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jolalibrary · 11 months ago

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iii. when pounding dough isn't just baking

joel miller x f!reader | chapter three of honey stained hands

chapter summary: and he can already hear what Jackson will say if they find out, the looks he’ll get—because how dare he poison the sweet woman who tends to bees and bakes cakes. but he dares. fuck he’d dare over and over again.

warnings: patrol times, allusion to grief, minor mentions of loss of loved ones (rip tess/sarah), reader is unwarrantedly slapped on the ass by an unknown male (she handles it, cause she's a baddie), soft, slow-smut, p in v, typical canon-angst, no physical descriptions, minor use of the nickname 'bee' but no use of y/n. wordcount: 5.1k an: fuck me, she's uploaded hahaha. for this chapter, there's far too many people to thanks, I've rambled about this to anyone who listens, but as always thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for propping me up when this felt like it would never happen and thank you also to @goodwithcheese who loves this, probably as much as me, but has also reminded me i have to love it first.

It’s hard to pinpoint when the snow first began to truly settle.

When it began to simply dust itself over things, and then when it shifted into blanketing.

One day, normal. The next there’s a sheet of white hanging expertly over roofs and porches. It's placed there by the hands of nature, blanketing everything in innocence, unveiling deception by the way of footprints, while hiding away the horrors that have deteriorated and spoiled into the ground.

It twinkles when stared at and crunches under the soles of boots. It goes hand in hand with the weather which makes mist appear from lips as people converse, going on with their new normal. It forces laughter from individuals as it falls in flutters, collecting on noses, hands and the ground, just before snow people begin to appear, all crafted expertly by hands and joy. But, the snow also makes bones in those who are older ache and makes excited giggles flow from those who are younger.

For Joel, it drives him to yank his gloves further up his hands, causes him to grumble and makes him narrow his eyes as Ellie rolls another snowball and threatens to throw it.

She eventually settles with heading off to find Tommy, leaving him to stuff the gloves under the cuff of his jacket—trying to busy himself, and not stare. Alternating between flexing his fingers and peering around as he waits to hear your door open.

When it does sound, it’s like music to his ear. A soft whistle flows with it, a smile catching his eyes when he allows himself to glance over and look.

Joel swears the light of the world lives in your smile. It must do to penetrate the layers he wears, the walls he’s thrown up and the roughness he carries. Not that he’s ever about to admit it. Not that or that whatever had been churned up inside of him, smooths out. A semblance of calm slid itself over him, gently weaving its fingers under knots and taut muscles, relaxing him, inch by inch.

Although, a part of him is tempted to spill all his secrets to you when you skip down the steps, looking as over the moon to see him, as he is to see you.

“You ready for Patrol 101, Miller?”

He isn’t sure he is. His knees had groaned in protest this morning, then there had been an ache in his ribs when he stretched too far, and he was sure if he attempted to run his hip would give out.

Joel swallows all of it and doesn't share it. Doesn't want to highlight any more than the lines on his face and the callouses on his fingers what the years have done to him.

Because getting out was something he’d been craving.

A hunger in him that hasn't been stemmed with tasks and fix-me-ups. It’s why he had almost choked on his drink when Tommy told him the news. Practically watched his brother smirk in the same way he had when he was younger—like he’d gotten something on his older brother. Bee'll take you around a few times; show you the routes. Then you'll be paired with someone else.

While he hadn’t wanted to push, dismay swirled within him. It sloshed against the sides of the happiness he’d been handed, diluting it, and making it murky.

How come I can’t stay partnered wit’ her?

Can’t have the best two together—we’ll lose others quicker than we already are.

He said nothing. People had been getting braver for weeks, growing more desperate.

A thing which Joel had seen firsthand when he’d been outside of the walls of Jackson, long before he could ever say he was a resident. But, something had shifted more so since then. A deviousness not etched into those with more energy, more poison in their teeth and more gut in their stomachs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after you,” you tease.

Snorting, he holds your gaze. Allows himself to see his reflections in the way they glimmer, staring at him with a mixture of things—ones he wishes he could translate and understand. Your tongue tracing your bottom lip, something trying to write across your face, but never being spelt out.

That is until you clear your throat. Erasing it all, wiping the markings from your face—the begins of sketched-out confessions he would have tried to ascertain.

“Come on, need to get ourselves equipped.”

He follows, as he does for the next hour.

On the second time out, he’d grown used to your mannerisms.

How you went from nothing but sunshine to a thing someone would fear meeting in the dark.

That you begin by his side, but eventually fluctuate between being a little in front or just behind. Your voice ranges in pitch, sometimes whispering, sometimes at normal volume. All little quirks he supposed you’d picked up from surviving.

The main thing Joel learns is that he doesn’t hate listening to you—not like he does many others. Even when you elbow him, pulling a slight smirk from him.

What he hadn’t banked on was the way he felt when your eyes dropped to his lips temporarily, almost fleetingly.

Good job I’m a talker, isn’t it Miller?

While you are, he’s also now able to spot that shift in you on the third run—the one he saw before when you were littered with ruby droplets. He can predict when it descends, when it shifts in your eyes, something sharper, more razor when you’re on this side of the fence.

The playful light that adorns your face is gone, traded for something harsher, more weathered. He thinks it would be rude to say your age, but you appear hardened, like the things you’ve faced begin writing themselves across your face all over again.

Joel notes it’s worse when you pause at an abandoned cabin, your voice tight, almost forced as it leaves your mouth. Your eyes burn into the door and the chipped windows. He doesn’t interrupt, makes no sudden movements, just allows you to list the things there, the amenities, the hidden knife in the floorboard and half a box of bullets behind a brick in the fireplace.

He's not paying attention to that though, but rather you.

You who looks like you could shatter if he knocked into you, crumble into something that would willingly slip between snowflakes and bury yourself into the soil.

He's learned grief can be worn in a number of ways. Ellie's there, carried around her neck like a necklace, it lingering in unsaid words.

The most painful parts of his own are buried in a chamber, wrapped in iron, only released in the moments where he's alone, where there's nothing but darkness and quiet, allowing him to replay all he can recall like a home movie, paying attention to the way those three letters sound and the childish laughter rings out.

Another part comes back to him at the sound of running water, of circular rocks. He thinks of that sly smirk and that cunning brain when he rolls over mid-sleep to remember he still leaves a space.

Then, there's the way you carry it. A mystery, slices of it living in the things you surround yourself and you come into contact with, like a bunch of ghosts which haunt and linger.

"I know it’s not a lot, but it’s better than leading them back."

"Yeah," he adds.

Because other words don't come to him with ease.

You don’t fill the silence for a while after the cabin is barely in sight, just the world absently humming along, as though it doesn’t notice the tension and the way your shoulders are by your ears.

“So, why baking?”

It’s the first question he asks—the only one since the two of you left the safety of Jackson. If you’re surprised at his shift to engage, you do not comment, instead pointing in the direction the two of you are taking.

“Well, I did do candles for a while too, but…”

Moving a branch out of the way, you nod as you move under it, likely following a path you only know in your head.

And it lingers, the bit after the but. Waiting, hearing the breeze blow gently through bare trees and the snow wince under your boots.

“So, how’d you like patrol, Miller?”

Smiling, he grips the gun a little tighter at his waist. “S’alright. Y’a good tour guide.”

Laughing, you stop, waiting for him, jutting your head in the direction of the path, but he doesn’t move, and neither do you.

And it happens, brief and quick. Gone far too soon before he can point it out—that brief look you give him, dropping from his eyes to his mouth. Curiosity there, brewing, bubbling before you vanish it when you return to hold his gaze.

“If Tommy tells me you rated me less than five stars, I’ll be coming for you.”

“Will y’now?”

Narrowing your eyes, the world silent of snow crunching under boots. “Yeah. I know where you live, too.”

He doesn’t see you for several days after the third patrol—and in that time, he's paired with someone younger, a man who appeared more nervous about holding a gun than he did being outside the walls.

“The two of you will be going out in a week,” Maria had said, no room for complaint or argument.

A stern expression that hardens as though freezing in the cold temperatures.

So, Joel said nothing.

But he did think of you.

He dreamt of you, too. Them having shifted when he slept. Swirling, hearing the distinct whispers of Miller, flashes of your gaze just as he wakes up—leaving him gasping, hand on his stomach, desperate to alleviate pressure, but not the kind which had been in his chest.

By the fifth day, he still hadn't asked about you, but fuck did he want to. Almost went round, and hammered his fist into your door. Getting as far as his own porch before he talked himself out of it.

But, now Ellie had begun to mumble. Her sharing her worries, her concerns, fingers playing with the other as she sat at the table, breakfast untouched, sadness beginning to embed itself in the cheer that Jackson had slowly brought her.

"She might be already down at the pen."

Moving the spoon, Ellie shrugs. "She isn't. Her light is on."

By the time he’s decided to check in himself, Joel finds Ellie at the foot of your porch, hands on her hips—beckoning you to come out. Doing so at the top of her voice, all sing-song, making a dance and churning the snow into ice as you stand and watch.

Whatever your reply is, is buried under your breath, doing so begrudgingly, practically dragging your feet like you were the same age as her.

“You have anything to do with this, Miller?”

“Nope. I’d have dragged y’out if it were up to me.”

You’d poked his chest, smirking—a glint that flickered and then vanished inside the dark-sadness that swirled in your eyes. “You can drag me anywhere, Miller, just so you know.”

Somehow, the simple act of getting you out led you to teaching Ellie more about the animals, showing her how to brush one of the horses, and how to feed the chickens. Before he knew it, he was lingering behind, watching the two of you talk to other townsfolk, before somehow ending up in the Tipsy Bison.

It was then Ellie decided to leave you both—a look on her face that screamed menace and don’t fuck this up old man, all at once.

And he had tried. Kept things light, breezy. Ordered you a drink, listened, and even overthought questions before he asked them.

Your eyes flicked to a table across the room when you motioned to answer, it all loud, full of laughter. The pitch of them has been growing louder for the last half an hour, likely doing so as more time goes on and as more alcohol fills their stomachs and sloshes with the morals.

It seemed to make your spine tense, your jaw tighten. All newbies, from what Tommy had said when he’d served you—seem good, honest.

Joel didn’t get that vibe, and from the look on your face, neither did you.

Clearing his throat, he nudges your glass with his. “Y'been good?”

Chewing your reply, you lean on the bar—eyes staring at him. That same look.

The one which he sees in his dreams. The one he saw embers of on those walks.

Before it drops, finds a place near where his fingers rest, watching a smile crack into your stern expression, fluttering something else out in its place.

“Better now.”

“Yeah?”

Rolling your lips, you lean closer, the scent of your soap and shampoo flooding his nostrils. “Yeah, Miller. You make me—“

But your words are stolen, robbed.

Taken.

The action does so before the sound of a crack echoes, all heavy, loud—it punches itself into the calming air, turning it violent and angry.

It ricochetes.

And Joel is embarrassed it takes him far too long to piece together when he sees you jolt beside him. Only realising when Tommy yells and he sees the evidence of it cut across your face, the shock that bled into a deep frown—words dying mid-conversation before your head whipped around and you stare at someone passing.

Pushing up from the bar, slamming your glass down—it splashing itself against the wooden counter. “Did you just spank my ass?” you spit, cutting over the man’s laughter—directing it at him as he walked back to his table.

“Just thought you were good enough to eat, sweetheart.”

Even if the smile on your face is nothing but sweet, Joel sees the shift. The forced nature of it. The way it doesn’t glaze across your skin. But is planted there. Not quite reaching your eyes, not quite blazing over the simmering that’s there.

Because they’re aflame. Murderous. Slightly pinched at the edges as you slowly tilt your head, placing your bottle down.

The music continues to play, mindless chatter layers on top of it, but he can just hear your boots walking away from him. One step, two steps, three.

Your body inching closer to the man, the one with his thumb in his belt, leaning—like his comment had substance.

“That what you want, handsome? You want me?”

Joel’s throat dries, fucking tightens. And he just watches on, even as his fist grips tighter around the glass. Hating the drawl from your lips, despising it, in fact—even if he knows it's a pretence. Fake.

It’s a thing he knows from those patrols, has learnt all the inflictions of your voice—can read when you’re holding back and when you’re giving him nothing but honesty. He can tell when your words are silky, smooth—the same way he knows you’re acting now.

The man snorts. The scar on his cheek all pink, clearly healing, sliding up with his snarl. But, it's the way his eyes bore into you like a man starved, that makes him almost rise up from the stool.

The way the man licks his lips and looks you up and down. “I’d show you a good time, that’s all I’ll say.”

He can feel his blood boiling, hand so clenched he’s sure the bones will snap under flexed muscle and taught skin. But, he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—even if all he wants to do is go over.

Because you don't need him. Reminding him very much of circular stones and stubbornness. Reminding him of someone who handled themselves just as well, someone not worth crossing either—him there, only ever in case. That case rarely ever fucking needed.

He snorts to himself because it's only now he considers the fact that if the world had been different, he suspects the two of you would be friends.

Especially from the way you had moved closer to the table. Your hips doing their thing, fingers stroking at your palm as he motions to stand.

“Better than most around here, including your present company.”

You stop. Halt.

Head tilting ever so slightly—even from his position behind, Joel knows your face has switched again. Morphed. The air growing tenser, colder—practically bone-chilling.

And he swears the music quiets.

It happens quickly. A screech of a chair leg, the shattering of a glass, and the thud of a man twice your size landing on his back. Your body slowly crouches over him as the others at the table stand up. But, he's just focused on you.

How your jeans bend in a low V at the back as you hover over the man—shirt rising, skin showing.

All the other noises have stopped, and Joel can feel his brother’s eyes on him. Feel his pulse in his throat, in his ears, hammering and fucking hammering—

“This what you want? To have someone warm, sweet and gentle on top of your bones?”

You ask it in a way where there’s room for a response. The man’s eyes are wide, staring up at you like you’re the devil rather than an angel. Your tone carrying, fluttering to his ears—but your shoulders are squared.

“Lemme let you in on a secret. I’m not warm, m’not sweet—and touch my ass again, and you’ll find out that I’m not that fucking gentle either.”

Your words ring in the second after. Just the same as the thud of you throwing the man back to the floor. The words crawl across the walls, unwilling to be smothered by music. His drink suddenly tainted, ruined, no longer tasting of anything but annoyance, anger and sadness, watching you grab your jacket and leave.

Joel just rolls his jaw, over and over again. Glare burning a hole in the floor, opening it up, feeling red mist rise out of it as he tried to calm the pulse in his neck, the one hammering in his skull.

Y’going after her, or should I?

Tommy asked it in a way where he knew the answer, likely having bid his time to speak it. Let minutes rack up, and become a bigger number than they should have reached. He wore that same cocky expression Joel recognised from a world that didn’t feel like this one. It reminded him of kitchen mornings and car rides and mornings arguing with others about the prices of supplies.

It’s why he doesn’t answer, just grabs his coat, throwing a glare before he goes after you.

Joel pauses to visit the horses and lingers there to calm the anger in his bones and the fury in his muscles.

When he begins to trudge to your house alone, he pays attention to the way his boots crunch in the many prints left behind by others. His eyes trying to spot yours, discern them from the many others.

It only gets easier when the path forks off to where you both live. The prints grow fewer, able to spot the different pairs—the ones he knows to be Ellie’s, the ones he can recognise are his own, and then yours.

You with your little markings to your steps, the fresh snow leaving a breadcrumb trail he doesn’t need, but appreciates all the same. Because your house is flooded in darkness, bathed in the night—but the footprints told him you’d made it home.

Even in your anger.

He knocks once before he tries the door. Internally shaking his head at you leaving it unlocked, twisting it into place when he’s on the other side. Boots joining yours, bits of the outside crumbling from leather to meet the melting pools you’ve left yourself.

“Kitchen, Miller.”

Smirking, he shoves his coat from his shoulders, a little golden pool of light on your wooden flooring from the kitchen that lights his way. Leads him. Pulls him along with a transparent finger which hooks into the collar of his shirt and practically drags him, until he finds you where he suspected—behind a counter, flour dust everywhere, and staring waiting for him.

“Hey there pretty thing.”

Snorting, he bites back that you’re prettier. Swallows it. Until it rears its head up his throat, and sprouts in his brain, making him think back to your comment. Then, all he wants to do is make a comment about cashing in on it.

Truthfully, he hasn’t been able to stop himself from wondering if you sound as pretty as his perfectly tuned guitar.

As he turns it over, he realises—even if he was suave—it won’t sound as good. It all balling and rolling in a lump on his tongue.

“I’m sorry about tonight.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, y’hear me?”

Rolling your eyes, you tilt your chin to your chest. “Still. Should control my… annoyance better.”

Shaking his head, he folds his arms. "Think you controlled it just fine. Though, y'could've punched him."

Grinning, you look down at the bowl pointedly. "And how am I meant to buy my way into your heart if I can't bake you things?"

And it's there again, that thrum, that little twinge in him that you have awoken. A thing that made him think, not just feel. His thumb and finger play with the fabric of his sleeve, feeling his eye narrow as he watches you—considering, ticking.

“Can hear you thinking over here? Need some oil for the cogs up there?”

“Enough.”

Smiling, you lick your lips, tapping your fingers against the side of the bowl. “I’m used to it, Miller. The comments—the looks. Had it… well, far too long.”

Biting the inside of his jaw, he does so a bit too hard. Almost making himself wince, thumb digging into his arm, feeling it, halting him from exclaiming. “Shouldn’t have t’be used to it.”

“Yeah, well...”

You let the words fall out, before sighing. Resting your palms on the side of your bowl, you give him that look again. The one he thinks he understands and can read—even if it looks different. It doesn’t whisper in the same way as it did on Tess, on others.

On you, it looks like a challenge, a difficult thing he wants to overcome, solve.

Clearing your throat, you smile. Softer, kinder. "Least I'm your honey, right?"

Moving from his place, he moves closer to the counter. Something familiar coming back to him—something covered in cobwebs and dust. Once hidden under moth-eaten sheets, not thrown to the side as he comes to stop a considerable gap away—enough for you to blink, to tell him you’re tired and say goodnight to him in that playful tone.

None of it comes.

Lifting his chin, he finds you slowly smirking, eyes fixed on him, watching, waiting.

Clearing his throat, he rolls his jaw from side to side. “What’d y’like me to call you?”

Your hands flex, flour still clinging to your palms, your hands. “Tonight?”

Nodding, he watches you swallow.

Lets your eyes trace a pattern over his face, for a moment forgetting—allowing himself a moment of pretence. That this is normal, all of it.

“Yours. I want you to call me yours for tonight.”

Suddenly, his fingers are on you, palms grasping. It’s less a kiss, and more a need for your mouth—an act of dominance, a purposeful kiss to keep your tongue busy so it doesn’t take it back. More teeth than anything else.

Because it’s bold—yet so simple.

A thing which frightens him and makes him want to devour you whole, just as he’s inhaling, smelling sugar, sweet and all things fucking nice as you moan into his mouth—and fuck do you make him want. You, this thing that is all good on the outside and marred on the inside.

It's why he softens his mouth on yours, breathes you in a little gentler, hovering his mouth over yours, waiting, permission needing to be given, signed, delivered—

“Keep kissin’ me, Miller.”

Groaning, he does. Tasting something that is all things good, yet as he slides his hand around your apron and into your shorts, you’re nothing but bad.

He just feels skin, no fabric—your slick greeting his touch, how wet you are, all desperate to be known.

“Barely even touched you,” he groans, finger-coating himself in it. In you.

“Maybe you’re not the first visitor I’ve had in the last hour.”

Your hands are caked in flour still as he spins you, pressing you down. Cheek on the cool counter as the bowl tumbles and descends to the floor. Your hands, clutch, leverage themselves, hips all hinged.

“Y’mean it?”

“What?”

“Y’wanna be mine.”

“I mean whatever you want me to mean, Miller.”

Your tight as he slides another finger in, tightening around him, slick to the place his fingers meet his hand, your whimpers blowing flour dust around.

The more he touches you, the more he decides he has to have you. Something carnal, primal. Each whimper and moan grasped for like he was collecting them, storing them in his dark depths, hoping they’d glow and spark light.

Then, it cuts through it all, and your hand—smothering his jeans in uncooked batter—grasping at his thigh, squeezing.

Want you, Miller. Please.

Even as he retracts his hand, he wants to apologise. Turning you to face him, watching your eyes—all lust blown and pretty—drink him in, likely seeing his hesitance, his apologies.

Swallowing as you hook a finger in your shorts, letting them pool at your ankles, “It’s been a while for me, too.”

His mouth slants over yours, tongue diving past the back of your teeth. Clothes sliding free, skin exposed to the air of your kitchen—the evidence of your earlier baking leaving evidence in places he’ll find hard to explain.

Not that he cares. He wants to be costed in flour prints he’ll admire when he has to return home. Wants them to linger, be hard to rid—just like you.

“I’m no one else’s,” you whisper, teeth grazing his cheek.

But it’s the words that are left hanging he hears louder: not anymore.

A feeling he understands—relates to. His hands move, positioning you up onto the counter where you bake and make, and now fuck. He hears the bowl fall, the earlier mixture spreading out in a mess as he lines himself up, looking in your eyes one last time as you nod.

Then, he slides in, all enveloped by you. Walls wrapping around him, inviting him in—desperate, needy, as little moans kiss against his ear as he stills, thumbs drawing soft circles on your hips to make you relax.

It's slow, and cautious. Rocking into you. Letting your mouth find his, attempting to drown out all other things as your legs wrap around his waist.

"Your back."

"Don't care," he grunts, buries it in your mouth, layers it onto your tongue.

And he doesn't; he just needs.

All hungry, more than he thought he could be for a person he knows no history of. But as he loses himself in you, he feels his hand metaphorically let go of the dread he wakes with each day. Each moan of his name from your pretty fucking lips makes him feel like he belongs, not for someone, but for himself.

Feeling your pulse beat against his wrist as his hand slides around to hold the back of your neck, tongue tasting the sweetness collected on your neck, as you moan his name.

And he can already hear what Jackson will say if they find out, the looks he’ll get—because how dare he poison the sweet woman who tends to bees and bakes cakes. But he dares. Fuck he’d dare over and over again if this is what heaven feels like—if this is sinning, he’ll forever confess his wrongdoings.

Because you fit, perfectly taking him, your fluttering hole taking him deeper and deeper, welcoming him, nails cutting into him, marking him, maiming him in a way that makes so much sense for the people they are.

Grunting your name, your eyes open—fire there, present in swirling ruin, ready to pull him, unaware of how willing he is as he spears himself inside of you. Unforgiving, sharp—aiming to bruise and leave you wanting all at once. You’re panting, whining his name. Your head tilted back, chin in his fingers as he fucks into you.

Where he asks, and you smile—wicked and true—inside, inside me, Joel. And he can feel it, how close you are—all tight, desperate and unwilling to beg. But it’s there in the way you’re struggling to swallow and how his name keeps threatening to spill like the hook of a song.

“It’s okay, let go—fuck—let go for me.”

He sees the cogs turn, feels your body react, contort and wash over with pleasure, as he is sure he hears it, the distinct whisper of for you as you cry out, soaking him, coating his cock, fluttering and fluttering until you pull his mouth to yours. Tongue swiping across his bottom lip, tasting the sound of your name as his rhythm stutters, and stutters until his own release costs your insides, stains you, writes that he is yours all over you.

For minutes, it's just breaths, and the scent of you. Face sowed in your neck, your pulse knocking on his cheek, alive, living, all his.

"Miller..."

Swallowing, he steps back, boots standing in the contents spreading around him, deepening itself into the grout of your tiles as he pulls himself out, your hiss minimal, smothered and buried. His hand is outstretched, and he feels your palm slide against his as he helps you down to the mess the two of you made on the floor.

If you mind, you say nothing.

When he zips his fly up, you scramble back to redress. Silence, prickling tension building until he clears his throat, and you look at him with that same innocent look he first saw on your porch.

And he smiles. More so when you drag him by his cheek to your lips, having another second, another moment before reality rains down.

"I should... clean up," you laugh.

Nodding, he takes the cue. “You’ll… you’ll have to let me know when you’re next baking.”

You grin, then smirk, too—not saying anything. Staring at the ruin on the floor. “I’m sure I’ll need to borrow some ingredients.”

He wonders if that’s your twos thing.

And, he learns in four days that it is.

You step up onto his porch, Ellie having long gone out with friends—his fingers pausing in their strumming of the guitar.

“Ran out of hot water.”

“If y’want me to fix it, neighbour, I’m no plumber.”

“No. Just thought I could use yours—but, if you’re worried about consumption, we could do it together. Shower, I mean.”

He’s sure your eyes are sparkling; practically stars in a dark sky, twinkling, inviting.

His hand places the guitar down, leaning it, knees aching as he stands, your smile growing, turning more wicked as he nods at you to the door.

CHAPTER FOUR ->

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spicyicetea · 11 months ago

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So I got the new Pokemon DLC for Christmas and I’m on a big Pokemon kick currently so I’m going to give a gift to my fellow Pokémon lovers. Now I’m more well known for Yandere work but I also do love doing more soft romantic stuff. It heals my traumatised self. So I’ve decided to go through all Pokémon games I’ve played and write romantic and yandere sfw+slight Nsfw headcannons for every character I personally like. [No DLC content because I haven’t played any of them yet]. If there are any characters I haven’t done that anyone wants, either comment or request and I can add it onto this post. Merry late Christmas!

As mentioned before, these posts will contain NSFW topics like violence and sexual references, so if you’re triggered by these topic please be careful. The reader in this is also a Fem reader, I can redo this post for a Masc or GN reader if wanted but I’m writing it as Fem currently is just easiest for me. I don’t describe appearance like skin colour or hair but I do write the Y/N with a curvy figure in mind (I can’t help myself, I love thick thighs IM SORRY-)

Kanto

Red

Ah the original silent protagonist. I love this man so much, even more after his cameo is Sun and Moon. I’m not sure what it is about him but he has this strange allure to him, although I doubt that’s a unique opinion on silent characters. Anyway, onto the headcannons.

This is almost a given with the silent types but I feel like he is an amazing listener, only ever nodding to show he’s still listening or giving small “mhms”

You’re probably the only one he comfortably talks to other than Blue.

In public he likes holding your hand, he often communicates through squeezing your hand or fiddling with your fingers.

Psychic boyfriend No.1

This man can just tell what you need, when you need it. Whether it’s comfort cuddles after a bad day of for period troubles.

Speaking of period troubles, this man not only will buy you whatever you need, he’ll wash the sheets, run you a bath and let you use him as a personal heater.

Yandere + NSFW

This man doesn’t open up to people easily yet you made him fall apart.

You made him stutter, drop things and slip up in battles when you cheered for him, he’s whipped.

You were the only woman that’s ever caught his attention and you aren’t leaving him anytime soon.

So get used to him possessively having a hand on you at all times, glaring daggers at any other person you pay attention to.

He’s a very private person so isn’t one to leave marks on you openly, but he does take great pleasure in leaving dark marks on your thighs.

Speaking of thighs… he’s a giver, do what you want with that.

Blue

Ah the smug bastard rival, and I promise you… he’s still insufferable, but in a loving way.

Bullies you playfully. A day doesn’t go by where he doesn’t mess up your hair and trip you up.

But he loves you truly.

You could not have asked for a more cuddly man, I didn’t expect to have this headcannon but I imagine this man is very eager to stay cuddled up to you as much as possible.

Although he talks a lot and loves it when you compliment him, I also think he’s a good listener, but like I’m a hype man way.

He’ll sit by the bathroom door while you’re in the bath letting you vent about anything you want just egging you on. “Wow she sounds like a bitch-“

A man who loves PDA, it’s his favourite way of staking his claim on your beautiful self.

Yandere + NSFW

Has dated his fair share of girls, but he wants you so bad.

He will fight for you, no matter what. This man will abuse whatever position he has to impress you. A relative of the professor’s, ex Champion, and a gym leader. He will do whatever he can to have you.

He is incredibly touchy, the moment other people aren’t looking, his hands are under your shirt. Nibbling your neck and kissing your earlobes. Actually he’d do that even with people watching,

Although he’d be mighty mad if someone watched your gorgeous body, he might even hurt someone.

Brock

This man is underrated.

The most loveable family man you’ll ever meet.

He loves to cook for you. Everyday. Please let this man make you breakfast in bed.

In fact no, he wants you to cook with him. All romantic. His chest to your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ears while you chop up vegetables.

If you get along with his siblings, he will propose to you on the spot.

Very openly affectionate, but never goes further than a hug in public… ok maybe you can get a kiss on the cheek.

Yandere + NSFW

This man has a breeding kink… you can’t change my mind.

He wants a nice big family and the idea of you, heavy and round with his baby. Not to mention how your… other assets will change.

Will happily suffocate in your tits, and if you’re pregnant, he will help relieve any discomfort you have.

If another man hurt you in any way, he’s going to go… missing. He’d break a man in half over his knee for you, and his Onix is very strong.

Lance

Am I the only one who would smash? Yes? No? Alrighty-

He’s always hits me as a someone who likes spending time with his lover in silence.

Not opposed to PDA but gets worried about his fans potentially harassing you, let’s you borrow his dragonite to escort you between towns.

Away from the public and just with his friends (elite four mainly) he loves to have you by his side, often whispering things about his day to you, information he only shares with you.

Also a man who is very hot, like he’s warm constantly, will be the best snuggler when it’s cold.

Yandere + NSFW

Originally I thought this man would be rather�� vanilla but I feel like he’d be into wax play. I can’t explain it, but I can picture him loving to spill wax all over your tits.

For the more yandere side of things, he’s the strongest dragon trainer in Kanto. He will use his influence to make himself your only option, not that you’d realise, he’s not an idiot.

Giovanni

BARK BARK BARK GRRR MAFIA DADDY-

Your relationship is hidden very well from most people, you don’t get to villain status with a clean record and no enemies.

Despite that, you love a life of luxury baby.

He loves nothing more than to pamper you. His beautiful girl sat on his lap, with her hair all done up and nails all pretty. Now that’s the life.

Yandere + NSFW

I think he has great Yandere potential.

You sat comfortably on his lap in his office, his hands trailing comfortably under your skirt.

He loves watching you squirm as his fingers traces tight circles- well that’s all you get for now.

As I mentioned before, I believe he’d default to yandere to be honest.

He would not hesitate to kidnap but I like the idea that he’d try and woo you first. Dinner dates… wine… murdering his competitors.

Yeah, he’d be a yandere.

Johto

(I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never played these ones so I have no significant opinion on any of the characters)

Hoenn

Steven

This is just a crow in a human form, mr I love shiny rocks (me fr fr)

His love language is most definitely gift giving. Your shared house is littered with crystals and shiny things he’s found over his travels.

He loves to press kisses all over your fingers, buying you as many rings as possible for you and him to match. If he buys himself a new ring you’re getting one too.

Loves showing you off to the elite four, and begs that his dad approves. Not that he needs his approval but it’d be awkward if he didn’t.

Yandere + NSFW

Possessive as fuck.

You ain’t getting away from him easily. He will track you down as long as he needs to before you calm down and quit running away.

Loves pampering you once you behave though.

He kisses up your legs to your thighs, such passionate loving words followed by the mantra of “dirty girl” and “slut”

Maxie

Ok all the villains just radiate Yandere energy- so they’re all gonna be pure yandere + NSFW warning

This man doesn’t have it in him to kidnap someone… oh wait that’s a lie.

When he met you that all changed

He needs you, he would hurt anyone to get you to himself.

He’d leave dark bites on your neck, massaging your hips to tangle you together.

Another man I think would be into wax play, also a corruption kink. (No I won’t elaborate)

Archie

Big brute of a man… he’s going to make you beg for his mercy.

He loves holding you in his lap, cradling you delicately while he peppers kisses along your neck.

Will bite you, this man is a shark and will leave slightly bloody bite marks all over your body.

This man eats pussy for breakfast, you will never not cum first, a truly good man.

He is far more eager to kill a man to prove his love for you than he should be.

Sinnoh

I’ll be honest I tried to but I’m tired and I’m just going to be writing Yandere and NSFW headcannons. I’m sorry people-

Barry

This boy is so happy to finally have met someone who loves him… you’re not allowed to leave, he’ll cry.

For some reason I see this mans as wanting a family… he wants to be a more present father than his own.

Not one to leave marks on you but will beg you to stay home so he can cuddle and pamper you all day.

When he eventually takes over the battle frontier (he so would you can’t tell em otherwise) he will use that position to “protect you”.

Cyrus

Ah yes, the cold emotionless man who falls for a sweet woman and kills all competition… I approve!

PDA? Who is that? The most you’ll get from him is his hand on your shoulder moment before he orders team galactic to handle someone who was making moves on you.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. You’re the only woman he could ever love.

He lays awkwardly in bed but melts when your head rests on his chest, that was when the yandere switch flipped and he locked you in his apartment.

At least the man lays some good pipe, also this man has a bondage kink cause I said so.

Unova

Elesa

You think that the world won’t notice the famous model and gym leader with a girl on her arm. You’re going to end up centre of the Unova news for the next month.

She loves this though, now everyone knows you belong to her, and anyone who ignores that will just get zapped.

Prepare to share clothes, and prepare for her to watch you undress, she can’t help herself.

The woman loves to zap you, just lightly though, you’ll live… and probably cum.

Emmett + Ingo

Yes you get both, these two are a package deal ok?

Now… prepare to never leave their sight.

They want you at every battle, cheering them on, cuddling with the Joltiks or napping in their office using their coats as blankets.

Now… ok these two are kinky. They just are-

Ingo is 100% a family man, big breeding kink.

I think Emmett is more, adventurous, bondage and impact play seems right in my opinion.

Love to… “threaten” to throw people on the tracks when they flirt with you.

Aww what a sweet little thing, come and give me a hug- now time to hide you away where no one can ever see you again!

Honestly, he probably fell for you after seeing your relationship with your Pokemon. Almost every Pokemon you see likes you.

He’s very possessive over you. It’s no secret that he was raised in an incredibly unhealthy way, so he can’t exactly discern between inappropriate and appropriate behaviour in pursuing his courtship with you.

Now onto more NSFW art themes, he 100% praises you constantly and makes sure you’re tended to first. Often ends up super pent up because he wants to take care of you but sometimes go so far and overstimulates you. Don’t worry, the aftercare is amazing though.

Ghetsis

. . . Bastard

I’m only including this mother fucker because he’s so evil he’d be one of the most extreme Yanderes out of all of them. And because if still smash because I’m sinful-

The moment he sees you and falls for you, you can bet you’re getting kidnapped, sorry you just are.

I would bet money that he is the most possessive out of all of them but, and hear me out, would also be kinda attentive?

I can totally picture him being cold and accidentally upsetting you only to spend the rest of the next day showering you on gifts.

You’d also be seen as a god to the rest of team plasma, so enjoy being worshipped.

Oh and NSFW… spanking, degrading and tying you up, enjoy

Colress

Ah yes, my adorable scientist that I think is a kinky motherfucker-

He would make a collar to track you when you leave his side, he isn’t too keen on the idea of locking you insider after all.

Wouldn’t kidnap you but would murder the competitors.

Anyway onto the kinks I think would suit him…

He’d 100% make different types of vibrators so he can cuff you to the bed and watch you squirm. Considered making you a ball gag but he gets off on your moans, that does mean he ends up edging you before fucking you himself.

Kalos

Lysandre

Sugar daddy

I could leave that like that but fine fine I’ll feed you horny bastards.

He parades you around more than any of the others, always making sure you’re wearing the finest clothes. Usually also wearing his jacket, he can’t stand gawkers staring. Admiring your beauty he can handle, but staring at his woman is punishable by a flamethrower.

You live the luxury life. Fancy bath soaps and massages. Cafe trips daily so he can make sure you’re eating well. Sex in the back of his car in secluded car parks when you’ve been misbehaving at dinner.

He’s a rough lover but amazing with aftercare, so there’s that.

Alola

Nanu

Dilf energy… and I’m hungry for it I’ll be honest.

So tired, but you give him energy. Energy to do crime to keep you to himself but still energy. But hey why argue, you get to cuddle his cats all day.

Also, if you’re a trainer that has cat Pokemon… he’d probably marry you. Proposal on sight. Already on one knee.

He isn’t very openly affectionate but as long as no one is around he’ll always have an arm around your waist. You’re well protected.

Another man that I believe would make sure you cum first every time. Just make sure you have a warm bath after for your back, he hits me as a rough lover.

Guzma

Oh you poor girl… not because he’s going to treat you bad but he’s obsessed.

You’re probably kidnapped by team skull but you had no idea it was a kidnapping, it was more of a scooby-doo chase.

Yeah you now have like 50 babies to care for but don’t worry, big sis Plumeria and your new husband will help you. What you don’t remember getting married? Oh silly, you belonged to him the moment your eyes met.

He’s very inexperienced with relationships so give him a little time to learn. He’s a fast learner in bed so he won’t leave you unsatisfied. Will pamper you anyway he can.

Oh and have mercy on this man… don’t wear his clothes, he can’t handle it.

Hisui

Volo

Little shit… he’s going to try and use anything he can to claim you.

Whether that be advances in front of people to scare them off and stake his claim over you.

He does have a decently good reputation so no one would expect him to be dangerous, so you’re kinda fucked, Cyllene would protect you if she needed to though.

He talks down to you all the time, you’re not his equal, you are his property in his eyes.

Adaman

This man is smitten. No more smooth and confident Adaman, this man is a stuttering mess.

He wants to marry you so badly, please let this man marry you… and then put a baby in you but marriage first.

This man gives you jewellery, clothes, helps you befriend Pokémon or catch them depending on which method you prefer.

Cuddler, he will snuggle and cuddle as long as you want, so what he has duties? His pretty little wife wants his attention and you will get it.

Irida

Had noooo idea how to handle her feelings. Probably started as a childish crush at first but it developed into something much more.

She wants to spend the rest of her life with you by her side.

Glares at everyone who speaks to you, even people from her clan. She’s very jealous very easily.

But she loves you, and will let you spend unsupervised time with some people she trusts… only her Wardens, although she doesn’t trust Ingo as much as she doesn’t know him as well, not with you at least.

Warden Ingo

Dilf energy again

His memory may be strange and shaky but he remembers how to treat a woman he loves. Remembers things Elesa told him and Emmet, although to him it’s more echos of voices he thinks he knows.

He loves cuddling up to you while watching the newly hatched sneasels learn how to live. Although this does awaken a want for family he forgot he had.

He isn’t the most trusting person, but he is a good judge of character… and has gotten into a fistfight with Volo when he hit on you. Blood was drawn.

He throws a good punch, but would never hurt you, he adores you, you make him feel good in a familiar way.

Anyway you freaks want NSFW- this man lives up in the mountains, them rough hands can do wonders. And he loves making you feel good, people pleaser but only for you.

Paldea

Arven

Aw what a sweet boy, who will strangle anyone who tries to take you from him.

This boy lost both his parents and nearly lost his best friend/dog… he is terrified he’ll lose you too.

He cooks he cleans and then makes sure to rub your back and give you love so you’ll love him back

Please give this boy some affection or the boys around you will pay the price of you don’t.

Professor Sada

Mommy?

This woman is feral, not only did she basically throw you over her shoulder when she met you but you never don’t have bite marks all over your skin. It’s her way of telling everyone your hers.

I feel she’d give more freedom than Turo, only if Robo Sada was with you for safety… and to break the arms of whoever looked at you the way she did.

Also this woman is a mosterous pussy devouring fiend, don’t argue, you know I’m right.

Professor Turo

Oh daddy Turo- criminally underrated daddy let alone Yandere daddy.

I feel like Turo most definitely would have kept you locked down in his lab with him, convincing you that you help him with his research. I mean… he isn’t wrong, you motivate him to keep going.

However girl has needs and he often get consumed by his work. It wasn’t until he caught you handling problems yourself on your shared bed that he decided robo Turo should take over his research a little bit more.

It’d be a shame if you fell in love with a toy he so kindly made for you than him himself.

Larry

Ah my favourite ordinary business man… I’m so normal about him.

He is very normal about you too, except the fact that he has pocketed any handkerchief you’ve used while eating with him.

Oh and many dates that are just trying new food, oh and bird watching.

Again, call me weird but I think this man wants a family, total breeding kink.

Also I feel like he likes a rather feminine woman, not in the frilly skirt way but in the way of “I don’t N E E D a man but I like you”. You like him, right?

Rika

M m mommy?

Dominatrix… owns a whip… bondage. ANYWAY-

Not above using their position as elite four to scare off competition and keeping you in line.

Oh don’t cry, you won’t escape anyways.

She only uses PDA to send a message to other women or men, “hands off”

Jacq

Teach me about biology bb-

ANYWAY… loves to discover new Pokémon with you.

Will happily teach you about your favourite Pokémon for your attention.

Please don’t look away, he’ll have a breakdown.

Miriam

Ah cute little nurse… she has access to so many dangerous drugs.

She will scream and cry if you choose someone else, don’t do it, she’s an ugly cryer.

She loves to give you “check ups” when no one is looking.

On a side note, don’t you know that orgasms are good for your health? You didn’t? Oh silly let Miriam help you out, her fingers can work wonders.

THIS TOOK FOREVER…

But it was worth it enjoy animals. I want to get more serious with Pokemon x reader writing so I hope some people enjoy this… I’m never doing this big of a post again… this was meant to be a Christmas post- way to many bloody tags to add :,)

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angel-of-the-moons · 9 months ago

Text

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Jake, Steven) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst. Angst angst angst! Mentions of childhood trauma, child abuse, self-doubt

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long guys, I've been going through... well, a lot lately and it pained me because I wanted to work on so much but I've been so emotionally-burnt out I've been struggling creatively (Yet again falling into the age-old trap of "My stuff is never as good as ___'s" that many of us struggle with)

But I'm hoping, that with this, I can start to feel a bit better!

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika

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Chapter 10:

On The Wings Of An Icarus

Jake knew Layla still didn’t fully trust him, based on his propensity for violence. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she downright hated him, and only tolerated him and spoke politely to save face, for Marc and Steven’s sake.

But, god help him if he didn’t go all out after that night; the night he noticed your soul mark. He showed no mercy on those that Khonshu dispensed him after. Layla practically had to knock him out to get him off; and if he didn’t reign in his control when he did, Marc and Steven would have known something was up. That calm, cool, and collected Jake had cracked because of something and he knew they would attempt to either front or co-front to find out what had shaken him so.

He fisted the glass in his gloved hand, reigning himself in just enough to avoid cracking it.

Three crescent moons, all connected. Each one waxing or waning depending on who was in control of their body or simply co-fronting. You said so yourself.

God, who else could that be referencing if not he, Marc, and Steven? He doubted it was just a goddamned coincidence.

It killed him that he had to keep it a secret from the two of them, but he had no choice. It hurt worse knowing that he wouldn’t be able to tell you–probably never.

You were so… so close. And so far. Like a mirage of an oasis in the desert, always on the horizon, tangible enough to see but not close enough to touch, to hold in his hands.

But… even if they couldn't approach you as their soulmate... Jake could at least let Marc and Steven have you as their friend. Maybe that would assuage the tugging he already knew that they felt.

He had to think of an excuse for if–when–they noticed your mark… Steven would most likely notice it first; he had a habit of looking anywhere else other than someone’s face when he conversed with them, picking at his oversized sleeves and keeping his eyes moving while over-informative words poured from his mouth. Marc was… less observant to such things.

But he would definitely notice if he spent more time with you (not as significantly as Steven does, but still), Marc would get comfortable, enough to let his eyes wander, to open himself up to you. After all… you were their soulmate, it was only natural to feel safe enough around the other half of your very existence, to let your guard down. It was a dangerous game Jake was betting on, being so close to you. He wanted to keep you away, to keep you safe.

But… was it so wrong they have this? Even just a friend? All the horrors they'd been subjected to, the pain, the abuse, the loss… Would it still be so bad to have you, even in that tiny capacity?

But at the same time… if Khonshu tried to use you as leverage–assuming he didn't already know about you–he wouldn't be able to contain himself if something happened under Khonshu’s supervision, as lax as it could be at times.

If someone hurt you? Fuck, he would snap.

He would fight and keep fighting until whoever it was was a bloody mass of pulp and bone fragments.

He looked into his glass of bourbon, a smoky honey flavor that tasted like it had been aged close to a decade. A bit pricey, given the pub he was at, but he needed something right now, something strong enough to numb his mounting anxiety.

His hand slid beneath his jacket to touch his shirt, his gloved fingers knotting in the crisp white fabric as he remembered the night when that human trafficker stabbed him, and he subsequently ripped the knife out.

He'd apologized to you, then, without realizing it was you he apologized to, for being so reckless.

But now that he knew... the guilt came back. How could he be so reckless? So foolhardy as to not take note of his surroundings to prevent that?

You could feel each other's pain. That realization made the abuse he and Marc–and even Steven to a degree–suffered with as a child even worse. The pain your tiny, frail body probably felt–the burns, the welts, the patches of ripped out curls…

He remembered, when he first came into existence; when it got too bad, he would front momentarily to take the worst of the injuries Wendy would inflict upon their poor young body. Marc didn't even know what was happening in the beginning, nor did Steven.

But Jake always knew.

It was like his burden, his own personal curse as the protector. He was cursed with the knowledge that he knew things he couldn't tell others, to protect everyone around him.

Marc, Steven, Layla…

And now you, it seemed.

How could he…

“Jake?” Layla asked, her hand gripping his thick forearm in her small, soft hand, her dark brows pinched upwards in concern. “You were… spacing. Looked like you were thinking about killing someone.” She added.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, hissing between his teeth. He could feel it, Marc–or perhaps Steven–threatening to swim to the surface of their headspace to investigate the turmoil and inner upset Jake was overthinking on.

“Lo siento.” He muttered, looking at her for a moment before tipping the glass and downing the last mouthful of bourbon before continuing. “I was…”

“Thinking about her. I can tell.” She admitted, turning her barstool so she could face him, her lips pursed in a thin line.

This was difficult. With Marc and Steven, Layla always knew an approach. But with Jake, she never bothered to learn one. She didn't trust him–not fully, yet–so she never felt the need. From how she found out about him, how the other two figured out that they weren’t the only two inhabiting the body… He never really gave Layla an “in”, so to speak; to learn more and break past those emotional barriers that crumbled when she spoke to Marc or Steven. Damn him and his apparent emotional stoicism!

But seeing just how tortured she finally realized he felt… yeah, Jake did bad things on behalf of that old codger, Khonshu, but…

He carried so much weight on his own shoulders, withheld so much pain to protect others that he may as well have been Atlas, doomed to carry the world on his back for all eternity, never being able to shirk the weight like the mythological person.

It dawned on her, that night on the rooftop over your shop and flat, just how little she truly knew about Jake Lockley.

She didn't know anything she didn't want to know, even from Marc or Steven's mouth. It was just her way, after her father died and Marc fell into her life; to not ask too many questions so she could sleep just a wink better than the nights before.

Jake was violent, scary, methodical… but was he really? Or did she just paint him that way to justify her distrust over the fact Khonshu still used him as Moon Knight and used him to rope poor Marc and Steven back into the role as his Fist?

He wasn't some scary boogeyman, he was… a guy. A guy who loved his “brothers”, his friends, who protected–and loved–fiercely and with his whole being. A man now struggling with the weight of flinging himself into the very instincts so many throughout their lives craved to feel when they finally found their soulmate, or simply denying the possible bliss of being cradled in your loving arms, spending the rest of your lives together…

“Sí, it's… I'm trying to think of a way to keep Marc and Steven in the dark. Maybe if… if I just let them think of her as a friend...” He sighed.

Layla frowned. Okay that was another reason that reminded her why she didn't fully trust him, yet. The fact he was willing to hide such important things from Marc and Steven to “protect” them.

Yes, it was important to protect them, but some things are just inevitable, bound to be found out.

It's the difference between ripping off a bandage or pulling a child out of a clean room.

Pulling off the bandage, yeah, it'll hurt for a moment but it will pass.

However, if you put a child inside of a sterile bubble, the moment that bubble bursts, their immune system will be compromised and they won't be able to adjust to the changing environment around them…

“Jake… sometimes you just have to rip off the band-aid.” Layla replied. “You won't be able to hide this–hide her–from them forever.”

He wiped at his face, and made a frustrated groan. The buzz of the alcohol did little to ease his concerns. After all, once he took up the mantle tonight, his buzz would evaporate like dew beneath the summer sun. Not that London saw much of that these days.

“I know, Layla. I'm just… trying to buy time.”

“Jake… when it comes to your soulmate…” Layla said, giving him a sympathetic look.

“You don't have enough money in the world to do that. It will happen. Whether you're all ready for it or not.”

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Jake hadn't slept well that night. Marc and Steven needed a break, so they were still in the back of his mind, in the headspace, not really conscious of what Jake had been doing inside the body. They thankfully agreed to let Jake assume control, to give his headmates a much-needed break.

“Just like old times?” Layla had quipped sardonically, and, of course, Jake had to pretend the comment didn't hurt him at all. It did, but… he still didn't want her to feel bad about saying it.

Sure, he's done questionable and sometimes horrible things, but it was all for them. Marc, Steven, Layla, innocent people, and now… you.

Beautiful, sweet, oblivious you.

He'd started coming to your shop more, under the excuse that you had good coffee (which honestly you begged to differ, it was merely stuff you bought in bulk at the market) and the quiet atmosphere was more relaxing than a regular cafe; which even you agreed was rather dead. Many people didn’t stop in for a cuppa when simply buying old sci-fi novels…

Jake had even gone so far as to bring the stacks of books that Steven had been meaning to bring to you for a trade-in credit, just for another excuse to come in to see you.

It was all to keep you safe, to make sure nobody bothered you, to make sure you were doing okay.

He promised himself there was nothing less.

But even so, you were the candle flame to his moth, and he was drawn to you.

Drawn to you, but knowing if they got too close or touched you, they would burn, and there would be no going back once they did. What was that saying about flying too close to the sun?

He just… he couldn't let any of you know that he knew. As painful as it was to admit, he was already falling for you and he couldn’t bear to face it for fear of throwing caution to the wind and losing it all.

Not until today, not until he went to the market down the block, in search of something to cook for dinner. It was pouring outside, despite the forecasters saying to expect sleet. No, no, of course it wouldn't be sleet. It was just freezing cold rain. Rain that felt like tiny frozen icicles hitting his skin in fat droplets.

He shook his jacket, the droplets falling from the leather and onto the large carpet beneath his feet at the entrance. After that, Jake pulled his cap back up and nodded politely to the greeter and proceeded his way inside. He was craving something, but wasn’t sure what. Something with a little kick, something with meat. So, undecided on what in particular he wanted to eat, he settled for wandering the aisles, randomly picking up items here and there, pretending to read the labels until he made up his fractured mind.

“Jake? Jake Lockley?”

His head whipped up so quickly he almost felt his vertebrae snap when he lifted his eyes to meet yours, innocent and twinkling as you appeared so sure of your guess. You were instinctively right, of course, but the inner jokester within him was tempted to fake Marc’s voice to mess with you.

He shoved his hands into his jeans–mostly to conceal how badly they were shaking–and tossed you what he hoped was a charming, convincing smirk, “Ah. Caught me red-handed, Rosa. How’d you guess?”

“Well, aside from the fact you’re wearing your trademarked hat and jacket…” You playfully tapped your nose and winked at him. “...You look like you just caught a whiff of–and stepped in--horse shit.”

Jake couldn’t suppress himself, chuckling and shaking his head, “That’s a… unique way of putting it.”

“I’m full of surprises!” You beamed proudly, “So, what’re you here for? I don’t think I’ve bumped into you here, before!”

“Ah, I’m here to… well, find something to eat. Or well, more accurately, something to cook to eat.” He sighed and tipped his head. “I might just buy a frozen dinner and call it a night.”

The offended gasp his comment elicited from you made butterflies flitter about in his belly. He felt like a teenager talking to the popular girl he had a crush on in school.

“Oh no you will not! So many of those have awful preservatives and just aren’t healthy for you!” You tut, reminding him so much of Steven. He couldn’t hold back his smile as you ranted and spoke about healthy eating habits, honestly reminding him of Steven in this moment.

His attention began to wonder as he took in every bit of your face–every blemish or thing you may consider yourself to be an imperfection, tracing every dip and contour of your cheeks, nose, and the slope of your jaw…

“You know what–” You huffed, the hand that wasn’t holding your basket firmly planted on your hip. “No. Why don’t you come have dinner with me? The thought of you making something like some yucky frozen meatloaf is just… blegh.”

Jake felt his brain record-scratch, finally being pulled out of his admiring stupor. “I–what? Oh, no, no, I don’t think that…” He floundered.

Him! The Jake Lockley, left without a quip to be uttered!

“Nah.” You say, walking past him. “I'm making you dinner. C’mon, I’ll need help grabbing stuff.”

On sheer instinct, he followed you like an obedient puppy. “Look, uh, I…”

“Not takin’ no for an answer, Lockley. Now, c’mon!”

The man was hopeless. All he could do was admire your figure and personality once again. Sweet, gentle–but also fiery and bull-headed when it suited you.

Jake fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Layla’s number, texting;

“Order something out for dinner, La-La… It looks like I have plans.”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 11: Link

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #moon knight x reader #soulmate au

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presidentofthelipglossclub · 4 months ago

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GUESS WHO'S BIRTHDAY IT IS!!

in honor of my birthday here are some more rescue bots headcanons!!

they (as in constructed rescue bots) have extra color receptors which allows them to see more types of light than other bots, as well as advanced hearing (they’re also the only bots with noses so they have an extra sense)

all of them have outliers (its a requirement to be a rescue bot)

blurr changed his paint job (post s4, before he showed up in rid15) because heatwave and blades basically bullied him into it

the academy where they studied was on a moon of cybertron’s, and they actually spent very little time on cybertron itself. it was sorta like a field trip spot, and they went very infrequently

quickshadow was the academy's champion shot, and she won a bunch of competitions

the rescue bots all had specialties outside of what they actually did (heatwave was a history nerd, boulder studied xenobiology, blades took journalism, chase did psychology, quickshadow was a data analyst, hightide took astronomy)

hightide was actually friends with both orion pax and megatronus separately before they realized they all knew each other

in that same vein, servo and lazerbeak were longtime friends because they grew up together

optimus is so ridiculously tolerant towards whatever the rescue bots do that they actually have a running bet on how much they can get away with before optimus gets angry (he never once has)

blurr's reputation as most annoying bot ever has been intact since way before the war when he was a racer

blades got his name through an awkward mishap at an armory that heatwave never let him live down

related to that, all the rescue bots' "names" are really more of nicknames. their names are listed on documents but their primary identification is through serial numbers because they're cold constructs

boulder had a practically bullet proof reputation at the academy as the perfect student so whenever the others wanted to get away with something they always involved him

when salvage heard about DIY's he got super into them and started making tons of pointless stuff. he never even followed the good channels, only stuff like troom troom

chase succumbs to peer pressure ridiculously easy

heatwave gives really good advice but only on accident

quickshadow and hightide like to hang out and trash talk optimus whenever he does something they don't like

blades only has field medicine training, he's not cleared for any actual treatment outside of an emergency (he can do first aid and EMT stuff but can't, like, prescribe things or do surgery). this has not stopped him from trying things though.

salvage is actually from one of cybertron's colony worlds, but he grew up on cybertron

ok here's a fun little surprise in honor of my birthday: the humans are also included in headcanons!!

kade was actually very good at gymnastics, he just got bored of it

chief burns needs glasses but he prefers to wear contacts

dani had a very extreme scene core phase, and her hairstyle is a remnant of that

frankie has super high government security clearance as a super genius and daughter of one of the world's best scientists, so she knows all kinds of military secrets

doc greene and chief burns met in childhood, doc's family moved away, and then when he got older he moved back to griffin rock and reunited with the chief

graham is the biggest night owl because of college. sometimes, when he has trouble falling asleep, the bots invite him to movie night and they all watch reruns of old movies or shows

building off that, there are two kinds of movie night: the first is with the whole burns family, rescue team, and sometimes others such as optimus or the greenes. the second is less of a movie night and more of a "we need something to do while the humans are sleeping, let's watch trashy tv all night." this kind of movie night is really just the bots (minus whoever has night shift)

professor baranova actually used to be pretty upbeat, although she was a bit misunderstood because she's neurodivergent (i also headcanon that after the whole living underwater for 28 years thing she developed DID and multiple alters to cope with the loneliness, so she's now a system)

woodrow and optimus are in a qpr. optimus refers to him as his amica, and also privately thinks of him as his human partner

doc greene at some point developed a working synthetic energon formula completely independently. when ratchet first met him (post war, probably right before he was hired to work at the rescue academy) and learned about this he lost his shit

bumblebee and dani race together all the time when he visits

this is where i'm gonna stop this post, because it's pretty late for me lol. it was my birthday today, so happy birthday to me!!

also y'all PLEASE talk to me abt any of these headcanons i will be thrilled to elaborate!

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dulcewrites · 2 years ago

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Fool Me Once (part 4)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 4.5k)

Summary: Your paranoia spikes as the safety of your children is put into question. Familiar faces come to King’s Landing as the fight for power continues to grow.

A/N: When I posted the first part, I had no idea this would be the response i get, let alone that I would be making multiple parts. I’m so grateful for all the support I have gotten, and I hope to keep writing hotd stuff y’all enjoy. This part will span events that happened in ep 8 of the show. Ep 9 and 10 will be part 5 🫶🏽🫶🏽. Hope y’all like it, and PLEASE come talk to me. Love chatting about fmo

Fmo masterlist

You tried to make it to your chambers without disturbing the party. Your father seemed confused by you sudden departure after Jayne pulled you away from him.

Ser Quinton insisted going into the chambers before you. There was a sick part of you that hoped she was in there. Waiting for Aemond; or better yet, waiting for you. At least if you saw her, you would feel less… mad. The descent to insanity may be held off by finally putting a face to worst time of your life. You think about the knife trick Quinton had taught you, and if he was right when he said it led to a slow death.

Your bottom lip wobbles when you walk into the room and see red. Alaric’s cot is smeared with blood. Whoever did this did not go to his nursery, they came here knowing you also have a place for him when he is extra restless in the night.

Quinton gives you a look. He can tell you are about to panic and reaches out for your arm. Lord Larys stands there, a dubious look on his face.

“You know it is quite rude to leave you own party. Mother told me to come get you,” Aegon strolls in casually with a lazy smile, and goblet in his hand. His smile falters when he sees the blood and the look on your face. “Seven Hells.”

“We need to tell the Queen,” Quinton pipes up after a beat of silence.

Your mind strays to what Alicent could have said to her son. What Aemond could have said to Alys. The woman that have haunted your thoughts for moon now being in Red Keep… in the room where you rest your head.

You look down at the bloody box, your hands stained red. Time seems to slow down and speed up as you think of what to do.

“This is your house sigil,” you turn to Larys ignoring Quinton’s request. “She was here. That bastard witch was here. She touched my child’s things.”

There’s a vibrating anger that courses through your body. It was not good enough to have your husband, or carry his child. Now she must resort to messing your child, to trying to goad you into a something.

Well, if that is was she wants…

Lord Larys raises a single brow, looking at the box quizzically. A normally self assured and smarmy man just as put out as you. “Maybe we should follow Ser Quinton’s idea by telling Queen Alicent.”

“Tell me what? The feast is about to start.”

Alicent’s rich tone cut through the room, and the four of you turn towards the chamber doors.

“What is all of this,” she gets a familiar furrow in her brow when she sees the blood stained box in your hands. Her doe eyes going from you, to her son, to Quinton, then to Larys before landing on the bloodied cot near the bed.

Alicent rushes into the room, and over to you. You watch as her face falls when she sees Strong sigil edtched in the box and Alaric’s blanket.

“This does not make any sense,” she mutters, shaking her head.

Your eyes flicker quickly over to Aegon, who has an I told you so look on his face. It sets in that any possible reprimand that Alicent gave Aemond was also met with giving him a chance to repair the situation. He had a chance to make a choice, and still chose wrongs. Your imbecile husband.

It is almost a joke at this point. He must really enjoy making you look foolish. That is the only explanation. Before you ask Alicent what she said to him during their talk, a flash of silvery hair at the door catches your eye.

There had been times you thought about killing Aemond. A slip of poison in the goblet, or smothering him with a pillow. Even more lately since you two share a room again. Not ideas you were ever proud of, especially when you thought about your children not having their father in their lives. Living with the grief of a dead father the rest of their lives.

But there’s something about this moment that makes you think you and your kids would be just fine without him. Just fine away from all these people.

“What is going on,” Aemond cautiously walks in, clearly apprehensive of the collection of people in the room. “Your parents are asking for us.”

“Aemond, you should go ba-,” Alicent starts. She is using the voice you have heard her put on when speaking to members of court. Collected and stern.

“This is your fault,” your voice trounces out hers. You move past Alicent and throw the box at his feet. “Your whore left us a gift.”

Aemond leans down to look at Alaric’s blanket. His shoulders stiffening instantly when he sees the box. He looks over at his mother. You have learned that they have their own little language through looks. A connection that can only be expected through mother and child. It only infuriates you more.

“She would not do this.”

Aemond shakes his head in disbelief, and you throw your hands up in frustration. The blood from them now starting to stain your dress. Your favorite purple dress tainted.

“Is her cunt so magical that it is making you blind in both eyes,” you hiss. “She came into this room, and soaked your son’s blanket in blood. Gods know whose blood.”

“My wife-“

You hold a hand up to stop him.

“You have already shown you have no respect for me, but if you think I am going to let your love affair with her effect my children, you are more foolish than I thought.”

Your eyes drifts down the small dagger around his waist. One slit to the throat is all you need. There’s a strange sense of adrenaline that runs through you.

A blood lust.

“We need to all keep our composure, fighting will do no good,” Alicent steps in between you two. “…. And we must remember our stations.”

She eyes you when she says the last part of the sentence.

“Before we jump to any other conclusions, let’s get one of the maidservants to clean this room up, and I’ll see to it that extra guards are sent to all the living quarters. We will discuss how to go forward after the feast.”

Alicent grabs Aemond’s arm in an attempt to pull him out of the room. Your vision blurs with anger. Jump to conclusions? Playing coy and hurt has gotten you nowhere. Your mother was wrong all those years ago; keeping your head is not the always answer.

“That is not going to work my Queen,” Alicent turns back around with a frustrated look in her eyes. “This a threat towards Alaric. And your son’s disrespect of his marriage is directly responsible; what other conclusion is there?”

She sighs before walking back over to you. Alicent takes your hand softly and lays the other over yours.

“Sweetling, do not let jealousy cloud your judgment,” the sweet tone of her voice makes your throat tight. “Anger will not change what happened.”

There is something about the way she is looking at you that reminds of when you used to go hunting with your father. A hobby you hated, but were forced to do when you were younger. You are the doe or wild sheep being toyed with before being slaughtered. Made submissive once the chase is too much to bear.

She hopes you will eventually grow tired of running. That you will take each blow gracefully… Just like she has, just like is expected of a dutiful wife. Is that not what sacrifice is; to become a cold carcass for the dragons to feed on.

Even with people on your side in the room, you have never felt so alone.

“He’s your grandson,” there’s a desperation in your voice that makes you feel so small. Your eyes move past her to Aemond. “He is your blood.”

Your husband is the one that set this all into motion, and you still have to be the one the beg for sympathy. Sympathy for you, and for your children.

“You know I would not want anything to happen to him,” Aemond addressed you with a low voice. Alicent nods in agreement. You bite your tongue that you taste blood.

“Fine, if you both want to make this right, we can do this my way,” you return the farcical sweet voice.

Alicent’s brown eyes darken a bit. As if she knows where you are going with this. You let go of her hand to turn towards Ser Quinton and Lord Larys.

“I want her gone… permanently.”

Quinton’s eyes widen a bit. There had been hushed whispers in the past. Funnily enough, your chivalric knight had the same idea Aegon did. Kill her before it gets too far.

“Sweet daughter, you are not thinking clearly,” the desperation that was once in your voice has now transferred to Alicent’s.

“She made a threat against the son of a Prince of the Realm. That is treason, and calls for punishment.”

“That is enough,” Aemond raises his voice. An unwavering glare pointed on your direction. “This discussion is over.”

You stare in disbelief as he walks out the room. Alicent looks as if she wants to say something, but just sighs and follows her son out. Lord Larys does not even give you a glance as we walks by, trying to catch up to Alicent. Silence permeates in the room, as you stare at the door. Foolishly expecting one of them to turn back around.

“We can figure something out,” Aegon finally speaks up.

A lump grows in your throat. You look down at the dried blood on your hands and dress.

“Give me the room please,” you mutter to him and Quinton. Neither of them move. “I need to change. Just please go.”

Your voice cracks at the end. They both have seen you cry before, more times than you are proud of. But there is something different about this time. More painful; more humiliating. You do not want to be seen this way.

“I will be outside if you need me,” Quinton says softly.

When the door finally shuts, your legs give out from under you. A sob caught in your throat as you take in the room. Your watery eye land on the chest full of dresses. Some a deep red, others vivid green. Pristine and pressed.

Your life sullied… just like your favorite purple dress.

The feast goes as expected. People dote on Daella and Alaric. Aemond and Alicent keep their distance; Alicent spares you sympathetic glances when she thinks you are not looking. Your mother does not seem to pick up on your discomfort. Your father, on the other hand, continues to give you puzzled looks throughout. Especially when you came back in a different dress.

There was a rush of relief that follows when your father suggest the children visiting your home. Anything that gets you away from King’s Landing is welcomed. Even if it is for a short time.

Your worries seems to get push to the side when news of Lord Corlys Velaryons declining health hits the Red Keep. The Queen, who already spends her days caring for a sick king, must now concern herself with the issues that arise from a sick lord.

Daella and Alaric have not left you sight. Much to her surprise and enjoyment, you even joined Daella in the Dragonpit and in the library for her lessons. The constant vigilance extends to them coming with you to the Grand Sept.

Jayne keeping them company, and Quinton watching on as you kneel in front of the candles.

There is so much for you to pray for, you do not know where to begin. Before you eyes can flutter shut, a voice interrupts you.

“I was hoping to find you here,” the familiar deep timber of Lord Hightower’s voice.

He kneels beside you with a gruff groan. Otto Hightower is not a man you speak with often, and by choice. An intimating man through and through.

“I am glad to see you are well,” he starts blowing out one of the incense sticks. “Especially after what happened at the feast.”

As Hand of the King, and now acting in place of Viserys as his health declines, it should not surprise you he knows. It is his job to know everything, but mentions of your behavior still makes you shift nervously.

“It is a shamed. What bullishness can bring; Aemond has always been too proud for his own good, even when wrong.”

You furrow your eyes, and turn to look at him as he continues.

“You and your children are very important to this family, especially now,” he says softly.

He means your money is important to him. He means the fleet that sits on the outside west of Westeros is important to him.

“So, if you still want that problem taken care of permanently. There are those that would be happy to find her and do that.”

Talk of murder in the sept… the irony is not lost on you. Killing Alys means possibly murdering a child. It was one the reasons why you felt so guilty about what happened at the feast. Larys had told you sick rumors, one about what she does to her children. Though your expectation of her are low, you can not imagine even her doing such heinous things. Her state leaves you utterly confused.

Your silence seems to give him all the answers he needs.

“I will leave you to your prayers,” Otto starts to get up.

Alaric’s babbling grows as Daella rubs his head while Jayne holds him. Your babies.

You grab Otto’s hand before he can fully get up.

“After the deed is done, bury her near Harrenhal. Let her be on her ancestral home,” you say lowly, eyes trained on your children before flittering over to his.

Otto gives you a head and a smile before getting up.

Targaryens take care of their own. It is time you do the same. The Mother will understand.

Aemond is tense, even more than usual. At first you thought he knew. That maybe he could smell the anguish on you. The suspicions of him knowing about you giving his grandsire the go ahead diminished when you learned that Rhaenyra and her family were coming back to the Red Keep.

With the Driftmark claim up in the air, the castle is expecting many visitors.

A part of you can not blame Aemond for being on guard. The history between the other side of his family is bad for obvious reasons. There will also be a divide and uneasy feeling now.

It is the anxious feeling that washes over when you see Prince Daemon walking towards you. Instinctively clutch Alaric closer to you, bouncing him as he begins to fuss. With all the self-assurance in the world, there is something eye catching about the bravado Daemon Targaryen has. His confidence would be a trait you admired if it did not often go hand in hand with his arrogance.

The last time you saw the Prince was at your wedding. A surprise to everyone, especially Alicent and Viserys. The joy Viserys showed when seeing his brother dimmed when Daemon made it clear he was not staying afterwards. Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena, his daughters, sending well wishes and gorgeous jewelry. Pearls from the Driftmark Seas and rubies earrings that you are sure from Pentos. Your family frequented Pentos during the summers when you were younger, the three of you crossing paths briefly during that time.

His appearance at your wedding was a confusing to both Aemond and you, especially since he came alone. No Rhaenyra in sight. A crude choice on the princess’ part your mother remarked.

“Ah there is my niece and my grandnephew,” his smile is bright. Brighter than you expected considering why he is here, and the state his brother is in.

You were expecting a cold reception, one to the match the treatment they received. You exchanged a knowing look with Aegon when all of you were told not to greet them on their arrival.

A fake smile fights to replace the furrowed look on your face.

“Prince Daemon, I hope your trip from Dragonstone was well,” you catch how his eyes instantly go to Alaric in your arms. The Godswood is quiet except for you two, and the sound of chirping birds.

“Would have been smoother on dragon back,” he shrugs. “I am glad to see all is well.”

He holds his arms out expectedly. You blink at him, and his blinks back; realizing he is not one to back down, you gently hand over Alaric. Alaric tiny hand reaches out to touch the shiny material of Daemon’s coat.

Daemon resolves brightens even more when Alaric is placed in his arms. You know him and Rhaenyra have had children, with one on the way. You wonder if that positive disposition has been shown to Baela and Rhaena. Or even to Rhaenyra’s other children.

“He looks like his father,” he gives you a sly smile. This time you can not try to muster up a fake smile. “How is he, your husband?”

He is goading you. Even from the handful of times you have been around Daemon, you know he likes playing these games. Riddles and leg pulling; he likes knocking people on their asses. It is the warrior in him.

“He is doing well,” short and sweet, the best way to go you think. Daemon gives you smirk in return. As if in his head, he is laughing at a joke that you are clearly not in on. You tilt your head in confusion.

“That is good to hear,” he does nothing to squash the curious look on your face. The uneasiness comes back. Thankfully before it can go any further, Helaena calls your name from across the garden, stating that Daella wanted to show you something. You can tell by the smile she gives you, it is a lie. You are once again reminded of why you are eternally grateful to call her sister.

“Duty calls.”

His tone is light but his eyes say something more. What they say is something you are still unsure of. He hands Alaric back to you. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back.

The fleeting happiness you got from seeing Baela and Rhaena came to a screeching halt once the petitions are heard the Great Hall.

Who held the throne of Driftmark after Lord Corlys eventually passes was of no consequences. Everyone knew this was for something bigger. To call Lucerys Velaryon’s claim into question meant calling his mother’s as well. There was a sense of disappoint that tugs at you when the doors swept open to show a hunched, and rotting Viserys. His ability to prioritize Rhaenyra over his other children should not surprise you, but as a mother it still makes you upset. You can’t imagine not fiercely defending both of your kids equally. You see the looks on Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena’s faces; it tells you everything, more than the look on Rhaenyra’s.

You raise a brow at Rhaena from across the room when her grandmother announces her and her sister’s betrothals. She shrugs back at you. You want to let out a sardonic laugh. Another generation of girls bound by what good for their parents, bound by what will be good for others.

Thoughts are broken by Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s angry words ringing out. His actions may not be what you have done, but you understand his ire. There is a irony to House Targaryen, one that fiercely protects its own blood to the point of incest, snuffing out another house.

Daemon has a look in his eye. Much like the one he gave you when he asked about Aemond. He is itching for a reason to say or do something. Vaemond gives the perfect opportunity.

Loud gasp fall over the Great Hall when Vaemond body and head hit the ground… separate from each other. Both Helaena and you instinctively turn away in shock. You do not consider yourself a squeamish person, but there is something about it that makes your stomach churn. Aemond’s hand goes to yours, and he squeezes it. You can’t remember the last time you two have held hands.

It could be the obviously grotesque nature of it all. Or how inconsequential lives seem to those who get in the way of this family. It makes you think of Alys. Are you like that now? Years of being in this family making it easy for you to digest moving pieces on a board?

Vaemond’s body gets carried out, with Rhaenys following closely behind. The Queen Who Never Was; life riddled with loss, and now her good brother can be added to the list. You wait for Aemond to let go of your hand, but once Rhaenyra and Alicent finish watching Viserys leave the Great Hall, she sets her eyes on you.

“I was hoping we could have tea,” she eyes Aemond who makes no effort to move from semi in front of you.

Rhaenyra is a hard person to say no to, and she clearly knows it. So, when you simply nod, she gives you smile. She holds out her arm for you to take it. As you two walk out of the Great Hall, you look back. You expect to see Aemond or Aegon looking at you, but instead your eyes catch Alicent’s.

A sad look of longing etched into her pretty face.

“They are darling,” Rhaenyra remarks in a hushed tone as you two watch Daella interact with little Aegon and Viserys. Alaric resting near the two of you.

Jayne had made sure tea and mini tarts had been brought to the Princess’ chambers.

“I am secretly hoping this one is a girl.”

She smiles softly at you, rubbing her swollen belly. You know she must crave that bond between mother and daughter, especially after the untimely death of her own.

“I was surprised you wanted to have tea,” the small talk was sweet, but you knew it was leading to something else. Your walls up even more after your conversation with her husband.

“I was worried that you might have took me not coming to your wedding as… a slight on you,” she starts. “That was never the case. I just felt that it would be best for me and my children to stay away.”

Outside of the snide comment made my your mother and Alicent, her absence did not concern you. You keep that you think Aemond was happy she was not there to yourself. It had been years, and you could count on one hand how many times you thought about it.

“Jacaerys was quite upset with me,” she laughs a bit. “I think he wanted to see if it was actually happening. Uncle Aemond getting married to pretty girl from court.”

You did not return the laugh. You knew little of her oldest boys, the only things you have heard came from Aemond and Aegon. Not positive representations you are sure.

“As we move past that, I want to say that if you need anything, I am here. If you need any help… any advice or a place to stay. You are welcome at Dragonstone.”

The words make your wandering eyes snap to hers. Rhaenyra gives you a look. The Realm’s Delight sitting across from you in all her glory. Her form of intimidation is different from her husband or her half brothers. A presence that is hard to come by, and even more difficult to replicate.

They know.

You don’t know how, but they do. They are dangling it in front of your face. Taunting you, and your crumbling marriage. Showing weakness at this point will do you no good, not until you have proof or an explanation.

“Thank you Princess,” you lean over to pick up Alaric gently. You need to get out of here. “If I need any advice on fickle men, I will come to you. I know have your fair share of experience with that.”

Rhaenyra’s confident look flatters a bit. She hums softly.

“Daella love, let us go see how grandmother is doing,” you pick an excuse to leave. The mention of Alicent makes Rhaenyra frown. Her light eyes darkening with sadness.

As you leave the the Princess’ chambers, it comes to you. How the hell did Aemond and Alys even meet?

You have seen first hand that being around her grandchildren is the only time Alicent happy. Unabashedly sweet and warm; dimples on full display. The two of you had not had a real conversation since the feast, but you knew better than to keep your kids away from their grandmother. It was the quickest way to anger her.

“Rhaenyra would not do that,” her tone reminds you so much of her son. So certain, as if it was an insult to question the virtue of the people they… love. “Maybe she actually wants to help.”

“They both know. I cannot explain it, but they know about Alys or they at least know she was here.”

Her shoulder slump as Alaric reaches out to touch the large seven pointed star dangling from her neck. Alicent’s ability to defend Rhaenyra will always leave you a bit speechless. If one of the boys ever said something disparaging about their half-sister, Alicent was the first to give them a warning look. She was allowed to be upset, they were not. A fractured relationship being held together by longing.

“I understand it…. How hard it is,” you shuffle closer to her. “Having your mind consumed by someone who does not extend that same grace for your feelings.”

“I did not think she would go after the children,” Alicent whispers. “I get why you would want her…”

She trails off. Her big eyes get glassy, and she swallows thickly. She does not say anything as she looks into fire. She reminds you of a painted tapestry. Beautiful and tragic.

“Princess Rhaenyra may not have orchestrated anything. But do we put it past Prince Daemon?”

“We will figure it out,” Alicent says after a bit of silence. “You are right, something is off.”

A thought comes to your mind. “Do you know what Prince Daemon for Aemond as wedding gift?”

Daemon never got you a gift, simply giving you the ones Baela and Rhaena sent. But you vividly remember him getting Aemond something. Alicent thinks for a second for her brows raise in realization.

“A book of stories about warriors from the across the Realm,” how was he putting that to good use, “Oh, a map of the red keep. I silly wedding gift if you ask me.”

She shrugs. Your eyes go to fire to. A map seems inconsequential enough, but as your growing paranoia seeps into everything it becomes clear.

You must find this map.

Tag list (sorry to anyone I miss): @callsign-blue @hydrationqueensworld @flowerpotmage @giulia2372 @lol-im-done @dc-marvel-girl96 @iwanttohitmyself @crazylokonugget @xkennobi @tiddieshakeshownu @lwqfhp @lyra689 @ietss @enbywan @rialikesbts @lyannesworld @mendes-bae @123forgottherest @yentroucnagol @cecespizza01 @mihrimahsultan03 @hotd-fic @the-time-is-a-thief @kaicyl @ly17 @bbylime @stella-cadente @bellameshipper @happinessinthebeing @shamelessblazecrown @whodis-26 @queenofshinigamis @minthermie @aloneatpeace @psychadelichues @oh-thats-cute @vgucciking @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @zondereleutheromania @liathelioness @msmarvel-19 @archikina @lady-stark-winter-rose @dcfamily5807

#aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #my writing #house of the dragon #black!reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen angst

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soshadysoquiet · 4 months ago

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An attempt to salvage S4, for your delectation. S4E4

EPISODE 4

Flashback to Klaus: Chasing down his siblings right back at the beginning and nearly hit by a car he only dodges last moment, laughs it off but then we see a little collection of him unable to get back close to his siblings but Does find old haunt of Mothers of Agony. We see him oscillate between drugs and siblings in turn, some rehab and relapses and increasing near death experiences. Ben at height of his squid-covered brand in crypto currency pays for a fancy rehab for Klaus at siblings' pleas, though won't pay off his debt. Klaus exits it to try living with Luther but it's filthy compared to the safety and cleanliness of the rehab he'd finally felt secure in. Allison is the face of a cleaning company though - he goes to her. We see him both gain more of his control back, and become more controlling of his surroundings and person with precautions. He coops up and covers up and controls and it becomes gloves and layers and face masks where it used to be drugs.

Present time: Klaus has same chained-up then forced ghost prostitution run in that we see in the show, has his money taken from him. The ghosts in the room are judging him, he accuses them of their voyerism and that they could pay too for watching the show, tries to banish them but can’t. Frustrated and has an emotional outburst.

*Klaus' scene above is cut into with Ben and Jennifer arriving at the umbrella academy ruins, Falling into bed much more willingly than Klaus and his seance woman. Waking up close and calm and sharing some affectionate words.

Allison and Luther arrive to find Claire shaken up at home and chat to her, she thinks she knows where Klaus is. They go off and Claire chats to Luther about how Space Boy was her fave, but he's not an astronaut now is he, what changed? Luther starts to say he's a stripper but tones it down at a cough from Allison. Luther tries to say some stuff about his life but it's a bit sad to hear. Claire is shooting her mother awkward looks, Allison asks 'but are you happy?' Luther thinks about it, there's bits he likes, he likes being good at the job, now, he takes pride from his work, but it wasn't the life he had thought he was going to have. Allison asks if he's really sure she's not here, Luther can't bring himself to respond.

Klaus hasn't taken the drugs yet, he's looking at them, debating them, scratching over his skin when he brushes the dog tags he lifted from Abigail's box. He remembers Dave. Murmurs how it shouldn't work, the timelines are different and anyway he hated me in the 60's, it's a bad idea. One of the ghosts croaks out 'worse than this' and Klaus succeeds in banishing them. He focuses, trying to move past the sound of war and screaming and in his head his little pre-recorded mantra plays for himself of how he's strong etc. He opens his mouth and calls for Dave. Before Klaus he appears, we see their eyes widening in joy

Five Diego and Lila arrive at Reggie's mansion finding Reggie, Abigail and Viktor outside cursing at the van being gone, Reggie is berating Viktor, Abigail begins snapping at Reggie and the three arrivals are confused. Lila says that's so and so from the Keepers meetings, Diego says I've found her picture taped up in the houses of people who get the inside-out umbrella packages, and Five is about ready to fight demanding who she is

Reggie steps in front of her and says 'that's my wife' which shuts them all up.

Klaus and Dave have a reunion, it's heartfelt. the mothers of agony dude busts into the room, says what the hell is this on seeing Dave and Klaus says, 'help me out for a second babe' and has Dave beat the guy into a bloody pulp. A few ghosts from the corridor cheer and Dave says 'wow, we've got some catching up to do' or something, Klaus is over the moon, takes the money he earned but leaves the drugs. They walk out together, Dave corporeal.

Allison and Luther pull up outside and start to talk strategy which largely consists of Allison 'They've pissed me off who needs strategy' and Luther trying to calm her down and both trying to stop Claire from following them.

Klaus comes out and they and Dave have an awkward intro but sort-of reunion. Klaus says I guess I was my own saviour this time, Allison says I guess you were, I'm proud of you. Klaus brushes it off goofily but Luther agrees so proud and yanks all of them and Claire into a group hug, apologises as Klaus wriggles out saying he'll get there, but baby steps. Looks to Dave and Dave smiles as he vanishes from being corporeal, the others looking to see where he's gone, but Klaus and him are still smiling at each other.

You have a wife? (they've moved inside) Reggie explains that their world was destroyed and he preserved her on the moon, tries to move it back to their childish selfish problems letting things go to pot again, Viktor accuses him of 'oh but it's alright if it's your selfish desires?' And Diego chimes in with 'yeah you know if you think about it, all the apocalypses were kinda your fault Dad.' Viktor and Diego go at him for a while and Five has found something to drink, Lila and Abigail are watching the various issues until Five Snaps that they need to talk about Ben, where are the others?

Allison, Luther and Klaus turn up to the rest of them squabbling, Diego is saying 'it's just that, I don't know!' Viktor is arguing 'How can you not know?!' they come in saying 'what's going on?' and Five asks them to tell him how Ben died, the three of them repeat 'tragic accident, failed as a team, no one and everyone's fault, Ben was the best of us' and give each other a heebie-jeebies look when they can't remember anything else.

'Can't, or won't' says Reggie, unhelpfully. They all discuss needing to get to the bottom of this, that Ben's death has turned up in Keepers files related to The Cleanse, but the details are redacted and there are too many different dates that it happens. They're based on either memory bleed through or articles and artefacts passed through the timeline.

They debate how they're going to remember, if they even can. Lila pipes up with that she knows a thing or two about altered memories around Trauma (Handler being the one turning up just as her parents are shot etc) the commission's Infinite Switchboard was able to show her. Reggie debates that there might be a way to harness their powers to bring back the memories, after Abigail baits him into it and he's scowled a lot.

They set up in a quiet room, Reggie hooks them up to each other and monitors, explains that their powers should 'rhyme' at the right frequencies. They go through a lot of repetitions of trying to 'engage' their powers at the same level. Lila and Five are trying to direct them when it's not working, Reggie says they need to be in the loop too, it's all the marigolds harmonising that will put them in a meditative state, and he can guide from there. Five and Lila don't want to have their brains meddled with, but Abigail is giving Viktor a look, takes the time to talk to all of them about something that she's heard about them from Reggie that encourages them somewhat, and specifically to Viktor that it will take all of them to save the world. Five and Lila begrudgingly give in when Viktor reasons with them.

Five and Lila find it easiest to sync up powers (the machine gives a green light for each of them at the right sync), Five maintains whilst Lila keeps her frequency but morphs to Diego's power, he can feel the trajectories she's mimicking and copies that, Viktor tunes in to the pitch of Five's powers on his own and Allison changes her voice sill she's hitting the green with a hum. Klaus is feeling the energy in the room and links up, able to get a sense of the others' souls and syncs in and Luther is getting assisted along by Lila - matching the pressure from holding her hand till they all go green and the chime through the room sends them all slack and drifting. Reggie's voice guides them back through time.

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #allison hargreeves #ben hargreeves #lila pitts #season 4 fix

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uponawhitehorse13 · 21 days ago

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Caster SFW alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Due to the circumstances of her life she is ready to both give and receive any form of affection. She’s very careful about finding out and sticking to your preferred love languages.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As usual with Fate someone has to be master and someone has to be a servant. As a friend she can be a bit of a tease but is nice overall.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She almost always falls asleep when cuddling. The feeling of warmth and security really helps her relax.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Caster tries very hard to be a good housewife to varying degrees of success. Most of the time before cooking anything she has Shirou give her a lesson. She’s happy to clean as long as it doesn’t intrude on your time together. If it does she’s having the golems do it. One thing she does excel at is sewing, she’s great at fixing up your clothes and even making new ones.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

You will be betrayed and killed.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

While she would be over the moon if you proposed it’s very hard to actually pull it off. If she sees you moving around suspiciously or trying to keep something from her her paranoia will get the better of her. This will most likely lead to you getting stabbed and bleeding while she monologues about how she saw through you and knew you were cheating. When you tell her about the ring she immediately does a 180° and starts apologising through tears while healing your wound and saying how happy she is.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

No matter what kind of person you are or what she’s doing she always has an extremely delicate touch.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Everytime you get back home she jumps you with a hug giddy to show you what she’s been working on in your absence.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

She would not hold back about gushing to anyone who will listen how much she loves you but only if you’re not present. When she attempts to say it directly to you she gets incredibly shy.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Easily gets jealous due to her paranoid nature.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

She would enjoy long romantic kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

She is honestly amazing with children. Actual peak parent material.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

She’d be very happy if you two had a routine together. Nothing special but things like brushing teeth next to each other, making breakfast together and that kind of stuff.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

She likes going on walks with you at night. The empty streets allowing you to soak in each other's presence.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

A big part of the relationship would be helping her deal with the way her past has affected her so it would be a gradual process.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Mostly patient but there are certain things that tick her off really quickly.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She would do her best to remember a lot of the things about you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It would be the first time she got paranoid and thought you were doing something behind her back only to be proven wrong. It’s something that may seem stupid but it means a lot to her.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

She would put so many protective spells on you that you might actually end up bulletproof.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She would always have elaborate plans she ropes anyone she can into.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

If I haven’t made it obvious yet she has major paranoia/trust/attachment issues.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She is far more interested in putting you in cute outfits than dressing herself up. Combined with her sewing skills you’re in for quite something.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Losing the one person in her life that didn’t use or betray her would definitely lead her into going completely insane and lashing out.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

At some point in the relationship when her insecurities get the best of her she would decide to use a love potion on you. However whatever she’d try seemingly wouldn’t work. She tried slipping it into your drink, putting it in food and even convincing you to drink it directly but nothing seemed to have an effect. She knew it should be working due to her proficiency in crafting and she even tested it on other people. She would eventually confront you about using some form of protection magic or being under the influence of someone else’s spell. This leads to you explaining that there’s no change because there’s nothing to change. She has never been more embarrassed in her life.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

She would not enjoy you being secretive.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

She insists on always sleeping with you no matter how small the bed.

#x reader #sfw alphabet #fate x reader #fate #fate stay night #fate stay night x reader #fate/stay night #fate series #medea #caster medea #medea caster #fate medea #medea fate #fate stay night caster

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morelikeravenbore · 7 months ago

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✨ Ominis Gaunt headcanons

This lovely anon (as well as a few others) asked if I'd consider writing my Sebastian Alphabets for our favourite Slytherin Heir, but as a girlie whose brain space is 99% dedicated to Sebastian Sallow and like, 1% dedicated to, I dunno, survival and stuff, I struggled lol. Instead, I'm here to offer you some of my personal Omnom headcanons based on how I write him as a seventh year in How to Make a Villain, post fifth-year events.

(trigger warning: he's sassy and traumatised because that's just how I imagine him.)

Enjoy under the cut! (SFW!)

✨ He's a Cancer sun, Libra rising, Capricorn moon.

Cancer sun: Hard outer shell, soft squishy middle; deeply emotional but retreats into his hidey hole when triggered, emotions shift as often as the moon phases; cares deeply.

Libra rising: refined, pretty, physically attractive, charismatic; focused on justice and fairness, right and wrong; drawn to refined pleasures: art, music, fine food and clothing.

Capricorn moon: practical, rigid, dutiful, committed; craves stability; can appear cold and unfeeling on the surface, prone to pessimism; does not take shortcuts, does not look for the easy way out.

✨ He plays piano. (Duh, that's practically considered canon by now). Without sight, music is how this li'l Libra rising bebe appreciates and creates beauty.

✨ Being a member of high pureblood society, he is fluent in French. As a child, he spent his summers in southern France with his family, who own a manor in by the ocean. (Later, after he befriended the Sallow twins, he spent his summers in Feldcroft instead.)

✨ It was fearless little Anne Sallow who reached out to Ominis in their first year, and thus Anne, not Sebastian, was the first friend Ominis ever made. This friendship signified a profound change in his life: he never expected to make a real friend, let alone have anyone show him the kindness, tolerance and companionship that Anne did. His friendship with Sebastian, though a by-product of his closeness with Anne, grew more slowly, but by the time their first year was over, the three were inseparable. His friendship with the Sallow's gave Ominis the first sense of belonging in his life.

✨ Due to his deep-seated abandonment and trust issues, the damage to his friendship with Sebastian after the events of fifth year are near irreversible; worse than Solomon's murder was the loss of Anne, which Ominis blamed solely on her brother. But beneath this resentment toward Sebastian, buried so deeply he never fully acknowledged it to himself, was a festering anger towards Anne for leaving him. She was the first person he ever loved (platonically or otherwise, it's up to you), and though he understood her reasons for leaving, her absence felt like another abandonment. It was easier to project this anger Sebastian than ever admit that he was angry at Anne, too.

✨ To keep Sebastian out of Azkaban after Solomon's murder, Ominis had to call upon his family for help. In exchange for their covering up the incident, he was forced to pledge his allegiance to furthering the Gaunt legacy. Thus, he gave up his dreams of freedom and living as his own person. He'd always harboured a secret desire to pursue music, perhaps study abroad in France, but instead had to promise to fulfil his "familial obligations" to the Gaunt's by marrying a woman of their choosing and working in whatever influencial Ministry role they assigned him.

✨ Romance. Given how cruel his family is, Ominis vows to never fall in love. The idea of condemning someone he actually cares about to the Gaunt name and legacy is unbearable — he'd sooner enter into a loveless, arranged marriage than inflict that sort of pain onto another innocent person. That's not to say he won't ever fall in love, but it would take a very, very special person to capture his attention and break through the many (many) defensive walls he's put in place around his heart.

And here's a little snippet of Sebastian and Ominis' dynamic in How to Make a Villain, which you can read on wattpad or ao3 if you like :)

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt headcanons #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy headcanons #morelikeravenbore writes #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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juneknight · 1 year ago

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One and One and One

Kink: cuckolding

Layla/f!reader/Marc

Features: cuckolding, cumming untouched, strap-ons, oral sex, mentions of safewords.

“Can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Marc murmurs beneath his breath as you cuff his hands behind his back to the slats of the chair. One of his ankles are cuffed to the chair legs—though why he and Layla only have one cuff, you have no idea. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Marc. Close enough that you can see his every eyelash, the different dark hues in his irises, the little indentation in the tip of his nose. As close as you are, you know that he is scrutinizing you as well, dark eyes sweeping over the plains of your face. You wonder if he can feel the heat being thrown off by your cheeks.

“I didn’t talk you into this,” you remind him shyly. “Layla did.”

Marc’s mouth—full and pink and so fucking soft looking—quirks upward at the edges. “I can’t believe you let her talk you into this.”

“Me either,” you admit dryly.

You can’t, really. You and Layla had been friends for so many years—and yes there had been a few nights when you were younger that you had explored each other physically and romantically, but it had been so long. When she came to you and admitted Marc had this fantasy, and that her only caveat was that you be their partner. Did she know about your (harmless!) little crush on Marc? Surely she knew about your (even more harmless!) crush on her.

Regardless, if Layla’s stories were anything to go by, she and Marc got up to some very kinky stuff.

Have you ride Layla while Marc watched might take the cake, though.

“Getting friendly?” Layla asks when she comes in, wearing only one of her satin-silky robes, the hem of which brushes just above her knees. You can see her hard nipples through the fabric. Layla loves having her breasts stimulated—suckled, nibbled, fondled. Maybe she’ll let you do more than just ride her strap-on before the night is over.

“I’m having second thoughts,” Marc says lowly, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you. “Mostly thinking that I’m an idiot for agreeing to let myself be tied up when you’re both in the room having sex.”

“You know your safeword,” Layla says with a grin. She looks to you and mouths ‘Moon’. You nod to let her know you understand. Her smile only grows at your obedience. Turning to face you head-on, she lets her hands fall to your hips. She ducks her head and kisses you, and you are already moaning into her mouth. Layla kisses like she does everything in life: with honed practice, with passion. You hear the cuffs rattle as Marc fights against his bonds, and it only makes you realize how wet you are, how wet you have been all night, so eager for dinner to be over so that the three of you could begin this.

“Fuck,” Marc groans. “Untie me. Let me out.”

“No,” Layla says after parting from you reluctantly. You chase her mouth a little and she laughs at how desperate you are.

“Fucking—I mean it Layla!”

“He likes to be a little brat,” Layla whispers to you conspiratorially. Her hand comes up to cup your cheek. “But you—you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod, feeling struck dumb by her.

“Let’s find you a nice big cock get fucked by, huh?” she says with a grin, her cheeks flushed warm and eyes glittering with mirth and mischief. She goes to the bed where the different dildos lay out like hor’dourves to be sampled. They are all of different length or girth or color, some textured, others smooth. Whispering just loud enough for Marc to hear, she asks: “Shall we choose one that’s bigger than his? So that we can feel what it’s like to really get fucked?”

“I’ll show you what it’s like,” Marc vows darkly.

“I wouldn’t know which to pick,” you admit. It’s not as if you’ve ever seen Marc’s cock.

“Hmm, my choice, then,” she says, tapping her chin. At last she settles on a monster—if she truly was trying to find one that was bigger than Marc’s and this was her last resort, then Marc must be pretty well hung. You can’t help but glance toward him, taking in the picture he makes. Dressed in only his jeans and the white t-shirt he had changed into after spilling soy sauce on his dress-shirt at dinner, his muscles bulge against his bonds as he tests them again and again. His eyes are unfathomably dark, his breaths fast and shallow.

His cock, hard and pressing at the denim confines. When his eyes meet yours, you feel liable to explode. You turn away quickly, just as Layle focuses on you. She undresses you with gentle, tender touches, pausing every now and then to stroke a new expanse of skin until you sigh with pleasure.

When she works the lacy little set of panties down your hips, she holds them up to Marc like a spoil of war, her expression smug.

“Be a good boy, or I’ll gag you with these,” she warns him. Marc opens his fucking mouth. Layla breathes an incredulous little laugh. “Oh, you want them anyway? Proactive. What a good little slut you make, baby.”

She goes to him and feeds the scrappy piece of lace into his mouth. Stepping aside, she rifles through the bedside drawer for a moment to find a ball with a bell inside. She presses it into his hand: a non-verbal safe word. His knuckles stand out as he grips the ball tightly, perhaps silently trying to show that he wouldn’t be dropping it—not for anything.

Layla comes back to you and kisses you until you’re dizzy. Her hands trace along you, relearning the plains of your body the way they did all those years ago when the two of you first explored each other and your sexualities. Her fingers are nimble when they find your nipples, plucking at them softly in a way that has you breaking from her mouth to gasp. Your head turns and you take in the sight of Marc: his hard cock an impressive bulge in his pants, your panties in his mouth, his eyes heavy-lidded and burning hot.

Then Layla’s hand slips down between your thighs and you nearly shout as two of her fingers swipe through your folds, finding your aching clit and smearing your own arousal against it. “Oh Marc,” says Layla, looking to him with a wide grin. “She is so, so wet.”

Marc makes a pathetic little sound. This bit of weakness is like blood in the water to the shark inside Layla. She slips away from you again, holding up her soaked fingers for him to inspect in the dim lighting. Then she smears them across his parted lips, knowing that he will be unable to taste you with your panties in his mouth. Marc’s eyes roll back; he is the picture of tortured ecstasy.

“Fuck, Layla,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together. “Come on, please…”

She slaps Marc’s chest softly. “See what you made me do? I’m neglecting our girl.”

You shiver at those words, at being called their girl. God, this is only meant to be a one-time thing, but you have known for so long that no time with Layla would ever be the last time. Flushed warm with her ownership, you drop down onto your knees and crawl to her, heart pounding at the way Marc groans at the sight. You sit on your heels and open your mouth, a silent invitation.

Layla’s fingers stroke your face softly. “I have two little sluts…you want to suck my cock, baby?”

“Uh-huh,” you breathe, mouth open. She rests two fingers on your tongue and you suck softly.

“I’ll let you suck my dick—on one condition.”

“Anything,” you mumble around her fingers. She removes them and takes your chin in her hand, your own saliva smearing across your cheek as she tilts your eyes up to her.

“When you suck my cock, I want you to pretend it’s Marc’s.”

Marc’s groan is mirrored by your own. Your eyes flicker to him, your face burning hot. His eyes are wide and dark, tracing over the plains of your face. Beneath the lust, you can almost see the question: would you do this? If you did agree to do this—why? Marc has no idea that feelings that have started to grow inside you the day that Layla introduced you both.

You didn’t know that Layla had any idea either. But when your eyes flicker back up to her, you see the warmth in them, the silent assurance. She wants you to do this. Almost as badly as you do.

Instead of turning away, you press out your tongue. The perfect place for her to rest the head of her fake cock. Your eyes flutter shut as you try to imagine it the way she says, to imagine that this is Marc’s cock you’re sucking. Instead of plastic, there would be warm, soft skin. Velvet overlaying steel. His smell would be all around you, that earthy shower gel he uses (and you use, sometimes, when you stay the night. Just to smell like him).

Marc would feed his cock past your lips til the fat head nudges against the back of your mouth at the entrance of your throat, and still you would want more, swallowing your drool tilting your head to hopefully be able to take more of him into your mouth. Fingers twine into your hair, and it only enhances your fantasy when they guide you up and down their cock, using your mouth for their own pleasure. That is how Marc would be; you’re sure of it: confident, entitled, even as he is gentle.

A choked sound catches your attention, jolting you from this little fantasy. Layla pulls your head back by your hair, and both of you turn to look at Marc whose head is thrown back, arms straining at his bonds. A growing stain at the tented crotch of his jeans…

“Oh my god, baby, did you just cum? Did you just fucking cum?” Layla asks, voice growing higher with barely restrained glee. Her thumb swipes over your swollen lips, but you can’t even turn to look at her, not when Marc’s face is red, his chest heaving, his cock still twitching in his pants as he just watched Layla fuck your mouth.

Marc groans, writhing more. His demand is clear. He wants out.

Layla turns your head up so that you meet her eyes again. They are warm, pupils huge with arousal and the dim lighting. She grins, pretty mouth stretching wide with joy.

“He wants me to set him free—but we’re not finished yet, are we love?”

You shake your head. No, the night is just beginning—even for Marc.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x layla el faouly #marc spector x layla el faouly x reader

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