’d take your recommendation, less so that he thinks you’re a Twilight girlie. You stare through the windshield and take the victory for what it is. You don’t think you’ll be getting any more than that. 

[mahgyu]

──── In the beginning of your relationship, you learned that Satoru was the type who liked to sleep cuddling. Before meeting you, Satoru used to sleep hugging a pillow, even. It wasn't exactly a necessity for him, but just something he liked and that made him fall asleep faster. You, on the other hand, weren't exactly that type.

Hugs before sleeping? Perfect. Having someone on top of you while trying to sleep? Not so perfect. Fortunately, the two of you reached an agreement about that.

But sometimes, like today, Satoru was extremely clingy. He was sleeping deeply, with his body completely on top of yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck, and a leg trapped between yours.

You loved holding him that way, having the strongest man you had ever known so vulnerable curled up in your arms and sleeping peacefully. Satoru slept heavily when he felt that comfortable, and the deeper he slept, the heavier he became on you. As mentioned, your boyfriend is a strong guy, so now it was almost uncomfortable for you.

You feel this pressure against your chest as he rests on you, completely at ease. You thought that maybe, if you tried hard enough, you could fall asleep, but no, it’s not possible.

"Baby..." You whisper, hoping it will be enough to wake him, but he just keeps snoring, each snore reverberating through your body.

"Toru...?" You try again, a little louder.

"SATORU!" Still nothing. He barely moves a bit in his sleep, letting out a particularly loud snore.

OK. Plan B. If you can't get him off, it's time to slide down. Only after two unsuccessful attempts, you somehow manage to do it, taking a big breath as you escape. You haven't even fully turned to the side when Satoru wakes up, confused and abandoned, with the source of warmth under him gone. He moves his hand aimlessly over the sheets until he feels you.

"Where are you going?" He murmurs sleepily, moving closer to you. "No..." A heavy arm wraps around you, pulling you back to him with ease. There’s a soft hum as he feels your body fit into his.

"Toru?" You call him sweetly. "You know I can't sleep like this, hmm? Come on." You pat his arm, signaling for him to let you go.

Satoru doesn't move. Instead, he just makes some whiny sounds before rubbing his face in your hair.

"Come on, let me go, please?" More pleading.

"Nuh-uh, I don't want to." He whines. "Hug me." He pouts, looking so needy and neglected.

"Love, you're acting like a baby" You complain.

"Because I am. I'm your baby!" He says defiantly. "So, you should treat me like one."

At this point, you know it won't help to try to convince him when he's in this mood. You sigh, deciding to give up and give in.

About five minutes pass in complete silence and then Satoru quietly asks: "You really can't sleep?" The thought of this now bothers him. How could he relax knowing that you're not even comfortable?

"Mhm" You respond as he pulls separates from you.

"OK, I'll give up the hug time for you!" He sighs, rolling away from you dramatically. A few minutes later, he sighs again, a bit louder.

This is his cue to tell you that you should give in and cuddle with him. But you can't, having finally found a position that relaxes all the right places in your body, perfect for falling asleep.

"Are you really going to leave me abandoned?" His voice is so stupidly captivating that it makes you melt. You can't say no to that.

Satoru smiles when he hears the rustling of the sheets, your body moving toward him.

With open arms, he welcomes you back as you rest your head on his chest. "I think I can sleep like this..." You admit as he smiles, making sure you're comfortable but still wrapped up in him.

Hiii, long time no see, uh? 👀This time I brought something cute, a thought I had because I've been feeling so needy and missing our Gojo😞

(It is not well corrected, please ignore any possible mistakes.)

Your interaction is very important to me, reblogs and comments are always welcome. 🫶🏻💕

⠀

[aemondsbabe]

Deliverance

summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.4k

a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky

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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince. 

“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?” 

“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.

A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.” 

Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come. 

Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.

“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.

“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”

“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.

You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”

“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers. 

“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips. 

Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk. 

“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.

The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar. 

That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon. 

Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.” 

“But, princess, what about –”

“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”

With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all. 

But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound. 

Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands. 

The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor. 

Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you. 

“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one. 

“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.

“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.

Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. 

“Tell me what distresses you so?”

“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.

“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”

“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp. 

He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal. 

“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”

Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you. 

“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.” 

His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed. 

You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”

“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”

That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone. 

“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it. 

“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface. 

He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.

After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye. 

“I have… I have done something terrible.”

Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that. 

“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true. 

“You… promise me you will not hate me.”

“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”

“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”

“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”

“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”

“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them. 

“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”

You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”

He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt. 

“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 

“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation. 

“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.

“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”

“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”

“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”

“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt. 

“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest. 

Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his. 

All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.

“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident. 

“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”

“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know. 

“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”

“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”

He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle. 

He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart. 

“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”

You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out. 

You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother. 

“I have always been an outcast.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”

Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter. 

A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”

A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,” mumbled against your abdomen. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself. 

Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out. 

If only he could see himself as you do. 

“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”

You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love. 

“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”

You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none. 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods. 

Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung. 

A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline. 

“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse. 

Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”

He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”

“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”

A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out. 

You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare… 

He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”

Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat. 

Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin. 

“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his. 

This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind. 

Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?

Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this. 

A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest. 

“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders. 

The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him. 

He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck. 

Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse. 

The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric. 

“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching. 

“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.

Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling. 

The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this. 

“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts. 

“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively. 

You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.

“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent. 

Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint. 

“Aemond?”

“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”

Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs. 

Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries. 

“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”

Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you. 

“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust. 

The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire. 

Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on. 

“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”

“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second. 

Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you. 

The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest. 

Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.

And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it. 

“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”

You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”

Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.

Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you. 

Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again. 

“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you. 

Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision. 

“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”

His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock. 

The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach. 

You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return. 

When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.

“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”

“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”

“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”

“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.

Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you. 

“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 

After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily. 

“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[navybrat817]

For your consideration:

Imagine Bucky, the strong and dangerous and stern super soldier that by all accounts is terrifying as an opponent, being unable to stop himself from coming in his pants because of you. Maybe you don't even have to touch him; he gets so lost in the taste of you that he has to start grinding against the mattress, and accidentally comes when you do.

I've had this image in my head for days and had to share it somewhere, sorry 🫠

Nonnie, I love this so much. 🫠

Feral

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets a little feral now and then.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), implied sex, possessive behavior, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky gets in a feral mood every now and then. He may let you know with a text that simply says, “Be ready.” and other days he won't give you a warning at all. By the time you hear his deep growl or see his pupils so blown that the blue irises nearly disappear you know you aren't leaving the bed for the next day. Or two.

Today you don't even hear him coming.

You’re in the middle of a shower when he suddenly shoves the curtain aside, and you’re lucky you don't have a heart attack or slip and fall. A shriek still leaves your mouth when you lock eyes with the ex-assassin and you see the blown pupils, and you're about to have a heart attack for a completely different reason. You hope your schedule is clear because you know he’s going to thoroughly ruin you and you’d rather not try to pull yourself back together for a while.

“Bed. Now.” His growl should make you move, but you’re still under the water and trapped by his massive body.

You don't move around him fast enough and he doesn't care that his clothes get wet when he grabs you and throws you over his shoulder. All he cares about is making you wet. At least he has the good sense to shut the water off before carrying you away. He’s thoughtful like that.

He drops you unceremoniously on the bed, the comforter now soaked as well thanks to your dripping wet body. Removing his shirt and tossing it aside, you get a moment to take in the view of Bucky Barnes looking at you like a man starved. He’s a beautiful canvas of muscles and scars, yet he looks at you like you're a real work of art. You wordlessly spread your legs and invite him to feast on what belongs to him. It would've been rude to keep him from his meal and you weren't cruel.

Not to mention no past lover can ever live up to how Bucky Barnes eats pussy.

He drops to his knees and pushes your legs open more, licking his lips as gazes at your twitching hole on display. He brushes some of the hair from his face to get a better look, and it only makes him look more wild. Untamed. It doesn't take much for him to arouse you, but the way he growls at the sight of you has you feeling like a goddess. You’re on your back, but he’s on his knees ready to worship and you’ll gladly accept his offerings. However he chooses to give them to you.

“I know you’re starving, Bucky. So eat,” you finally tell him, wanting him to have his fill. Whatever puts him in this mood, you’ll go along for the ride.

But before he dips down to feast, he moves up your body like a sleek cat and fastens his mouth to yours. He won't take from you without at least one kiss. You moan low as you kiss him back and feel him grind against you. It surprises you that he still has his pants on, but he’s getting rid of them soon enough.

You can't help but touch one of the scars near his shoulder, making him gasp into your mouth. He’s so strong. So powerful. Life dragged him through hell and he didn't escape unscathed, but he survived.

“Mine,” he murmurs so softly you almost miss it as he kisses down your body. Every kiss is a reminder of who you belong to. You’ll always be his.

“Yours,” you gasp when his nose nudges your clit and he inhales deeply. You remember when the smell of your arousal used to embarrass you, and now you wonder why it ever bothered you since he loves it so much. His metal fingers part your folds and he drags his tongue along your slit with a hum, lapping up your wetness. “Fuck…” you whimper, bringing a hand up to play with your breast.

“Not yet,” he growls, pushing his tongue deep inside.

Your free hand flies to his head and you choke on a moan as you clench around him. If he was speaking more, he’d tell you how beautifully bittersweet you taste, how your pussy is made for him, how desperate you are for him to fuck you with his cock, how you're all he needs. A mix of praise, profanity, filth, and love. Hearing him growl and grunt as he feasts tells you more than enough.

“So good,” he grunts between licks, his flesh hand digging into your shaking thigh when he slips two metal fingers in. You recall gushing all over the metal the first time he made his arm vibrate. He likes having the scent of your arousal on the metal, almost as much as he likes having it on the fingers of his right hand.

You lift your head when you hear shuffling on the bed, your eyes wide when you see his hips rise and dip. You’re all too familiar with that motion. “Bucky… are you…”

“Pussy’s so fucking good. I can't… I can’t stop,” he groans, rolling his hips like he can't stop himself from humping the bed because of how good you taste. “‘m so fucking hard for you.”

Your man’s cock can be sensitive some days. Grinding against him can make him get off in his pants. You went down on him once and just the feeling of your breath against his shaft had him shooting off before you wrapped your mouth around him. And with his rebound rate, you never have to worry if he gets off before you because he’ll still take care of you.

“That’s so hot,” you admit, your mouth falling open when he moves his fingers and tongue in time with his hips. “It’s okay, big boy. Make a mess in your pants for me,” you beg, wanting him to get off to you.

His growl has a bit of a whine to it when he looks up at you, his lips and chin glistening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, your fingers carding through his hair again. You don't want him to feel embarrassed.

He looks relieved. “Then make a mess on my face first,” he demands, dipping his head back down and making quick work of building your orgasm back up.

Pulling your hips down to meet his mouth, it isn't long before your orgasm tears through you. Your head nearly falls back as the tidal waves crash over you, but you keep it elevated enough to catch the stutter in his hips and the telltale husky moan against your sensitive hole. It almost triggers another orgasm watching him rut before he slumps against the bed like you.

Your head spins. Your heart pounds. And you smile. Bucky Barnes just came in his pants because you came. Yeah, you feel like a goddess and then some.

“You came in your pants for me,” you breathe. “That’s love.”

Your smile only widens when he pulls his mouth and fingers away to unbuckle his pants, your walls clenching when takes himself out. He’s large and thick as he strokes himself, and you can also see a bit of the evidence of him finishing in his pants. It gets you hot all over again, and now you need to make a mess around his cock while he finishes inside you. It’ll satisfy you both.

“Yeah, that is love,” he groans, brushing his thumb over the weeping tip. He still has a bit of the feral look in his eyes. “Now I need to fuck you with my cock at least twice before I eat again.”

Yeah, you’re in for a long and fun weekend.

I need him, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.