#she knows it and has never once tried to chew with her mouth shut

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

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

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

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

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her laughter enters first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he wakes up painfully aroused.

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

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

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

>>> It doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but she pulls back.

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

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

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

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sage-green-matcha]

Could you do something where reader has mommy issues and Ethan comforts her?:’) I love your work!!

PROUD OF YOU - ETHAN LANDRY 💕

Getting into an argument with your mom, but Ethan is there to make u feel better :)

Content includes: fluff! Argument with mom, sweet Ethan! Angst? Honestly idk!

A/n: Ty for the request! Sending love <3

<3

<3

<3

You were excited, to say the least, you had gotten into your dream college. You were beaming with joy, jumping up and down at the admission letter on the screen.

"I'm so happy for you, sweetheart" Ethan fluffed your hair, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thanks, E" You couldn't stop smiling, your face hurting from it.

"You should call your mom! Tell her the news" Your eyebrows furrowed at his words. You weren't sure if it was too good of an idea, she always hated the fact that you wanted to go out of state for college.

"Yea...I guess I should" You laid down on your belly, humming while Ethan rubbed your back. You were unsure of the idea, staring at her contact on your phone.

"It'll be fine" You found Ethan's words comforting, clicking on the call icon. Your heart raced as you waited for her to pick up your call, something she rarely did.

You smiled once she picked up, your words carefully tumbling out of your mouth. "Hey...Mom!" She was silent as you chewed on your lip, waiting for a response. "Hi y/n, what happened?"

"Well uhm, I got into Blackmore! Just thought I should tell you" Her response wasn't really what you wanted to hear, leaving you with a blank face. "Okay...are you going to transfer? You know I already paid your sophomore year, right?"

"Uhm, no. I told you not to pay it..." You felt uncomfortable arguing with your mom over the phone, and it was worse because Ethan was next to you. "Come on Y/n! Could you be a little appreciative? Now I have to take back the money and explain to the school that my daughter isn't doing what I want. Is that what you want?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, a frown forming on your face. "I...what? No, of course not"  Your breath hitched, a ball forming in your throat. "That's what it seems like. Go to Blackmore if you want, you're just gonna make a fool out of yourself"

She hung up and you held back a cry, Ethan looking at you with remorse.

"I'm sorry, Y/n" You shook your head, holding back tears. "It's okay. I should've known that's how she was gonna react" You didn't want to show him that you were crying. But he knew you were, he always did.

"Hey, look at me. Her opinion is irrelevant. I'm proud of you, and she should be too" his doughy eyes brought a small smile to your lips. But it was wiped away as her words replayed in your head.

"I just wanted to make her proud of me. That's all I've been doing my entire life. It's never enough for her" A sigh fell from your lips, feeling your lungs tighten up. You tried to catch your breath, your tears not allowing you.

"Breath, it'll be okay. I promise" His body was warm as he pulled you into his chest. "You deserve better. She's not worth it. Alright? You're doing everything you can" he ran his hands through your hair, rubbing your back. "It's not enough. I'm not good enough for her" his baggy shirt soaked up your tears, mascara making your eyes sting.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about. You're the smartest person I know Y/n, you're so much stronger than I could ever be. I love you, don't let it get to you. She's just jealous of your accomplishments"

You found yourself calming down, your breath slowly getting back to normal. "Thanks, Eth, I don't know where I would be without you. You're too good for me" he moved your hair out of your face, wiping the tears that stained your face. "And you're too perfect for me! I don't know how I got so lucky"

"Shut up" your voice was mumbled, hiding a smile. "I love you, yea?" His thumb caressed your jawline, admiring your smile. "I love you too"

[july-1804]

25!!!

25. One of them not knowing how to handle a little human being and freaking out.

They had been back home in Jersey for a little over a week, flying in at the start of September and settling Mila into her new home before the mayhem of training camp and pre season games started. Nico and Jack had been living in a bubble for the past few days, but today Nico had meetings with management down at The Rock, meaning Jack was going to be alone with Mila for the first time ever.

Nico had pressed a kiss to Mila's forehead, running his hand over her downy hair before standing to kiss Jack, knowing his husband had been a ball of nerves all morning in anticipation.

"You're going to be so great, Schatz," Nico murmured as Jack curled a hand into Nico's shirt, right over his heart. "She'll have a bottle soon, you'll change her and she'll fall asleep. I'll be home by the time she wakes up again."

Jack can only nod in response, his cheek pressed against Nico's shoulder, breathing in his cologne and a hint of baby powder.

Nico leaves after pressing a kiss to Jack's forehead, temple, lips, leaving Jack standing in the living room with Mila whining from her Moses basket next to him. He prepares the bottle quickly, feeling grateful that they were able still able to feed Mila donated milk at 3 months old.

He lifts Mila out of her bassinet, sitting on the couch with her in the crook of his arm. She drinks from the bottle hungrily, Jack smiling down at her as her eyelashes brush against her chubby cheeks as she blinks slowly.

Jack sets the empty bottle down on the coffee table once Mila has finished, throwing a muslin over his shoulder as he starts to pat her back gently. She lets out a burp and Jack chuckles as she rubs her face into his shoulder. "That's my girl."

He enters her feed into the app on his phone before allowing himself to cuddle her for a few more moments, hoping she couldn't feel his racing heartbeat. He carries her Moses basket back into the bedroom before making quick work of changing her diaper and swaddling her in a fresh muslin, settling her down into the crib. He rocks it gently with his foot as he watches Mila fight sleep, her blue eyes eventually fluttering shut as the binky hangs out of her mouth.

Jack sits himself back against the headboard, angled perfectly to watch Mila sleep. He and Nico wouldn't often stay and watch her while she napped, but Jack felt on edge and anxious being Mila's sole parent for the first time.

He takes a sip of his water, thumbing through his phone to check Nico's location on the Find My app. He was still showing up in Newark, and Jack chewed on his thumbnail apprehensively. Nico said he'd send a text when he was on his way home, so there was truly no reason for Jack to check his whereabouts except for a sinking feeling that he wasn't cut out for this parenting gig.

Mila had only been asleep for 15 minutes before she started to make sad mewing sounds from the bassinet before crying out in earnest. Jack jumps at the sound, leaning over to guide the binky back into her mouth and rub a hand over her belly.

"Shhh, you're okay babe," he says, chewing his lip as he rocks the bassinet again. Mila doesn't settle as she usually does, instead cries harder as she scrunches up her face uncomfortably. Jack leans down to pick her up, patting her back as he holds her up against his shoulder. Her cries don't stop even as Jack paces the bedroom, gently hushing her as he bounces her in his arms. She's never been like this before--so unsettled when she should be napping. Of course it happens while Nico is away.

He runs through the list of possible causes for his daughter's distress, having already changed her diaper, burped her again, checked her for a fever, tried giving her another bottle, before giving up all together and pacing the bedroom. He lets Mila cry into his shoulder, almost deafening him with her screams.

Jack jumps as he feels a hand squeeze his shoulder. Nico comes into his peripherals, and he looks down to see Mila has all but settled, face still red and lashes clumped together with drying tears. Nico takes her from Jack, kissing her cheek before putting her down in the bassinet. He stands there numbly as Nico rocks the bassinet gently, Mila falling asleep in seconds.

Nico pulls Jack into a hug, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back like Jack had done to Mila for what felt like hours. "She barely slept, and kept crying, Neeks...I didn't know what to do," Jack hiccups, not even realising he was crying. "I couldn't handle her, I didn't know how to help her," he repeats, his throat tight with unshed tears.

Nico cups the back of his head, holding Jack close to him. "You did handle her, babe. She's healthy and alive, and she's asleep now. That's all that matters." Jack realises he's being rocked in Nico's arms. "I'm sorry things didn't go to plan, Schatz."

Jack feels too strung out to even reply, nodding dumbly against Nico's shoulder. Nico presses his lips to Jack's temple, holding them there for a beat before pulling away. "Come on, I think we both deserve a nap."

[krikeymate]

a blood red setting sun

Chapter 1/?

It's my birthday present to myself :3

Aster Carpenter thinks her life is as near to perfect as it can be… until she uncovers her mother's secret: she's been killing people. Turns out her aunt and her cousin were lying to her too. Can you blame her for what happens next?

- - -

“Mom, I need to talk to you.”

Sam’s head snaps up at Aster’s words, a pit forming in her stomach. They’re hard, firm. Almost cold. She flicks her eyes to the side to meet Tara’s before fully turning to her daughter with a smile on her face, dinner preparation forgotten. She ignores the dread trickling down her spine.

“What’s up, Starlight? Is something wrong?” Sam asks, concerned. Aster sounds unusually serious right now. She’s not sure she’s ever heard her sound like this. She’s so proud that neither of their daughters ever had to be serious. They got to have the fun and safe childhood that she and Tara were robbed of.

The wolf inside her whines, unsettled. A warning if ever she heard one. Something’s happening, and she’s not going to like it.

Aster steps forward and rests her hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “I need you to sit down.” She takes a deep breath. “You too,” she adds, nodding her head at Tara.

The sisters share a look before slowly taking a seat at the dining table.

Do you know what this is about?

No, do you?

Sam’s leg bounces nervously as the minutes drag on, unable to take the silence and the itching beneath her skin as Aster tries to find the words she wants to say.

Eventually, she does.

“I saw a missing persons report online a few days ago,” she says, eyes fixed on the table, thumb rubbing against the chair as if she’s self-soothing, a habit of her childhood long since been left behind.

Or so Sam thought.

Something about the action stings, she notes. It’s a squeeze of her heart, knowing her daughter is so anxious about this conversation, that she would ever be nervous to talk to them.

 “Oh… Did you… know them?” Sam asks, sharing a look of confusion with Tara. She can’t remember the last time she felt so off-balanced. She wishes her daughter would just get to the point and say whatever it is that she wants to say, but then again, Aster has always preferred to be coy with her words. Why tell you what she wants when she can simply suggest and hint at it instead?

It's more fun, she remembers her telling her once.

It doesn’t look like she’s having any fun right now, chewing on her lip and fighting twitching fingers, unable to even look in their direction.

The air is so saturated with Aster’s anxiety that Sam can practically taste it, sour with a metallic undercoat. It’s a taste she knows well, but not one she ever hoped or imagined would come from her own family.

“No,” Aster says, tilting her head to the side. “But you did.”

Sam frowns at that.

“What, who?” she asks impatiently, beginning to scan through a mental catalogue of the people in their life, questioning when they spoke last, trying to recall anything unusual. With her daughter's next words, Sam begins to feel like there should be an alarm screeching overhead, as loud as the one in hers.

She wishes there was. Anything to change the trajectory of this conversation.

“Well, Tara knew him at least,” Aster scoffs.

It’s the foreign bitterness in her voice that makes Sam realise this isn’t a conversation. It’s an interrogation. She’s alarmed to find she knows this tone well. She’s as familiar with it as the scars on her body. It was her own once, a lifetime ago.

“Intimately, even.”

Sam’s mouth audibly clicks shut at her words. The insinuation isn’t lost on her.

Finally, Aster looks up. “Do you remember Friday?”

She speaks to Tara, but her eyes never leave Sam.

“You were all over him in that bar. He wanted you to go home with him.” Aster glances at her aunt. “Did you?”

“Aster!” Sam cries out, horrified by the rapid understanding that hits her. She was there. She saw.

The realisation of what she might have seen makes her wolf whimper inside. Aster isn’t confused, she’s confrontational. Despite the questions she’s asking, Sam gets the impression that she’s not looking for answers, only a confession.

Sam licks her lips, mind racing to find a way to respond. “Don’t talk to her like that,” she settles on.

Aster has always been a good kid. She rarely gets into trouble, but in this moment, Sam wishes she had, if only so she had more practice on how to deal with her when she’s out of line. Because she is so out of line right now.

“Tara is an adult. And what – or who – she does in her spare time is her own business,” Sam continues through her clenched jaw. Even the thought of what she’s saying has her holding back a growl. She doesn’t like saying it any more than she likes thinking about it, but it has to be said. It is true, and Aster clearly needs reminding there are things that just aren’t her business.

“Jesus, mom,” Aster blurts out, snapping her head back to Sam. “I don’t care who she sleeps with. In fact, I would be thrilled if she had a life for once!”

Tara’s affronted hey! gets drowned out as Aster continues to raise her voice.

“I care that the dude she sleeps with is reported missing the very next day!”

Aster begins to pace, shoulders tense, clenched hands held tightly against her chest.

“I care that you were also there. I mean, you two may very well have been the last people to see him before he went… missing. That’s kind of a big deal, don’t you think? Maybe you should talk to the police, tell them what you know.”

There’s a sardonic laugh to her words. It’s caustic. Sam’s never heard her daughter like this before. It only makes the weight in her stomach grow heavier. She realises now what her gut and her wolf were trying to warn her about.

She can’t know. She can’t. Not that.

“But you won’t, will you?”

Aster stops and shakes her head. “Because you know he’s not missing.” She turns on her heel, tears in her eyes.

“You killed him, didn’t you mom?”

- - -

Aster squints unhappily down at her phone, group chat open and the screen lighting up with every new message. Once again, plans are being made, and she’s stuck being left out.

It’s not their fault of course, they try to include her. She’s the one with an overprotective family who won’t let her out past 7pm, or dark. Whichever comes sooner. The thought makes her roll her eyes. If only she had super strength, lightning reflexes, and claws that can cut through anything, oh wait!

“It’s for your protection Aster.”

“We just want you to be safe sweetheart.”

“Listen to mom squirt.”

Usually she doesn’t mind being babied, but this is one area they could stand to loosen the reigns a little.

She’s feeling a little desperate tonight. You’d think since school broke for summer break, she’d have more time to hang with her friends. Unfortunately, her family never got the memo. She wonders if mom even actually has a job, given that she’s always around, but she supposes the money must come from somewhere.

Actually, gramma Gale probably just gives it to her. She’s soft like that. A bitch sometimes, but soft.

Aster’s considering straight-up lying for the chance to escape so she can have just one normal evening being a teenager and hanging with her friends, doing stupid things, and kissing her boyfriend, Rafe, when she hears salvation from across the hall. Dropping her phone onto her bed, she creeps across the room and presses an ear to the wall.

- - -

“Hey Sammy,” Tara calls, swinging around the doorway and into the master bedroom. She adopts the tone she knows Sam can’t resist, light and warm, and so hard to say no to.

It’s been a while since they’ve… been out, and Tara’s feeling antsy. She’s bored, to be frank, and she expects Sam to entertain her. She could go by herself of course, but it’s never as satisfying an experience as it is with Sam by her side. Everything is so much brighter when they’re together.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight, have some fun,” she says smiling sweetly at her sister.

Sam looks up from the laundry basket, half-folded clothes spilling out onto the bed. She so desperately wants to say yes – she loves the kids and wouldn't change her life for the world, but sometimes she misses the freedom they used to have, when plans could change at the drop of a dime and there was so much less to worry about – but there’s a queasiness that bubbles up at the thought of going out tonight that has her saying “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” instead.

She regrets it immediately as Tara’s smile drops. The quiet “oh” she lets out tears her in two. Her gut tells her don’t do this, but disappointing her sister has never been an option. Not since they came back into one another’s lives.

“Because of the girls?” Tara questions with a twitch of her lips as Sam stands frozen and fighting a battle within herself. The smile doesn’t compare to the one Sam broke moments before. “Because honestly Sam, I think they’re old enough now. I think we can trust them to spend an evening alone, don’t you?”

Despite the teasing tone, Sam can still feel the disappointment radiating from her.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” she rushes to explain. “It’s just… a gut feeling, like something’s going to go wrong.”

Tara stares at her for a moment, searching for any words left unsaid. Finding none, she sighs and pushes off the wall. “Okay, another night then.”

Sam can hear the acceptance, she knows she’s going to get her way this time, and yet…

“No- wait, fine.”

She can feel the questioning rumble from within. What is she doing? What she always does, putting Tara first. Her gut has been wrong before. She’s long past letting paranoia control her.

“It’s fine, we can go out. The girls are old enough to behave themselves. We can have some fun, like we used to.”

On the other side of the wall, Aster bites her lip and silently pumps her fist in the air. She dives onto her bed, catching her phone as it bounces in the air. Flopping onto her back, she responds to the group chat.

She’s free to hang tonight after all.

- - -

Aster doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, surreptitiously gained with the help of a fake ID and an inattentive bartender, the rush of sneaking out, or simply her friends’ laughter, but she swears she’s never felt happier than in this moment.

She’s crammed into a crowded booth with 5 other peers, all as extraordinary as she is. She’s halfway to drunk, face flushed and tongue tingling with the herbs Rafe had handed out – a little something to level the playing field and help progress what might have otherwise been a suspiciously difficult task, he promised. And it was no lie, her drink hitting her harder than it ever has before.

She’s spent a lot of time with the pack at the compound, but never like this, never able to be free and loose and away from chaperoning eyes. It feels incredible.

Aster’s giggling into her boyfriend’s shoulder when suddenly the world becomes a little less funny, as her eyes catch the last person she wants to see right now. Well, the second to last.

Across the room, perched on the lap of some slimy stranger, is her aunt. The woman who helped raise her, who’s virtually a second mother to her. She’s smiling at this man and running a hand through his hair, and all Aster can feel is revulsion.

She quickly slides down in her seat to retreat from the view. She can scarcely understand what she’s seeing. It can’t be real; she must be mistaken. A trick of the light. She’s drunk. She must be drunk. Or maybe she’s being fatally poisoned by the herbs and it’s all just a death induced fever dream.

Sitting up to peer around Rafe’s broad shoulders again, she’s horrified to learn that unfortunately her original assessment was correct. Her aunt is also here and having her… night out. With a man. This stranger. She kind of wishes she was dying. Is this what she meant by fun?

It feels so wrong.

Something about it just feels… so very wrong.

Despite her repulsion she can’t look away, determined to understand, to figure this out. Her gut says this isn’t right. It’s her wolf instincts, her mother told her once, and that she should listen to them. So she listens to them.

She focuses on the couple, narrows in on Tara’s racing heartbeat, on the bitter smell of the man. She wrinkles her nose in disgust. She can smell his intentions beneath the reek of sweat, hair gel, and cheap deodorant. What he wants is plain to see, werewolf or not. It should be so out of his reach. She can do so much better than him. Why is she entertaining this?

The sight of his hand coming around to cup her from behind and one crawling up her shirt has Aster seeing red.

How dare he. How DARE he.

She doesn’t realise she’s gouged furrows into the table with her claws until Rafe knocks her shoulder with his and asks her if she’s okay.

She can’t take it anymore. It makes her feel sick.

Standing up without a word, Aster prepares to intervene – getting in trouble be damned – when she feels a shiver run up her spine. There’s a twitch between her shoulder blades, and she feels her attention drawn to the bar.

Somehow what she finds there feels even more shocking.

Her mother sits at the bar across from the booth, lazily fingering a shot glass and… watching. She’s watching?

What the hell is this?

A small part of her worries about Sam noticing her, but it doesn’t take long for her to realise there’s no chance of that. Sam is as transfixed on Tara as Aster was, scowling at the scene before her. Her mother’s no happier about it than she is, so she wonders why she doesn’t do something. Anything. Why doesn’t she put a stop to it?

Aster all but falls back down into her seat, legs feeling dangerously weak beneath her. Suddenly shitty beer and stale bar snacks no longer feel appetizing. There’s a writhing in her stomach, leaving her overcome with nausea. The cacophony of noise that was comforting before now feels suffocating.

She just wants to go home.

Whatever this is, Tara will be fine, she tells herself. Mom won’t let anything happen to her. Sam won’t let her little sister be taken advantage of, or whisked away, any more than Annie would let anything happen to her. It’ll be fine. If this is… If this is what her aunt meant by having fun, then Aster will just have to… deal with that. Accept it.

God, what is she going to tell Annie?

- - -

48 hours later and Aster’s still feeling a little traumatised. She hasn’t been able to look Tara in the eye since, well, you know.

It’s been hard. She wants nothing more than to talk to someone about what she saw, to vent, but there’s no one she can turn to with this. She can’t tell Annie what happened, she worships her mother. Aster can’t bear to be the one to break that illusion for her.

She’s been pretending it’s her time of the month to hand wave away her weirdness. Unfortunately, with a werewolf for a mother, that’s not an easy lie to sell. Sam doesn’t believe it, the look on her face when Aster tried to use it as an excuse said it all, but praise the Moon, she didn’t feel the need to question it, and Aster’s never felt so grateful. At this point she’s not even worried about getting in trouble for sneaking out, she just doesn’t want to admit to what she saw.

She’s hiding away in her room, as she has been all weekend, sprawled out on her bed and wasting time on social media, when she scrolls past a picture of the very memory she’s been working so hard to repress.

With a wince, she scrolls back up the page to be faced with an image of the man who was touching her aunt that night.

It turns out to be so much more than just a selfie, it’s a missing persons announcement.

Frowning, Aster clicks through for more information. He went out and never came home that night. He has a wife, two kids. She scoffs, that didn’t stop him trying to score. He probably just ran off with some other woman.

It makes sense, but for some reason the idea just doesn’t sit right within her, it feels like she’s missing something. Something important.

From the corner of her eye, she spies a book on her desk. It calls to her. She’s drawn by the same feeling that struck her on Friday. Her gut.

The phone slips from her hand as she gets up to retrieve the book. It’s sat there untouched for so long it’s actually begun to attract dust. Whoops. It’s a pack history book, and she was supposed to have finished reading it weeks ago, but Aster’s never been much of a reader.

Collapsing back onto her bed, she starts to flip through the pages.

It’s one near the back that stands out to her. The Ancestors, the chapter title reads. It’s a boring slog describing what little is known of the old werewolves, the ones all modern werewolves are descended from.

As she speed-reads through it, spurred on by a tickle along her spine, she draws to a stop on a paragraph about Moon Madness. A curse, it says. A sickness. Characterised by a toxic silver in the eyes and tattooed across their skin. It symbolises a mark of sinners, cast out from their packs. The result of… having partaken in the consumption of sentient flesh.

The thought makes her shiver.

The illustration on the next page makes her sick.

It reminds her of the campfire stories the older wolves would tell the cubs during camping weekends, of monstrous beasts who were once wolves, who stalked the night and ate bad little wolves who wouldn’t behave. How you would never see them coming, only catch flashes of silver in the moments before they would swallow you whole.

Nothing more than a ghost story to scare the children into behaving… and yet here it is… so familiar.

She’s always known her mother was different from other wolves, from Aster’s own form. She’d never really thought about it, never questioned it. Even once she’d integrated into the local pack and realised that wolves are all very similar once shifted, it had never occurred to her to ask why her mom didn’t look the same as all the others.

Maybe she should have.  

Brushing her fingers over the picture, something stirs within her. Her instincts.

They tell her it’s connected.

Her mother. Her wolf form. This man.

She doesn’t want to believe it, to think about it, but all she can see in her head is the image of her mother at the bar that night. The anger in her eyes, the way they followed his every move.

She looked like at him like she wanted to kill him.

But that’s only a turn of phrase, right? She wouldn’t- she wouldn’t actually hurt someone, would she?

Taking one last long at the picture, the cursed beast on the page that reminds her of her mother, she snaps the book shut.

She has to know the truth.

- - -

“You killed him, didn’t you mom?”

Aster waits for the denial, for the laughter. For something, anything. But there’s just silence.

Then she hears it, the hitch in her mother’s breath, audible even over the creaking of the wood as she sits back in the chair. Sam’s heart thumps in her ribcage, betraying the unaffected expression on her face.

Her mother watches her carefully, and Aster stares back, unable to look away. From the corner of her eye, she can see Tara looking between the two of them, eyes wide, her own chest beating a mile a minute.

“Say it isn’t true…”

Aster’s words are barely more than a whisper, but she knows her mother heard her. She knows. It infuriates her, the way she won’t answer her, the way she won’t say anything at all. There’s a heat rising in her, not unlike the sensation that flashes through her before a shift. It feels like her blood is boiling from within. Her claws creep out, digging grooves into the chair as she clings to it like a lifeline.

“ANSWER ME!” she roars, teeth bared. Across the table, silver eyes flash back at her, a warning, as Sam slowly rises from her seat.

“Aster, there are things you’re too young to understand.”

Sam speaks slowly, like she’s talking to some child. Like Aster doesn’t know exactly what’s happened, what’s going on. She’s not an idiot, she’s seen the evidence for herself. It’s impossible to miss, now that she knows what to look for.

“Too young? I’m 15, not a kid! And I’m certainly old enough to know that murder is wrong.”

She watches the way Sam grinds her teeth at her words, spies the peek of black claws before Sam’s fingers retreat into closed fists. Tara whispers her mother’s name, reaching out to rest a palm on her arm, muscles tense and twitching beneath it.

She’s angry. 

Good.

Angry people make mistakes.

“Because it was murder, wasn’t it?”

She says it with a smirk despite the way her heart is shattering, despite the shards piercing her lungs, making it so hard to breathe. Aster knows how to wear a mask, how to hide her thoughts, her feelings. It’s how she stays so popular, how she gets what she wants. She never thought she would ever have to wear it to protect herself from her own family.

“Does Tara know?” Aster spits, nodding to the woman pushing at Sam’s shoulder, trying to get her to sit back down. “Does she know what you are? Does she know what you’ve done?” She thinks back to the other night, to the smile on Tara’s face, the tinge of excitement in the air. She thinks of the scowl her mother wore, the way she was spying on them from across the bar. She wonders how many times it’s happened before, if that’s why Annie doesn’t have a father. If that’s why Aster even exists, just another project to keep Tara happy and busy and under Sam’s control.

Despite the hand on her shoulder, Sam remains on her feet. She gently nudges Tara away before turning back to her daughter and stalking forward to stand before her.

“You have no idea why I’ve done what I’ve done.”

Sam stands several inches taller than Aster and with significantly more strength, but she’s never found her mother threatening before, and despite what she’s learned, she still doesn’t. Aster inches closer, heels leaving the ground as she stretches up into her space.

“I know why you did it,” she sneers. “You killed people because you liked it!”

The words reverberate around the room and sit ringing in their ears. Aster pants, glaring up at her mother. She’s never felt like this, never felt this… disconnected from her. It’s like she’s looking at a stranger. Maybe her mother never really existed, maybe she was all just an illusion, a mask of her own cloaking the monster beneath.

“That’s ENOUGH, Aster,” Tara snaps, pushing her way between them.

As Aster stares at her, she begins to realise that her mother isn’t the only one she doesn’t know. She can see it in her eyes, there’s no confusion, no questions. Tara’s world isn’t falling apart, not like Aster’s.

“That’s enough,” Tara says again, softer this time. “Why don’t you calm down and then we can talk, okay?”

Tara reaches out for Aster’s shoulder, but the girl just shakes it off, stepping backwards. She knew. She knows. Of course she does. How could Aster have missed it? Sam never does anything without Tara, she never so much as makes a decision about dinner without her. They’re so joined at the hip they might as well be one person.

“You knew,” she mutters as she retreats from the room, shaking her head at them. “How- How could you? You raised me to be good, but all along you were- you just… it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

It feels like the floor is slipping out from beneath her feet, the room becomes blurry beneath tears and shuddering breaths. She thinks her legs must be about to give way below her when arms wrap around her waist, holding her to their chest.

“Hey, what’s going on? Aster?”

Annie’s voice comforts her like a light in the darkness. With her close, her tilting world becomes balanced once again, and she finds herself finally able to break in the arms of the most important person in her life; her best friend, her cousin, her sister.

Grasping at the arms holding her up, she twists in their grip to wrap her own around Annie, burrowing her face in her shoulder. The tears come easy now in her embrace, mask washed away, too desperate to find mooring to cling onto it.

“They’re monsters,” Aster whimpers into Annie’s skin. “I hate them. I hate them. Take me away, please.”

The words make Annie’s head snap up to look urgently between her aunt and her own mother, silently begging for answers. An explanation. Anything.

Sam jerks her head down and turns away, as if she can’t bear to look in their direction any longer. She catches her mother’s eyes instead. Tara breathes deep, glancing to Aster for a moment, before giving Annie a slow nod. Take her away, it says. She needs you right now.

Annie wants nothing more than to stand her ground, to demand answers, to know just what the fuck is happening, but with Aster whimpering in her arms, she knows she will put her first, as she always does.

Sam watches as Annie picks up her daughter and lead her away. She listens closely for the sound of the bedroom door closing before she lets everything out. She barely chokes back the roar that threatens to escape her as she lashes out, claws slicing through wood with ease. “FUCK,” she yells, kicking her chair over for good measure.

She hears Tara sigh and call her name, but she can’t bring herself to turn around. She can’t face her. How can she? This is all her fault. She wasn’t careful enough, she must have- she- she… “how did this happen?” she whispers.

A touch on her back coaxes her around.

“How did she find out?” Sam croaks, falling into Tara’s open arms.

“We’ll figure this out, Sam. Everything will be okay,” she promises. Tara closes her eyes and holds her sister close. She hopes life doesn’t make a liar out of her this time. Nothing is more important to Sam – to either of them – than their family.

“She didn’t mean it,” she comforts. “She’s just… shocked.”

Tara thinks of that first morning all those years ago, of waking up and learning what Sam had done, the confusion, the disbelief, the fear of what it all meant… it’s a lot. But she came around, Aster will too. She has to.

She has to.

[123pixieaod]

Hunger Games AU

Part 2 :)

(((Tw: HG levels of violence)))

Part 1!

When he wakes, it is dark and he's alone. The cave casts shadows over him, crevices carefully constructed to hide the hundreds of cameras tracking his movements. Keep them entertained, Sebastian had told him. How's this for amusement? Watching a man wither away to nothing, forgotten by his teammate.

Daniel whimpers. It's embarrassing, the way the sound echos, emphasising his isolation, his weakness. His shoulder aches as if there's a fire raging under the skin. Someone, it must've been Max, left a full water bottle and small pile of nuts beside him. Daniel stares at the offering. He wonders if his fever has finally broken, or if this is simply a brief respite, the calm before the storm washes through him once more. He stretches out a hand, pallor and thin. Movements stiff and aching. He tries to keep his injured shoulder as still as possible, but the reverberation of movement makes the joint burn even stronger. Max had cleaned it as best as he could, helping Daniel wash it upstream in the river, and then bound it with the sleeves ripped from his shirt. Distantly, Daniel knows he should try to change the bandages, wash the inflamed skin again.

He imagines it. Teeth wounds punctured into him, skin red and angry and growing with infection.

He makes himself chew and swallow a handful of the nuts, even though they taste like dust in his mouth. He closes his eyes, forcing them down as he thinks of Max carefully gathering for him, brow pinched in the way it does when he's especially concentrated.

"Eat up," the Orange Lady singsongs. "Come on, I know you must be hungry, my sweetness!"

"I never got to get married", the girl from 12 says wistfully.

"I can't believe I died for you," the boy from 10 says.

"I hope they skin you alive, " the boy from 2 hisses. The girl from 5 starts to chock. Daniel squeezes his eyes shut again.

-

Max is married. His wife lives with him in the almost desolate Victors estate, in the house next to Daniel's. She's a few years older than him, but nothing scandalous. Daughter of the two local teachers, the elderst of a bunch of two girls and five boys. Straight dark hair, pale skin, and eyes of electric blue. She's pretty, but in the way a daisy is pretty, or a bow is pretty. Not hot; not desirable; not sexy. She's the perfect wife for a victor like Max, the exact fit to smooth out all his edges, to soften him to the public gaze. Daniel knows because he picked her himself.

Max hadn't wanted a wife. He'd shouted and he'd stormed away and he had ruined more than a few ceramic plates against the wall, but Daniel was firm. Choose a wife to marry as soon as he turns sixteen, or Daniel would choose for him. Max had refused. Daniel has chosen Emilia.

He thinks he picked well. Sebastian gets on well with her anyway. She pops by, offers to water his dying flowers, or makes some poppy bread for him. Every Wednesday, she goes into the poor streets in town, giving away fresh vegetables and new clothes. She keeps Max's home clean, she feeds his cats for him, she weats pretty dresses and always smiles. She doesn't really interact with Daniel, but he doesn't care. He prefers it, this strange situation they have where they both pretend the other doesn't exist. Max the only commonality in their lives. But she's very good. A good wife. Daniel chose well for Max.

Even still. It doesn't change the fact that they sleep in separate bedrooms.

Max plays with his wedding ring when he gets nervous. Daniel will stare, watching his pale fingers twist the golden band,around and around and around. Daniel keeps his fingers bare. There's no point.

It worked, anyway. Max became known as the most successful victor in history, the 13 year old who killed over half the contestants and had the game finished in under 3 days. Brutal, but secretly tender. Married to his childhood sweetheart, a woman too sweet for her own good. A perfect match. Nobody would dare break them up, ruin the image of youthful, pure romance.

-

Max always catches any bugs that get into the house. Daniel will watch him cup his pale fingers around the spider, the action achingly soft.

"Why do to do that?" He asks, but only after he's been drinking.

"Do what?" Max replies quietly, preoccupied with getting them outside.

"That," Daniel says, watching him open the door with his elbow, pale fingers bled grey in the moonlight. The golden ring goes silver, like old women's hair twined around his finger.

He's in the cave. He's lying on his back, shivering,  infection eating his shoulder alive. He's alone. Max is in his kitchen, saving a spider. Movements gentle, body soft in a way only Daniel gets to see.

"Because it's only right," Max says quietly, shutting the night out as he closes the door.

Daniel wants to remind Max he killed 12 children in the space of 3 days. Max looks over, expression open and soft. Belly up, vulnerable without even knowing it.

Why don't they haunt you? He wants to ask.

We do,they whisper back. He's just better at ignoring our cries than you are.

.

"How did you manage that poppet?" The Orange Lady asks with a giggle. She finished every sentence with a giggle, even when she was doing something like describing someone's death.

"The guy from distract 5 bit him," boy from 10 says.

"He has drank too much sea water,  he was crazy," boy from 2 adds.

"He tried to eat Daniel, " girl from 12 says softly. "Max killed him quick, but not before he had bitten into Daniel's shoulder and took a whole chunk off it away."

"Sounds like something I would do," the Orange Lady giggles. The girl from 5 keeps chocking

Daniel, Max says, demanding his attention. Daniel turns, finding him standing very still, hands cupped.

Max cradles a moth in his hands. Daniel, he repeats, only now his tone is soft. I can feel her wings against my palms. Here. He comes over, directing Daniel to hold out his hands, place them over Max's cupped ones.

Max, Daniel replies. I can't, my shoulder.

Max just shakes his head, telling Daniel to do it. Daniel does, and then Max slowly opens his hands. Daniel closes his, his own hands now a prison.

Can you feel it Daniel? Max asks, eyes bright. Wings beat against his palm and fingers, delicate and soft. It's like he's holding a heart.

He nods, and Max beams, gently placing his hands on top of Daniel's. They're warm but toughened, skin thick with calluses. Daniel thinks of the hardness they're capable of, the brutality they've wrung out on others. So gentle now, so loving.

You can feel it, the wings? Max asks again. Daniel nods.

Yes, Max, I can feel the wings.

Part 3!

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer OT3 Week, Day Two: The Cool Kid, The Jock, And The Nerd

OT3 Week (as per @ot3-week) continues with a prompt that definitely seemed suited for a High School AU -- "The cool kid, the jock, and the nerd!" I think we can all agree that would be Smiler, Alice, and Victor respectively. :p At any rate, here's a high school version of the trio hanging out together at lunch -- with Victor having a rather important question for Smiler...

--

“...why do you hang out with me?”

To Victor’s horror, Smiler looked up from their sandwich, confirming that he had indeed said that out loud. “Because...I like you?” they said once they’d finished chewing and swallowing. “Do I need a better reason than that?”

“I – um, it’s just...” Shut up shut up shut up – but now that the door had been opened, Victor found himself plunging onward, needing to know. “You’re easily the popular, well-liked person in this school. The coolest of the cool kids. People think you’re the greatest – and you are!” he hastened to add, waving his hands. “You’re funny, and friendly, and you really s-seem to take an interest in e-everyone – anybody and everyone likes to hang out with you! You could be friends with anyone! And – and I’m–” Victor swallowed, trying to find the words. “I’m – n-not that. I’m – me.”

Smiler gave him a long look – the kind of look that suggested some kind of “Victor Is Having Self-Esteem Issues Again” alarm was going off in their head. Then they put down their sandwich in favor of taking his hand. “And I like you,” they repeated, looking Victor in the eye. “Even if you’re nothing like me. Especially since you’re nothing like me! I don’t need another me in my life – I’ve already got me! But I didn’t have a ‘you’ until I met you. And now I do.” They shot him one of those stunning grins. “And I’m very happy about that.”

“I...” Victor pulled at his tie, trying not to think about how warm Smiler’s hand felt against his. This wouldn’t be half as hard if I hadn’t had a very enlightening dream about my romantic tastes last night, he groused to himself. Why couldn’t this have happened before I realized I had a crush? “I just – don’t get it? W-why you would want a me?”

“Well, for starters–”

“What’s going on?”

Victor looked up as Alice (aka the other person that he was crushing on, and who hopefully would never find out that fact) came over, carrying a tray. “I mean, I can guess from context that Victor just had a self-loathing moment, but fill me in on the specifics,” she continued, sitting down.

“Not much to fill in – Victor just asked me why I hang out with him, and I’m in the process of reminding him that he doesn’t have to be one of the ‘cool kids’ for people to like him,” Smiler told her.

“Ah.” Alice picked up a chip and popped it into her mouth. “Well, allow me to second the sentiment. I personally find ‘cool’ is often overrated.”

“Maybe, but...I-I just have a hard time seeing the a-appeal of me,” Victor said, looking between them. “Especially – Smiler, like I said, you’re already the most popular kid in school. You don’t need to hang out with someone like me if you want company. And Alice – you’re smart, you’re witty, you have an amazing imagination – oh, and you’re an incredible fencer. The absolute star of the team!”

“I’m also the girl who most people avoid because she spent the majority of her childhood in supervised hospitalization after her family died in a horrific house fire,” Alice retorted, taking a swig from her bottle of soda. “And the one who still talks to invisible creatures on the regular, because so far every medication I’ve tried has had side effects that just are not worth it. Just because I’m like, three percent jock doesn’t mean my social life is any better than yours.” She jerked her head to the side. “Do you think I understand why Smiler’s here? They could do damn better than hanging out with the local loony, that’s for sure.”

“What do I have to do to make you both understand I like you and that’s the end of it?” Smiler grumbled, folding their arms.

“Go back in time and stop the murder of my parents and sister,” Alice replied, waving a fry at them.

“Somehow convince my mother that I’m not a complete failure of a human being,” Victor muttered, looking at his feet.

Smiler sighed. “You two sometimes...look,” they said firmly, leaning across the table. “I think you’re both awesome people, all right? Alice, I agree with everything Victor said – you’re intelligent, you’ve got a great sarcastic sense of humor, and you’re frighteningly good with a sword. I respect that a lot. And Victor – you’re kind, and artistic, and really smart yourself! You know so much about butterflies, you could write your own encyclopedia! I’ve learned a lot, hanging around you!”

“Not to mention your piano skills,” Alice said, shooting Victor a little smile that made his stomach do flip-flops. “I know your parents have got you thinking that you’re not worth anything, but – you really are. To us, at least.”

“Yeah – so could you please stop trying to understand why we’re friends with you and just accept it?” Smiler added, reaching over and giving Victor’s wrist a little squeeze. Then they shot him a disarming grin. “Or do I have to kiss you silly to get that to happen?”

Victor felt himself go beet red as a certain bit of a certain dream started replaying itself in his head. “I – uh – you – um–”

“Who put you in charge of kissing him?” Alice asked, with a playful smirk that did not do anything for the images inside his brain. “Maybe I want a go at it.”

“Maybe we should just do it both at once then,” Smiler joked back. “That’d probably reset his brain.”

“...really?”

This time it was both Smiler and Alice blinking that alerted Victor to the fact that, once again, he’d said that out loud. He dropped his head, wincing. Oh no – that’s it, that’s the bridge too far, it doesn’t matter what they said before, me blurting out that I’d be open to kissing both of them at once is sure to make them –

There was another squeeze on his wrist, and he looked up to see Smiler and Alice looking at him with – not disgust, like he’d feared, but simple surprise. And – just perhaps, if he wasn’t seeing things – a bit of interest? Could they possibly... ? “Well,” Smiler finally said with a little wink. “Think that’s a discussion we should have after school.”

Hope alighted in Victor’s heart, chasing all the dark thoughts away. “Yes,” he breathed. “After school.”

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 48: maelstrom

“I’d like to know what you were thinking.” Professor McGonagall said in a voice that told Ariel exactly what she was thinking. 

Ariel had ended up in her office in the middle of lunch, which had been spent getting pats and whoops and hollers that had made her feel like she wanted to sink into the floor and never come back up. She’d realized she’d gone too far when Snape hadn’t shown up at all and the rest of the professors had begun huddling together, their glances shot deliberately at her. She’d certainly known when Professor McGonagall had gotten wind, because all of the congratulatory cheering had evaporated like smoke. Fred had silently saluted her — George had said she was doing the Lord’s work, but Ron and Hermione had been very, very quiet. 

Hermione had reappeared just as they were sitting down. Ariel hadn’t bothered to ask how she’d managed to vanish like a ghost before, but she figured she wouldn’t have gotten much of an answer about it. This wasn’t the first time it had happened this week, and Ariel was certain it wouldn’t be the last. 

She fiddled with her hands and sighed dejectedly. “He was going to poison Neville’s toad —”

“And so you decided to poison yourself instead.” Professor McGonagall said flatly. “Once was not enough for you, it seems.” 

For once in your goddamn life think about yourself — 

You have no idea what will come for you if anyone was to even have a suspicion that you were my child — 

This is child’s play compared to what the Dark Lord and his followers can do to you – because of me — 

“I wasn’t actually going to drink it.” Ariel tried, but that only seemed to make Professor McGonagall more annoyed. She’d already docked Gryffindor another twenty points, in addition to the fifty Snape had as well, apparently only once Ariel had left class. 

“Nor would Professor Snape have let you.” Professor McGonagall’s voice hardened. “To undermine his authority, however, in front of not only your Housemates, but the Slytherins as well —”

“I didn’t do it to undermine his authority,” Ariel said, her voice low and resolute. “I did it to protect Neville’s toad.” 

She pursed her lips and stared at her for a long moment. Ariel felt like one of the ingredients in Snape’s potion jars, being sized up. 

“Miss Evans,” Professor McGonagall finally sighed, frowning. “I understand your concern, and while I certain have my own… opinions on Professor Snape’s methods, you cannot act recklessly in class. There are proper channels to take if you feel a professor is treating a student unfairly or with malice.” 

Ariel’s jaw clenched. She knew she could have complained, but she also knew that never worked, because everyone complained about Snape. She had seen how Snape treated Neville in the past, how he had treated all of the Gryffindors. Something had snapped inside of her earlier — she couldn’t let herself just stand by while Snape bullied Neville like that. She might’ve been able to help if not for Malfoy — 

But Professor McGonagall knew all of this. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Either way, Ariel supposed she had crossed a line, being so openly defiant to the meanest professor in school in front of everyone. 

(and her father, but that was a separate matter entirely)

“I understand,” Ariel said, her voice wavering a bit. 

“Good.” Professor McGonagall’s expression softened slightly. “I don’t want any of my students putting themselves in danger unnecessarily. Is there anything else you’d like to add?” 

Ariel shook her head and lowered her eyes. 

“You will apologize —” 

Ariel let out a cry of outrage. 

“You will,” her voice rose a bit, and Ariel snapped her mouth shut. “For being openly insubordinate and challenging Professor Snape’s authority. You will do so during your next class with him. I would imagine it would not end well for you if you were to attempt to do so before there’s been a certain amount of… time that has passed.” 

“Fine,” she ground out, feeling like she was chewing on gravel. 

[medicinemane]

God my mom's such a disgusting slob

Walking up the stairs I hear the huge crunch of a tortilla chip eaten by someone who can't shut their mouth when they eat so... mouth sounds are disgusting because a mouth chewing has all the acoustics of a wet meat cathedral

It bothered me so much without even realizing it I clapped my hands to my ears as hard as I could and now they actually really hurt

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Complicated - Rafe Cameron

Pairing- Reader X Rafe Cameron

Summary- Rafe falling for his Best friends little sister.

Warning- Language, Sex, foreplay. [18+]

A/N - First fic in third person, just wanted to give it a go! Let me know if you enjoyed this! Also listen to the song below for the full experience of how I felt writing this 💜

(Gif credit to @drewstarkey )

Rafe leant against the railing of the club house, his cold stare directed towards Topper and his sister. He couldn’t stop his eyes from giving her a once over, biting the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from groaning out loud.

In the past six months he has come to realise the obsession he’s gained for Y/N, the way her clothes accentuated her curves. The small amount of cleavage from her skimpy crop tops gave him a permanent boner when she was around.

He’d excuse himself to jack off in the bathroom because he couldn’t sit comfortably when she was around. He found himself declining offers to go over to Toppers and instead tried to get him over at the Cameron’s.

But Topper wasn’t to keen on coming over these days now that Sarah had dumped him and run off with John B. He mentally thanked the lords that she wasn’t friends with Sarah, so he never had to worry she would turn up at his home.

“Earth to Rafe” She sighed, her delicate fingers snapping in his face. He shook his head and peered down at her, brows furrowed as she crossed her arms in annoyance.

“What” He spat, he hated being rude to her but he’d always spoken to her this way. She didn’t really care, she had a inkling of a feeling that he secretly liked her. Her mum always told her the same thing.

“Mums made Topper go pick her up, so your driving me home” She demands, he can’t help the roll of his eyes at her bossiness. She really had him wrapped around her finger though.

“I don’t hear a please?” He teases, he goes to take a seat on the cushion of the chair. She crosses her arms in front of her, pushing against her chest and her top lowers slightly.

His knee bounces as he darts his eyes away from her chest, to look into her Y/E/C irises. Not that it helped the hardening of his cock, his palm coming down to readjust himself as she turns to look at the commotion behind them.

“please can you take me home” She says, and Rafe nods pushing himself to stand. His palm pressing against her lower back and escorting her to the exit.

His fingers burned from the feeling of her soft skin against the rough pads of his fingers, it took every inch of self control not curl his fingers into her skin.

“You good?” she questions, her slender face turning slightly to look back at you. Her feet don’t stop though, all her trust in himto keep her safe.

“Why?” Rafe grumbles, he wants to be nice to her and make her smile but he knew she and Topper would question the change in him. He couldn’t risk losing his best friend.

Topper has been there for him especially with the recent fall into drugs, he’d helped him become clean and offered him a place to stay when Ward was off on one of his tangents.

“You just look stressed” she whispers, her eyes falling to look forward once again. He’s unsure if he’s upset her and he wants to ask but he keeps his mouth shut and keeps pushing her forward.

The valet handing him the keys to Jeep, he pulls the door open for her by accident and he winces when he sees her eyes widening at the action. She doesn’t comment though and jumps in, he presses his thumbs into his temple as he rounds the back of the car.

Bottom lip between his teeth he chews until he tastes the metallic of his blood, fumbling to get his keys into the ignition. He’s angry and he can’t help the sudden out burst, his fists beat down on his steering wheel.

He feels her tense beside him, she still doesn’t comment. He can feel her eyes on his face and his skin heats up, his whole body feeling like someone just poured gasoline on him and lit a match.

“What’s wrong?” She finally questions, her hand comes up towards him. Rafe turns his head to stare at her, her fingers pinch his bottom lip and pulls on it until he lets it fall from his teeth.

Her thumb runs over his wet lip, his eyes drop down to her thumb. Slight hint of blood on her finger tips, he thinks it’ll make her uncomfortable instead she brings it to her lips. Her plump lips wrap around her thumb and he can’t help the low groan leaving his lips.

“Don’t do that” he states, his hand grips her wrist and the pop sound that leaves her lips as she pulls her thumb out has him foaming at the mouth. His dick pressing against the tight material of his linen shorts.

“Why” she says, her hushed voice like a melody to his ears. Her eyes are staring hard at him, he’s not sure if she understands what she’s doing to him and he hates it.

“Am I turning you on?” She asks when he doesn’t respond to her previous question, her eyes dropping down to the visible bulge in his pants. His palm coming down to press down to hide himself from her intense stare.

He chooses to ignore her question and he starts driving, he’s swerving around people and cars until he can’t take it anymore and pulls up to a secluded beach. He’s yanking on the break and reaching over for her.

She was already looking at him, ready for him to touch her. His hand grips the back of her neck and pulls her closer to him, her mouth brushes against his and he throws all rational thinking out of the window when he presses his lips to hers.

Fireworks explode in his head, her tongue running across his lower lip and they fight for dominance. It doesn’t take long for her to give up and he explores her warm mouth. Her feverish hands grasping at the material of his polo, she’s moving over and straddles him on the drivers seat.

Her linen shorts riding up to expose more of her toned thighs, his hands squeezing softly and bringing her closer to him. He can feel her chest rising and falling against his, the kiss magnetic he physically couldn’t pull himself away.

She does though and stares at him, mouth parted as her breathing laboured. A small smile graces her lips and she presses her lips to his momentarily before sliding down and pressing her lips to his neck, pushing his head to give her better access.

“This is bad” he whispers, his hands travel up to her hips and push her down on him. Her clothed centre rubbing against his restricted boner, just the slightly touch has him wanting to cum in his pants.

“It’s okay, it’s not bad” she responds, her tongue running up and down the prominent vein in his neck from his jaw clenching.

He’s holding his breath to stop himself from smelling her hair that tickled his nose. He already knew her skin smelt like Vanilla and Coconut, he didn’t need to know what her hair smelt like. He knew that tiny detail would etch in his brain until the day he died.

“You don’t want this?” She questions, her body hovers over Rafe’s. His hands still firmly held her hips between his palms. He knew he should say no and take her home, he knew he should listen to the small voice in his head telling him not to fuck up his friendship with Topper.

“I do but Topper” He says, she nods and chews on the inside of her cheek. He could practically see the gears grinding in her head as she tried to think of what to say.

“Unless we didn’t tell Topper” Rafe whispers, her eyes look as though they twinkle and her head nods furiously. Her fingers grasping at the material of his polo shirt and dragging it up his torso, he helps her out by pulling it off his body.

Her nails scratch down his toned skin, his back arching off the drivers seat. His eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slightest touch from her, his fingers come between them both to grasp her tiny crop top. His mouth gapes open when he’s met with her bare breasts

“Come on Rafe, you’ve seen boobs before” she giggles, her minty breath fans over his face. He grabs her cheeks and presses their lips together, tongue s dancing together as his other hand massages her breast, thumb running over her nipples until it’s a hardened nub under his finger tips.

“Shut up” He groans, of course he’d seen boobs before but not her. Her boobs were a whole different experience, his mind was jelly just from touching her skin.

Low moans vibrate through her body, he pulls away from her lips and pulls her body up until his mouth envelopes her nipple between his teeth. Her back arching and hips grind into his erection, her pussy pulsing at the feeling of his thick dick rubbing against her clothed centre.

“Rafe, please touch me” she whispers, her glossed over eyes beg his. All he can do is nod as he can’t trust his words around her, his mind couldn’t focus on the right words right now.

His hands toy at the button of her linen shorts, reaching under the material until he’s met with the lace trim of her panties. A low groan leaves his lips and he dives in, warmth meets the pads of his fingers as he runs his fingers over her pussy.

It’s wet, so wet it’s soaked through her panties. His ring and forefinger scooping up her arousal and bringing it to her clit. Her breathing falters as his fingers massage her clit, he body jolts as though she’s been hit by lightening.

He brings his fingers down to her entrance and pushes into her, he can’t think straight. He thinks he might pass out from the feeling of her soft spongey walls clenching around his fingers. He’s squeezing his eyes shut as his fingers work in and out of her.

She’s grinding her hips into his hand, finger nails biting into the tanned shoulders of Rafe. Her moans of ecstasy will be etched in his brain for the rest of his life, he’s worried he’ll never be able to fuck someone else after her.

“Fuck, I-” she stammers, her teeth biting down on her plump limp as she throws her head back. Rafe’s fingers pushing deeper into her before curling and massaging her g spot. “Rafe, shit I’m close” she moans.

His eyes snap open to watch her come undone, her mouth parted as she gasps for air. Her eyes tightly closed and her brows furrowed. He thinks it’s the best thing to ever happen to him, he can’t describe the way he feels watching her come on his fingers.

He thinks he might be In love, he knows for sure this could never be a one time thing. He’d throw away his friendship to keep her in his life, the way she rode his fingers would help him sleep for the rest of his life.

“Jesus Christ, how did you learn that” She stammers, her legs feel like jelly around him. Her forearms pressed into his chest to keep her up right.

Her eyes stared hard at him as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, butterflies fill her belly all over again and she can’t believe she’s soaking wet again.

“Sweet, just like I imagined” He comments, he licks his lip with a slight smirk. Her smile widens and she presses her lips to his again, she can taste herself on him and she too realises that this could never be a one time thing.

“I need you to fuck me right now” She orders, she wastes no time pulling away from him and climbing in the back seat. Her hands dragging down the rest of clothes until she sat naked on the leather seats.

He tells himself he will never sell this car, every time he would get in the car he’d imagine her in the backseat. Her naked body sprawled out on the seat, wet pussy on display.

“Needy” He says, but he’s clambering over the seats until he’s next to her once again. His fingers pulling at the buckle of his belt and tugging his shorts down.

He watches the way her eyes widen when his cock springs free and hits his stomach, the visible gulp in her throat gives him an ego boost. Pre cum leaks at the sight of her naked body.

She suddenly reaches over for her bag and he can hear her shuffling things around until she’s throwing a square foil packet at him, his eyes dropping to the black condom wrapper. A soft chuckle leaves his throat and he throws it back over the seat.

Her brows arch at him and she crosses her arms across her chest in annoyance. She thinks he’s going to ask to not wear one and she’s already got her speech about babies etc on the tip of her tongue.

“That won’t fit” He states, he reaches into the cup holder compartment and pulls out a gold packet. He brings it between his teeth and rips it open.

Her heart battering against her chest as she holds back her comments on him being huge, to be completely fair she expected him to have his own condoms on hand but she still went looking for hers.

“You sure you want this? We can’t go back” he adds, her eyes meet his for a brief second before she’s pouncing on him. Her pussy rubbing against his cock, his hands grasping the flesh of her ass to steady her movements.

“Yeah Yeah, fuck me Rafe” she growls, her pussy already pulsing and he wasn’t even inside her yet. He grasps his cock and lines himself up to her entrance, he’s going to push in slowly but suddenly she’s coming down on him so fast he can’t help the loud moan leaving his throat.

Her nails digging into his skin once again, she didn’t expect him to stretch her so much and now she’s kind of wishing she’d gone slower. Her pussy ached around his thick cock, she felt physically full. Their forehead pressed to together.

“Jesus fucking Christ” she curses, a soft laugh leaves his lips and he kisses her again. Their lips moving in sync and tongues exploring one another’s mouth, she takes control and begins rocking her hips.

Up and down, side to side and he’s sure she’s spelling coconut on his dick. His finger nails digging so deep into her thighs he’s sure she might bleed, but she’s loving it. The feeling of his mouth on her neck and hands on her body has her a moaning mess on top of him.

Stray tears leave her eyes as she pounds herself hard on him, his hips move up to meet hers. Pressing so deep into her pussy she can feel him in her stomach. Her walls clenching around him for dear life.

“How the fuck are you hitting so deep” she whines out, he clit rubbing against his stomach as she comes down. Her fingers reach down to fondle her bundle of nerves when she realises she needs a little extra to get her to the end.

He pulls her wrist away and presses his thumb to her throbbing clit, her toes curling as she feels her orgasm rushing through her veins. His own orgasm ready to explode, he’s holding on until she’s done and his vision is blurred.

“Fuck, your pussy is the best thing. Come on sweet girl, come on my dick” He groans, his other arm wrapping around her waist to guide her down faster and harder.

Loud cries leave her lips as he grinds up into her. Thumb pressing into her clit, all her senses overloading as she comes all over him.

White spots invade her vision and her body shakes on top of him, biting down on her tongue and she whines and splutters around him. She looks like a dream to him, he’s never seen someone look sexier then she does right now.

“Shit, uh” He shouts, he finally lets go when he feels her pussy pulse around him. His cum filling the condom up, his cock twitching inside of her and body slumping under her.

He seriously couldn’t believe he’d just fucked Toppers little sister in the back of the car, he’d remember this until he dies and he couldn’t care if Topper killed him tomorrow when he found out.

“I see the gears in your brain moving, you okay?” She questions, she pulls herself off him and grabs her clothes. She’s watching him rub his hand over his face to calm himself down, his chest still moving rapidly as he gained his breath back.

“I’m fucking great” He smiles, he too puts his clothes back on and follows her back to the front of the car. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel as he stared ahead, he hadn’t turned the car on yet as he tried to figure out what to do next.

“What do we do now?” He asks, turning his body to look at her. She’s already watching him with a soft smile, her hair slightly messy but a happy glint to her eyes.

“Maybe you could take me on a date?” She questions, a small smirk replaces her smile and she chews on the inside of her cheek. Of course he’d take her on a date, he’d take her on dates daily if it meant having her in his life.

He’d spend the rest of his life looking after her, taking her places and spoiling her until she begged him to stop. He’d call her pretty girl or sweet girl until her cheeks were red raw from embarrassment. He’d fight Topper if he really had too, he needed Y/N in his life.

“Would you be free tomorrow night?”

Tag list- @maybankforlife

[writingsofwesteros]

I have an angsty/smutty request for you once they are open🥵

Reader is Daemon’s wife and they’ve been married for some time but didn’t have sex yet (maybe they have a love-hate relationship and the reader is playing hard to get?) despite there constantly being sexual tension between them. One night the reader gets really drunk (and horny) and she starts to seduce Daemon but since she’s so horny she basically almost begs him to fuck her, Daemon is super turned on by this but also angry because he has respect for her and he basically forces himself to leave her (like he did with Rhaenrya) because he doesn’t want to take advantage of her. The next day reader is angry with him and starts an argument about how he left her and he explains why he did it and that he didn’t want to fuck her like a whore but as a wife. So they basically make up and have slow and passionate sex. 🥰

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

SLIGHT NSFW

Requests are closed

You heard the whispers in court; even as they tried to be quiet whilst Otto would use the small council meetings to blatantly ask Daemon why he had no children yet. “You really need someone to fuck, don’t you Otto.” The Dragon purred across the table but anyone looking would see the anger in those violet eyes of his.

“That’s enough.” Viserys ordered as he moved to stand. Daemon could only roll his eyes before leaning back. “He speaks truthfully.” His brother looked down at him. “It would be best to start having heirs.” Daemon hummed and cleverly kept his mouth shut instead of talking back to his king. It never ended well.

He was thankful when the meeting had ended and as usual he was the first to remove himself from the room. But he couldn’t escape the whispers as he moved through the corridors. “I bet he finds her ugly.” He heard a lady of the court whisper. The giggles that followed had his rage rising.

He could only imagine how you felt. Not that you spoke to him much but he enjoyed whatever small moment of attention you would give him. “Husband.” Speaking of the devil, he thought to himself in humour. The girls who had been speaking quickly turned and walked through another corridor away from you and him.

“Wife..” Daemon hummed; a smile tugging on his lips as those eyes of his looked you up and down. You only rolled your eyes; the words of the women had cut you but you weren’t about to let him know this. It wasn’t as if he defended you so he must believe their words. You remembered when he was glad to have married you instead of Lady Rhea but that was a long time ago now.

You couldn’t deny he was handsome as your own eyes moved over him for a moment as you chewed on your bottom lip. But gods, did you hate him and as time moved on, you couldn’t remember why. “How was the meeting?” You finally whispered; in need to fill the silence moving over you both.

Daemon only groaned. “Do we have to talk about this?” He rolled his eyes; his annoyance at everyone but you. However, you only saw it as against you. “Of course not.” You whispered, becoming more nervous now. Daemon noticed your reaction and was about to speak when you interrupted him.

“I should leave you.” You bowed your head with a soft smile before moving past him. You were already turning the corner before Daemon could say anything. Gods, why was this so difficult, he thought to himself as he watched you go.

THAT NIGHT

Daemon read the pieces of paper in front of him that were scattered across his large, beautifully decorated desk. He hadn’t seen you for the rest of the day and hated it but he had to finish this work. You would be safe, he knew that. He had his little birds following you so you were never in any true danger.

He was invested in the maps before him when his large door slowly began to open. His eyes narrowed as he turned his head. The sight of you entering his room was not what he thought would be happening. “Y/N?” Daemon softly called out in confusion as his eyes moved over you. It wasn’t hard to realise you were drunk.

The slip of a dress was something completely out of your style that it took Daemon aback. Your soft, ample breasts on display in a classy manner if there was any such thing. “Husband.” You hummed, well more like slurred as you slowly moved around the table he had in the middle of his room.

“You seemed to have enjoyed your day.” Daemon hummed and slowly moved to meet you; he gently took your hand in his and brought you closer. Your own hand moved to his chest as you brushed up against him like never before. He wondered what had gotten into you even as his eyes moved over you once more.

He tried to hold back his desire as your head fell back for you to lock eyes with him. “I have.” You hummed with your hands moving up his chest once more as you leaned up. Your soft lips brushed against his own and Daemon’s eyes could only flutter. His hands moved further down you and moved you against him as he lost himself in the rising pleasure for a moment.

“You are drunk.” The Prince whispered as his fingers slowly moved into your locks before cupping your face. His thumb stroking over your cheek. You slowly leaned into the touch with your own eyes fluttering. “I want you.” The words easily fell from your lips as your soft blush came over you.

Fuck, you were killing him, Daemon thought to himself as he tried to gently push you away. But you looped your arms around his neck and soon his lips found yours once more. He moaned as your tongue moved over his bottom lip. “We can’t..not like this.” He began to babble out as your hands began to move south.

But you weren’t listening and your soft, small hand was soon wrapped around his cock that was easily hardening. “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?” You purred into his ear; softly nibbling on his neck as your strokes continued. Daemon moaned and hid into your neck for a moment.

“Not like this.” Daemon softly repeated himself and watched your face fall at his words. Gods, he hated that look and moved to say something else when you stepped away. Your face flushed in embarrassment as you ducked your head. “I should go.” You whispered out and were already moving towards the door.

“You don’t…” The door fell shut as you left. “Have to.” Daemon finished in an empty room. A soft sound of annoyance left him as he looked down at his aroused state before moving his hand through his locks. What had he done to deserve this? There was no way he could concentrate on his work now and decided on moving to bed.

NEXT MORNING

“Why won’t you touch me?” You cried at him. The embarrassment you had woken up with had quickly changed to anger at your husband not fulfilling his marriatable duties. “Am I ugly?” You continued to shout questions to him as Daemon only stared. This wasn’t what he had envisioned when he visited you this morning.

He was rather enjoying this side of you until you began to hate yourself. “No..you are the most stunning woman I know.” Daemon whispered and stepped closer. He gently took your hand in his. “Then why?” Your tone was broken as you asked again as his hand moved to cup your face now. 

“I couldn’t take advantage of you.” Daemon whispered, ducking his head as he rested on your own. “I wasn’t going to fuck you like a whore.” A soft gasp escaped you at his words and you hated the desire that rushed through you. You realised what position you had put him in the night before.

“I’m sorry..” You whispered out as you chewed on your bottom lip. Daemon slowly moved your head to lock eyes with him whilst his thumb moved over your bottom lip. “Shh, you have nothing to apologise for.” He whispered and before you knew it; his lips were lovingly on yours and taking your breath away.

You moaned easily against him as your husband gently moved you back until you fell onto the bed behind you. It wasn’t long before he was hovering over you. His lips found their place against yours once more as you both began to take the clothes of yourself and each other until you were bare.

You softly moaned and looped your arms around him once more as his head dipped and lovingly captured your breast in his hot mouth. “We should have done this at the beginning.” You whimpered out as your legs easily spread for him. Goosebumps littered your soft skin as your heart raced.

His touches were slow and soft as his hard cock brushed against your already soaked pussy. “Daemon..” You whimpered out as he moved to capture your lips once more just as he pushed inside. Your soaked, sensitive walls flutter around him as you welcome him in. Your moans of pleasure echoed around.

“So good.” Daemon purred and whispered sweet nothings into your ear as he slowly thrust inside you. Expertly he hit your soft spot again and again. His eyes never moved from you as you looked up at him. You could hardly speak as the pleasure tightly wrapped around you like a cobra.

You wouldn’t have it any other way as you wrapped your legs around his back and brought him closer and deeper. A sharp gasp escaped you as he did before your head fell back down onto the pillows behind you. “I love you.” You whispered out; the words falling from you without thinking as you lost yourself in the pleasure.

Daemon moaned and moved to burrow into your neck as he fought against fucking you harder but now wasn’t the time. Your words had him shivering and his own stomach was beginning to tighten in pleasure. “I love you too.” He whispered into your ear before moving to capture your lips once more.

[satans-left-asscheeky]

more child sole lmao how would the companions react to kid sole just. fuckin biting someone. in self-defense, yeah, but there are still several other ways they could defend themselves they just choose teeth

Maccready

"No! We don't put anything but food in our mouths. Okay?"

As a parent it's a conversation he's had many times, usually when Duncan tried to eat a comic book or stuffing from his teddy bear, so sole bitting into a raider was new territory for him he'll admit. He's hoping the same parenting technique works, because truth be told he's exhausted and out of ideas.

Hancock

"Now I'm not sure if I took psycho and just don't remember it, or if you did... either way this might sound hypocritical coming from me, but you are way to young for drugs...."

Once they had told him no they were not on his chems he would talk to them about why it's not okay to go feral ghoul on people and just take a chomp outta them.... Truth be told he'd done it a few times, but like he said he's a hypocrite, and he was trying to set a good example here.

Cait

"That's it! Make em' pay!"

Its a good thing sole was prewar. Cait had seen her for share of people bite off more than they can chew and ending up losing a tooth. Dental care isn't exactly great in the wastes, but this little shit has teeth of steel perfect for chomping and chomp they shall.

Danse

"Absolutely not acceptable soldier! You are part of the brotherhood, not a common scavver, you can't go around biting people."

He'd sound like an angry dad the entire time. He'd lecture sole the whole way back to the prydwen/police station about ethics and what is and isn't acceptable in hand to hand combat

Curie

"While I know you were in quite the pickle there, please do not bite people! You could get many unwanted diseases"

Shes very concerned about soles health both mental and physical, but for the moment she's more concerned about them becoming ill, and is to stunned to try and tackle the mental this very instant.

Deacon

"I'm guessing you're a little behind on your rabies shots? Did you know rabies is one of the most deadly illnesses? Its said once you start experiencing symptoms its already to late..... welp guess you're screwed"

If he had successfully spooked sole with the rabies lie he'd call it a day, but if they rolled their eyes and didn't belive him he'd keep trying to sell them the whole rabies thing until he felt they were efficiently scared. He's of the opinion if someone traumatizes you, you traumatize them right back. He never though a child could creep him out this much, but holy shit being bitten by a crazed child was now on deacons top 10 fears list. Safe to say he's either sleeping with one eye open, or duck taping the little piranha's mouth shut before bed.

Piper

"Blue! We do not bite people... If they weren't already dead I'd consider making you apologize! Now please for the love of everything, spit that out"

She'd be disgusted. Did Sole know where that had been? And if they did, did they really want it in their mouth? Yuck.

Nick

"Now why would you do that... I cant imagine commonwealth cuisine could ever taste good let alone raw....come on let's get you cleaned up... got a bit of raider stuck in your teeth"

Maniacal beeping is one thing, but chewing down on some low lives is another, beyond the part where it's just plain gross its also not the most morally sound way of dealing with threats either...

Preston

"Uhhh you've got blood.... in your teeth?"

A child going feral was not apart of what he had planned today give him a minute to ground himself. Preston's internally freaking out, because what the fuck just happened!?

X6-88

"That was lazy Sir/Ma'am. Next time you get close enough to bite someone, try sticking your thumbs in their eye socket instead... trust me it's far more effective.... and far more satisfying"

He's done it before...

[sophiria]

could I request a gojo x fem reader pls? where she can't touch people (and people can't touch her too) due to her cursed technique. it's like she has gojo's infinity, but unlike him, she can't turn it off. the technique disappears when she dies and it's literally the only time satoru gets to touch her for the first time ever :(((

Thank you for the request, lovely anon. I hope you enjoy my take on it <3

Kiss me hard before you go

Gojo Satoru x fem!Reader

Warnings and tags: heavy angst with a hopeful ending, character death with a twist, kissing, references to wounds, injuries, violence and death but nothing graphic, references to amnesia

Word count: 1,400

As Gojo held your body tightly to himself, his tears of despair soaked the crown of your head. He was bent over in grief, his hands clutching at your upper body as your back rested against his chest. He had dreamed for so long of holding you between his arms, breaking through the walls of your Infinity, which for you was more of a curse than a blessing. But not like this—never like this, with the fight leaving your body as you slowly succumbed to the wounds provoked by a Special Grade Cursed Tool.

“Baby,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears fell over your hair, “Okkotsu Yuta is going to be here soon, okay?”

A faint smile appeared on your lips as tiredness weighed your frame, now barely feeling the pain of your injuries as you focused on the warmth of his embrace. “Satoru…” you whimpered as your breathing was growing shallow and your head hazy, “my Infinity can be breached only when I’m dying. You know that.”

He immediately shook his head at your words. “Don’t—” he choked out as his body trembled, inwardly berating himself for not being able to use the Reverse Cursed Technique, “just don’t. You know that Yuta is gonna save you.”

You weakly squeezed his hands as his fingers intertwined with yours. “At least I can finally feel you, Satoru.”

He gently pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “And you will feel me again,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “once you’re healed, I’m going to find a way for you to control Infinity like my family and I do.”

You slowly close your eyes, allowing yourself to imagine the blissful possibility for a few moments. Then, you took a shaky breath as you tried to push down what you knew would remain just a dream you could never realize in this life. Still, you wanted to indulge him.

“That sounds amazing, Satoru,” you whispered as his lips found your temple, planting a kiss on it, “I’m sure that if there’s one person who can find a solution to my everlasting Infinity, it is you.”

A shaky smile appeared on his lips at your words. “That’s right, baby,” he said, swallowing hard, “anything for you.”

Despite the exhaustion of your body and the sorrow in your mind, you smiled to yourself. You had spent a long time thinking that the affection you felt towards Gojo was unrequited, but then he had confessed his feelings to you just a few days before the mission that doomed your fate. What terrible timing, and yet, subdued bubbles of joy made your now feeble heart flutter as you thought about it.

“I love you,” Gojo said while your vision was blurred with bittersweet tears and a small gasp left your lips, “I love you and I’ll keep loving you.”

You slightly tilted your head, placing your ear over his pounding heart. “I love you too, Satoru,” you breathed, “I always did.”

Gojo grasped your chin, tilting it up. His turquoise eyes were bloodshot, and his hair disheveled as tears doused his cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed you, pouring fondness and despair into it as your lips parted and you slowly reciprocated, locking your lips with him.

His eyes welled up with tears once again as your breathing slowed down, and he cupped your cheeks, whimpering into your mouth as you went unresponsive and your kisses stopped. Anguish chewed at his gut while a dull ache filled his heart, and he clung to your body as he wailed, placing his dampened cheek against your cold one.

A hot rage swelled within himself as he thought about who dared lay a hand on you, and he was able to do something he had never done before—unleashing the most destructive of his Extension Techniques, the Hollow Purple, without even moving a finger. 

Purple waves of cosmic power were released outside the warehouse you were in, destroying anything in their path, both devilish curses and innocent bystanders.

Unbeknownst to his Six Eyes, there was someone who had witnessed everything but had chosen not to intervene.

Not yet.

And as Gojo’s destructive force of grief and wrath was devastating the land around your location, the shadow of a Cursed Spirit began to walk among the ruins with the intent of revealing himself to the anguished white-haired sorcerer.

Consumed by the overwhelming emotions, Satoru initially didn’t notice a silhouette coming towards him as he held your body between his arms.

“Human emotions are genuinely horrifying, aren’t they?”

Gojo anchored his tearful, enraged gaze on the source of the voice, and his eyes narrowed. “Sukuna!” he growled, activating his Infinity to shield the both of you, “don’t take another step.”

The King of Curses tilted his head, his inquisitive stare studying your inanimate frame. “Her soul is not gone yet,” he told the white-haired sorcerer, “she’s still with you, floating between life and death.”

Gojo ground his teeth. “Don’t you dare speak about her!” he hissed, “and give the control of that body back to Yuji.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Or what?” he challenged, “will you blast me away like you did with this town, or...” he leaned forward as Satoru tensed, pulling your body even closer to his chest, “...will you listen to me and let me do something to bring her back to you?”

Gojo scowled, clenching his fists. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he snarled.

Sukuna let out an exasperated sigh. “Usually, I would try and annihilate you without a second thought...but today I’m here to help you.”

Gojo clenched his jaw and then shook his head. “Someone like you would never do that without a price.”

The King of Curses hummed in approval. “That’s correct,” he conceded, “but this time, luck would have it that I’m feeling generous. And your sweet sorcerer is too valuable to perish.”

Satoru gave Sukuna an unreadable stare before focusing his attention on your face for a minute. 

“I’m going to bring you back, baby,” he mumbled, his fingers delicately tracing your cheeks, “very soon.”

Gojo stood up with you in his arms and then anchored his cool gaze on the Cursed Spirit inhabiting Yuji’s body. 

“Tell me what to do in order to bring her back to me.”

Sukuna grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “I just need to touch her soul and transfer some of my cursed energy into it,” he explained to Gojo, “so that she can come out of the limbo she’s currently in and rejoin the land of the living once more.”

Satoru gave him a slight nod. “If you hurt her or try using a Binding Vow,” he began, his voice as glacial as the deepest winter, “there won’t be anything left of you, Sukuna.”

Sukuna raised his eyebrows. “If I wanted to hurt your sweet sorcerer, I would have done it by now,” he stated flatly. “Besides, I already have one Binding Vow with the brat, and that’s enough for me.”

The Cursed Spirit then took a step forward and closed the distance between your bodies. “I must warn you though—when she comes back, she could be different.”

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “The last time I did this, that person came back without their Cursed Energy.”

Gojo clenched his teeth. He could work with that, as long as you were okay and in his arms. “As long as no harm comes to her, do what you have to do.”

Sukuna quickly grasped your arm, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes. His Cursed Energy began to flow from his body to yours, and your figure shed a glow of purple with red and black hues.

Gojo’s nerves hummed with anticipation as apprehension clouded his features. Then, he heard your breathing and heartbeat picking up, and his heart palpitated with euphoria.

The Strongest Sorcerer held his breath, forgetting about Sukuna being nearby, and he tenderly called out your name as your eyes slowly fluttered open.

You blinked as you heard a voice uttering your name with fondness. You angled your head towards one side as you realized you were in someone’s arms, and your gaze landed on an angelic face.

“Baby,” he gulped and then took a deep breath, “how do you feel?”

You brought your hand to his cheek, and the tip of your fingers traced his features. “I feel good,” you murmured as his eyes lit up, “your face looks familiar to me,“ you trailed off as his eyes widened, “what is your name?“

[cjsinkythoughts]

Right From Left

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 3085

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo being a punk, Bucky getting a little scary, some feelings, Sam being his fantastic, amazing, caring for everyone self

A/N: Here it is! At long last! I’ve been waiting for this episode and it was…holy fuck. I barely have words. And I can’t start or else I’ll be ranting for pages. Anyways, I know this Part is a little on the shorter side - not by much, but it still is - and it doesn’t even cover half the episode, but I’ve had a long day and I’m tired, so I’m going to sleep. I wanted to stop before Walker entered the picture too, because then I’m just gonna get more riled up and I’m working later. I’ll probably have another part out today, and then I’ll finish it tomorrow. Unless I can finish it today. I’ll try, but no promises.

Feel free to rant to me about the episode or the show, too, guys! My friends and I have been going back and forth about it for the past few hours. I’d love to hear your thoughts! I think that’s all for now.

As always, this isn’t beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you for reading, be kind to yourself and others, enjoy this part and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

!SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

You were avoiding him.

When you first got to Latvia, he had pulled you aside, eyes wide and pleading. “Doll, listen-”

“I really don’t think right now is the time to have the discussion we’re about to have.” Shaking your head, you avoided his gaze, your stomach twisting into knots. It was too much for you to handle; you couldn’t focus on the mission at hand and try to unravel the emotions that were making your gut flip like a gymnast. There were too many thoughts in your head, and you needed a clear mind.

“But-”

“Once this is all done, and our lives aren’t in danger. Once we’re back home, then we can talk, okay? Just…please. Not here. Not now.”

And he dropped it. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk about it. You just couldn’t. You had always been a ‘leave your baggage at the door’ type of person. Don’t mix work with personal. Not like you had much “personal” anyways when you first decided that was how it should be. And then your coworkers became family and your motto got a lot harder to follow. But you still followed it. And you would continue to follow it.

But that made you start avoiding him. Whether you meant to or not, everyone noticed, but no one said anything. Sam shot you a look when you didn’t offer to go with Bucky when he had to check something out. Zemo raised an eyebrow when he came back and, instead of immediately questioning him, you sat still on the couch, eyes glancing up briefly, before going back to playing with the strings of your hoodie.

You were paying attention to their conversation, especially when Karli Morgenthau was brought up, you just didn’t join in. Not even when Zemo mentioned the Avengers, eyeing you to see your reaction.

Honestly, you were tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Your shoulder hurt, your brain couldn’t process what the guys were talking about, and your heart couldn’t take any more hits.

It was something you’d been thinking about…you just thought it’d come after this mission.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her…or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.”

For the first time since he first walked in, your eyes met Bucky’s. “Touche.” Zemo pointed at Bucky with a pastry around his finger. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

But you couldn’t wait until after this mission. Not when he was so connected to it. “I think I’m gonna go home.” You blurted out before Zemo and Bucky could argue further, Bucky slumping down onto the opposite side of the couch.

The moment the words left your lips, Sam and Bucky shot up, staring at you in disbelief.

“Wait, hold up. What? Now? We’re so close-”

“Why? Is it your arm? Is it hurting? You should’ve told us-”

“I’m just tired.” You cut in, shaking your head. “That’s all. I didn’t expect this to be drawn out this long when you called, Sammy.”

Bucky’s hand twitched as he hesitatingly scooted closer to you. “Doll, if this is because what happened on the jet-”

“It’s not, Buck.” You tried to give him a convincing smile, but you knew by the look in his eyes that he didn’t buy it for one second. You reached over to squeeze his hand, and when you pulled back, he held on tighter, a sigh escaping his lips as he stared down at your linked hands.

“Okay…if you wanna go home, we can get you home. Just…” His head turned back to you, a pleading pout on his features. “Just…stay. Another day. Please. You can keep avoiding me, I won’t even say another word to you if you don’t want. But stay. Just for one more day.”

Chewing on your cheek, you finally nodded slightly. “Okay. One more day.”

His eyes lit up, before his face fell again when you took your hand back and curled into the corner of the couch. “Let’s talk shop, boys.”

“Okay. So, from my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?” Sam easily changed the topic back to the situation at hand, giving you a reassuring wink when you smiled at him gratefully. “So when I was a kid, my Tee Tee passed away.”

Bucky screwed his face up in confusion, straightening his head from where he had it leaned back. “Your - your Tee Tee?”

Sam gave him a look. “Yeah. My-my Tee Tee, yeah.”

Bucky looked at him weirdly. “Who is your Tee Tee?”

The exchange made you giggle a little bit, shaking your head. “Bucky’s a city boy from the 40’s, remember, Sammy?”

“Fine.” Sam rolled his eyes. “When I was a kid my aunt passed away.”

Bucky gave a slight huff, making you chuckle again. You stopped when he smiled over at you, but your grin didn’t leave your face. Even when they were the ones to give you a headache, your fellas were damn entertaining, that’s for sure.

With a sort-of plan in place - the gathering for Donya being no more than a theory, but the only idea you really had - you stretched out from your spot on the couch, twisting to crack your back. “Zemo.” The man stopped his rummaging through the cabinets and looked over his shoulder at you, an eyebrow raised. “Go put some clothes on. We’ve got work to do.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, opening his mouth, but Sam beat him to the punch. “Do as the lady says, man. You’re already walking on a tightrope after you shot Nagel!” Zemo waved dismissively at Sam’s exclamation, heading into a separate room to change out of his robe. “That guy is gonna drive me up the wall.”

“Don’t let him get to that pretty head of yours, Sammy.” You hummed, standing up, wincing slightly as you stretched your sore shoulder over your head.

You could tell Bucky wanted to say something, the way he snapped forwards, hands moving down his thigh like he was leaning over to reach for you, his eyes locked on your injured joint, but, just as he said earlier, he didn’t say a word. But the part that made you upset was…you didn’t stop him. You didn’t tell him it was okay for him to talk to you. You didn’t reassure him that you weren’t purposely trying to avoid him. You simply moved over to the kitchen to get something to drink.

It hurt worse than your shoulder, but you couldn’t handle it. Not then. Not with such an important part of the mission coming up. So you didn’t say anything. You just sipped your water, switching into tactic mode as your mind ran through the scenarios of what could possibly go down in the next 24 hours before you went home.

*************************

Walking under the arch, you couldn’t help but feel saddened as Zemo told you about what the courtyard used to look like. Thanos messed the world up so much more than you realized and, as much as you hated to admit it, the Avengers did have a part in it. Not that they - you - were in the wrong, necessarily. You truly believed you did what anyone in that situation, with the skills and abilities and knowledge the team had, would do what you did. Or tried to do.

“I’m gonna take a look around upstairs.” Sam stated, looking up at the upper stories of the building, before glancing at Bucky. “See what you can find out here. And keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll come with you.” You said, turning on your heel to follow Sam. The back of Bucky’s gloved hand brushed against yours, and instinctually you turned your palm to link your fingers and squeezing. You let go quickly once you realized what you were doing, nearly tripping up the stairs to get to Sam, not daring to wait for Bucky’s reaction.

“You’re an idiot.” He stated simply as soon as you met him at the top of the stairs.

“Can we focus on finding Donya right now, please?” You grumbled, moving forwards cautiously, peeking around the corner. You frowned when you saw two guys at the end of the hallway, looking back at you and Sam warily.

“You need to hear what he has to say, cher.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I know I do. I know. But I can’t. Not right now. I’m just trying to get this over with first. I don’t want too many things on my plate. I might choke.” It already felt like you were drowning most nights.

He paused at your words, giving you a once over, before nodding. “Okay. I can respect that.”

“Thank you.” You told him earnestly. “Now let’s try to get something from these people.”

He nodded in agreement and you two continued forwards with your search. Room after room, people walked out before you could get anything from them, locking doors behind them. The Flag Smashers logo was everywhere, but you expected nothing less from a refugee camp that practically worshipped what they were doing.

Even when you did get a guy to talk to you, he immediately shut you down, leaving you and Sam dejected. The fact that the world had gotten so bad that these people couldn’t trust you and Sam - Avengers; people who used to be heroes and bring hope to others - it made your heart sink.

“C’mon, Y/N.”

“Are we wrong?”

He froze at your question, his lips pressing together. “About what, exactly?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…I guess I can’t tell right from left anymore. I always assumed that the Avengers were the good guys. That the actions we’ve taken in the past were us making the world a better place, but…Sokovia and Ultron. Germany and the whole civil war thing we had going on. The entire world and Thanos. We don’t truly ever win. Do we?”

“I can’t answer that for you.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t tell you what to believe or who to believe in. But I can tell you that we’ve made a difference. Steve, Nat, Tony…they made a difference.”

“But was it a good difference? Was it a change? There’s a difference between changing the world and just making it different, Sam.”

He blinked at you, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. And I don’t have that answer for you either. But they tried. They did what they thought was right. No matter if it was or not. And isn’t that all we can do? Try?”

His words made you think back to the conversation you had with Bucky once he learned about John Walker, which seemed so long ago. When you told him it wasn’t Sam’s fault. That he was just trying. That he did what he thought was right. 

And maybe he was wrong. But he made a decision. It was his decision. To do the right thing. And right then, not for the first time, you could see exactly what Steve saw in the man in front of you.

“You’re a good man, Sam.”

Sam grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders and squeezing. “And you’re an incredible person, Y/N. Let’s go see if Bucky and the Baron got anything.”

You snickered at his mocking tone towards Zemo and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

*****************************

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like it one bit. So far, Zemo kept proving you wrong. Even when it seemed like he was about to jump ship, he came back. No matter how many opportunities he had to escape, he never did. And it was making you even more suspicious.

You stayed out of Bucky and Sam’s conversation, although you had to agree with Sam’s point, especially with the conversation you just had.

Your thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, only to be interrupted by Zemo information about the funeral this afternoon. Guess a snake will always be a snake.

“And you, uh, didn’t think this was important information?” You questioned, eyes narrowed and brow pinched.

He shrugged. “You have it now, don’t you, princess?”

Bucky growled at the nickname, leaning back on the couch, threatening Zemo with the Dora Milaje.

You can’t remember a time you’ve ever been scared of Bucky. Maybe a little threatened and intimidated by the Winter Soldier, but never scared of Bucky. And when he stood up after Zemo mentioned leverage, you didn’t expect anything from it; maybe another choke hold or something. So the glass hitting the wall, the clench in his jaw as he spoke gruffly to the Baron, for a mere second, he kind of frightened you. Maybe it was all the emotions you’d been through the past few weeks or maybe it was the adrenaline that seemed to be pulsing through your veins 24/7 nowadays. Whatever it was, it made you flinch, bolting up as Sam did.

You left the room quickly, hearing Sam say something about making a call, hoping to calm your racing heart.

“Doll?” You sat up from the bed you were laying on, legs hanging off the edge. Bucky stood in the doorway, nervously shifting his feet. “I know I said I’d leave you alone, but…”

You gave the bed a pat next to you and he gladly accepted the invitation, padding over to sit besides you. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Buck. You’re my best friend. I-I just need to take it one thing at a time right now.”

He nodded. “I get it. I wasn’t…I wasn’t coming in to talk to you about that. You said we’ll talk about it later, so we’ll talk about it later.”

“I appreciate that, Bucky.” You smiled at him, before frowning. “What did you wanna talk about then? Are you okay?”

“Did I…did I scare you?”

You blinked at his question, tilting your head. “What?”

Jerking his head to the doorway he explained, “just then. With Zemo. Your heart spiked.”

“No.” You answered immediately. You would never ever admit that he kind of did scare you. It was just for a second and you knew how his brain worked; he’d beat himself up over it, go over his actions for hours instead of getting the rest he so desperately needs and deserves. He didn’t need that on his conscience right now. “I wasn’t - I just…you startled me. I wasn’t expecting that reaction-”

“I didn’t like the way he talked to you.” He spat out, glaring at his hands in his lap. “And then the smug bastard thought he was gonna get away with holding back information like that and I just…I dunno.”

His hand came off his thigh, but he hesitated. Before he could put it down again, you slipped your hand under his, linking your fingers, running your thumb in circles against his palm. “Don’t let him get to you, Buck. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

A sigh left his lips and he nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just…hard. After everything he put me through - put us through - I…I just hate that he’s really our only option.”

You frowned, shifting on the bed to face him, one leg bending beneath you while the other still hung over. “Why are you so obsessed with catching these guys?”

“I wanna do something right.” He murmured, playing with your fingers. “I’ve done so much wrong…I just wanna do something right. And I feel...responsible for it, I guess. In a way. It’s Super Soldier Serum. I thought I was the only one after Steve…” He froze at the blonde’s mention, giving you a side-eyed glance. You nudged him, silently telling him to continue, that it was okay to talk about him. “And Sam’s right, you know. She’s just a kid. So…I dunno. I wanna help. I wanna do something right. And catching them would help. It’s right. Right?”

You nodded firmly. “I understand where they’re coming from. Karli’s just trying to help the world. But she’s doing it wrong. And that I know for absolute certainty. Which is good, I guess. I was talking to Sam early and I mentioned not knowing my right from my left recently. It’s good I know something, huh? And for you it should be easy telling your right from your left.” You joked, tracing the gold lines on his metal arm. “I guess you’re just gonna have to stay besides me to help me remember.”

Looking up, you found Bucky staring at you with something you recognized in his eyes, but didn’t want to name. “Three hours, forty two minutes and thirty one seconds.”

“What?”

“That’s how long I didn’t talk to you. It was too long.”

You sighed, ducking your head. “Bucky, I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry. For anything and everything I’ve ever done wrong. I won’t mention the plane or anything we’ve talked about until you bring it up first. I promise. Just…just don’t ignore me anymore? I'm not sure I can handle it for much longer.”

You nodded, watching your fingertips dance along his scruffy jaw. “I won’t.” He caught your wrist, opening his mouth, before shaking his head and closing it. “What?”

He shook his head again. “Not until you bring it up.”

“We will talk, James. I promise.”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it. I really do. It’s okay. As long as we’re okay for right now, I can hold it in a bit longer.”

You nearly asked him what he was holding in, but you quickly shoved the question out of your mind, knowing it would take you down a conversation you couldn’t possibly have right then. “How long do you think we have?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Zemo just said that it’s this afternoon. Why?”

“I started reading The Great Gatsby on the plane. I’ve got it on my phone. It kinda reminds me of you. Do you-do you think we have time to read some? Only if you want, I mean. Like we used to do in Wakanda?”

He grinned and nodded, scooting up on the bed and flopping down into the pillows. You smiled back, following his lead. Once you were comfortable, your phone out with the chapter you were on, Bucky scooted closer, laying his head on your stomach, hugging your waist. 

“Is this okay?”

Your fingers found home in his hair and you nodded when he looked up at you for an answer. “Yeah. It’s perfect, Buckaroo.”

[highdramas]

the world’s a little blurry | b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

word count: 2107

summary: bucky is home, and he is yours

note: this is a one shot for now, but i definitely have more ideas for these two <3 this’ll be heavily inspired by tfatws so this is a spoiler warning for anything mentioned! also this is my first time writing bucky so pleaseeeeee give me some mercy lol

enjoy! <3

it’s nearly three in the morning, and you’re lucky if you stay up past midnight, so bucky makes a point to be quiet as he tiptoes into the apartment. after a mission gone awry in the apartment building where you had been neighbors, you’ve been staying with the superhero. something about not losing you and you’re safest here. bucky’s not stupid— caring about someone is a gamble, and it had become clear to his enemies who exactly it was that he cared about.

living with you came lots of things that bucky was not expecting. first off, you’re very cluttered. you call it controlled chaos, he calls it a mess. he’s fascinated by the state of your night stand, mostly. a dying plant and one loose airpod, two half empty water bottles, an empty starbucks cup.

second off, you have a cat. her name is katherine, but you call her kitty, occasionally kiki. and while bucky had been determined not to get attached, after awhile, it was difficult not to. she rubbed up on his legs, cuddled in his lap on the couch, slept on his chest in the middle of the night. she’s fucking adorable, and not even the winter soldier can deny that.

third off… you. you as a whole. he’s sure that it would’ve been a shock living with anyone, but the care that you give him… he’s not used to having someone making sure he’s eating. he’s not used to someone checking up on him throughout the day. he’s not used to having someone to come home to.

it’s nice.

it feels safe.

and he’ll kill anyone who tries to take this peace away from him.

bucky groans as he shucks his jacket off, feeling exactly where his muscles ache. he tries to keep his volume minimal. finally, he opens the door to the bedroom. the bedroom that you share.

this was the biggest adjustment of all.

he’d barely slept in a bed at all before you came along. too soft, too comfortable. he told you as much that first night, and what you had said shocked him.

“well, i’ll just sleep on the floor with you.”

no, oh, just get in bed. no, c’mon, it’s nice. none of those things. just understanding.

but it was more than understanding. it was meeting him exactly where he was.

that was three months ago, and you had kept your word. if you weren’t sleeping on the floor with him, you were on the couch with your hand tangling down, brushing along his hair, his shoulder. every time he felt you bucky swore that he could cry.

it was two months ago that he suggested you both sleep in the bed. and while it wasn’t every night, and some nights he padded out to the living room with a blanket and pillow… it was progress.

and he would wake up to find that you had joined him on the floor.

the nightmares weren’t gone. he’s not sure if they ever would be. but they were growing few and farer between, and the ones he did have were growing more manageable.

things were getting better.

of course, they were not perfect. and he knew that you didn’t expect them to be. he has therapy once a week, sometimes twice during the particularly hard weeks. he’s grown close with sam and his family. and… you.

his girl.

as the door creaks open, he almost chuckles at the sight of you. you’re laying horizontally across the bed, taking up both your side and bucky’s. katherine is curled in at your chest, her nose nearly touching yours. your mouth is open and he can see that there’s a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth, and that does make him laugh. it stirs you and he freezes.

bucky watches as you slowly wake, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and then rubbing the drool from your mouth. “ew,” you mumble, still half asleep, and bucky leans in the doorway wearing a smirk.

“go back to sleep, doll.”

you hum and stretch, and so does katherine, giving a wide yawn. “you’re home.”

home.

had he ever had a home before? 

he did once, as a child. a time that feels so distant, so separate from the life that he leads now. sometimes, it’s hard to even picture the faces of his family members.

he had this apartment, but it never felt like home. not until you waltzed into it with your clutter and your laughter and your vibrancy. not until you cooked dinner hip to hip, not until you listened to music that he had never heard of, not until you watched some movie that was your favorite.

you’re home.

bucky smiles and he nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing your hair back. “i’m home,” he says quietly. “i’m sorry i’m so late.”

you shake your head, your hand taking his. he still wears the gloves. you raise your eyebrows at him. “can i?”

he nods. you make quick work of removing each of his gloves, tossing them across the room, which makes bucky smile. he knows he’ll be picking those up in the morning. you press a kiss to his palm, the one that is flesh and bone. and then you take the other and do the same. “missed you, buck.”

something in his heart constricts as he watches you-- washed in moonlight that comes in through the window, sleepy smile on your face, eyes fixed on him. he knows that look, and he knows what it means. he doesn’t know if he deserves it, but he tries. he’ll always try for you.

“i wasn’t even gone twenty four hours,” the smirk is evident in his tone even if you can’t see it, but you scoff and roll your eyes. “i think you’re needy.”

“needy!” you repeat and laugh, falling back onto the pillow. kitty stirs and looks up at bucky, letting out a loud meow. “she’s the needy one. look at her.”

“both of you.” he scratches kitty’s head and then kisses the top of yours before he stands again. “i’m gonna shower.”

sleep is escaping you and you push yourself up onto your palms. “can i join you?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek and shrugs his shoulders innocently. “better pick up the pace then, soldier.”

with a laugh, you kick the sheets off of you. “yes sir.”

he rolls his eyes and you both shuffle into the bathroom. now, in the light, you’re able to get a good look at him. and your jaw drops slightly at what you see. “bucky,” you say and he already knows what’s coming. you touch the side of his face where a bruise is blossoming. “how the hell does this even happen?”

“part of the gig.”

you groan and he smiles and he does so because he loves you. he loves your mess and he loves your doting, he loves your cat and he loves coming home to see that you’ve taken up the entire bed. “you’re an old man. one of these days you’re gonna have to retire.”

“got unfinished business first.”

you know of his past. of course you do. although, you’re a firm believer that it’s not his past, rather than a past that was decided for him against his will. you’ve made a point of making your stance in that clear. you have heard stories of what bucky has done, but you have tutted and shaken your head. “what hydra did.”

these are the things that bucky tells himself, but it is different to hear it from someone else. someone who is not steve, or sam, or another avenger who has also committed morally grey acts. because, yes, they are all good and trustworthy and worth listening to-- but you. you are his girl. you are his girl who laughs at his jokes and teases him and never once babies him for what happened to him, but you’re also the girl who has woken him from nightmares, who has tended to his wounds, who has been held back from a fight just to defend his honor. you have seen him in his entirety, and you have never balked.

“alright, well--” it’s not lost on you how his eyes trail down your body as you undress, turning on the water and checking the temperature. “as soon of this business of yours is finished…”

“i know.”

the two of you share a look and he gives a crooked grin. “you look nice.”

“there’s dried drool on my face.”

“yeah, i know.”

it’s been nearly a year since you met james buchanan barnes and yet he still gets you to blush. he practically lights up at the sight of the color on your cheeks. “are you--”

“shut up and get in the shower,” you retort, pulling back the curtain and stepping into the steaming water.

“yes, ma’am.” you hear the shuffling of his clothes falling to the floor and then he is behind you, hands going up and down your arms. you let out a sigh and tilt your head back, peering up at him. water trails down his nose, dripping off and onto your forehead.

you don’t tell bucky, but you do worry. you worry every second that he’s gone on a mission. you know that you don’t have to say it, that he knows. and you trust that he will come home to you. bucky turns you and he holds your face in his hands and he presses his lips to yours and you know that he feels the same way.

i’ll always come back is spelled out in the way that he kissed you, the way that he holds the back of your head. we have forever is heaved from your lungs as he sucks the air from you.

when you part, you smile at his lips-- slightly swollen, pinker than normal. you rub your thumb along the bottom one and he catches your hand. he presses it on his chest, right where his heart hides beneath skin and bone. “you don’t have to do all of this to make up for what they did to you,” you say over the sound of water. “you’re allowed to have a normal life, if you want it.”

“i know.” he pushes a piece of wet hair from your face. “i just don’t--” he shakes his head and you know this all too well-- he doesn’t quite know what to say, he starts closing up and off and away, the high walls that guard his heart and mind beginning to take shape. “i feel like if i don’t… what was it all for?”

delicate hands move across his torso. you lather up a loofah and begin washing away blood and grime. “bucky,” you say and he looks at you, steely blue eyes staring right into yours. “you make people happy. you have people who love you, who care for you. you don’t owe the world reparations.”

he winces as you go over a particular bruise and you slow your movements, make them featherlight. “all i know is,” you begin. “whatever it is you want, whatever it is that fulfills your life… make sure it’s for you.”

a smile curls on his face and he stills your hands. “thank you.” he takes the loofah from you. “let me get you.”

“but i’m not done--”

“please. let me.”

you surrender and he begins to wash you, and your forehead falls to his shoulder, calm washing over your body. you could’ve been standing there for minutes or hours, you’re unsure. he pushes your hair back and at some point you realize that he is washing your hair, and you press gently open mouthed kisses against his chest and you hear his breath catch and you fall in love with him all over again.

“let me get yours--” you mumble around a yawn and you watch as he smirks down at you. “really, let me.”

bucky shakes his head and he turns the water off. “tomorrow,” he says.

you towel off and when you clamber into bed, you feel the weight of him beside you, your cat nestled between the both of you. you feel him pull you into him, his breath against your neck and his lips against your pulse point, and your eyes flutter shut. before sleep captures you, you murmur, “i love you, james bucky barnes.”

the feeling of his smile against your skin is imprinted on your heart, and his words coax you into sleep-- “i love you too, doll.”

bucky barnes sleeps through the night and doesn’t wake once.

[miyacreampie]

Lenny sensei's night class has begun!~♡

“Senpai~♡”

synopsis 💭;; Tanaka gets jealous bc some bitch talking to his man.

note 🖋️;; IT TOOK A WHOLE FUCKIN WEEK TO WRITE THIS. WHY DOES WORK ALWAYS PREVENT ME FROM DOING THE THINGS I LIKE? WHAT THE ACTUAL FU- by the way, ‘Isayama Misaki’ is based off of some asswipe I used to know- also, I ran out of ideas at the end, so it kinda cuts of lf at the good part. I apologize to the anon that requested this.

Requested by anon ♡

Male pronouns used

Tanaka wasn't a jealous man. Or at least he'd like to think so.

(Y/n) was pretty popular around campus, so it wasn't a surprise to see a few fangirls here or there. It kinda reminded him of Oikawa—except (Y/n) didn't exactly pay his fangirls any attention. (And he didn't have an ass as flat as printer paper.) But did that stop them from trying to get into his pants? No.

In all honesty, Ryu felt lucky that he had someone like (Y/n) as a boyfriend, although he didn't like the fangirls—who paid him no mind whenever they were together. It annoyed him that they kept surrounding (Y/n) who clearly wanted nothing to do with them, begging him for dates, one night stands, anything.

To say that Tanaka was mildly uncomfortable was an understatement.

🌇🌇

Today was a bit different. Instead of a crowd of women rushing towards (Y/n), it was just one—; Misaki Isayama. The woman (almost) every guy considered perfect. This was...manageable, but what did she want? Well—at least it was only one girl. He had only woken up a little over an hour ago, and wasn't exactly ready for his simps just yet.

“(L/n)-chan, can you help me study for the science exam that's coming up?”

“Just because you're my upperclassman, doesn't mean you can call me that.” (Y/n) said quietly, rubbing his eyes, then yawning. “I'm on my way to the lecture hall though, so maybe after that? I should be fully awake by then..”

Misaki smiled and nodded her head. “It's a date!”

“No. No it's not.”

🏙️🏙️

Tanaka let (Y/n) lean on him during the lecture. That turned into one sided cuddling from the sleepy man. Ryu thought it was cute how (Y/n) always clung to him when he was sleepy. He was a little sad when (Y/n) fully awoke, and let him go, but it was for the best.

“Oh, Ryu-san. I'm tutoring the rumored ‘perfect woman’, and it's gonna be awkward with just the two of us, so can y—”

“You headin to the library? I was on my way there anyway. I'll join ya.”

The (h/c) haired man nodded, and they both walked all the way to the other side of the schoolyard to the library building. Tanaka even held (Y/n)'s hand to flex on the girls they passed by. Some of the girls were noticeably annoyed or a little angry, which pleased him.

When they finally arrived, Misaki was standing by the door. Upon seeing Ryu, she scowled. But it was only for a second.

“Ah, (L/n)-kun..who's this?”

(Y/n) smiled, oblivious to Misaki and Tanaka glaring at each other. Needless to say, the intense atmosphere went right over his head. “This is my boyfriend..Tanaka. He'll be joining us if that's okay.”

“‘Perfect woman’ my ass..the only ‘perfect woman’ I know is Kiyoko-san.” Tanaka mumbled under his breath. (Y/n) may not have known, but Misaki and Tanaka were always competitive with each other. Other times he wouldn't have cared, but now that (Y/n) is what he's fighting for, he wasn't gonna back down.

“Oh, it's fine.” Misaki said through gritted teeth.

🏙️🏙️

Isayama and Tanaka were left sitting at a table alone, while (Y/n) searched for the science books. They sat in complete silence, but it was almost as if you could hear their thoughts—mentally arguing with one another.

(Y/n) returned with three books, seating himself between Isayama and Ryu. “Okay! Let's get started!”

***

As (Y/n) went on explaining the laws of physics (because Tetsurou used to tutor him), Misaki and Tanaka continued their epic staring battle. The battle ended once they noticed that (Y/n) had stopped talking. He was chewing his tongue in thought, trying to figure out how to pronounce a word.

Misaki didn't notice, but (Y/n) had gone from physics, to microbiology. In less than five minutes.

“Something wrong?”

“How do you say this word again..?” The (e/c) eyed man pointed to a bolded word in the textbook, leaning back a bit so the other two could see.

A suffocating silence reigned over the three of them, but only for about three seconds.

Isayama squinted a bit before she spoke. “Endothelial?”

“Oh yeah. Thanks, senpai.”

Isayama smiled smugly at Ryuunosuke. The said man had a visible tick mark (💢) on the side of his head, symbolizing his annoyance. Tanaka only wanted (Y/n) to call him ‘senpai’—even if they were the same age (if not, then (Y/n) might be older). It made him feel like he was a dependable upperclassman, maybe even a bit turned on in certain situations. But hearing (Y/n) call someone else senpai..made him a little sad.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone vibrating. As Tanaka reached into his pocket to get his phone, he caught (Y/n) putting his own phone in his jacket pocket. Tanaka turned on his phone to see a message from (Y/n) in his recent notifications.

Pretty boy💖: Go to the bathroom. I'll join you later.

Although he was a bit confused, he got up from his chair. “‘M gonna go take a leak.” Ryu said as he started to make his way towards the men's restroom.

Almost five minutes pass before (Y/n) goes into the bathroom after Tanaka, telling Misaki that he was checking on him. As soon as (Y/n) had passed the first bathroom stall, he was yanked into the second one, the door locking almost immediately after it shut behind him. He wasn't given any time to react before he felt a familiar pair of soft lips violently smash against his own. (Not violent enough to make his mouth bleed or anything. Chill.)

A heated battle for dominance arose between the two, (Y/n) quickly taking the lead as he gently bit Ryu's lip.

They didn't want this to end, but eventually Tanaka had to break the kiss because he couldn't breathe. He stood there, breathless in his boyfriend's arms, not wanting (Y/n) to let go.

“Ryuunosuke..” Tanaka flinched upon his first name being said—even though (Y/n) said it many times before. His reaction brought a smile to (Y/n)'s face. “I love you~..” He said, drawing out the three words in a sing-song voice.

Ryu felt his legs getting weak, and held onto (Y/n) for dear life. (Somewhat out of fear that he might fall.) He wasn't actually feeling like this because of three words...right? “Babe..am I supposed to be kinda horny right now?” It was a bit of a strange question, but hey, it never hurts to ask.

(Y/n) chuckled. “Well, yeah. I might have to carry you out of here once we're done.” His warm smile from earlier didn't falter as he spoke.

‘How can he say something like that so casually? If I say something like that, I'd get d–’ Ryu's thoughts were snapped away when he felt his chest touch the stall divider and his pants being pulled down. He let out a soft moan as (Y/n) stroked him through his boxers.

🏙️

‘What the hell is taking them so long?!’ Isayama got up from where she sat, and went to the men's bathroom. There wasn't anyone around, so no one would see her going in. She opened the first stall's door. ‘If they ditched me, I swear to go–’

“W-Wait, (Y/n)!~ Haa!~♡”

“Geez senpai, you're so wet inside~..♡”

Misaki froze. She couldn't be sure that it was (Y/n) and Tanaka in there—but those were definitely Tanaka's pants hanging over the second stall's door. Now she felt more..curious than angry. Isayama slipped into the first stall, carefully and quietly closing the door behind her, and slowly locking it so it didn't make noise.

Ryu tried to keep his breathing steady as (Y/n) fucked him with his fingers—even though that did absolutely nothing to help his current situation. Hell, he couldn't even process words anymore. The only actual word he could say was his boyfriend's name. He eventually remembered how to speak after about two minutes of being finger-fucked.

He wanted to sound more demanding, but his voice came out more whiny than what he'd have liked it to. “Fuck me already..ya fuckin– Hng!~” It may have been that he couldn't process it, or that (Y/n) had moved at the speed of sound, but Tanaka wasn't able to register how fast (Y/n) pulled his fingers out, and shoved his cock into his still tight hole. He wanted to say something, but all that came out was a choked whine.

“You were saying?~♡” (Y/n) asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a question.

Tanaka wasn't given a chance to answer due to (Y/n) ruthlessly fucking the poor man senseless. His loud whines and moans echoed throughout the bathroom, much to (Y/n)'s pleasure. He wanted everyone to know that he was a taken man. He wanted everyone on campus to hear Ryuunosuke's pleasurable cries.

Hearing the two men fucking in the next stall turned Isayama on to no end. (Even though it was more of (Y/n)'s voice that made her wet.) But she resisted touching herself because she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she masturbated to her rival getting fucked. (A kinda stupid reason, but okay.)

“Fu–fuck, (Y/n)!~ So good..it feels so good!~” Ryu babbled, the words almost incoherent as he attempted to push back against his boyfriend's cock. “More!~ Give me more!~♡” He begged, voice broken and choking on his own breath.

The (e/c) eyed man didn't say a word. As his senpai had politely asked of him, (Y/n) drove his cock so deep into Tanaka that the said man let out the loudest drawn out moan (Y/n) had ever heard from him. If it weren't for the cum spewing from the teary eyed man, (Y/n) would've thought he had hurt his lover. He wasn't entirely sure until he felt Ryu continue to push back against him, desperate for more friction.

“Aww..you're so cute when you act like a bitch in heat, senpai~..♡”

He only got a choked whine in response.

“I'm pretty close anyway..do you want it inside?~♡” (Y/n) asked, pulling the shaky man up to his chest. Again, only a whine. (Y/n) parted Ryu's lips with his fingers, those fingers soon being coated in saliva. “Use your words~..”

Finally, Tanaka spoke, despite his unintentional dry heaving. “Fuck me- please~..”

“As you wish~♡” (Y/n) almost whispered, gripping Tanaka's cock firmly, earning another broken moan from the said man. “You're the only person I'd fuck like this, you know that, right?” He said, as he rubbed the shorter man's stomach.

“Y-Yeah..that makes me happy~..”

Lmao this was like- 80% highschool drama (in a college setting), and the remaining 20% being me getting horny for no reason. Also, I'm aware this made no sense. None of the stuff I write makes sense. :)

The class session is now over!~♡

[littlefreya]

Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:  

 Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed.  🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls. 

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear. 

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’. 

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes. 

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare. 

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options. 

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake. 

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert. 

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.  

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup. 

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned. 

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity. 

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth. 

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?” 

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don’t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.” 

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake. 

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean. 

“Please stop…” 

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.  

“Then…?” 

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped. 

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date. 

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up. 

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf. 

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?” 

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!” 

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration. 

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”