#skid x pump 18+

[soullumii]

stranded | joel miller x f!reader

pairing: joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: you get stranded in the middle of a blizzard. joel comes to your rescue. you share a bed for warmth. things escalate from there...

warnings/tags: 18+ content, MDNI!, smutttttt yurrrr (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, dubious consent, lil bit of somnophilia, joel is packinggg), no outbreak!joel, modern au, implied age gap, soft!joel, pet names (peach, baby, darlin', sweet girl, sweetheart), lil bit of joel being jelly, cuddling to keep the cold at bay, fluff, NO USE OF Y/N

word count: 7.6k (idk what the fuck happened)

“Damn it!” 

You press down hard on the gas pedal, grimacing when your engine revs but the car doesn’t move an inch.

Your tires skid uselessly over the snow and your headlights reflect into a white wall of nothing—the snowfall so thick you can’t see anything in front of or around you, as if you’re trapped in a snow globe. The road is practically gone from existence.

The only thing you can hear is the wind whistling and the staticky sound of Carrie Underwood’s ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ going in and out on the radio.

Yeah, you wish he would right about now. 

“Fuuuck,” you whine, eyes stinging with unshed tears. You hit your wheel in frustration, dropping your forehead onto the horn. It honks pityingly. 

Of course, the one time you were actually going out, you had forgotten to check the weather. 

You’re probably going to die out here on this back road through the woods. There’s no one around, not that you can tell, and you’re low on gas. You were going to fill up once you got out of the woods and back into civilization, but the blizzard had other plans.

Your stomach rumbles, crying out for the dinner you had skipped in hopes of having a hearty, post-sex meal with the hook-up you are—or were—on the way to see. Though, that’s certainly not happening, and the snacks you usually had stuffed into the glovebox are gone, your sister having stolen them last week after you dropped her off at school.

(Darn that growing goober!) 

You don’t have anything that might prove useful in this situation besides the long, slim heels on your pumps (which could be used in defense), and the thin peacoat wrapped around your shoulders. You check your phone to see if you can call a towing company, but of course, it has zero bars. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper, pressing the heel of your palm to your watering eyes. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” you say to yourself, picking your head up and rubbing away the tears in your eyes. You take deep breaths and put the car into park. “You’ll be fine.”

The sudden sound of a knock on your window startles you so bad you yelp, jumping in place as ice cold terror rises up your spine. 

You can hardly see who had knocked, only their gray silhouette in the white blizzard.

The stranger knocks again. 

“You alright in there?” The shadow asks, a hint of a Texan accent curling their vowels. Shit. It’s a man. 

You slowly grab your shoe from your foot, holding it so the heel faces the window, and snow blows into your face as you carefully roll it down an inch or two for precaution, because who knows if it’s a fucking cannibal-axe-murderer who preys on unsuspecting women stranded in the snow. Maybe he does this every year—maybe this is his prime harvesting place and time. 

Your eyes are wide as you peer through the opening warily, heel at the ready. 

He’s close enough now that you can make out a prominent scowl, hard brown eyes, salt and pepper hair…

…wait a minute. You’d recognize that glower anywhere.

“Joel?”

Your lungs suddenly remember how to work again, and you inhale on a shaky breath. The hand holding your shoe drops to your thigh in relief.

His brown eyes narrow. “Peach…? The hell are you doin’ out here?” He asks, and Jesus you forgot about that stupid nickname he gave you. It sends butterflies loose in your stomach. “It’s a goddamn blizzard.” 

You scowl in exasperation, though, at his obvious observation. “Yeah, I think I know that, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“I heard a honk, figured someone needed help.” He looks you up and down, his gaze lingering on the circles of mascara around your eyes. “Guess I’m right.”

You straighten in your seat, the gratitude you feel at his presence is overshadowed by the need to look self sufficient and capable, because you are. You’re a grown ass woman! So…

“I don’t need your help,” you huff.

He arches a brow. “Really.” It’s not a question.

You glower. “Maybe.”

Joel leans an arm on the frame of your car, and taps your window once more. “C’mon. Let’s go.” 

God, this is so embarrassing!

“Fine.” You roll up the window and turn off the car. Joel tugs the car door open as far as it can go and offers a gloved hand to help you out. You wobble a bit when you step out in your heels, grateful that Joel is there to steady you. Though, the feeling sours a bit when he huffs in disbelief at your shoes. 

You send him a glare, “I had plans for tonight, okay?”

“In the middle of a blizzard?” He deadpans.

“It wasn’t that bad when I first started driving.”

“Riiiight,” he drawls, “Well, I’m sorry to say, peach, but you ain’t driving in this mess anymore. You can stay with me tonight.” He says, closing the car door behind you. 

Stay? With him? 

“Joel, I couldn’t bother you with—“

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a bother.”

Joel’s as stubborn as a bull, more so than Ellie. And she is stubborn. You don’t argue, because it’s fruitless to argue with a brick wall like him. And, faced with freezing to death out here or staying in a well-insulated building, choosing the latter is obviously the right thing to do.

“Okay,” you relent and point to your trunk. “I have a bag back there.”

He raises a brow. “Heels and a bag…What kind of plans were we talkin’ about here?”

A hook up, Joel, you mentally drawl. Because…that’s exactly why you were out. 

Like hell you’ll tell Joel that, though, he’d disapprove. He’s always been the protective type. You’ve known him since your junior year in college, after your families practically merged. But you’ve never seen Joel as another dad. He’s always been…something else to you.

“A trip to Nunya.” You supply instead of the truth, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve some heat. 

“Nunya?” Joel’s brows furrow. 

“Yeah. Nunya business, Joel.” You give him a sardonic smile. 

He shakes his head and sends you a look you’re quite familiar with, the one that makes you feel inches smaller. And ten degrees hotter. 

Joel sighs in exasperation and wordlessly wrenches the trunk open. He slings your bag over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing.

(It weighs a lot. You’d know, you shoved five different erotica books in there, just in case your date failed to make you orgasm.)

(Though thinking about Joel probably would’ve been enough.) 

You lock your vehicle with a bemused glance. “What are we gonna do about my car?” 

“I’ll tow it out tomorrow,” Joel says. “Roads are a fuckin’ mess right now.”

You trudge behind Joel to his quaint cottage sleeping cozily between tall pine trees and chubby evergreens. The porch light is on, and the windows glow a comforting orange. Puffs of smoke drift up from the chimney. It looks warm and inviting, like straight out of a Christmas movie. 

You’re impressed at how close you managed to strand yourself to his house. Maybe Jesus really did take the wheel. 

Joel kicks the snow off his boots on his front porch, then opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first. 

When you breach the doorway with Joel at your heels, warmth settles over your cold-bitten cheeks along with an alluring aroma of meat and tomato and spices that hits you in a wave. You’ve never seen Joel cook anything other than Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, or burgers on Tommy’s rusting grill before, so this is certainly a surprise. It could be Sarah or Ellie’s cooking, but last time you checked, Sarah could cook eggs and Ellie could cook, well, nothing.

“So did you hire a personal chef to make whatever smells so good?”

He sets your bag down in the foyer with a grunt and shrugs out of his coat. “I made it.”

You can’t help the disbelieving laugh that bursts out of you, and the slightly offended look on Joel’s face only makes it harder to stop. You cover your mouth with your hand, but you’re absolutely positive he can see the mirth lighting in your eyes.

Though he’s offended, there’s a twitch to his lip, as if he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” you try to stamp down your giggles. “Yes, you’re capable but… is it edible?”

Your stomach decides in that moment to start rumbling, and he smirks.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You take your coat off and follow Joel towards the kitchen. As you follow, you take in his aggressively Texan decor and furniture. Paintings of cowboys and horses and mountains are hung artfully on cozy, beige walls. The Eagles’ discography drifts merrily in the air from an old record player. There’s a guitar stationed in practically every corner. It’s all so very Joel, though the random space ornamentals and butterfly drawings sprinkled about are so very Ellie and Sarah. It makes you smile. 

“Where are the girls?” You ask, because usually those little stinkers would be stationed at the dining room table, bickering over the answer to a ridiculously difficult math problem.

“At Dina’s,” he answers, taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table. “They wanted to play in the snow.”

Oh. So you’re here alone with him. Anxiety prickles at the edges of your mind, sinking in your stomach.

“I guess I was the only one that didn’t know about the blizzard, then.” 

“You must be livin’ under a rock to not know about it.”

You grumble in protest, but your grievances disintegrate on your tongue as you enter the kitchen and near the simmering pot. You breathe in the aroma, the smell so powerful it's almost like you’re actually tasting it. 

You look over your shoulder at him. “Is this chili?”

He nods. “Want some?”

“Absolutely.”

He comes up beside you to open a cabinet. “Go ‘head make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.” Your mouth dries at the sliver of skin that peeks out beneath his flannel as he reaches up.

You force yourself to turn around. “Wow. Such a gentleman, didn’t realize you were capable,” you say, your saccharine sweet tone doing well to mask how flustered you feel. You can breathe easier the second you exit the kitchen and enter the living room. 

His voice follows you. “A simple ‘thank you’ ‘stead'a this attitude would do you some good, y'know?"

"I know," you sing-song, grinning as you settle yourself down onto his couch, grabbing a blanket from a basket on the way. A fire crackles in the hearth and you study the flames with fascination as warmth spreads across your skin. You tug the blanket around you, pulling it up to your chin. 

Joel emerges a minute later and your gaze darts from the fire to the bowl he holds out to you. “Here.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you say emphatically, accepting the bowl and cradling it in your hands. 

He smiles, “There we go. Guess you do have some manners.”

You give him a half-bow. Joel just smiles in that familiar way, like you’re just so ridiculous he can’t believe it. It makes your stomach curl giddily. 

Having rolled up the sleeves of his flannel to his elbows, Joel’s forearms are on display, muscles flexing as he tosses another log into the hearth, and you drop your gaze to your chili, as to not get caught staring. He sits down in the armchair adjacent to you with his own bowl.

You blow on the steaming chili before taking a bite, an involuntary moan releasing from you the moment it hits your tongue—paprika, peppers, tomato, cumin. It warms your stomach pleasantly. Who knew Joel could cook so well?

“This is so good,” you mumble around your bite. 

He swallows his own chili down, pupils large as he watches you. “Edible enough for ya?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, unconvinced, but he’s smiling at you again, and you can’t help but return it. 

Comfortable silence lapses between the both of you as you eat your meals. Joel finishes first, of course, setting his bowl on the coffee table and leaning into his chair with a satisfied groan. He throws an arm over the back, spreading his legs. You watch him while he watches the fire, heat licking through you.

Eventually, after you slow down, you speak again.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously, for letting me stay.”

His eyes find yours and he nods. “‘Course, peach. Wouldn’t’ve let you freeze out there.” 

You nod and glance around, taking in his cabin. A large, stone fireplace is set in the wall, a tree trunk coffee table stationed in the center of the living room, some handmade wood carvings of horses and other animals scattered about. There’s a drawing of himself sitting on the mantel, “To: Joel, From: Ellie” signed at the bottom. Your heart swells. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been here,” you remark.

“I know,” Joel says. “You should come around more often. The girls miss you.”

Your smile turns shy and you feel a spike of bravery. “What about you? Do you miss me?” 

He takes a moment to answer, a veiny hand coming up to rub at his beard as he leans on the arm of the chair. Onyx eyes drag down your figure. “‘Course I do, darlin’” 

Heat pools hot and thick between your thighs at that look, and you’re about to press him about how much he really misses you when a buzzing in your pocket captures your attention. Your phone. Guess you have some bars now. 

marcus: where r u?

Oh right, the hookup!

you: blizzard blocked the roads. won’t make it tonight.

marcus: ok. 

You scoff at the lack of depth in his response. Not even a “stay safe out there”? Jesus. You settle into the couch with a frustrated sigh, head thumping against the cushions, eyes falling shut as exhaustion creeps into you. 

Boys always thinking with their dicks. Why do you even bother?

“What’s that about?” Joel asks. You peek an eye open at him. Firelight dances across his tan skin. He gestures to your phone. “That gotta do with the real reason for your trip tonight?” 

You rub your temple, “Yeah.”

He hums. "...Listen, I know it's none of my business but—“ 

"It was a hookup, Joel," you interrupt, already knowing where he was going with that. He tends to do that, beat around the bush so much until you’re desperate to just say it. More desperate than he was to know it. You’d rather just skip that whole process. 

"Oh,” his brows furrow.

"Yeah," you repeat dumbly, fiddling with the blanket.

"There, uh, ain't no shame in that, darlin'."

You quirk a skeptical brow, "I know."

"Alright," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with you. Awkwardness settles between you.

"Things are just a bit dry," you supply, though you have no idea why you're still talking, or why you described yourself and the state of your love-life like that because Joel doesn't need to know that. Nobody needs to know that

But it captures his attention, because he's looking at you again, though this time annoyance is written on his features, along with something else you can’t name, his eyes practically black. Damnit, you knew he’d disapprove, even if he claims there’s no shame in it.

“And you went to some random boy for that?"

You straighten on the couch. "Who else am I supposed to go to, Joel? You?” Sarcasm drips from your words. 

What the hell is he implying?

His gaze jumps to the fire, the muscles in his jaw clenching, his fingers flexing on the arm of his chair. "Never mind I said anythin'."

Your arms cross defensively over your chest. "I don't need your judgment, Joel.”

"I ain't judgin'."

"Sure sounds like it."

He stands abruptly, running a hand through his peppered locks. "I'm not, I just—listen, it's gettin' late. You should sleep. I didn’t have time to get the girls’ room ready, do you want my bed?”

You shake your head, "Couch is perfectly fine, Joel. Thanks."

“You sure?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m a grown woman who can handle her decisions.” 

"I know that.” Frustration laces his words. He sighs, hand coming up to rest on his belt. “Just... let me know if you need anythin'."

“You got it.”

He turns the living room light off on the way to his bedroom down the hall. You don’t watch him leave. 

Once he's gone, you change into your pajamas and settle yourself on the couch beneath a blanket or two. The crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside lulls you to sleep faster than you expect. 

-----

“Fuck.”

The aggressive shivers that wrack your body are what wake you up in the middle of the night. 

Your blanket is wrapped tightly around you, but it’s a thin, furry thing. Nothing like the down comforter you have at home. The fire has also gone out in the hearth, low flames flickering in the ash.

You pull the blanket up to your chin, curling in on yourself as the cold permeates your skin. 

Aside from the chattering of your teeth and the squall outside, it’s eerily silent in the house. You realize, now, that the whooshes from the heating system you had grown accustomed to before are gone

Shit.

You reach for the lamp on the side table, pulling down on the chain. It doesn’t turn on.

“Shit.” 

You sit up, blanket wrapped around your waist. The power is out. The snow storm must’ve knocked out a power line. It’s too cold to stay out here with only your thin blanket and the clothes on your back. And Joel had said…

Let me know if you need anythin’.

You really don’t want to bother him, but the goose flesh rippling across your skin and the pathetic way your lips are quivering, along with the shudders that wrack your body as it attempts to maintain homeostasis are not something you can just sleep through.

You tightly wrap your blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe down the hall. You can see a warm light from Joel’s bedroom, the flicker of a flame on the cream walls.

You slowly push the door open but hesitate at the sight of Joel buried comfortably beneath his comforter. You don’t want to wake him… but his room is awfully toasty from the fire crackling away in his own hearth. And his bed looks absolutely heavenly. 

You steel yourself and pad to the side he sleeps on. 

“Joel?” You whisper. He doesn’t respond.

You lean over to gently push his shoulder. “Joel.”

“Mm—“ His brows furrow, and he scrunches further into the blankets, reminiscent of a cat curling its paws over its head when woken up.

You push his shoulder again, a bit harder this time. “Joel. Wake up.”

He swats at the air, as if your hand is a fly buzzing around his ear. “‘M awake,” he mumbles against the pillow. 

“Joel—the power went out. I’m freezing.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes still shut. He’s no doubt rolling the words around in his head, trying to make sense of them through a sleepy haze.  

Then, when he does, he wordlessly scoots back and reaches for the comforter. He lifts it, offering the space next to him to you.

“C’mere.” 

You splutter, taken off guard by the invitation. “What? Joel—“

“‘M not askin’, peach. C’mere.” The last word leaves his lips like a command, and you straighten reflexively, apprehension holding your limbs hostage as want curls dangerously low in your abdomen at his tone of voice. That should be enough warning to not climb into bed with him.

You debate telling him to get his ass up and give you another blanket along with a couple more logs in the hearth so you can avoid any kind of proximity between you (lest you feel those capital-f Feelings), but you can practically feel the heat radiating from the bed and his body beckoning you in. 

Oh fuck it.

You let loose a shaky breath and hesitantly slip beneath the covers, facing away from him. You stay glued to the edge of the bed, careful not to let any part of you touch him. Your legs curl into your chest for extra measure. Immediately, it’s so much better. So warm. So comfortable.

And it smells like Joel.

You inhale the earthy and spicy scent of him that lingers on the linen as your head sinks into the soft pillow, but your inhale chokes off as Joel’s strong arm snakes around your waist beneath the comforter, his large hand burning like a brand when it settles hot over your stomach.

He pulls you into him, the sheets swishing as he tucks you into his body. Your back slots against his warm, broad naked chest. His bare legs intertwine with yours, his pelvis almost flush against your ass, only covered by a thin pair of briefs. 

Holy shit. 

You can feel everything. 

“Joel?” You question, voice quivering at the sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Keepin’ you warm,” he mumbles against the nape of your neck. 

You do feel warmer, though it might not be entirely because he’s holding you, but rather because of how he’s holding you. He’s curled around you, like a koala around a tree, thighs bracketing yours. 

You can feel his beard scraping at the nape of your neck, breaths puffing against your feverish skin. 

His thumb is rubbing softly along the pudge of your tummy, palm branding your skin, his fingers dipping innocently beneath the hem of your shorts. 

You can barely breathe, or even think, heartbeat stuttering as arousal pools liquid hot and heavy between your legs. Every unknowing twitch from Joel’s fingers makes it worse. Every touch of his calloused fingertips against your skin is pure agony. Every brush of your ass against his pelvis has you throbbing. You stare wide-eyed into the darkness, gaze roaming the pitch black, as if something out there could make you forget about the ever-growing desire you feel for Joel. 

You can’t sleep like this.

It seems like Joel can though, appearing to already be deep in slumber. He hasn’t moved in a few minutes, his exhales even and slow against you. 

You try to ignore the wetness between your legs, ignore the instinctual urge to roll your hips back against him. You should just go to sleep. But this ache you feel, pounding and deep and relentless…You have to do something about it, even with Joel holding you close.

He won’t mind…right?

But how are you supposed to touch yourself with Joel’s hand in the way? 

You could just move it. That’s the right thing to do, but it feels too good, so hot and heavy on you that you just don’t want to, and as a result, an idea so absolutely fucked worms its way into your mind, lust and desperation destroying any last semblance of rational thought. You could…

No. No. You can’t do that. He’s a human fucking being, not a hand shaped vibrator. 

But… you really want to, and he’s asleep so…he won’t even know…right?

You make up your mind and slowly curl your fingers around Joel’s deadweight palm, biting your lip in concentration and shame as you carefully urge his hand further into your shorts. After each nudge of his palm, you wait to see if Joel gives you any sign of him being awake. But he’s dead asleep. After a moment, you keep going. 

This is so fucked, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you finally feel his thick fingers brush over your clothed folds.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathlessly, holding back a whimper. You manipulate his hand so that his palm is resting large and warm over your aching clit, while his index and middle finger are placed heavily above your heat. 

And then, you really say fuck you to your morals. 

You give an experimental thrust of your hips into his palm, shuddering at the contact against your clit. Then you wait to see if Joel reacts, your head tilting a bit to look over your shoulder. But Joel hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Good.

Confident he won’t wake, you rock your hips again and again, holding onto his hand with your own, pressing it down with each thrust of your hips to get that sweet contact. The heel of his palm bumps your aching clit with each thrust, and you bite back moans and whimpers well enough, but you can’t hide the deepening of your breaths as you climb closer and closer to your climax.

Everything else fades away as you just focus on that one goal. On crawling over the edge. You hardly feel the growing smirk pressed to the back of your neck, or the way Joel’s cock is now hard against your ass as you grind against his palm.

“F-fuck,” you huff, eyes tightly shut as you ground yourself in his presence behind you, the beat of his heart thudding against your spine, the rise and fall of his chest, the light, unconscious brush of his lips on your neck. Closure is on the horizon as you imagine him lifting up on his arm and leaning over to actually get you off, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he thrusts his fingers into your aching cunt. 

“Joel—“ you quietly moan. 

The moment his name slips from your lips, his hand suddenly pulls back, and you let out a frustrated groan (he can’t do that!), which quickly turns into a squeak of mortification (oh yes, he absolutely can!).

Because Joel is awake. 

He. Is. Awake.

And he knows what you were doing, his chest rumbling against your spine as he—is he fucking laughing at you?

“Needy girl, aren’t you, peach?”

Mortification ignites in your cheeks, nausea pooling in your stomach. “Joel, oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

His hand gravitates to your thigh, curling around it. He pulls it up, inserting his knee in between your legs and he griiiinds it into your clothed cunt. Your desperate apology is cut off by a reflexive wanton moan, your back arching as pleasure reverberates inside you.

“‘S okay, baby, I understand. So fuckin’ desperate you had to use me while I was sleepin’, huh? Didn’t get what you wanted earlier so now you’re searchin’ for somethin’ else, hm?”

His large hand finds your waist again, sliding down your stomach to inch beneath both your shorts and your panties now. You gasp as his fingertips find your clit easily.

“I’m just a ‘lil offended I wasn’t your first choice,” he chides, fingers slipping through your soaking folds. “But I like this much better than you findin’ some boy to get you off. You need’a be fucked by a man, darlin’. Ain’t that right?” 

His words send heat straight to your core, thighs clenching around his knee as he ruts it against you while simultaneously stimulating your clit with his fingers.

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. “Need you.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat when he growls, “Goddamn right you do.”

You can’t believe this is happening.

Joel slides his hand further into your panties, his middle finger curling in to sink into your soaked cunt. You choke on a gasp. 

“Who’s the guy?” He asks, randomly, while his finger rocks into you.

You can’t think as Joel inserts his ring finger alongside the other, stretching you so deliciously. “W-what?”

“The boy you were gonna see tonight. Who is he?” 

Who was it? Mark? Matt? And why does he care? You don’t know, you don’t care, only thoughts of Joel Joel Joel consume your waking being. 

“I—I don’t know, Joel. Please, oh my god.” 

He hums pityingly. “Poor thing can't even remember his name.” His other hand comes up to slide through your hair, gripping the locks at the nape of your neck. He tugs, and you melt. “I’ll make sure you don’t forget mine.” 

He doesn’t need to worry about that.

Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit as he thrusts his thick, long fingers up and into you, curling them to hit that spot that has your heartbeat dropping between your thighs, desperate and loud and begging for release. 

“Hhhoh— Joel!” 

“Tha’s right, baby. So goddamn wet. You’ve been dealin’ with this for awhile now, huh?”

You nod into the pillow on a broken moan as his fingers withdraw and sink into you at a steady pace, his thumb circling and circling and circling.

“Words, baby.”

You cry out, hands gripping the pillow. “Yes, yes. Joel. Been wanting this f’so long.”

“Should’a come to me first. Would’a helped you out a long time ago,” he drawls.

Yes you absolutely should have, based on how quickly you’re approaching your orgasm.

Your cries are so loud, but you don’t care, focusing only on your pleasure and the feel of Joel’s mouth on your throat. 

You’re finally getting what you want. And fuck, is it amazing.

Your eyes roll back as it all builds up inside you, Joel’s hand unrelenting as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re scorching, everything hot and intense, your stomach tightening, your legs stretching out as the pleasure builds and builds.

Fuck, you’re gonna cum—

It rips through you violently, eyes prickling with tears, your thighs clenching as your walls bare down repeatedly around Joel’s fingers, making him groan. 

“Good girl,” Joel murmurs, hand eventually inching out of you and your shorts to squeeze your thigh appreciatively as aftershocks run through you, thighs quaking and clit throbbing. “That’s what you needed, huh? S’it feel good, cummin’ all over my fingers?”

His fucking voice!

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, sinking into the sheets, eyes drooping shut as pleasure lulls you to sleep. 

He tsks, “Wake up, darlin’ I ain’t done with you yet.”

His beard scrapes against your neck as he moves to your ear.

“It’s my turn to use you.”

Your eyes shoot open. Fuck. 

Joel pulls your panties down your legs as far as he can, and you squirm to wriggle them off of you.

He pulls away for a moment, but when he’s back, the bare, hot, thick length of him is pressed between your ass cheeks, and a full body shudder runs through you.

Holy shit, he’s big.

He grips your thigh again, but this time he throws it over his own. And then you feel it, the slick head of his cock as he guides it through your folds.

Oh fuck.

“You okay, peach?” He asks, laying a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Now you have tears in your eyes for an entirely different reason. His hand slides across your waist and up beneath the hem of your shirt, palming your breast. Your nipples tighten. 

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow down a lump of lava. “Y-yes, Joel.”

“Good. Wanna give you all of me, how’s that sound, darlin’?”

You will take whatever, anything you can get from Joel.

“Good, Joel. Yes, please, oh my god.”  

“There are those manners.”

A desperate whine slips from your lips as he directs the head of his cock into you, slowly and carefully, his hand running up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. God, he’s stretching you so much, hot and thick and pulsing inside you. It’s almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain.

“Jesus, Joel,” you moan when he stops to let you breathe, “You’re so big.”

“I ain’t even halfway in yet, darlin’.”

“W-what?” How is that even possible? 

“You can take it.” He says, sliding in some more and fuck you don’t have much of a choice. but you can, and you will because he feels too fucking good, and you’re ready for him to make you feel it into next week.

“Is…is it all the way in yet?” You ask, thoroughly stretched and filled. 

“Almost, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

That makes you clench down even more, and he releases a pained groan behind you. “Relax, darlin’, c’mon.”

You do your best and let yourself sink into the bed, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the crackling of the fire.

And then, he thrusts fully into you, filling you up completely, and your mind is right back to him, a soft cry slipping from your lips into the pillow.

 “There we go, tha’s it. Good job. Taking me so well,” he croons, stroking your side.

“F-fuck me, Joel, please move.”

He squeezes your ass in his large palm in retaliation to your command. “You use me, I use you, remember?”

But he listens anyway, likely desperate to move himself, because then he’s gripping your hip with a large hand and pulling back just to sheath himself fully into you once more, his cock head bumping against your cervix, and holy fucking shit.

“Joel!” You cry, and he leans over to kiss you, teeth biting at your plump lower lip as he thrusts into you again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He rolls into you at a steady, bruising pace, and you’re practically boneless as you just take it. Cries and whimpers and moans spilling out of you like a gas leak as he mouths down your throat, sucking and biting and oh my god this is way better than just getting yourself off on his hand. 

Then Joel shifts, pushing at your side to press your stomach into the mattress. You whine as he pulls out of you to situate himself behind you. He grabs your hips with both hands and pulls them up and backwards, easing himself back into you until your ass meets his skin, then he rolls his hips, driving his cock deep from a brand new angle.

All you can do is sob into the pillow. 

He’s so fucking big, so fucking deep you can’t think of anything else besides him and his wonderful cock, or the filthy things he’s whispering into your shoulder blades.

His large hand plants itself on your spine, and your hands scramble for purchase on a pillow.

“Sweet girl, taking me so fuckin’ well,” he purrs. “You were desperate for this cock, huh? God, I wish you could see yourself. Split open on me like this. Your little boy toy wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this, ain’t that right?"

You shake your head. God, why did you even make that dick appointment in the first place?

You hadn’t even realized what being fucked by a “real man” meant until now.

Joel knows how to fucking deliver, you guess that’s why he’s so successful in his contracting business. He’s delivering you straight to that blessed release. 

You clench around the girth of him, the filthy sounds of your arousal echoing in his room along with the cracks and snaps from the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you definitely will be able to after this because you’re mindless as he fucks you into oblivion.

“Joel, fuck—mmph—!” 

“Yeah, that’s right. Can’t say anythin’ but my name.”

His breathing has become more labored, desperate grunts escaping his lips as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s getting close, deep and gravely moans falling out of him as his thrusts become harder and more sporadic.

His hand sneaks around your front, spanning your entire stomach as he slides down to your soaking folds, his middle and ring finger finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and giving them a gentle tap before circling, using that same method from before that had you squirming.

You writhe on his length, legs falling out beneath you as your orgasm swells within you. 

“Please Joel,” you whimper into the pillow. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises. 

It’s there, filling your body, building and cresting and searing white-hot through your limbs. 

And then he thrusts a certain way, hitting that spot within you, and his fingers are circling and—

Yeah.

You fall boneless to the mattress as you come apart, your arousal coating Joel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your release, stroking your spine. Pleasure floods through your body as the tension releases, and tears freely fall as you cry into the pillow.

Because goddamn it!

How can something feel so good? 

And then Joel’s pulling out of you and letting loose a long, satisfied moan as he comes all over your back, hot stripes painting you. 

He collapses next to you, groaning something about his back.

And you can’t help but laugh, delirious and soft, and Joel’s laughing too, brown eyes sparkling. His calloused hand comes up, runs his thumb along your jaw, and he’s smiling at you, soft and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“You alright, peach?”

“Ohhh yeah,” you giggle, sighing with contentment.

You’re gonna be feeling this for days, just like you wanted.

Joel’s lips brush against your forehead gently, and you’re too tired to acknowledge it, slumber pulling you under far too quickly. You think you can feel the gentle swipe of a wet washcloth on your back before you pass out.

-----

“Fuck…”

The bed is empty when you wake, and a spike of anxiety shoots through you as you sit up. A fire still crackles in the hearth, a fresh log dropped in the ash. On the night stand is a note, beneath it, one of Joel’s t-shirts, your jeans, and a pair of your underwear. 

Mortification climbs through you as you read:

Peach,

My bathroom’s on the left if you’d like to shower. I hope you don’t mind, I went through your bag to get you some panties  underwear. Lot of books in there. You sure like to read.

Oh god, he found your erotica stack. The covers are not misleading, either, he definitely knows what kind of books they are. You force yourself to keep reading through the humiliation.

I’m out picking up Sarah and Ellie, I’ll be home soon. There’s pancakes on the counter. We’ll tow your car when I get back.

Also–about last night…we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But, I want you to know that if you ever need something like that again, I’m here. And for anything else. I’m here. Always. 

See you soon. 

Warmth fills your body and you reread those last sentences over and over. 

Always. Does he really mean that? 

You check the alarm clock on his nightstand–it’s eleven fucking a.m. Holy shit, you haven’t slept that late in a long time. 

When you stand, an ache radiates through you, and memories of last night flit in your mind and along with them, a fresh new wave of arousal. You scramble for the shower.

You emerge fresh and clean twenty minutes later, smelling like Joel, having only his body wash and shampoo to use. Each inhale is practically torture, and the ache between your legs is just another reminder. Seeing yourself in his shirt makes it worse. You try and push it away.

You descend the steps, halting when you hear the sound of Ellie’s voice from the kitchen.

“And I was like, pew pew! And I got both of them out!”

Sarah’s scoff of disbelief follows. “Nuh-uh! You didn’t even hit me!”

You creep down the steps, smiling a bit at Ellie’s outcry of “Yes I fucking did!”, and then you hear it–Joel’s low laugh, the Texan drawl.

“You kiddos are gonna drive me crazy. Just eat your damn pancakes.”

“Why’d you make these in the first place? You don’t even like pancakes,” Sarah teases. 

“Uh…”

You decide you should probably help him out. “Hey girls.”

Three heads snap in your direction. The eyes of one skirting down your body, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The other two brighten in shock. 

“What are you doing here!” Ellie gasps. 

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Sarah adds.

You enter the kitchen and come up behind them to pull them in for a hug, your arms hooking around their necks. You smush their cheeks against yours. Ellie grumbles, Sarah laughs.

“I know! I’ve missed you guys so much. I’m just super busy with being an adult and all that shit,” you say, letting them go so they can breathe. You round the island, grabbing a plate and stacking two pancakes on it.

“Well, stop being busy. We miss you,” Ellie says.

“If I could, I would.”

“Why are you wearing Dad’s shirt?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowing, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

“I–um–” the question catches you off guard, and you scramble for an excuse, eyes flicking to Joel desperately. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his broad chest, now covered in yet another, dark flannel. How many does he own?

“Snowstorm stranded her here last night, and she didn’t have any clean clothes,” Joel says, definitively.

It’s not a lie at all, and yet, it feels like one.

Sarah and Ellie exchange a look that says, yeah fucking right. You shovel pancake into your mouth to try and cool down the blush in your cheeks. 

“Speakin’ of,” he continues, “I’ve got the tow dolly all hooked up so when you’re done, we can tow your car out.”

“Great. Thank you, Joel.”

His brown eyes flick between yours, his hand coming up to rest large and warm on your shoulder. “‘Course, sweetheart.” 

You finish your pancakes without any more embarrassing questions from the girls, thank God, and then you’re out in the snow wearing a pair of Joel’s boots stuffed with socks (they’re too big, but they’re better than heels) and bundled up in one of his coats, watching Joel tow your tiny car out of the snowbank.

It’s just as cold as yesterday, though the dreary sky has cleared into a baby blue, the sun bright and high above the clouds. The roads are clearer, the snow plows having come by not too long ago. 

You grimace as you hear your car groan and creak as Joel pulls it out of the snow, big puffs of it falling off the roof in clumps. Eventually, it’s on solid ground once more, and he tows it back toward his cabin. 

Back in the driveway, Joel hops out of his truck and double checks your car. He pats the roof of it when he deems it accetable. “All good to go, sweetheart.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you so much Joel, seriously.”

He nods, though he looks…nervous for some reason. “‘Course, darlin’. Glad I could help.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you’ve bothered him long enough, so you stroll to the driver's side and go to open it, but suddenly Joel’s hand comes down to keep it closed. You look up at him confused. 

His expression is hard, serious as he looks down at you. “Do you regret last night?”

Well. You were not expecting that. You thought that, maybe, it would just remain undiscussed. A blip. Something you both shared, but never spoke of again. You know your answer, though.

 “No. I don’t.”

“Good,” he says, eyes dark, “me either.”

He opens the door for you, pauses for a second then shuts it, voice desperate. “I just need to say this, before you go.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on.

He takes a deep breath, rakes a hand through his graying locks. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, there's a hard determination in them. Your pulse quickens, your legs turn to jelly.

“I like you, peach,” he says. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me because of the whole single father thing. And, also because I’m me. But I just thought I’d tell you how I felt, because,” he huffs out a laugh, shakes his head, “I’m thinkin’ you might like me, too.”

Your hands are shaking, and not because of the cold. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket with how lucky you've been these past fifteen hours.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, Joel," you confess. 

“Oh,” he says, breathless, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your own grin forming to match his. 

The breeze shakes the evergreens, drifting flakes of snow onto Joel’s graying hair. His nose is reddened by the biting cold, but his eyes are warm as he smiles down at you. 

“Not gonna lie to you sweetheart, I’m kind of glad you got stranded here.”

"Yeah, me too," you laugh, and then you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one he gave you last night. It’s careful, sweet, tentative. He reveres your mouth, rather than ravishes it. You’re both bundled in multiple layers, standing in the freezing cold rather than lying naked in a warm bed. 

And yet, it’s just as perfect, if not more.

Eventually Joel pulls back, hands heavy on your waist. He’s still grinning. His hands frame your face, his thumb running softly along your cheekbone. 

“Peach,” he says. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

[damn-stark]

Chapter 18 A little high, a little low

Chapter 18 of Moonlight

A/N- Cregan would’ve danced with you

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, hunting, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode & or Chapters- 438-440 (kinda hopping around pages in the book for this chapter)

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*2 YEARS AGO. WINTERFELL*

Deep breath. Steady aim, and shoot!

The arrow shot from your bow whizzes between trees, and skids under hanging greenery that threatens to knock the wooden arrow down, but the speed carries the arrow toward a dark brown stag unaware of the threat hurling his way as it feeds on twigs on the ground.

Yet just as the arrow comes close to piercing the dark eye, the stag moves his head and the arrow instead crashes on a trunk behind it, causing the stag to go stiff and become wary of your looming threat with such an impressive survival instinct that he seems to find you hidden amongst the drooping branches.

His brown eye caught under the beams of sunlight reflects your menacing figure, study the way puffs of your breath are drawn in the chilly air, the way your eye closes before a soft glimmering sunbeam catches the color of your eye, and sends him running off for its life when he realizes you're after him.

“Damn it!” You hiss and quickly throw the bow around you before you run off after the stag in hopes you will win the bigger trophy and beat Lady Arra, and Cregan in your makeshift hunting game.

They do have the advantage of knowing the woods like the back of their hand, but thanks to Cregan bringing you to teach you how to hunt or escape where no one would see you, you do have some knowledge, but not enough compared to their years of experience. The only advantage you have is the fact that you found the stag first and that you have him in your sights.

No matter how tactical the stag is by prancing through the wild woods and avoiding obstacles with his sharp eyes, you are not far behind, and speed is not a problem; you’re fast because of the blood pumping through your veins and unsettling your heart. The snow on the ground does make things harder for your human vulnerability, but you try hard to run over the marked trail the stag is leaving behind while also shoving aside long and drooping branches. You barely miss large rocks the stag has no problem hopping over, but you are never far behind.

Actually, there comes a point where you get near the stag, causing you to be hit with a spark of courage that makes you yank the bow off your body and pull an arrow out of the satchel. When you sloppily align the arrow you slide down on your feet and let the arrow fly toward the stag.

Nevertheless, you miss your target and the stag decides to make a sharp turn.

“Great,” you grumble and return to your given height before you continue your hurried chase. When it comes to making the sharp turn you almost run into a large fallen-over trunk, but luckily your mind manages to work out a quick plan and makes you hop over the large trunk, letting you spot a frozen lake in the distance once your feet hit the ground.

Is that where the stag went? You look at the ground and see tracks directing down toward the frozen lake.

It could use the lake to its advantage, you won’t run over the ice without skates, but you can’t imagine he’d have an easy time either.

Still, you proceed to slow down in your pace and stalk after the stag with sharp eyes, and open ears to be wary of any sound that could lead you toward the stag you now lost sight of. You also slowly pull out another arrow in case you find it resting in one place.

However, in your silence where your footsteps quietly crunch through soft snow, a splash breaks through the air before a sharp cry from the stag follows suit, setting you after it at a much faster pace than the one you used before as if the helpless cry of your trophy broke away any sort of hostility you held for it.

And once you reach the edge of the small hill you see why the stag’s cries sound so broken and desperate, he fell through the ice and is barely managing to keep afloat with the large piece of ice pushing him down to the depths of the icy water.

Now you could shoot an arrow from here to put it out of its misery and let the lake claim the trophy for itself, however, his cries hit your heart and a small twinge spreads to full-on concern for its life.

“Cregan!” You call out, knowing he’ll hear your call in the silence of the forest and come in search of you thinking you're in peril, or you want to gloat. Either or, he won’t hesitate coming after you, nor will Arra hesitate to let your call bring her towards the lake, so with that in mind you slide down the hill and land on the bank.

The stag hears the sound of your feet hitting the earth and his eyes dart your way, but unlike the fear it felt before, now he finds solace in your presence and fills with desperation to be helped. And luckily, it didn’t fall too far into the lake so he’s easy to reach, but you can’t lift the piece of ice off him alone. You have to wait, and while you do you leave your bow and satchel on the ground to lose additional weight that could weigh you down when you walk on the ice.

Meanwhile, the stag keeps crying out whilst never losing sight of you as if calling out to you specifically.

“Just hold on buddy,” you whisper and wait and wait until finally Cregan appears out of the line of the forest.

“What?” He asks between heavy breaths. “You found it!”

You don’t match his enthusiasm and as you get closer to each other he finally sees the dullness in your eyes made by your own desperation.

“We have to help it,” you say and don’t actually surprise him, but his eyebrows still knit together as his eyes dart between the stag and you. “Come on, we can't let it drown.”

“The ice is thin,” he points out and stares at the helpless stag. “That’s why it fell, and we could fall in the same situation.”

You snap your gaze to the stag and when you do you lock eyes and that call for help only heightens, aching your heart that much further.

“But,” you argue and return your gaze to grab his arm and plead softer, knowing he has a hard time resisting you. “It could be quick, we just lift the piece of ice and let it crawl out.”

Cregan’s grey eyes fall on you with a heavy look, making your stomach knot.

“Darling,” he sighs.

“Cregan,” you mock him and press your pleading look that makes him draw out a deep breath. “We’re the reason it fell in the lake because we were after it, and now that his life is in danger why should we let the lake take him?”

Cregan parts his gaze from you and steals a glance at the drowning stag before he lifts his hands to pull off his sheath and then unclip his cloak, making you flash him a tender smile.

“Tread slowly,” he warns you. “And if the ice cracks under our feet we’re turning back and letting the lake swallow it up.”

You nod eagerly and then face the lake, before you can take a step on it though, Arra finally walks out of the forest and joins you.

“Look at that, you found it!” She mirrors Cregan’s initial excitement, and like him when she takes a closer look she’s left confused. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to help it,” you answer for Cregan and take your first step on the frozen lake. “Stay there, you’re with child, I don’t want to put you and the babe at risk.”

Arra scoffs. “Neither of you should put your lives at risk either. Stags getting caught in a frozen lake happens.”

You ignore her and slowly make your way toward the stag along with Cregan. Arra tries to follow regardless of her previous arguments, but the moment Cregan hears her foot hit the ice he whips his head back and presses strictly.

“Arra, stay there.”

You take a peek back and see her huff before she steps back on the bank of the lake. However, she doesn’t stay quietly. “Why not have your dragon melt the ice?”

You scoff in amusement. “Astraea’s blast is too wide. She will burn us all the moment she tries. If she had been smaller then it would work, but alas, she’s too big now.”

Arra hums and watches you and Cregan reach the stag with a nail in between her teeth.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you as he slowly makes his way across from you to hold the piece of ice from the other side. “Use your legs when you lift the ice.”

You meet his gaze and nod in comprehension before you look at the stag and speak to it like you speak to your dragon. “It’s okay, we’re gonna help you.”

Unlike your dragon, the stag has minimal understanding of your language so he keeps crying out sharply and squirming, splashing cold water over your legs, and making the piece of ice on him hard to grab, but you take a daring step toward the edge of the broken ice and reach out.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you again and this time you snap your gaze to him and shoot him an annoyed look.

“I know.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before he reaches out and grabs the ice cap. You slowly do the same and want to start lifting, but as the stag feels the cold cap brush over him he jolts, making the ice cap shift down under your grip, and causing the icy edge to cut through your glove and leave your palm exposed to the bitter surface.

Luckily, the edge didn’t cut your palm, but instead of sharp pain, you’re greeted with stinging pain as the cold ice bites at your skin. Not nips, bites. It’s fucking cold.

“Ready,” Cregan announces. “1. 2, 3!”

You both strain your muscles to lift the cap off the stag. It doesn’t manage to move up too far, but the stag finds some relief as some weight is lifted off him, and takes this to his advantage to try and push himself up shakily.

Albeit, since the ice is slippery and his feet are wet he slips in his attempts, making the stinging pain now burn your skin to the point your face twists with pain, and your breaths turn heavy.

“Are you okay?” Cregan asks as he’s quick to notice your breathing pick up.

You lie and nod before pressing your exposed palm harder on the ice to lift the cap just an inch higher, giving the stag more freedom to find a good grip, and finally yank himself out of the water.

Once he throws himself on the ice you let your side of the ice cap go and clench your hand in reaction to the burning pain torturing your palm. Cregan proceeds to drop his side of the cap and immediately focuses on you, whilst your gaze drifts to the stag walking out of the frozen lake. When he finally finds himself on solid ground he finds it himself to turn around and face you. Not Cregan making his way to you as you cradle your wounded hand, the stag looks at you.

His large brown eyes forget the panic he just felt, the fear he had for you just chasing him, and instead a twinkle glimmers in his eye as you alone are reflected in his eye. All while you are completely washed over with awe and relief that he’s standing there so perfectly calm. And before he disappears into the thickness of the forest he almost seems to bow his head.

You like to think that’s what he was doing before he left anyway.

“Let me see,” Cregan pulls you from your stupor, turning your attention away from the spot the stag left empty to find him before you now with his grey eyes worried over the wound that is now visible to him.

“It hurts,” you don’t hide your pain and groan as he brushes his thumb over the wound.

And rather than consoling you, the corner of Cregan’s lips tug to an amused smile before he looks at you and shares a much more charming smile with just his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble. “It hurts, and it’s red!”

“Come, Arra has bandages to treat your wound, Princess,” he teases and tries to grab your wrist to pull you off the ice with him, but you snatch your arm away and take a large step away from him, making him share a breathless chuckle that gets lost in the bitter wind.

The moment you’re back on stable ground Cregan grabs what he needs and takes you to the tree trunk that you had jumped over earlier ago. At first, you try to take your own torn glove off your hand, but he places his hand over it to stop you and instead pulls the glove off himself, finger by finger; ever so slowly as if trying not to add more pain to your throbbing hand, or as if trying to seduce you. Maybe both.

Either way, he’s careful with your hand, and when it comes to returning your gaze, he’s precise. After feeling your gaze burn into him as you watch every detail of his face rather than the glove he was pulling off, he looks back at you.

Albeit, you don’t hold his gaze, you beat down your skipping heart, and instead watch him dip his finger in some strong-smelling ointment. Not because you feel flustered, well you do feel flustered under his heavy gaze, but that’s not what makes you look away. You look away because your heart is racing madly and your five years are coming to an end soon, you’ll return to King’s Landing where you’ll marry your estranged uncle Aemond, who was once your best friend.

You can’t return home still getting hot when Cregan steals gentle touches, you can’t face Aemond when the mere thought of Cregan makes your heart pound like crazy. You perhaps don’t owe Aemond anything; he stopped returning your letters and made you feel alone for a long time, but you can’t think of another man when you’re with him, so that’s why you try to stop dwelling on these passionate interactions so they’ll sizzle to simple nostalgia when you return to King’s Landing.

Yet…fucking Cregan makes it hard. His silence is deafening, but there’s no need to speak what he feels when you look between your lashes and see his lips pulled to a faint sweet smile. He especially doesn’t need to say anything to make your heart skip a beat when you catch him stealing glances, or letting his gaze linger on the simple way your lashes kiss your skin when you blink.

You try not to give into his yearning, but your heart is hopeless and it moves your mouth before you have the chance to intervene. “What?” You probe and bat your lashes as if fanning the passionate flames, and meet his gaze.

Cregan parts his lips, but a single breath escapes before he focuses on his finger rubbing the ointment on your wound.

“Is it stupid that I was just burnt by ice?” You mutter and watch what he’s doing. “Out of all people, of course, it’s me.” You scoff and the corner of his lips tug a smirk.

“Was it stupid? No,” he assures you and lets his eyes flicker to you before he grabs the cloth bandages. “It happens. We’re in the North where it snows in the summer, ice burns are common, but is it amusing that it happened to you? Yes. Very much.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him away, making him share one of those rare chuckles.

“But I will say,” he continues and sways his body back to his previous spot. “It’s admirable that you chose to save that stag.”

Gods.

“You did not have to risk your life, stuff like that happens. It’s not nature, but you saved him anyway.”

You draw out a deep breath and fight hard with yourself to not look at him, to keep looking at your hand that he starts to wrap.

And you do manage to not give in to your most wanting desire, but your breaths grow heavy at the strain of your refusal, and your face burns hotter than the sun as you feel his eyes taking you in with hot desire and a need to express what his heart is bombarded with every single time he looks at you, and every time he sees you get flustered.

You know he's not one to hold back what he wants to say, you know him well, so as you feel his actions come to a halt, and feel his breath brushing over your cheek shudder, you warn him. “Don’t. Don't say it.”

A smile flickers on his lips as he’s left impressed by your senses, and regardless of what you told him he parts his lips to say something less daring but with the same meaning behind each word.

“Did you know, darling, that you…are like the morning and evening star?”

“That…” you trail off and let yourself look at his charming face that's decorated with a faint but smug smirk. “Is from my book.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “But it applies doesn’t it?”

You can’t help but flash him a giddy smile before you look back at the wound that is getting covered.

“Will it scar?” You swiftly change the subject.

Cregan nods. “Aye, but it will not look terrible. Do not worry.”

You hum and now steal a longing glance at him as he’s looking down.

——

*NOW.*

It's gone. The ice scar that once marked your palm is now replaced by a new scar that's raw and red, and reminding you of the assassins who almost took your life and that of your children.

Instead of thinking of Cregan and the North when looking at the scar now, you’ll forever think of that traumatizing day.

“Who…hm,” you go quiet and shift your hand to play with the sunbeam cast on your scar, making it look more raw than it really is. “Who do you think sent those assassins?”

Aemond shifts his face down against your exposed back and groggily mumbles his response. “Well they entered through the secret tunnel, and Larys left with Aegon the same day those assassins tried killing you. Who else would it be?”

Even Aemond knows your own mother wouldn’t be capable of such a malicious act. You…well…deep down you know she would never be capable of it, but your anger keeps insisting she had something to do with it. But that’s all it is. Anger.

“He’s a traitor,” Aemond grumbles.

You close your hand and drop it back on the thin bed before finding comfort by cradling Aemond’s empty hand and pressing it against your chest.

“It feels weird,” you point out and take a glance at your bland new beige perimeters. “Not waking up to Aerion. I miss him.”

“We will not be gone long,” Aemond tries to assure you. “We’ll return to the Red Keep with Daemon’s head on a spike before he even notices that we’re gone.”

That doesn’t actually heal any longing you feel to be close to your son, but can any words really help?

No. No matter how long or how short you’re gone, nothing will ever help you miss Aerion any less. Especially after someone tried to kill him.

“I do not understand why you brought Ser Jason along though.”

And there it is, he ruined a sweet morning by finally getting his jealous complaint across after itching to talk about it since you left yesterday evening with Ser Jason to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne.

“<Did you go to sleep thinking of Ser Jason?>” You tease him in High Valyrian just in case the knight is outside the tent.

Aemond groans and pulls his hand away from your grasp before he peels his face away from your back, making you eagerly flip around to face him. “Is there something you wish to tell me, darling?”

Aemond pouts in annoyance and flips around to give you his back, so you quickly rebuttal by leaning over and looking at the side of his face with a teasing smile. “Do not pout,” you speak to him in a sweet voice as you reach for his chin and tilt his head your way.

Aemond’s eye flutters open and his gaze pierces on you, so you quickly reassure him. “<I just prefer Ser Cane to be watching over Aerion while we’re gone, but you’re not worried about that, are you?>” You mock his pout and press a light feathered kiss on his lips before you pull back, making him slowly turn back around to face you.

You take advantage of his attention, of the fact that no one has disrupted your quiet morning with calls to meetings, or beckoned his attention, and press your hand on his cheek with the gentlest touch to feel the warmth of his face on your palm. You then trail his cheekbone with the soft pad of your thumb before you slowly bring your thumb over to his nose and trail it over that aquiline nose you love so much.

Aemond’s breath shudders, and his gaze stops following your gentle touches as his gaze is now solely drawn to the depths of your soul that he can see through your eyes; whilst his pink lips move with a mind of their own as they mirror the faint smile that decorates your delicate features, as if your bliss was contagious.

“Perhaps,” you fill the silence and drift your thumb back to his cheek. “I do miss sharing our mornings alone,” you say above a whisper because he lay so close that you could practically share each other's breaths that your bodies expose. “When we weren’t needed at early war meetings. Before all this shit unfolded and it was just you and me. And Aerion in my belly.”

Aemond lets out a soft huff and his gaze flickers down to your lips. “You would sleep a lot then,” he brings up, brightening that smile that you held. “Perhaps that’s why it was calm.”

You giggle and his lips spread to a wider smile.

“Do you,” you see between laughs before you sigh and your lips twitch to a frown. “Do you think we’ll go back to those calm mornings?”

Aemond’s smile slowly falls and his gaze remains focused on your lips. You expect him to assure you in some way but his lashes flutter, even the ones over the sapphire, and then when he finally has the courage to meet your waiting gaze he lifts his hand and cups your cheek to press your forehead against his.

He doesn’t share his grim fate Helaena foresaw, he keeps denying it as a scare tactic for what he did to Aegon, so what would be the point of telling you something that won’t happen and only worry you?

That should mean that it should be easy to come up with words to comfort your yearning heart, but still, that fate leaves him unable to form any comforting words he badly wants to share. That’s why he just presses his forehead against yours; that’s his way of showing his comfort in ways his words can’t. And you don’t complain or question him, you lean in to his gentle touch and close your eyes to cherish your moment in the depths of your mind, making that ache tormenting your heart ease just enough for your smile to make a reappearance as you’re easily consumed with bliss and passion.

If only you could have more time to stay consumed by this sweet bliss on the thin and uncomfortable bed with him, but alas your presence is needed now more than ever that you’re in the encampment just days away from reaching Harrenhal. Besides, Aemond is proper, he doesn’t like being late, especially now that you’re surrounded by an army of men.

“If only I could have brought Vanessa,” you interject with hints of complaint as you slip on a silver fitted breastplate over a grey-purple gown. “Aemond,” you huff. “Could you help me?”

Aemond presses his foot in his boot before he walks over to replace your fingers with his on the buckles on the side, and captures your attention. He’s too focused on tightening the buckles to notice you though, but you watch him with a gaze that softens as you see how delicate he is with his movements, how his nostrils fall and rise with each breath, the way his small lashes fall with each blink, and the way he keeps trying to shrug away his hair.

Perhaps it’s the newfound attachment to him after all that happened a couple of days ago, but you can’t stop yourself from stealing longing looks to admire his mere presence; as if keeping your eyes away from him, and him from you for too long will somehow result in either of you being gone.

As to your heart in this newfound attachment? Well, your heart dances to a new beat every time you catch the smallest glimpse of him and he looks at you.

Like now for example, Aemond did not think you were looking, he was too focused to feel your gaze so he looks up and catches your eyes already him, causing your lips to spread to a tender smile, and making him slowly look back at what he’s doing with a timid smile; as if this is the very first time spending time together.

When he’s done with one side he goes to the other and does the same with the exact same amount of carefulness he used to secure the other buckles.

“I would help you with yours, alas,” you click your tongue, and his eye snaps to you.

“I’m not the one carrying children,” he retorts, making you scoff and let out a soft snicker.

“Like that matters,” you counter lightheartedly. “But…we already talked about this,” you breathe out heavily, and he scoffs as he drops his eye back to what he’s doing.

“Yet you will still find a way to comment on it,” he says because he knows you all too well.

“Only because I’m worried, my love,” you rebuttal and look at him with a pointed glare he doesn’t catch. “I…have lost enough. I need you. We need you.”

A small breath escapes his nose and you watch his eyebrows slowly furrow while a small storm of conflict seems to brew behind his eye.

You take that as him comprehending your concern but being too prideful to respond, so you then brush his long hair over his shoulder so it’s not in his way. He passes you a thankful hum in response and you can’t help but smile before you try to ease that furrowed brow with sweet words. “Thank you for helping me.”

He finishes what he’s doing and then looks over at you with a gentle half-smile that makes you lean in and slowly take him in for a lingering kiss.

Nevertheless, a voice then proceeds to cut through the moment, causing you to brush your lips over his as you drift your head to the side to look at the flaps that are meant to be your doors.

“My Prince, Princess, breakfast will be served in ten!”

Without waiting for a response their footsteps recede and the moment no longer returns to what it was since you’re then driven outside your tent not much later. You just finish getting ready and walk out to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne for breakfast before it’s time to gather for a much-anticipated war meeting.

These meetings, unlike the council meetings, are far more captivating. These meetings don’t threaten to lull you to sleep like the others do.

Yes; you did long to be a part of those small council meetings, but they still were a damn drag! However, you doubt one thing will change; that being this group of men not taking what you say under consideration.

You’ll have to wait and see if they do or don’t though.

“What come of the search parties for his Grace?” Ser Criston Cole directs at Aemond.

Aemond presses his palms on the top of your chair and leans over. “Nothing yet. We’ve checked the harbors, but no one spotted any suspicious boats leaving the docks. I scouted what I could on top of Vhagar, but I caught nothing.”

Not like he searched thoroughly or pressed critical urgency. And why should he? Aegon seemed to have left by will with Lord Larys. There was no sign of struggle, and Grand Maester Orwyle mentioned Lord Larys frequented Aegon a lot and grew interested in his healing process. Which is why the theory so far is that they left willingly together. As for the reason?

No one knows, and it’s not like Aemond cares all that much. He benefits with Aegon being gone, and the entirety of the RedKeep, and you can let out a sigh of relief without his stench or wandering fingers.

“If this had been a ransom we would have heard of it by now,” Aemond adds and moves away from behind you to start pacing around the table. “We all knew Aegon, he had no taste for ruling or responsibility, this perhaps is one of his whims. He will return when he’s out of coin.”

Ser Criston’s chest raises high before he drops it heavily as if holding back his argument over the fact that Aemond doesn't care as much as he should.

“Princess,” Ser Criston calls you out. “Has…Rhaenyra sent a word? We cannot rule out the fact that she may have snuck in the same way those assassins did both times.”

You clench your jaw and dart your eyes down to the marked map on the wooden table. “No,” you deadpan, and don’t even try to mention that you doubt it was her who took Aegon, ravens would have been sent already if she had, and this war would have turned a lot more bloody.

“What of Sunfyre?” You change the subject away from the sore subject. “If anyone can lead us to Aegon it’s him.”

“Still gravely wounded,” Ser Criston reports. “He has not moved since Aegon went missing.”

You hum and add, “well if he takes flight, have men follow his flight path. It could give us an indication of where his rider might be.”

Ser Criston Cole nods in comprehension without looking at Aemond for confirmation, probably so he wouldn’t hear any protests after Aemond’s lack of care.

“What of the Lannister forces on the western front?” Aemond changes the subject and stops on one side to take a look at the lion markers. “They reached the Red Fork?” He points to the lions.

“Yes,” Ser Gwayne says and slides markers to face the wooden lions. “But as predicted, the Lords of the Trident have gone out to meet them. Now the Western forces may have the advantage of numbers, but,” he sighs. “This the land of the Riverlords. They have the knowledge of their lands to their advantage.”

A nauseous wave hits you as the twins seem to start reacting to your breakfast, so you take a deep breath to try and clear the ache before you get up and stand on your feet instead.

“Hm,” Aemond hums and studies the map for a long time, letting Ser Criston Cole interject.

“We should wait and have Ser Jason come out triumphant before we head to attack Daemon and Harrenhal,” he suggests, making Aemond pick his gaze off the map to glare at him—“He has the numbers with the Riverlords taking arms under him. Whatever is left of the Western force will still give us more strength to challenge them without getting crushed.”

You glance at Aemond, and he looks over at you, but you kind of agree with Ser Criston. You don’t want to give Daemon the advantage, you want his pride crushed, along with his very soul, and you can’t do that if you lose, so you begin to wander around the table yourself and look at the map. Mainly you focus on the marker that represents Daemon.

“No,” Aemond argues. “We still hold the advantage with Astraea and Vhagar. We will move forward, whatever remains of the Western forces can join us in Harrenhal when they have won the fight.”

You glance at the south side of Harrenhal and cross your arms over your chest as you tilt your head to study the markerless spot.

“That would not be wise, nephew,” Ser Gwayne tries to argue against Aemond before Ser Criston can utter what he thinks. “It's best if we wait now so Ser Jason can go as planned and attack at the west to surround them. They would have heard about the battle at the Red Fork and would not suspect them to attack so soon. We can use that.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond retorts and moves down as if following your figure whilst Ser Gwayne begins to walk toward you. “But how much time before they send scouts and find Astraea and Vhagar? We came a day early so we could catch them by surprise, I will not waste it. We will attack as it was planned. At first light.”

A tension grows in the silence that Aemond’s stubborn persistence brought, but neither man in the tent dares to break it knowing how quick Aemond is to anger. And you, well your focus is set on the south side of Harrenhal.

There’s no markers there, or plans to move men towards there to attack on that side, so your attention focuses there and helps your mind brew an idea. An idea Ser Gwayne seems to pick up on.

“What is on your mind, Your Grace?” He probes as he steps closer to you, making you glance at his close proximity and then look over at Aemond since you know how he feels about his uncle, catching his gaze slowly grow ice cold and threatening.

Yet Ser Gwayne doesn’t seem to care or doesn’t have a clue, his eyes stay on you and try to unravel your growing thoughts, only infuriating Aemond even more. To the point, his jaw clenches tightly, and his nose flares as if he’s ready to pounce at the man.

You find it cute for once and tilt your head to the other side to catch his gaze and shoot him a faint taunting smirk before you share your thoughts. “What of the south side of the Harrenhal? I notice there’s no markers, or intention to have men attack from there. It leaves us vulnerable for any party of scouts to sneak through, or for men to surround us from there.”

“Hm,” Ser Gwayne is the first to interject. “Nice catch. Alas, we would have to go around the God’s Eye. That would add a two or one-day ride. More if it’s on foot.”

You drift your focus to Aemond and see his lips curled and his chest puffed out, and you can’t help but smile down at the table. In doing so, catching Ser Criston look between Aemond and Ser Gwayne in annoyance.

“Hm,” you hum and drop your arms back to your side to slowly throw them behind you and clasp your hands together before you start swinging them back and forth against your grey-purple cloak. “Then I will scout the south side on top of Astraea. Just for the afternoon, it’s cloudy and Astraea can easily hide amongst the cloud bank. No one will spot us.”

“That could give us an advantage—”

“No,” Aemond cuts Ser Criston off bluntly. “It’s too much of a risk for you and Astraea alone. Daemon could spot you and he would not hesitate meeting you in the sky. And Astraea is no match against Caraxes.”

You snap your eyes up to him and drop your arms to your sides with a thud.

“That's the point,” you’re quick to sneer through your teeth. “I am not going to be seen. I am just going to report on their numbers from a side they won’t suspect me to be in.”

Aemond shakes his head. “No. You will remain here with me until the day of the attack. I will not put your life at any unnecessary risk.”

Unnecessary risk?

There’s no such thing! You were almost killed in your own chambers! You’re here even if you know you’ll be at risk, being in this tent so close to Harrenhal is already a high risk, so what the hell does he really mean? Does he just want you to stay put until you attack? Do nothing but fiddle your thumbs and think of what your life has turned into?!

He’s supposed to respect your strength, your willingness to fight. He’s supposed to put faith in your wishes to fight, to be on that battlefield, and on Astraea the same way he’s on Vhagar. That’s why you’re here! That’s why you came because you had a purpose, a goal!

“No,” you counter bravely and all too easily get caught in a brewing storm of anger where fact nor logic actually pass through. “I will go scout on top of Astraea. What if I can catch something significant that can help us?”

Aemond presses his hands on the surface of the table and leans forward to snap back in frustration. “I said no. Argue all you want, the answer will remain the same.”

You challenge his gaze with a glare as you nod along in comprehension. When you see that he won’t budge you rip away from your spot and storm away with the intention to disobey him.

Aemond knows you well though, he saw the defiance growing in your eyes like a dark cloud and doesn’t care that the meeting is ongoing, he storms after you calling out your name, but you ignore him and continue striding toward Astraea in your growing storm he only worsens by following you.

And no matter how fast, or what twists and turns you make to try and lose him, he never loses track of you. He actually ends up finding a shortcut to cut you off in your path and finally capture you by your arms in a more secluded part of the forest where no men wander around.

“Let me go Aemond,” you bark and try to pull his hands off you, but he only tightens his old, making it hard for you to challenge his strength. “I will not just stay here and be your accessory in this war!” You’re quick to spat out as you’re blinded by your rageful storm. “You can’t just parade me around to flaunt me like you did when we were with my family! Because I saw you, I saw how you looked at them like I was some trophy to be won, but I am much more than that!” You remark and try to push him away, but he keeps reaffirming his grip so you’re just thrashing against his hold, like winds of a hurricane in a storm.

“I am capable too!” You throw out and push him, but he doesn’t let go, he presses you against a tree to keep you from fighting. “I am strong! I am brave! I can fight too!”

“I know! I know!” He exclaims over your rage, making you look at him with a trembling lip and teary eyes that are quick to release a stream of tears that come from the depths of your chest.

“Then?” Your voice quivers even if you don’t want it to, even if you try to fight the stupid tears. “Why do you want me to stay here when I can go out there and be useful?”

Aemond parts his lips but before he can form a word he catches you start to sob unwantedly, as if your heart had been broken all over again.

“I-I,” you stammer and slip your arms from his grasp to try and wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry. I do not know why I’m crying. Stupid,” you gasp as you weep again.

This time clouds in your mind begin to clear as a realization begins to penetrate through.

Since you learned the truth about your father, since your mother admitted the truth that day in Dragonstone, your sorrow comes and goes. You can go on thinking you can get over it, you can distract yourself with other matters, but then when you least expect it the sorrow, the need to cry out your heartache springs up on you. And other times you managed to calm down, but right now as you face Aemond after he rejected your offer you can’t seem to stop crying and thinking of one thing that leads to so much more agony.

“I know you’re all those things,” Aemond tries to explain to assure you, and so you know he doesn’t think any less of you. “I admire all of it, but my love,” he talks softly and grabs your shoulder to pull your eyes up. “With us being so close to Harrenhal, I can’t have you risking your life for a simple scouting mission. He could spot you and challenge you, and I would not be able to be there to help you.”

You shake your head. “I will not be caught,” you repeat yourself, and those tears don’t stop flowing. “We will not be caught, I swear. I assure you just…let me have a purpose,” you whimper. “I know what my brothers are. You know what they are and they do too, and even if they did not know their father long, even if they didn’t spend a lot of time together, he still loved them. And Daemon loves his children in his own way, and-and my father?” You cry and clutch onto your chest.

“I was not good enough for him to stay,” you reveal what’s tormenting you. “He left, and she lied to move on and have more children while I was gone, so where does that leave me? Why am I even here if he was going to leave to be with someone else? Why fight so hard to keep me alive to have me replaced? Why did they even have me if they didn’t even love me? At least before I knew the truth, my purpose was to prove I was worthy enough to my mother, I wanted to be a good daughter, or simply live,” you explain through tears, missing the pitiful look that takes over his face as your breakdown aches his own heart.

“And now?” You say between a sob. “I don't know why I was even born, I don’t know why I’m even here?!”

You fall to your knees before he can catch you and drop your head in your hands in an attempt to stop yourself from crying, but nothing can stop the stream from flowing, leaving Aemond unaware of what to say to console you.

What can he say to make your pain less? Wanting to be worthy in the eyes of someone to have them love you is something he knows, but your feelings go so much deeper than that, and for a while, he doesn’t know what to say.

At least not until his heart can’t stand seeing you hurt a moment longer. After that, he slowly goes on his knees and gently grabs your wrists to pull your hands away from your face so you have no choice but to look at him.

“You…are worth something to me. To our son,” he starts to mutter words that spring to mind. “You…are the best thing that happened to me. When we were kids you were the most important person to me, I would always look forward to spending time with you, hearing your stories, and sharing what we liked. And now?” He speaks softly. “Now you’re worth so much more. More than the air I breathe.”

You bat your eyes and sniffle as his words fill your weeping heart.

“I love you, Aerion loves you. You…” he trails off and smiles with a tender grace. “You mean something to me, and I’m sorry if I have done things to make you feel otherwise,” he admits and swallows thickly. “But you do. You mean something, and without you life would be a dull affair.”

Your lips twitch to a smile and when he catches that he moves his hands up to cup your face and wipe away your tears.

“I…” he trails off and pulls one hand away from your face to dig in his pocket. “I was going to give you this for your name day, but have it now.”

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment before you can’t help your curiosity and look down at his fisted hand, catching him right in time as he opens it and reveals a silver chain necklace with a small white-wooden siren hanging from it.

“I,” he scoffs timidly. “I started whittling it when you and your family left for Dragonstone, but I was never able to give it to you because you left.”

“You whittled it?” You croak and brush your fingers over the soft wooden siren.

“Having no dragon left me with a lot of time to spare,” he whispers and lets the chain fall so he can grab it between his thumb and pointer finger. “And more when you left.”

A smile trembles on your lips and your eyes scream the thousand I love you’s that you cannot express with words.

“Whenever you feel like you did now just…look at it and know you mean the whole damn world to me,” he whispers shyly with the kindest and most timid smile that he hides by leaning forward and hooking the necklace around you.

“<Thank you,>” you whisper in High Valyrian as you grab his arms before you slide your hands up to grab the sides of his neck. “<I'm sorry for being difficult.>”

Aemond pulls his head back to face you and strokes your chin before pressing his forehead against yours and whispering against your lips. “<I love you.>”

The corner of your lips spread to a sweet smile and you don’t hesitate to return those words with affection oozing in your voice. “<I love you too.>”

He hums and leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips, making you lead him to a much deeper kiss that’s fueled with a soft burning passion.

When you pull away he breaks the string of saliva that connected you by giving in. “You can go scout.”

You scoff and pull back to question him excitedly “Really?”

He groans and nods stiffly. “But if you see Caraxes out, or if you catch even a whiff of Daemon fly back. Don’t challenge him,” he presses harshly.

You start to grin and nod in comprehension. “I’m just scouting, that's all.”

He nods. “That’s all.”

You press a juicy kiss on his lips before you get up to your feet and rub your face as if that will get rid of your swollen eyes. Aemond stands up after you and grabs your arm before you can think of walking over to meet Astraea.

“Any sign of danger. Leave.” He presses.

You draw out a deep breath that comes out shaky after crying so hard and nod eagerly. “I know. I understand. I’ll be back soon.”

He cups your cheek and holds it for a lingering second before he drops his hand and lets you go. Before you can turn to leave you press a chaste kiss on his cheek and then go and join Astraea in some clearing where she and Vhagar keep each other company.

At first, when Vhagar sees you mounting Astraea she probably thought she was going to leave this wet forest, she seemed almost relieved, but when she didn’t catch her rider trailing behind you she threw herself back on the ground.

“<Sorry girl,>” you direct at Vhagar. “<But we will be leaving soon. Swear.>”

Vhagar lets out a loud huff that blows away the greenery before her, and you can’t help but laugh softly whilst you hook on your restraints.

Once you're secured, you command Astraea to ascend into the grey sky. And it's once you feel the cool breeze brushing over your face, offering you fresh and crisp air to breathe that the cruel aching weight that set over your chest completely blew away. This is why having Astraea, flying on her in the endless sky is something you will always love. You can’t imagine not having her by your side all of your life. Without her, you would not be able to ever find an escape when you’re at your lowest.

Sure you work out your problems on your own, and other people like Aemond also comfort you; they forbid you from getting lost in the dark, but there’s something that Astraea offers that no one else ever can, and that’s being able to find an escape where all that exists is her, you, the sky, the shining sun, and the twinkling stars.

If only you could wander the skies and explore the Riverlands without having to be on task, but alas there’s a duty that you do want to do, so once you approach Harrenhal, you sit up straight and lean the handles down to nudge Astraea down.

When your dragon leaves the cloud bank she hovers just below it in order to find a quick escape if you need it, while also trying to blend in with the thick clouds so you’re not easily spotted. You loosen your restraints, lift your feet off the footrests, and secure them in the footholders to be able to stand up and narrow your gaze like a hunting hawk to spot anything out of the ordinary in the green lands below.

At first, it all seems calm, there’s just a lot of fresh green plains, trees littered everywhere, and streams. It all honestly makes you believe that you’ll be able to return without anything to report, but then as you get closer to the grand dark castle in the distance, you spot lines of marching men leaving the grounds of Harrenhal. And from what you can see they’re all marching towards the direction of Blackwater rush, away from the army you’re with.

Does it mean Daemon is moving all the army toward your mother now? Or just some.

From what you can see before the trees block your sight, the numbers aren’t of high concern, so maybe it’s just some men going to Dragonstone?

You can’t fully circle the castle or you will most likely be caught. You can only scout the south side, so you can’t know for sure, the only thing you can do is count the heads that you do see now. You would try to follow the line, but the woods are too thick, you’d have to fly just above the treeline to see clearly and you can’t do that without being caught by someone keeping a watchful eye.

You’ll have to tell Ser Criston and Aemond to send a discreet scouting party on horse to know what’s really going on. As of now, you squint your gaze as you keep your head tilted down, and in doing so miss something that Astraea doesn’t. Your dragon immediately catches sight of something worthwhile and alerts you with a soft call, but you give her your attention first before you follow her line of sight and catch what she’s alerting you of; Daemon on top of Caraxes.

It’s…Daemon.

He’s on dragonback. He’s a few miles below you, he’s there…

The man who planned with your mother to send your father away. The one who schemed with your father to marry your mother. The man who sent you to Kings Landing for his own benefit is there just below; in shining dark grey armor, unaware of you or your dragon.

He’s there. Daemon.

Daemon is there. You see him, you're piercing your glare at him, and a raging storm of anger brews quickly and dangerously. You want to ignore it, not give it more fuel to ravage, you’re just here to scout not take action after all. Aemond told you not to act if you see Daemon, but he’s there in your eyeline! Alone! A man you hated for six years. Six years! All because you thought he killed your father—but it turned out he didn’t…but! He still schemed with your mother, he still lied too, and all to be her consort.

He’s careless and cruel. He’s given his daughters the cold shoulder, he killed baby Jaehaerys and hurt Helaena in the process. He used you and shoved you in the jaws of the enemy. You can’t just swallow all that anger, and you can’t forget it. You can’t ignore the boiling of your blood, you can’t stop your breath from growing heavier and heavier, and you can’t avoid the storm raging within you, blinding your judgment second by second until there’s not a single thought or instinct that keeps you from directing Astraea to torpedo toward Daemon and Caraxes.

And your dragon is obedient, she shares your anger, and her rage blinds her too, so she tilts down and tucks her wings at her sides to shoot toward Caraxes and Daemon at a quick and dangerous speed.

Neither man nor dragon spots you right away, they don’t hear your dragon as she penetrates through layers of the sky. You have the advantage, thus you grab your bow that you keep hooked on your saddle and pull out a single arrow you have tucked under the side of your seat for easy access.

When you align your arrow your blood thumps violently in your ears; thump, thump, thump. And with each thump, your rage only burns hotter, your jaw clenches, your lips curl to a scowl, and you bend your knees. With each thump, the only word that you see, that you hear is kill, kill, kill.

Shoot. And kill.

There’s no clearer than that thought. You have to, you need to get rid of him. Even if he finally tilts his head up as Astraea's shadow casts over him, you have to do it. You have to kill him.

Caraxes also proceeds to spot you and Astraea and lets out a shrieking roar to warn you away, but Astraea snaps back with a much louder and guttural roar, and you don’t drop your aim. You only pull the string back further and pierce your glare into Daemon, making your intention to him very clear.

Yet he doesn’t move, he doesn’t block his face with his hands protected with his shining armor. He doesn’t open his mouth to command Caraxes to move, his lips part in surprise because you’re going toward him, but he remains still and leaves the unprotected spot between his eyes a clear shot.

Yet as your menacing figure in his eyes reflects back to you, growing larger and larger the closer you get, that screaming need to let your arrow go is slowly diluted. Unlike when you shot that stag two years ago, this time the arrow doesn’t slip from your fingers. It doesn’t break through barriers of air to hit your target, you remain crouched over your saddle and watch Daemon with a trembling lip as one other person penetrates through the raging storm. Her very face disperses what clouded your instincts and your judgment, and it’s the mere thought of your mother that makes you lower your arrow.

And thus with no need to be told what to do, with the simple connection you share, Astraea swoops up hard before she can ram through Caraxes, and you lose sight of Daemon.

“Damn it,” you hiss and return your bow and arrow to where they were before you sit back down on your saddle. “Damn it! Damn it!” You bellow over and over again as you hit your saddle.

Tears cloud your eyes, and that built-up anger slowly seeps out, leaving your body trembling as if coming down from an adrenaline high that you did nothing with but build up.

However, even as tears do well in your eyes, they don't come out. You press your hand over your face and leave yourself in darkness for a moment before you rub your face and take a deep breath to have those tears go back where they came from.

Now there was no way to go back and scout so you head back to camp thinking of what you did not do, not with regret in your mind, but more so why the very thought of her made you not do it.

It runs in circles in your mind.

——

*LATER*

What should you tell Aemond and the others? The truth and send them after Daemon to foil his plans?

Do you stay quiet and let Daemon do whatever it is he’s doing?

Aemond did say not to pursue Daemon, but you did, and Daemon, and or anyone who witnessed what happened won’t keep quiet. Eventually, somehow, word will spread and he will find out, which will only make things bad, or worse.

Hm.

Then again…whatever plans Daemon has, why should you be the one to help him achieve them? You can’t hold in your anger for the sake of him or your mother. And the truth is you don’t think of your brother’s sakes, nor that of your cousins because the anger for your mother and Daemon clouds you. No matter what, everything goes back to them.

Thus you’ll tell Aemond and the others—Actually, it’s surprising that your overbearing husband hasn’t come to meet you the moment Astraea was spotted descending. He must be caught up with Ser Criston, or scheming a malicious plan. Whatever it is you approach the campgrounds alone with only the singing crickets spread around the forest keeping you company. And considering you are close to enemy lines you keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious hiding between the trees while you hum a sweet song.

That is until you hear some bushes rustling moments before a slow clap startles you and sends your hand reaching for a hidden dagger. Yet much to your surprise, the person who comes out from the bushes is Ser Gwayne.

“Ser,” you greet between heavy breaths and pull your hand away from your weapon. “You startled me.”

He raises his hands and a small apologetic smile grows on his face. “Forgive me I did not mean to. I heard you humming and I could not help myself.”

You glance around and do not notice any sign of tents or life besides the plants, the trees, and him all by his lonesome, so you grow insanely curious. “What brings you so far from Camp Ser? Keeping an eye out? Or has your nephew scolded you?”

Ser Gwayne chuckles and shakes his head as he meets you halfway before turning on his heels and walking by your side back to camp. “No, none of the sort. I came to find privacy and I could only find it this far.”

You nod and don’t care to poke around for more. That’s all the information you need.

“How was your scouting? Find anything worthwhile besides dull grey clouds?” He probes.

You can’t help the small amused smile that slips on your face before you summarize what you saw, so you don’t have to repeat yourself. “It was…eventful.”

“How so?” He probes.

You sigh and your lips form to a deep frown. “I caught an army of about sixty-five men marching away, and Prince Daemon on his dragon.”

Ser Gwayne’s eyes slide to you and he slows down in his pace to study you head to toe. You can feel his eyes examining you carefully before he pulls on the right damn thread. “Did you pursue the Prince?”

You fiddle with your rings and leave a short silence, but it’s still too long nevertheless for him not to figure out the truth.

“I was angry. I let my rage control my judgment,” you confess in the silence of the forest. “And do not worry yourself, Ser, I will tell Aemond.”

Ser Gwayne scoffs. “I was not going to run and tell now. If it was a secret then I would have kept it.”

You let your fingers slip from your grasp and slowly drift your gaze to the charming knight to pass him a softened look, and a faint smile before you drag out a deep breath and look ahead. “It is not a secret, but people would have run to Aemond and ran their mouths for some kind of praise or prize, so.” You shrug.

Ser Gwayne nods. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, people like us cannot trust so easily. You think you have made an honest friend but the moment you turn your back they run off and spill your secrets so the world may know that they were in your presence. As if that would benefit their lives.”

You hum and he steals a glance at you before he continues running his mouth with something else. “Tell me why you felt such rage at the mere presence of Prince Daemon? Not that it’s not deserved, he has a quite distasteful reputation, but he is your stepfather, correct?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust at the mere sound of those last words and quickly rebuttal as if reminding you of such a link offended you. “As if that has anything to do with anything,” you grumble and shake your head. “But if you must know…he,” you pause. You’re about to tell him the reason why you have hated him for six years of your life, but that’s not the truth anymore, is it?

He did not kill your father.

But the rage is still there. You can’t let it go.

“…what is there to like about Prince Daemon?” You avoid spilling out the entire list of why you hate the Rogue Prince. “And do not repeat that ever again. By law, he may be my stepfather, but he is nothing of the sort. He never will be.”

Ser Gwayne nods gently and doesn’t press or interject, he lets the silence grow between you until you can’t help but utter, “he’s cruel. And so was my father.”

That word is like bile in your mouth. Never in your life did you ever imagine you would view your father in a negative light. He was always a memory you cherished, now all those happy memories are tainted with anger and hate, making your words about him vile.

“Fathers are…difficult,” Ser Gwayne adds in a much softer tone than you’re used to hearing. His voice is always usually dripping with this cocky ego. “Is Aemond any good?”

“Aerion is only five months so we have yet to see, but so far…he’s good, attentive, and everything his own father was not,” you share with a growing smile. “As of late he has been distant, but this war effort takes a toll on everyone.”

“Well,” he sighs. “He will have a lifetime to do better, and I’m sure when the twins are born he will rejoice. He seems very fond of you. It’s rare to see.”

The corner of your lips tug a wider smile on your face and when you catch Ser Gwayne notice it you offer him a smaller smile, but one still from the heart.

A silence proceeds to fill between the two of you, but it’s in that silence that you hear loud celebratory commotion, singing, and cheering coming from camp.

“What are they celebrating?” You have to ask, turning Ser Gwaynes' attention away from you to focus on the spot of a campfire that you can now notice.

“From what I was told, it’s the name days of a few soldiers, so it seems they have made a bit of a ruckus and filled the air with terrible singing.”

You chuckle softly and he turns suddenly to look at you with his eyes widening.

“Why do you not share your talent? It will be good for morale support to have you seen amongst your men,” he suggests with growing excitement. “And well, your voice will bring our ears some relief.”

You part your lips to throw out an excuse, but in truth, you cannot think of a quick excuse to use to refuse him, so you gape like a fish out of water.

“That is if you really are the Siren of Driftmark,” he taunts you.

As you approach the campgrounds you see men gathered around a campfire, forgetting what tragedy lies beyond the treeline, and why they’re away from home in the first place. And you can't imagine this commotion must settle right with people like Ser Criston and Aemond, and the men must know that, but they do not seem to care. They’re completely unfazed and lost in the moment.

You want to forget too. And most of all…holding their approval and their praise is important. To you at least.

Aemond won't very much like you being caught in the middle of a group of drunk men, he especially won’t like seeing you so close to Ser Gwayne, but he can throw whatever tantrum he wants. He cannot control you, especially when it comes to something so mindless as laughing, singing, and sharing stories with men who are supposed to fight for him and his family. Besides, it all looks so fun! How can you just watch from a distance and long to join them when they’re in the safety of your camp?

You can tell Aemond and Ser Criston what you saw later, right now you want to be amongst the fun as well!

“Well,” you give in reluctantly. “I am good with a lute.”

A charming grin spreads on Ser Gwayne’s face. “There you go. That’s the spirit!” He exclaims.

You smile giddily and without a second thought you follow him towards the happy and drinking group of men who welcome Ser Gwayne with open arms, but when they see you they slowly all go quiet and murmur amongst themselves whilst they make sure Prince Aemond isn't lurking in the distance ready to attack them for even looking at you.

“Now, now, there’s no need to quiet down,” Ser Gwayne assures them. “The Princess is here to join in the celebrations and sing us a song or two. So everyone please welcome The Siren of Driftmark!”

There’s no timidness holding you back, no hesitation, or thought of Aemond disapproving, you offer them all a charming grin that makes them all start to clap, and slowly untense.

“Now this would be more fun if I could drink,” you interject to break the tension, “but alas I am with child, so you all will have to show me that you’re having fun.” You’re quick to turn on your charm as if you were born to perform in front of many. And as if enchanted by your words alone the once tense men start to ease and grow comfortable, welcoming you instead of just tolerating you.

“Now could I borrow that?” You point to the lute a young man is holding, and without question, he hands it to you. “The rest of you,” you direct at the other men with the other instruments. “You will know this song, so just follow me.”

They nod, and without any concern of judgment, you twirl back to stand in the middle of the gathered group. “This song here is one of my favorites, I learned it from a famous pirate my grandfather knew. You all better dance and sing along!”

A hoot sounds from the crowd, and without further delay you slowly start to strum the strings on the lute before you quietly start the song at first, to lure them all in. When the other men start playing their instruments around you, you pick up the speed on the lute and stop singing just for a moment.

After picking up the beat on the strings you start singing again along to the beat, and with a great joy that makes your once dull eyes glimmer.

The men around you are quickly and deeply charmed with your singing, with your enthusiasm, and your beaming joy that they don’t hesitate to stomp their feet and clap their hands along to the song, forgetting the tension and bursting out with even more excitement than before. All because of you.

And it's because of you that the heightened commotion doesn’t go unnoticed. It has all become much grander because you’re amongst the men, so Ser Criston and Aemond walk out of the tent to silence the men and end their feast. Albeit when Aemond catches you in the middle of the crowd, fueling the men’s excitement with your song he slows down in his raging storm and makes Ser Criston hesitate snuffing out the celebration.

Does that mean he didn’t want to stop you? No. He sees all the men drunk, or drinking around you, and right away he wants to storm over there and yank you away, tell them all to stay away, and threaten them. He wants to put a stop to all the commotion, but…as bothered as he is he does notice your beaming grin, he sees how happy you are and how can he be the one to diminish that?

Sure his stomach is twisting with jealousy because he hates that his uncle is near you, celebrating, and only egging you on, but he doesn't ruin your fun, he actually trusts his uncle more than Ser Jason in the back of the group smiling like some enchanted idiot. Aemond does approach the group but doesn’t join the commotion, not even if his uncle is not leaving your side in the group of men that only grows. Aemond just stands close enough that he has a clear view of you in case someone’s hands wander where they’re not supposed to.

He actually thought you wouldn’t notice him, but you do, you find him there behind the sea of people as if he was the bright moon amongst the dark canvas of the night sky, and nothing in the world proceeds to matter but him and you. It all disappears, leaving only two souls dancing in your plane; his and yours.

Nothing shines brighter than him and you; except maybe that smile in your eyes that only shines for him. It shines so bright in fact that the giant shining star in the sky would be envious. While the smile on your face is backed with so much joy, and your voice is so charming, that you're able to tug the faintest smile on Aemond’s hardened features.

It’s faint, but you see it. You’re the only one he lets see. And you cherish it, your heart actually swoons because he’s outside watching you. You would have liked it better if he would dance with you, but you take what you can get and store his lovely appearance and his faint smile in the chambers of your heart.

And much to your surprise, Aemond continues watching over you. He doesn’t interfere as an older soldier pulls you to dance as the music continues. He watches over you as you completely infatuate the soldiers to your side with your voice and the fact that you’re spending time with them, proving to him why people flock to you, why they remember you; like that man from the Night's Watch.

He likes that about you, he likes that people are not scared of you, that you are so easygoing with them and you have their respect, but at the same time he also doesn’t like it. He wants you to be at the bottom with him.

Nevertheless, as those thoughts swirl in his head he continues watching over you, he would continue watching you until you grew tired and withdrew from the commotion, but from the heart of the crowd, you notice Ser Criston pull him away.

You know that nothing would have pulled Aemond away from his “guard duty” if it wasn’t significant. He would have stayed against the tree until you left the crowd, but he’s pulled away and you can’t help your curiosity. Even if you’re high by all the excitement, you manage to find an escape and follow Aemond to the tent Ser Criston took him to.

However, just as you’re going to follow him in to be a part of the significant conversation, what comes out of Ser Criston’s mouth stops you right behind the entrance, turning you into that spy you once were when you worked for your mother.

“We just received word from Ser Tyland. He and the Triarchy have hit Driftmark, setting fire to the harbor of Spicetown, and ships sent out to counter them.”

Your lips part in surprise. Regardless, if your grandfather plans to have one of his bastards be heir over your own son, Driftmark is still your home, and hearing that pirates and low-life sailors have begun to sack Driftmark is upsetting.

“What about it?” Aemond remarks with sass. “It's what they should do.”

Ser Criston clears his throat and then adds what he really wants to share. “Scouts have spotted a small cog ship sailing from the Eerie, and right directly toward the Triarchy fleet. It’s said that the Cog, the Gay Abandonment, carries Prince Viserys, Prince Aegon, Prince Joffrey, and Lady Rhaena. The sons of Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of that news. No matter your feelings towards your mother and Daemon, your brothers are not between that. None of them.

“Have Ser Tyland and the fleet doing something worthwhile and capture the cog,” you hear Aemond suggest, making your breath catch. “But do not injure any of them. They will be priceless hostages.”

You back away until you’re completely covered by the shadows of the night and let out a shaky breath as you go over what you just heard, as you begin to realize that you cannot for any reason let Ser Tyland or his fleet of pirates take your brothers and Rhaena. You can’t just hear what you did and willingly let anyone take them captive. No matter your resentment, and no matter the rage that has you giving your back to your mother.

Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey are still your brothers, and Rhaena is your cousin.

You can’t—

You know what you must do. Aemond won't like it, he would forbid you from going if you asked considering he already didn’t want to let you scout, but he can’t stop you if he doesn’t know you left until you’re gone. Besides, you’ll return, you can’t just sit here and let anyone take your brothers and Rhaena captive, and if you send a letter it might be too late. You have to go yourself.

Thus before Aemond could walk out and catch you, you rush to your shared tent and hurryingly rip off the breastplate you had been wearing to quickly just throw on different armor; one that’s not bulky but lighter, and slimmer in design so it’s a more feminine fit, like the way you saw Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror wear in books.

The gown under the armor is no longer your grey-purple gown. You changed it to a very pale grey that almost blends with the new silver armor, but it stands out since it flows over your legs, covering the shining silver greaves over the bottom half of your legs.

The pauldrons on your shoulders are shaped like dragon scales, much like the one you wore just moments ago, and beneath it lies a fringe of forged silver dragon wings. You stay away from wearing gauntlets and anything on your arms, besides leathered armguards, showing off the beautiful embroidered sleeves of your gown instead. When it comes to your head and face, you leave out the helmet because you never had one made in the first place, instead you opt for a thin chainmail headpiece that connects with an intricate veil of dagger-like chains, and a delicate but protective silver chain mask caging over your mouth.

Albeit none of what you’re wearing can be seen by any pair of eyes just yet. Even if a lot of the men are drunk or tipsy, some aren’t and others will still share what they saw no matter how intoxicated they are, so you throw a dark crimson-colored cloak over your cape, covering the dragon scale bodice that protects your chest and the twins growing inside you, and blends you with the shadows of the night.

Yet before you can rush out of the tent you snatch more arrows from your trunk, and then just before you're going to open the flaps, you spot Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel sword resting against a wooden pillar, and debate taking it, but not for long.

With a faint smirk tugging on your lips, you snatch the Valyrian steel sword, Blackfyre, and sneak out to your dragon Astraea to leave toward the Gullet in the cover of night.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Daeron and you would have been the bestest of friends with the lute and singing.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[pedge-page]

Joel Miller x f!Reader - piss kink 2

can be read along with piss kink 1 or read alone

Fuck it: here's another one for you depraved souls. (mine included 😖)

Summary: you get carried away with your new kink thanks to Joel, and he's got no problem stopping you, no matter how embarrassing it is for him.

Warnings: Piss Kink, Joel pisses his pants, water tummy bulge, water sports, assisted m masturbation, forced water drinking (?), praise, slight submissive Joel, dry (lol) humping.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel doesn’t exactly consider himself “submissive.” He's usually the one making choices or ordering you around, and that includes any sexual content the two of you engage in. But when you started taking charge of your newfound kink, one that surprises him every day since the whim of trying it out on you, he wasn’t complaining either. 

He was currently being eyed like a hawk by you as he makes a big show of gulping the gallon of water you’d “assigned” to him today. His throat flexed with each chug of water, downing the whole thing over his head and side eying you.

He took a deep breath when the container was empty, suppressing a burp. You clasped your hands together, suddenly happy with his new hydration routine.

It had nothing to do with being hydrated for his health.

His knees crack as he sits his ass down on the kitchen floor. You waste no time crawling over to him, straddling one of his masculine thighs. You bring another carton of water for him, and he almost wants to say no, the bulge in his stomach pleading for air. But your eyes are soooooooo full of want that he can’t help but take it and tilt the lid over his lips, swallowing more as it spills down his chin.

“That’s a good boy,” you whisper, rubbing his water-logged belly. His extra tight jeans that you'd made him wear today were bursting at the seems with how much liquid was filling his stomach, ready to puke a tsunami. But your sweet words only made him chug harder, groaning when you pressed harder against his full stomach.

“Fuck, m so’full,” he gasped, tossing the now empty container aside as it skidded along the white floor. He gripped your waist as you continued to rub his mid-section, the two of you staring down at the growth in his pants. It didn’t take much of your touching to get him going.

“Good boy, good boy, love seeing you fill up like this. Can you get nice and hard for me? Want you to look so pretty when you make a mess of yourself,” you coo, gliding your hand over his hardening bulge, hand fisting it the best you could as you pumped his shaft. The length of it was tightly confined against the cloth, shooting upward to curve under his enormous tummy.

His legs began to shake, unable to close the gap between his thighs due to your knee pressing against his crotch. You had locked him out of the bathrooms, and he’d been holding his need to piss all morning. Now with the hefty contents of his stomach baring down on his bladder, and your touch adding to the craze in his pants, he couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped his month as he struggled to hold it his release.

Something you were precisely aiming to make him let go of.

You kissed him, palm now grinding in to the soft space below his naval, between his pelvis, and his hips bucked. “Oh god—fuck—oh fuck yeah, baby its coming, I’m—I’m gonna—“

He doesn’t finish his thought when the flood gates open, a warm burst of piss shoots from the slit of his cock, pulsing copious amounts of hot yellow liquid. The first few strong spurts shot straight up, passing through the thread of denim and staining his lower shirt. His pants quickly darkened as it filtered down through his clothes, cock contracting with each jet. “ohh fuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk.” HIs Head slammed back against the cabinet as he relieved himself. He felt like he was on cloud nine. 

“Yesyes! That’s it, that it. So hot, Joel, oh my god! Keep going!” You praised, pressing harder on his lower stomach. He couldn't stop himself if he tried, the release finally feeling so freeing, so good and very much not unlike an orgasm. You nudged his cock with your knee, turning it so the flood of his hot urine shot further down between his thighs, his jeans getting soaked darker He was sitting in a growing puddle of his own piss, something he had never thought would happen again since the last time he wet his pants—in kindergarten. Yet here he was, doing it intentionally for his nutty, kinky, filthy as fuck girl.  

After what felt like forever, his dick would limply trickle little drops when he was finished, but your hands were quick to work him over again, smearing his wetness all over his thighs, hips, lower tummy. You're jiggling his bulge like a remote that wasn’t working properly. Hissing at you in sensitivity, his teeth gritted against one another as he felt his cock twitch again before shooting yet another stream of golden showers. Your firm little pats against his crotch made his piss splash through his clothes, earning a whimper from deep in his throat, brows burrowed in a mix of bliss and concentration.

He was very conflicted, not sure if it was your hands and sexy voice keeping him hard, or the act of pissing himself, ruining his clothes and making an obscenely inappropriate mess for someone his age on the floor.

Joel planted his hands firmly on the tile below him, rocking his hips into your wet hand, moaning at his constant release. Your sweatpants from the knees down were drenched in his puddle, only making you grind on his piss heavy, jean-clad thigh more. 

By the time he was done, he’d urinated almost every drop of water you had forced down his throat the past two days. Your hands soothingly rubbed his softer stomach, licking and biting his cheek and neck with soft words of love. His pants were absolutely drenched from the top down to his calves, like he’d just walked a mile in a lake, the bit of warmth still lingering from his defilement. 

As his breathing slowed, he nuzzled his scruffy cheek into yours.

You kissed his forehead. "Guess what?" You said softly.

"Hmm?"

"It's your week to mop the floors."

- - - -

Next

[starlightwoofwoof]

GUYS I made more for that SM x THACJJ AU I made lol

remember when I said I wanted to add Kevin in this by making him a counselor

Extras Info :

Kevin decided to join the camp as a summer job, and to get away from not only the Candy Club, but hopefully get away from the horrors of the town. (spoiler alert : that failed 💀)

He was actually kind of enjoying it for the first few hours, but then realized his pay wasn’t what he thought it was. He tried to leave, but it was already too late. It had already been time for the, uh, “nightly counselors’ meeting”.

The next day, it was like Kevin was a completely different person. He already tried to be friendly with everyone, but now he seemed a little too friendly, even to Skid and Pump.

Skid and Pump were ecstatic when they first saw Kevin, but then realized how off he was the next day. They almost started worrying for him, but Kevin told them he was okay.

Kevin has a quite good relationship with the rest of the counselors, including Buddy. He still thinks it’s kind of weird that Buddy is only 18 and running a sports camp with more than 100 children, but he shrugged it all off.

After all the counselors were free from the hypnotic trance that held them, Kevin was just like the others. Scared and confused, and guilty once he realized what they have all done.

After the incident, Kevin apologized profusely to Skid and Pump, and even the Hatzgang, the next time he saw them all.

Honestly, Kevin was worried about Buddy after all of this. Buddy was acting all weird and distant, understandably. Although, just like some of the rest of the counselors, Kevin made sure to check on and visit Buddy when he could.

Kevin was traumatized by the end of this all, but he tried to get back to his normal life at the Candy Club after.

alrightyyyy- that’s it for Kevin for now I think (at least the lore for him-)

here’s some extra things lol

[callsignmarz]

MDNI | 18+ | König x Reader

TW: mentions of knife play, weapons, explicit language, sexual content, bondage/chains.

“Prisoner of War.” PT.2

A creditable sigh eases itself out while König watches the consequential duel between bravado and submission in your irises. Sliding his finger out from the depths of your mouth, a residual smile is left clinging onto your lips.

“I'm a whore who you desperately crave to have control over."

The words fell from your mouth with little to no trouble at all, dripping with the appalling truth. Underneath the hood, König's upper lip plucked in annoyance but he held his unwavering gaze as you taunted him with a giggle.

"Ich hasse dich. (I hate you.)"

He didn’t deny it.

How could he?

Though truth be told, hatred was the vital element that pumped through his veins all those years of tracking you down, infatuated on the day when you would finally meet your demise.

But now, you were finally at his mercy.

As it should've been from the very beginning.

In turn, you couldn’t care less if he hated you or not. All you needed was to buy enough time to make an escape and if you had to go to the extreme...then so fucking be it.

"I don't think you hate me, König. In fact, I think it's the complete opposite of that."

"Do tell, meine schatz. Because if I remember correctly, you've been nothing but a monumental pain in my ass the last few years."

"Oh, please." You scoffed. "Don't act like it didn't get your dick hard every time you saw my ass get away."  

Growing tired of your petulance, his hand forcibly clasped onto either side of your cheeks to shut you up, squeezing them uncomfortably with powerful pressure, painful enough to leave bruises beneath the pads of his fingers.

This act alone, furthered to prove your point.

His milky blue eyes, become the only thing you see as he gets in your face and whispers a new threat, one that catches you completely off guard and has you pooling in your panties.

"We'll see how much talking you'll be doing after I fuck that tight ass of yours." A sinister smile ghosts over his lips and under the hood.

The metal of the chains, collide together, sharp and angry as König rips away the chair beneath you, it skids across the floor until it crashes against the concrete wall.

In seconds, you found yourself laying flat over the table, baring your teeth as his fingers were replaced by a tactical knife, the cool steel pressing into your skin and you feel the warmth of your blood leaking down your face like thick sap oozing from a maple tree.

Your heart begins to race at a unhealthy rate with predilection igniting your nerve ending when he kicks your feet apart to position himself behind you.

"Was? (What?) Too scared to say something smart now?”

König chuckles with his eyes darkening as he gently drags the dull part of the blade from your cheek, down your neckline and roaming your back freely.

"If you didn't cause so many fucking problems for everyone, I think you and I could've...worked something out."

A fervid chill charges down your spine at the sound of his hand undoing his belt and khakis with no difficulty, leaving plenty of space for his bulge to swell as he pressed against your perfect ass.

"I bet I won't even feel a thing." You blatantly lie through your teeth.

"Hartnäckige Sache. (Stubborn thing.)" He rasped with a hidden smirk while his eyes raked over your curves, imagining how your body would looked with nothing on.

"I promise, you're going to feel all of me."

Smoothly, he reaches around, taking his sweet time to unbutton and tug your cargo pants down, bunching them mid-thigh. His cock shivers with palpable need when his eyes fall on the thin waistband of your black thong before soaking in the soft curvature you were blessed with.

"So perfekt. (So perfect.)"

Your breath hitches at leathery feel of König's gloves, tracing and caressing your delicate skin. With your mind spinning in all directions, you hardly didn't notice that you had rose to your tip toes, your body grinding into him, fueling the flames of libido.

Between your ragged breaths, you purr.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me stupid like a real man?"

[flickynightdarkness]

Waves 1-18 Of My Comfort Characters List

Oggy & Olivia (Oggy & The Cockroaches)

Little Miss Sunshine & Little Miss Shy (Little Misses)

Mr Quiet & Mr. Scatterbrain (Mr Men Show)

Hello Kitty, My Melody & Cinnamoroll (Sanrio)

Jigglypuff, Hypno, Eevee, Pichu, Torchic, Jirachi, Manaphy, Darkrai, Alice, Alicia, Dwebble, Iris & Sylveon (Pokémon)

Atsuover, Rageminer, Dawko, Jaiden Animations, CookieSwirlC, Nicky Tate, WolfyChu, Rosanna Pansino, Ava Ryan (YouTubers)

Holly & Nanny Plum (Ben & Holly's Little Kingdom)

Shaggy (Scooby Doo)

Slinky Dog, Jessie, Trixie & Bonnie (Toy Story)

Kasane Teto, Kagamine Rin & Hatsune Miku (Vocaloids)

Bubble (BFDI)

Cake, X & Winner (BFB + TPOT)

Lightbulb, Paintbrush, Bow & MePad (Inanimate Insanity)

Sonic, Tails, Vector, Chip, Cream, Chao, Orbot, Cubot, Zavok, Zazz & Tails Doll (Sonic The Hedgehog)

Mario, Luigi, Yoshi, Rosalina, Boo, Count Bleck & Tippi (Super Mario)

Dum Mee Mee (Shopkins)

Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa & Po (Teletubbies)

Oswald The Lucky Rabbit

Jack Skellington (Nightmare Before Christmas)

XR (Buzz Lightyear Of Star Command)

Garnet, Amethyst & Pearl (Steven Universe)

Giulia (Luca)

Wall-E & EVE (Wall-E)

Sunflower (Plants Vs Zombies)

Scarecrow & Mad Hatter (BTAS)

Scarecrow (TNBA)

Scarecrow (The Brave & The Bold)

Scarecrow (Arkham Asylum)

Scarecrow (Arkham Knight)

Scarecrow (Injustice 2)

Scarecrow & King Shark (Harley Quinn Series)

Scarecrow (Happy Halloween Scooby Doo)

Ragdoll (The Batman Series)

Question (DCAU)

Harley Quinn (MultiVersus)

SpongeBob, Patrick Star, Gary The Snail & Sandy Cheeks (SpongeBob SquarePants)

Moomimtroll, Moominmamma & Snorkmaiden (Moomin Series)

Numbuh 3/Kuki Sanban, Numbuh 5/Abigail Lincoln, Mushi Sanban, Numbuh 9/Maurice, Father/Benedict Wigglestein & Monty Uno/Numbuh 0 (Codename: Kids Next Door)

The Snatcher (A Hat In Time)

Poppet, Jeepers, Shishi, Sleepypaws, Baby Rox, Kissy, Captain Squirk & Dr. Strangeglove (Moshi Monsters)

Needlem0use & Luther Artwright (Needlem0use)

Pinkie Pie, Apple Bloom & Flurry Heart (My Little Pony)

505 & White Hat (Villainous)

Odie (Garfield)

Humf

Lilo, Stitch & Angel (Lilo & Stitch)

Candy Cat & Bunzo Bunny (Poppy Playtime)

F, P & Y (Alphabet Lore)

Rover, Isabelle, Timmy Nook & Tommy Nook (Animal Crossing)

Boo (Monsters Inc)

Orbulon (Warioware)

ENA

Felix & King Candy (Wreck It Ralph)

Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls)

Mio Mao

Edd, Matt, Tom & Tord (Eddsworld)

Tuffy & Tyke (Tom & Jerry)

Roy O'Brien (ROY Series)

Moon Knight (Marvel)

Mama (Cooking Mama)

PukeyHurlC (Grossery Gang)

Toriel, Napstablook, Sans & Papyrus (Undertale)

Jevil (Deltarune)

Boyfriend, Girlfriend, Hex, Tabi, Sunday, Sarvente, Nikusa, Annie, Garcello, Chris, Legacy Annie/Rascal & QT (Friday Night Funkin)

Soft! Boyfriend (FNF: Soft)

Red Guy, Duck Guy, Electracey, Bread Mother & Lesley (Don't Hug Me I'm Scared)

Puss In Boots, Kitty Softpaws, Three Diablos & Perrito (Puss In Boots)

Korekiyo Shinguji (Danganronpa)

Dave Algebra Class

SCP-049/Plague Doctor & SCP-999/Tickle Monster (SCP)

Skid, Pump, Robert, Jaune & Streber (Spooky Month)

Shirousa & Kurousa (Sugar Bunnies)

Bingo & Snorky (Banana Splits)

Dr. Nefarious (Ratchet & Clank)

Grim Reaper (Grim Adventures Of Billy & Mandy)

Spot The Dog

Harry Hill, Robert Englund, Charles Martinet & Tom Kenny (Celebrities)

Slushi, Cofi & Bezel (Chikn Nuggit)

Foxy, Funtime Freddy & Sun (Five Nights At Freddy's)

Toothless (How To Train Your Dragon)

Gingy (Shrek)

Neo Cortex, Aku Aku, Dingodile, Lani-Loli & Kapuna-Wa (Crash Bandicoot)

Pipsqueak (The Lorax)

Secret History Tails (Mashed)

Lord X Hog & Curse (EXEs)

Majin Sonic

MX (Mario 85)

Eri, Tsuyu Asui & Ms Joke (My Hero Academia)

Suki (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Sonic (Sonic The Hedgehog Movie)

Shuey Rhon Rhon (Beijing 2022 Paralympics Mascot)

Miraitowa & Someity (Tokyo 2020 Olympic Mascots)

Inky (Pac-Man)

Mirabel Madrigal & Pepa Madrigal (Encanto)

Meilin Lee & Abby Park (Turning Red)

Wanda (Fairly Oddparents)

Bender (Futurama)

Rayman

N (Murder Drones)

EteleD & Corrupt Mii (Wii Deleted You)

Taki (Friday Night Fever)

Unikitty (Unikitty Series)

Della Duck (Ducktales)

Hypno & Lost Silver/Gold (Pokepasta)

Shinto (FNF: Lullaby)

Pim (Smiling Friends)

Wednesday Addams (Wednesday Series)

Komasan (Yo-Kai Watch)

Sayori & Monika (Doki Doki Literature Club)

Kirby & Meta Knight (Kirby)

Chudd Chudders & DangerGrid Of Doom (Skatoony)

Bendy (BATDR)

Boris & Sammy Lawrence (BATIM)

Tari & Meggy Spletzer (SMG4)

Zardy (Zardy's Maze)

Scar (Alien Vs Predator)

Mugman & Baroness Von Bon Bon (The Cuphead Show)

Charlie Morningstar, Angel Dust & Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Slender Man, Splendor Man & Lulu (Creepypasta)

Mario.EXE (Mario's Madness)

Blitzo, Moxxie & Colin (Helluva Boss)

Woolly & Tig

Sam (Trick R Treat)

Hank Anderson (Detroit: Become Human)

Mr. Shark (The Bad Guys)

Charles Calvin, Reginald Copperbottom, Right Hand Man & Dmitri Petrov (Henry Stickmin)

Grogu (The Mandalorian)

Hanazuki

Pusheen The Cat

Anya Forger (Spy X Family)

Slappy (Goosebumps)

Zoe Kusama (Criminal Case)

Flaky (Happy Tree Friends)

Pim (Smiling Friends)

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 10: Flying Away

Ch.9 < Series Masterlist > Ch. 11

Warnings: description of a body/injuries

Summary: Ghost and Soap feel hope, Canary feels frustration.

Do not read this work if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1600~

Climbing the hill slope through the forest was no easy task with an open wound and burnt soles, but Canary took advantage of the adrenaline still pumping through her veins and managed it. She got to the top of the hill, nearly clawing at the trees around her for support, and purposely ignoring the pain coursing in waves through her body with each step. As soon as she got to the top of the hill, she looked towards the road, just a few feet away from where she stood. 

There were still no signs of any vehicles, but she wouldn’t wait to be found. She knew that Luke would be back anytime now with a different vehicle, and she didn’t have the strength to fight him if he caught sight of her. And with that in mind, she descended the other end of the slope. Her feet slid and scrambled against the humid leaves and the mud, and Canary groaned in pain as she stopped her skidding by holding onto the trees. 

Once she got to the bottom of the slope, the sound of a stream was heard from her twelve. Panting, she tried to maintain a hurried step as she reached the water, studying it cautiously. 

The stream didn’t look deep, but the current was strong and possibly very strong. Still, she needed to cross it, and she was not going to climb the hill again simply to get to the bridge - it would cost her precious time she didn’t have. Canary looked around until she found the shortest way to the other side. She walked over to the shore and took a deep breath, plunging her feet into the cold water. 

She swallowed a scream as she forced her feet forward, the water reached above her knees at the deepest, and the current was strong enough that it threatened to topple her over every time she raised her foot to take a step. She was already shivering at the low temperatures of the water, and realized her bandages were becoming wetter - only not with the water. 

To make things worse, just as she was halfway through the stream, she heard an engine approaching. In a panic, Canary painstakingly hurried her step, nearly tripping on a rock as she tried to get to the other side before whatever car passed. 

Just as she stepped on dry land, the engines were heard louder, and she stumbled to hide behind some tall bushes, wondering if it was the third man.

She instead saw a patrol car and a jeep. And inside the patrol car, a very familiar sight she would recognize in the darkest nights, through a sniper’s scope at five hundred meters away, or in complete darkness, with her eyes closed and using only her fingertips to guide herself - a skull balaclava. 

She let out a loud gasp before attempting to scream for Ghost to look her way. But she was short of breath from both her effort to cross the stream, and her body’s natural reaction to the cold water. 

“Gho-! *cough* Ghost! I’m here!” She still tried, nearly choking with her own spit as she tried to scream through her panting, only to watch both vehicles drive away.

The sound of the engines lulled to silence, and Canary simply stared at the spot where they disappeared to. 

They were there for her, she was sure of it. They would get to the cabin and realize she managed out, and would realize she had to go through the woods. They would get to her in no time.

That didn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face in frustration and a sob to choke up in her throat, as she lost the grip on the tree trunk next to her and fell to her knees on a bed of fallen leaves.  

~~~~~~

The air within the patrol car was stuffy - or at least it felt like that to Luke. He was sat in between Ghost and Soap, two humongous men - compared to him at least. At one point during the drive, he dared to peek at them, and finding out that their biceps alone were the size of his head made him rethink all his life decisions that led him there.

He trained his eyes up front again. He would only speak to instruct the driver where to go, too afraid of what could happen if either he didn’t or if he lied. Just the memory of the Sergeant single-handedly nearly crushing his skull sent a shiver down his spine. If that man could do that, what would the Lieutenant be able to do? 

Luke let out a shuddery sigh. I should’ve stayed in school. 

After driving for a while through a labyrinth of windy roads, they took a long road that seemed to lead deep into the forest. It was a type of rural road which had more stones than pavement. The rumbling of the stones beneath the car made its occupants shake within. 

Soap briefly envied Price and Gaz, since they were riding the jeep. Whenever the smaller patrol car made a turn to avoid a hole or a too-big stone, his shoulder pushed against Luke. He could see that Ghost was in the same predicament, but neither of them made a comment. While Luke was overridden with terror for whatever would happen to him, both Soap and Ghost were antsy to get to Canary. Now that it was confirmed what her fate would be, they were going ready for a full-on tactical assault, with weapons charged and all. Price had even managed to call for a helicopter to be on standby in case it was needed. 

…Luke had been quiet for a while now. 

“How much longer?” Ghost asked, sharing Soap’s suspicions. Luke visibly flinched, as if he had gotten used to not hearing his voice. 

“J-just a few more kilometers,” he squeaked, leaning a bit away from Ghost only to lean against Soap’s arm, “w-we still have to cross a bridge, and then we’ll be close.”

“You better be telling the truth, kid,” Ghost looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and Luke thought he was about to faint as his future looked bleak, “your neck doesn’t look too strong.”

Several minutes passed before they finally saw the bridge. Luke gave another stuttery instruction to the officer, but Ghost felt the sudden need to look out of his window just as they were crossing it. The stream below was noisy, and its current looked quite strong. His eyes moved to the horizon and watched the afternoon sunlight over the trees, wondering where this sudden withering feeling in his heart was coming from. 

Just a couple minutes later, the officer drove up a hill, and Luke told him the next entrance to the right led to the cabin. Ghost made the officer stop.

“It won’t be good if we alert them that we’re coming," he climbed out and readied his weapon, Soap immediately following after him and readying his own weapon. He leaned into Hartford’s window then, “keep an eye on this mutt, we’ll take it from here.”

Soap flagged down the jeep, and told Price that they would continue on foot to have the element of surprise. Seconds later the four men, armed to the teeth and ready to rain a hail of bullets on whoever took their bird, sneaked through the edges of the forest with their sight fixed on the cabin. Price and Gaz gradually moved closer to the back of the building to surround it, while Soap and Ghost waited for the signal to move. 

A familiar sense of forewarning filled their bodies at the same time - why was the front door wide open? As soon as Price gave the signal, all four men stormed in with weapons at the ready, only to find a massacre. 

The man that had been with Luke in the van the first time they saw it, was laying on the floor like a starfish. His blood surrounded him on all sides, even above, like a grim blanket. Soap called the all-clear and got closer to the body.

“...I can count at least ten stab wounds,” he mumbled after a few moments, before looking up at Ghost, “think it was Canary?”

“Very probable,” he narrowed his eyes, taking in every aspect of the room. He saw the ripped bed sheets and the splatter of blood on the bed and the wall. He looked down, moving his foot and wiping a bit of the blood too easily. “It’s still fresh.”

Price walked in and made a grimace at the dead man, deliberately stepping on his hand while clicking his tongue. It was no secret that all four men wanted to have a bit of a turn against these men. It seemed like Canary got first dibs though, and he couldn’t be upset at that. 

“There’s more blood,” Ghost pointed out at the wall next to the front door, “it’s not from that guy,” he tilted his head towards Charlie. Soap frowned and stood up, stepping closer to Ghost and glancing at the table. 

“Two coffee cups, two piles of cigarette butts, two chairs,” Soap commented, then shook his head, “I don’t think these were for Canary at all.” 

“Luke mentioned a boss, right?” Gaz chimed in from outside, then called them all out, “I found what looks like blood drops.”

All men walked outside and followed Gaz to a spot on the grass. There, staring back at them, sat three droplets of blood. A few feet away, another three. 

A grim little trace that led them into the woods.

A/N: I know it's stretching but I love the dramaaaaaa

Taglist: @died-in-a-field-of-flowers @rafaelacallinybbay @namenotimportant1373 @ragingbookdragon @zinfairy @scrumplump @speckel @omgitstatertot @fullmoon-94 @kalamataolivesssss @embers-of-alluring @warenai @frazie99 @kee-0-kee @littlezarp @scaredknight @tapioca-marzipan @kendahl757 @sweetybuzz25 @cumbersome-robes @carlyi @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @scarletbandit @twistytimesandthoughts @angelsquidd @ilovemoneyandcheese @sail-boat21  @vvoidspaceeee

If you want to be added to the taglist, comment on the Series Masterlist! - link at the top of this page :)

[sunny6677]

Spookytale

(An Undertale x Spooky Month crossover)

Chapter 18: A Slice Of Pie.

Summary: After an incident involving the whole town getting hypnotized(besides Skid) and falling into a hole, all of them find themselves in a place that will change their life forever.

TWS: ROY'S TRAUMA IMPLICATIONS, TRAUMA IMPLICATIONS.

————

After a few moments, Lila took a step foward, and placed her hand on the doorknob. She clenched her fingers around it, and slowly twisted it downwards, making it let out a creaking sound. Anticipation gently flickered inside of everyone's body, though of course they knew nothing was going to happen. It was just that with the constant monsters that they encountered around here, none of them really knew if they were going to have to fight something anytime they entered a room or not.

The door slowly opened as Lila pushed it foward, and she peeked her head in. Roy also peeked inside, though he was still behind Lila, so he couldn't exactly see much. But as Lila was able to make out the features of the room, her eyes widened, and her lips slowly turned up into an eager smile. "Woah!.." She seemed fascinated by the room.

Lila then opened the door more, and began to walk inside. And as she did, those who were behind her got a better look at the room. Robert and Ross seemed slightly amazed as they walked in, despite it just being a room. Roy seemed uncertain of how to react, merely glancing around. Jaune grinned as she walked in, seeming to enjoy the sight she was seeing.

Jack and John walked in as well, though they seemed less amazed than the others had. If anything, they just glanced around like Roy did. John had to admit though, this room reminded him of his daughters. But he wasn't sure why.

The room was average-sized, with bright red walls. The floor was wooden and peach colored. There was a bright red and peach colored rug in the middle of the room, and it seemed to have odd patterns on it. It seemed like something you'd find at an elderly persons house, or an old house in general. There was a comfy looking bed on the right side of the room, having a big red blanket coveted over it. Beside it were odd looking but weirdly big plushies.

And in the room, there even seemed to be a few other things. Such as a small box of toys in front of the ending side of the bed, though none of them exactly interested any of the people in the room. Perhaps Skid and Pump would enjoy them though. There was a large closet on the right side of the bed, filled with striped shirts that seemed to be meant for children(which Lila had discovered when she opened it for a moment).

There was a tiny shelf of items next to the closet, and on the top, there was an empty but dusty photo frame. And beside the shelf was a box of kids shoes in a disparity of sizes. Above the box of kids shoes, there was a picture of a flower. And beside both of those things was merely a lamp. There was also another lamp behind the bed as well.

"This room is adorable!" Lila grinned. She looked to be having a better time then she had so far, at the very least. "Yeah, girl! I think I'd like sleeping in here! But.." Jaune paused, not able to find her words. She then nervously chuckled, "..nevermind. Let's just keep looking at the room." Lila only raised a brow at her, and hesitantly replied, "..uh.. okay, Jaune."

"Ya know.. this looks a lot like my daughters room." John commented, still standing in front of the door. "Does it?" Jack replied, facing John. "Yeah.. I wonder if she had a kid before we came here or somethin'." John sighed, looking to the right side of the room as if still observing it.

"Well, even if she does, we're not kids.. so.." Roy grumbled softly. It was hard to tell if he was just trying to find something to be angry about, or if he was genuinely ticked off about such a minor thing. "Yeah.. but, Skid and Pump are. And even if we're not, at the very least.. we have a place to sleep, right?" Robert tried saying, nervously smiling. "...yeah, I guess so. But still.." Roy quietly mumbled to himself, crossing his arms tightly.

"...you think she's gonna make some of us sleep on the floor?" Ross said, looking at the room still. "..maybe. She'll probably give us pillows or blankets if she does, though.." Robert replied. Roy let out an exhausted sigh, and then said in his raspy voice, "Well, if she does, go ahead and tell me later.. I think I'm gonna go ahead and sleep in here." Roy began walking over to the bed, as most of everyone in the room shot him a puzzled look.

"...really? But.. there's pie out there right now, dude. Can't you just eat first, and then go to sleep?" Ross inquired, gesturing with his hand. "I don't care.. I'm too tired to actually go out there right now anyway." Roy groaned, sitting himself on the bed. "Are you sure? I mean.. I guess we can go ahead and wake you up later, but the pies gonna get cold if you don't eat it." Robert stated softly.

"So what? She probably has other things anyway.." Roy responded, laying himself on the bed, and attempting to cover himself with the blanket. "Uh.. okay then. We'll be with Toriel in the other room if you need any of us, alright?" Robert tried saying, smiling at Roy from where he stood. Roy looked back at him, and a barely visible but small smile formed on his face. He sighed, and replied, "...okay.."

"Come on, Robert. Let's just go ahead and eat some of the pie, alright?" Ross smiled, turning around to face the door so he could head out of it. Slowly, everyone else began to head out of the room as well. Robert nodded, and began to follow Ross out of the door. "Let us know if you need something, okay, kid?" Jack said as he stood in the doorframe, letting Lila and Jaune pass through. "We'll be out there with Toriel!" Jaune tried saying, her motherly instincts slightly having kicked in.

Roy mumbled, "Okay, okay, I heard you all the first time.. now leave me alone.."

...

"...do you want us to turn off the lights for you?" Lila questioned.

Roy groaned, "No, no.. I'll get them, okay? Now just leave me alone!"

Lila hesitated. "Well, that wasn't very nice.." She spoke with her hands on her hips, before walking out into the corridor to go and find her son. And to have pie, of course. Jaune followed behind Lila, saying something unintelligible to her. Jack began to leave off into the corridor as well, though before they all left, John finally uttered, "Night, kid.."

And then, they all went into the corridor and into wherever Toriel went, closing the door and leaving Roy in the room by himself. He sighed, shuffling beneath the covers as he attempted to lay down and mumbled things to himself, "Stupid.. trying to.."

But as he did, for whatever reason, the dusty photo frame on the shelf had caught his eye for a moment. Thoughts clouded his mind. Why was a photo frame even there if there was nothing in it?

He paused.

"...eh.. it's probably nothing." Roy yawned. He then found exhaustion clinging to his mind. He could barely keep his eyes open. He was about to turn over so he could turn off the lamp that was behind the bed, but..

..his vision went dark.

And before he knew it, he had succumbed to sleep. He had been so exhausted from just about everything that it had been enough to make him pass out.

————

....Roy was awake.

He slowly opened his eyes, though instead of the blinding red and peach color, he was met with darkness. For a split second, he didn't know where he was, the silence filling his hearing, and the darkness clouding his vision. But then he remembered how he had gotten here after a few seconds, and let out an annoyed sigh. Of course, he was still here. He knew it was the same place, since after a few seconds, he was able to make out the features of the room despite how dark it was. Somewhere deep inside himself, he hoped it all to be a dream. But in his town, he knew it didn't work that way.

He knew that in his life, it didn't work that way.

"Still here.. great." He sarcastically remarked in an exhausted tone. He then let out a sigh. And he began to try and lift himself upward, though drowsiness was like chains clinging to his wrists, and he was barely able to move himself up. He turned over, in an attempt to slip off the bed that way, but he then thought he could see something in the darkness. An item of some kind. A sweet, warm scent filled the room slightly.

After squinting, his brain finally connected what it had been. It was a slice of pie, from one of the pies Toriel had baked for everyone that had come here. Someone had brought a slice of pie into the room for him. And not only that, he finally managed to connect why the room had been so dark. He only didn't immediately connect it when he woke up because of his exhaustion, but.. someone had turned the lights off for him as well.

Had it been.. could it have been..

No, he didn't have time to think about that right now. Either way, he was awake now. He could probably eat the pie, even if it was most likely cold now that he was awake. He could handle it. Roy knew he could handle anything. For he was tough. He knew that a cold slice of pie wasn't all that bad.

Roy then slipped out of the bed(after awkwardly realizing his hat was for some reason on the side of the bed, and attempting to put it back on), stumbling to his feet. His head ached slightly with the effects from sleep, and for a moment, he could only look down at the ground. Roy then finally let out another yawn, and began to walk toward the pie, making sure he didn't accidentally trip on something in the dark.

When he finally made his way toward it, he bent down, observing it. He couldn't immediately trust Toriel. That was what he knew. What if she was trying to poison them all with the pie? It wasn't so easy to trust anyone that fast. Roy didn't want to be taken advantage of, or to gain anyone's trust and be made oblivious to any of their manipulation. Not again.

Not after what..

Roy shook his head. He continued to observe the pie, but he found no evidence of any poison in it. It was a regular pie, plain and simple. He extended out a hand, and poked it slightly. Somehow.. it was still warm.

...

He knew he probably didn't need to question it. Toriel was a sentient goat lady. That was far weirder than a pie that was still warm even though he had been sleeping for presumably either thirty minutes or an hour.

Roy knew he couldn't eat it with his bare hands. It was probably best if he asked Toriel if she had something he could eat it with. After all, manners were programmed into his head. His mother had taught him so, and his mother had taught him that any form of informality was wrong. He would not be respected or loved that way. And he wanted respect and love.

Yet Toriel had been giving him that the whole time. So why couldn't he trust her?

Perhaps, because he didn't know her. Or perhaps, because the previous time an adult figure had given him that, they used that to make him do what they wanted.

...

He sighed. He shook his head, and slowly picked up the pie. "Whatever.." He grumbled tiredly. Roy then began to walk toward the door, trying not to stumble in the darkness. He had to admit, despite his trust issues, the pie did look good.

He walked toward the door, and with one hand, he twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open. Bright light made its way into his vision, making him squint. The pie glistened in the now present source of light. And he slowly heard talking coming from another room, which sounded to be somewhat far away from where he was.

Either way, he sighed, and began to walk down the corridor. And to wherever the talking was coming from.

/////////////////

Somewhat short chapter, but oh well.

[sayuri-does-skits]

Spooky Month Chars react to skid x pump 18+ 😭😭

I cried while editing this 😭😭😭😭

[ghostssi]

Yoooo Hi!^^ I go by ghosty!!<3

My schedule is kinda messy so don’t expect updates that often (also I’m Js really lazy)

You can request as much as you want! ,they Js might not be ready in time? (If that makes any sense)

What I will write!

Headcanons! ( I find headcanons really easy and fun!)

I will do one shots but they won’t be like full on long

X readers (I will try to make everything gender neutral cause I’m not that good at male reader) but of course If you request fem reader I can do it!

Platonic x readers ( example: skid and pump )

What I won’t write

Any sexual/ kink shit I’m not into writing that yet..

Any character under 18 (again you can request a platonic x reader)

Su1c1de or and s3lf h3rm shit

Or OCs this is character/reader blog sorry

What fandoms you can request!

Im going to be trying to do Mw2 (modern warfare 2)

Thank you for reading this post go ahead an start requesting! Have a lovely day!<33

[surplusoilfieldequipment]

New Surplus 2014 Gardner Denver Cat C15 Powered Triplex PZ-7

Watch video on YouTube here: https://youtu.be/lsLJuHiADJk https://inventory.freeoilfieldquote.com/product/new-surplus-2014-gardner-denver-cat-c15-powered-triplex Name : New Surplus 2014 Gardner Denver Cat C15 Powered Triplex PZ-7 Mud Pump Code : 25104673 Type : Standard Brand : Gardner Denver Category : Pump/Vacuum subcategory : Mud pumps Price : $595,000.00 Unit : Each (Each) In Stock : Yes Location : Canada Condition : Excellent Available Quantity : 1

New Surplus 2014 Gardner Denver Cat C15 Powered Triplex PZ-7 Mud Pump Specifications Manufacturer: Gardner Denver

Model: PZ-7 Mud Pump with CAT C-15 Year: 2014 Length: 420.00in Width: 144.00in Height: 120.00in Weight: 61,000 lbs. Engine Hours: 8.6

PZ7 Mud Pump Build Specifications Diesel Engine: Supply (1) one Caterpillar C-15 series engines rated at 540 HP.

Pump Drive: Supply and install one Allison OFS 4700 Transmission.

Pump: Supply one new Gardner Denver PZ-7 mud pump.

Mud Pump Skid & Accessories:

• Supply one oilfield skid with roof – 35ft Long X 12ft Wide X 10ft High. • Skid runners manufactured from 4 beam 12in @50 lb. • Install 3/4in X 7in strapping on bottom of skid runners. • Cross members 10in @ 33 LB flooring to be 3/16in checker plate. • Supply and install pump with 4in valve, 2in pop valve, 2in bleeder valve and type D mud gauge. • Supply one pre-charge pumps 60 HP 6 X 5 X 11 with suction screens. • Fabricate all pre-charge and suction lines from mud tank. • Fabricate all high pressure lines on skids. Pressure test chart and x-ray done on all high pressure lines. • Supply one liner wash pump and liner wash tank with plumbing. • Supply one K20 dampener and cross. • Supply and install one diesel day tank with hosing for circulating system. • Electrical (50hz): Supply and install (4) four foot fluorescents in each building. Supply and install one distribution panel.

Paint: Mud Pump skid has been painted white and avocado green.

from Oilfield Equipment Manager https://rignetwork.wordpress.com/2023/04/18/new-surplus-2014-gardner-denver-cat-c15-powered-triplex-pz-7/

[ruiniel]

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Characters: Alucard, Reader, Original Characters

Rating: Mature / 18+ only

Also on ao3

Tags/CW: Accident context, Depressive character, Portal Fantasy, Isekai, There is a plot, And language nerdery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, References to Depression, First Meetings, Character-meets-world, Near Death Experience, References to Loss, Grief/Mourning, POV Second Person, Language Barrier, Violence, Slow burn, References to Canon, Rewriting show canon, Because why not, More tags coming

Summary:

Entertained an idea as I was doing writing warm-ups for CV: what if someone in the 21st century stumbled upon this stranger during a turbulent storm, narrowly avoiding running them over, and what's more they can't understand a word coming out of their mouth.

I.

You start at the sudden garble of voices on the radio and turn the volume down, eyes then back on the gray road. It's the start of the weekend and you cannot wait to get to your old, decrepit — but still reliable — family cabin set beyond the familiar wooded hills, a few hours' drive out of town. Once you manage better, you'll refurbish and mend it, keep it functional for as long as you can; too many things had time destroyed recently. 

The erosion in your ears is joined by a deafening crack of thunder, and you sigh as you watch the clouds hanging from the skies like a mass of lead.

“We needed this, didn't we?” you mumble at the car, as the trees slip by you on either side, their crowns and limbs bending under rising winds.

It should be getting better by now; you've been this way for months, but finally, things should be looking up again. 

It's not happening; why isn't it happening? 

It's not as though you didn't try getting back on track, struggling to do the things you used to do but no longer find joy in, still banging your metaphorical fists against the walls of your stubborn mind. There's a gnawing bite in the pit of your stomach which comes and goes — that you’re missing something, that something’s not quite right at certain moments, like the wrongly placed piece in a jigsaw puzzle preventing the completion of a greater picture.

The radio's still out and you forgot your phone in the back, which means you'll take the rumble of thunder for entertainment. The skies are even darker, now crested by lightning like holy wounds, cold and white-grey, phantom-like. Now here, now there, so fast they make you blink twice, and your foot eases on that gas pedal. “Never like this before…” you wonder, trying to remember the last time you saw nature so vicious.

If nothing else, it’s a great show.

You’re fairly sure the forest ahead and the faraway places beyond it are currently being drenched, and you hope the patched roof is sturdy enough to withstand nature at its angriest. “So much for weather forecasts,” you say to the water splotches crashing angrily against the windshield, until the dull pattern becomes a thrum against the rigid body of the vehicle, taking you with it in all senses. If only—

“Fuck!”

Your foot slams the brake but not fast enough, and your horror at the humanoid lump you’re trying to avoid running over freezes you but somehow both your hands still grasp the wheel, and next you're skidding to a precarious halt, to what it feels like narrowly avoiding flipping over with the whole damn thing.

Your hands are clammy on the steering wheel as you open your eyes, shivering, and your gaze flies to the rear view mirror; someone, is there. Someone is there, possibly hurt. 

“Oh, oh shit. Shit, shit-shit!” With adrenaline still pumping in your veins you jump out of the car and throw the back door open to search for your phone and call an ambulance, but it must have been flung who-knows-where while you were avoiding death — it's nowhere to be found.

A weak, strangled groan behind you has you whirling around, feet moving and hurrying towards the person now trying to rise to their knees and failing. 

You reach them, staring at a young face that goes with the earlier sound you heard, then at long, tattered hair, and a… ragged cape, dark and sleek with rain. What hits you most, what freezes you more than the pouring water, though, are the eyes. 

Staring at you wildly through the curtain of rain, too confused to not deepen your worry. So light, amber, golden. 

“Hey, hey a-are you hurt?!”

The absolute eeriness about them — him? — leaves you as stunned as the shock you just went through, all relief included.

He doesn't answer you, instead brings a long, heavily cuffed hand to his temple, mumbling something in a language you can't grasp but sounds faintly like 'cali'.

“C-what's that?” you ask. “Is that you? Or where you're from? Are you hurt?” you ask again though he looks left and right, rises, turns a few times, gazes at this hands, then at you, taking in your face and clothes, and the absolute insanity of this situation is beside you when that unusual face twists into utter horror and he plunges his —gloved?— fingers through his hair, raking them over his scalp.

You look him over, and apart from being soaked to the bone and dressed very, very strangely, he seems unharmed. “Listen, I can't find my—”

You gasp as he grabs your arm, staring at you wide eyed and asking you question after question in that language you just don't get and as you struggle you quickly and easily free yourself, only to see him slowly fall against you and is he ever heavy; barely you lead him down to the ground.

It's freezing cold in this downpour. There's a barren field on either side, the nearest town well half a day's drive away. Farther than your cabin, and of course the wiser thing to do would be not to take a complete stranger whom you cannot even understand there, alone with you. Besides, what if it's someone who would do you harm? Worse things have happened for less.

Even with these thoughts you rush back to the car, grab a lantern from the glove compartment and search earnestly for the only device you had on you — the phone. You find it, under one seat, screen cracked. You grab it and try anyway, but it won't charge up no matter what you do.

“Can't believe I'm doing this…” you sigh, throwing the device onto the front seat before you go to retrieve the first aid kit, only to realize there seems to be nothing needing splinting or bandaging. You'd seen no wounds on him, no outward sign of trauma. That might not be the whole story, you know, but what else to do?

You head back, see him rising to his feet again. Your steps become cautious. He's taller than you expected, but hunched and so confused as he repeats that word again, over and over, hugging his arms at his chest. Your sensible worries don't strike as hard anymore, and you come closer. “I… can try to keep you dry until you come to,” you say, but it's like he can't quite look at you, those peculiar eyes wild and head turning left and right, as though seeking something far above or deep below, and when your gazes finally collide, your thought flicks back to the jigsaw puzzle.

You nearly trip over in your haste to help when his knees buckle and he goes limp, falling to the ground again. His face is pale, deathly pale, long wet hair stuck to the skin.

The storm no longer rages, its cry is more wind than rain. The branches of trees still creak above as you pant here, between somewhere and nowhere, on the side of an empty country road with a stranger in your arms.

Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X - Part XI

Banner illustration: Fifth Avenue at Twilight, ca. 1910 by Birge Harrison

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[luxeavenger]

Green Room Mirror

Day 30 Kinktober prompt: Mirror sex

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Backstage Pass!Steve Rogers x f!reader

Words: 1420

Warnings: Mirror sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, piv sex

If you like it, give it a reblog. It helps others find it!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

“Well would you look at this,” Steve skids to a halt in front of the floor to ceiling mirror in the green room of a club in Detroit. “Hey, doll. Leave that for Scott, and c’mere.”

You’re helping Scott set up for a small, impromptu Howlies show tonight, and you abandon the case you’re lugging. “What’s up, Stevie?”

He tugs you to stand in front of him, turning you to face the mirror. One tattooed arm slips around your waist, squeezing you against him, and the other hand tilts your chin so he can kiss over your neck.

“Stevie,” you gasp. He hums against your neck. “Please touch me.”

He grins, “I am touching you, princess.” You make an annoyed noise, and he chuckles. “I’d really like to see you do it. Why don’t you show me where you wanted me to touch you?”

You nod, sliding your hand up your shirt to pinch at your nipples. “Hey, hey, lemme see,” he says softly, tugging your t-shirt up over your tits. He rests his hands along the bottom of them, mounding them up in his palms. He whispers against your ear, “Open those eyes for me, princess. Look at us.”

You didn’t realize your eyes were closed, when you open them they meet Steve’s in the mirror. His are fever-bright, blue as the caribbean, and trained on you with the intensity of a big cat staring down its next meal. His hands smooth down your body and open the front of your shorts. He dips a hand inside them, running his fingers through your slick folds.

“So wet for me,” his voice is a low rumble in your ear, a deep purr that makes your knees weak, and even weaker still when his middle and ring fingers slip inside you. You whine when he pulls them right back out. “Hang on a sec. C’mere,” he backs up a few steps to the gaudy vinyl couch that occupies the middle of the room. He sits, pulling your shorts off, then situating you on his lap. He hooks your legs over his knees, and spreads you wide.

“Keep playing with those perfect tits for me, doll.” He hums his approval when you hike your shirt up and do as you’re told. His hand slips between your legs again, teasing over your folds, spreading them open with his thick fingers, rubbing through your gash to spread your slick around until your mound is shiny with your juices. “Such a goddamn pretty pussy,” he praises, before sinking agile fingers into you again.

You moan, rocking your hips to meet his digits.He groans and you feel his cock twitch under your ass. “Look so good with my fingers in your cunt.” He slips a third finger into you, his big rings rubbing deliciously against your clit. He tugs your hands off your tits, and pushes them down to the apex of your thighs, “Spread yourself open for me, doll. Wanna see your greedy little hole taking my fingers.”

His thighs open more, stretching you wider as well. His other hand slips over your clit to circle the little bundle of nerves. Your eyes drift shut on a moan, and Steve’s gentle voice instructs you to open them again.

“It feels so good, Stevie,” you groan.

“That’s nice, princess. You look so gorgeous. Can you come like this for me? Fuck, I wanna see your tight little cunt split open on my dick.” You nod and twist your hips to grind down onto his fingers.

He speeds his digits, the soft squelch of your wet pussy grows louder with every pump of his adroit fingers. You moan Steve’s name, and he urges you closer and closer to your climax, finally pushing you over the edge with a quiet, “Be a good girl and lemme see you come.”

Your cunt clenches around his fingers, and you gush over his hand with a cry. Your hips buck with every circle he draws over your sensitive clit, and fucking yourself on his fingers sets off another round of shuddering aftershocks.

The second the last throb of your climax fades, Steve is scooping you up so he can open the front of his pants, releasing his red, leaking cock. He shimmies the stiff denim down around his ankles, and pumps a tight fist over his shaft, the thick ring of his PA piercing making a little metallic jingle when it hits the ring on his index finger. Then he lowers you down onto his cock with a rumbling groan.

“Fuck, princess. Love seeing your pretty little pussy take my fat cock” He gives a few slow thrusts of his hips just to see his dick drag out of you and spear back in. “Feel so fucking good,” he purrs.

A wet smack rings out when he slaps your mound. The impact sends a jolt through his cock, and he ruts up into you with a growl. You push yourself down onto him and circle your hips. “Mmm, princess,” he hums, “that feels so fucking good. Grind that wet pussy on my cock.” He smacks you again, the stinging strikes send zings of sensation to your cunt. Reaching under you, he spreads your pussy lips open so he can watch you ride him in the mirror.

“C’mon,” he says in a rough voice, “take it all, like a good girl. Need’ta see you come on my cock. Just fucking use me to get yourself off. Yeah, fuck, like that, doll. Use that big dick.”

You move yourself over his length, whining and whimpering the whole time. Every little noise you make goes right to his cock. But the way your eyes are glued to the mirror—hungrily watching the way he fills your tight cunt—he could practically get off on that all by itself.

Soon enough you’re arching and mewling, and whining for him to touch you. You grab his hand and push it down to your mound. Your pussy is fluttering around his dick, and the more frantic you sound the more he wants to grab your hips and fuck you senseless.

He wants you desperate for it though.

So he touches you, does just what you asked him to do. Circling your clit with a calloused fingertip, until your cunt’s weeping, and milking his cock. You work yourself over him hard. This time when you come for him, your thighs are trembling, and your legs give out.

“Stevie,” you sob.

There it is.

He grins, lazy and indulgent, “Yeah, doll?”

“Please fuck me. Please. I can’t anymore. I need you, Stevie, please.”

“Hey, stop that, sweet girl. I’m right here. I got you.”

His strong hands go to your hips and he holds you over him, and gives you a few slow thrusts. “You want me to fuck you, doll?” You nod. “You want it hard?” You whine an affirmative. “Anything you want, sweet girl. You just make sure you don’t take your eyes off that mirror. Want us to watch how fucking good you look when you cream on my cock.”

Once he gets going he really lays into you. His hips slap against you so hard it reverberates up your body, and you know you’re going to have bruises over your hips later from how hard he’s gripping you. He’s railing you like he’s trying to hollow you out so he can climb inside.

His shockingly blue eyes don’t stray from the mirror even once.

A tightening in your core signals your orgasm, and Steve knows you’re close by the way you keen and dig your fingers into the corded muscles of his forearms. “Come on, princess. Show me how much you love this cock. Come for me.”

You have a split second where you’re annoyed that he’s not even out of breath while you’re huffing like you’re running a marathon, then your orgasm sweeps through you. You soak Steve’s cock with a wail, making him curse through clenched teeth at how good your cunt feels when it squeezes him.

You sag against his chest when all that’s left of your climax are the tingle of endorphins in your fingers and toes. He murmurs. “Are you all done, princess? Want me to stop?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, “Think you can be a sweet girl, and give me one more? Then I’ll fill this sweet cunt up till it’s dripping with come.”

Turns out, you’re so sweet you give him two more.

If you liked it, please smash that reblog button so others can find it too!

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (2 - The Lord of The Night)

Thank you so much for all the love on my first chapter:') So excited to keep this going. This fic is also posted on my ao3 (fortheloveofstark)

AZ x TOG!OC (This is a work of fanfiction)

Age: 18+

Warnings: Cannon level violence, mentions of torture, mentions of Maeve, a lil tiny bit of blood, Asteria proving how much of a baddie she really is <3

Asteria’s death does not come as Maeve needs it to. 

She had crashed down from the night sky in a burst of red light and collided with the earth hard enough that she doesn’t know how she kept breathing. 

Or how she breathes now. But she is. She inhales, and her chest rises, and with every exhale it lowers. A slow, steady rhythm reminding her how alive she really is, even if the ache in her head begs to disagree. It’s a throbbing, the pain aligning itself with her heartbeat.

The pain in her chest is worse, where a dagger once laid, was twisted, and yanked out. 

The sharpness of the blade’s absence is all she can truly focus on. Her thoughts slowly come back to her; her name, her home, her magic, what and who she trusts; she begins to list the things she knows until a hand gently brushes her shoulder. 

The touch makes her eyes snap open. 

Asteria expects the course sand of a beach beneath her, the smell of salt wafting into her senses. Instead, she’s met with the soft sheets of a cot beneath her, completely unfamiliar.

She doesn’t wince at the sudden onslaught of light on her senses, or shudder away from the strong herbal, definitely medicinal scents that invade her nose. Instead, her eyes dart to the unfamiliar female standing beside her where she lays, dark eyes and long blonde hair tucked behind pointed ears. A stranger, and a captor. Her mouth quirked as though she may smile parts, about to say something. 

She doesn’t get the chance. The stranger is pushed back enough to give Asteria time to raise her leg, a forceful kick hitting the blonde’s chest with enough power to send her flying backwards, crashing against the wall across the room with a loud wail of pain. 

Not hesitating, Asteria’s feet meet the cold floor, and though her muscles groan in protest, having been bed ridden for longer than she thought. It takes a couple steps to steady herself, but once she gets her bearings, she’s running. 

Dipping out of the room she’d awoken in and finding herself in a hallway filled with luxury, Asteria looks both ways, one way leading around another corner, lined with various doors, and the other leading to a large window. She’d been captured before, and she knows an escape when she sees one. 

Arms pumping as she gains momentum, Asteria sprints towards it. Powerful legs bound her towards the glass, whisps of her own silver hair blowing into her eyes for barely a second before being pushed away by the sheer speed of her movements. 

When she’s close to the glass, she leaps forward, arms shielding her face and knees out, the sound of the shatter reverbing through her bones as salt and lemon verbena scented air suddenly surrounds her, and she’s falling forward and down.

Gaze shooting downward and arms flying out, relief floods through her when she sees that she’d only been a few stories up, and she prepares herself for her landing. When she hits the ground, her feet absorb only a bit of the impact, and she uses her momentum to roll forward, training she had received over the centuries of her life making the maneuver automatic.

Asteria springs back up to her feet, quickly and boldly while taking note of the well taken care of grass underneath her, and she darts towards a stone fence on the edge of the yard only to be stopped abruptly by the sudden drop of red light in front of her. She bounces off of it, skidding back abruptly. 

A shield. 

A moment later, the ground beneath her shudders as a massive being drops to the earth in front of Asteria, cutting off her escape. He rises slowly, his impressive height only challenged by his broadness, fighting leathers strapped to each part of him. The female’s eyes narrow on the red, gleaming gems on his chest, shoulders, hands, and knees, the same colour as the shield slowly dissipating before her. He has long, curved blades strapped to him, and she becomes aware of the fact that she has nothing. Her weapons had been taken from her.

His skin is bronzed, and dark hair flows just past his shoulder line. Hazel eyes run over her figure, assessing and analyzing just as Asteria becomes aware of the large, almost demonic wings sprouting from the male’s back. 

Her mind works instinctively, checking his neck for a collar and his fingers for a ring, seeing nothing of the sort. Asteria clenches her fists, her stance widening in preparation for what comes next. She’d fought bigger than him before, and she would never back down.

“I’m going to need you to apologize for the window,” The male says casually, his stance reflecting his tone, “It was my favourite.”

Asteria doesn’t dignify him with a response, her eyes darting to the blade on his back, her lips pulling back to let loose a low snarl. 

The male opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can Asteria is lunging at him with a yell, forcing him into a fighting stance the split second it takes for her to reach him. 

Her blows are fuelled by a speed he’d rarely encountered before, based on the fact that his blocks are desperate, almost sloppy as he tries to keep up, his careful eyes seeking an opening for his own strikes. 

Asteria doesn’t let up, driving the male to take step after step back to try to make space between them. But as quickly as he moves, she advances on him twice as fast, swiping and punching, and waiting patiently for her opening. She’s toying with him. 

Though her eyes don’t move, her attention goes to his blade, and through her fury a small smirk graces her lips. Asteria slows, just for a moment. Long enough to let him think he can take control.

The male takes the bait, going for a blow of his own, one that the female easily ducks under, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward and off balance. He’s trying to use his wings to balance himself, flapping them to attempt to stand back straight, but the smaller female is climbing him, driving her knee into the place where his wing sprouts from his back. 

He cries out in pain, reaching back for her as her legs wrap around him and she’s flipping them backwards. 

They hit the grass with a thud, and before the male can recover even the slightest breath, Asteria is on him again. He’s turned onto his side, his arms pinned in a painful hold orchestrated by just the female’s powerful legs, his own blade pressed against his throat just enough to sting, making him look up at her. 

He tries to move, but Asteria has him locked in, his demonic wings flapping helplessly behind them, one of them twitching in pain from the blow it had been delivered.

Asteria growls above him, grip tightening around his blade as if she’s about to drag it across his skin, and she is, when a figure appears from nothing before them.

“Please don’t,” A new male kindly requests, violet eyes gleaming and dark hair swept back neatly from his face. He stands straighter than the one beneath her had, commanding power with just his presence. It’s enough that the grip on the blade loosens slightly.

Asteria’s eyes assess him, taking in his confidence, and the handsome face that most probably find devastating. The quiet authority that surrounds him.

“He meant no harm,” The male continues, taking a step forward and holding his hands up, showing he’s unarmed.

“She does,” The male underneath her grits out, “She means harm. Did you see the window?”

Ignoring him, the powerful male takes another step closer, “What's your name?”

She doesn’t answer him, her icy glare remaining on the stranger, whos jaw clenches. 

In her still aching head, Asteria feels something against her ever-present mental shields. At first, it’s a gentle brush, purely investigative. But right after that, there’s a push, and she shudders at the feeling.

“Do that again and I’ll spill his blood,” Asteria growls out, pushing the blade harder against the male beneath her’s throat. A small line of blood dots the edge of the metal. 

The male crouches, hands still up, “I just want to know your name.”

“Are you the King?”

“High Lord,” He corrects, “My name is Rhysand.”

“Where am I?”

“Prythian. The city of Velaris, in the Night Court,” The male, Rhysand, says. 

Asteria never heard of such a land. She channels her magic to her feet and through the leather of her boots, one of them planted firmly in the grass beneath her. She calls out to the realm she’s come to know so well over her three and a half centuries roaming it. She’s met with silence, and the cease of the power she’d summoned. 

No, The realm sneers in an unfamiliar tone, the words echoing deep in her soul for only her to hear, I am not yours. You are not mine. 

The female tenses at the response, her heart thudding hard in her chest. The Realm does not lie. She does not belong here. You are not mine. 

Maeve had thrown her through the door between worlds, and she had ended up here, in this strange world when she was supposed to fall for the rest of her eternity, or until she lost so much blood that her heart gave out. Whatever came first.

Asteria can feel her muscles lock up with dread, the tenseness drawn directly from the words of the strange realm; A voice she’d never heard before. She’d never heard of Prythian because it shouldn’t exist. She’s in the wrong realm. She’d left a war unfinished.

The words continue thundering through her, a chorus in the back of her head she cannot ignore; I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours-

“We can help you, we want to help you,” Rhysand continues, seeing the devastated look on her face and silencing the crescendo of panic building, “What’s your name?”

The green-eyed female takes an unsteady breath, moving the blade a hair's width away from the male she has pinned, who had ceased his struggling beneath her, “Asteria.”

“Asteria, will you please release my General?”

Muscles loosening with only a moment’s hesitation, Asteria nods, letting the General go from the hold and taking a few steps away as he rolls onto his back, catching his breath. 

When he stands, he glares at the silver haired female, the High Lord taking notice with careful eyes. 

“Cassian,” The High Lord scolds, giving the winged man a name, “Why don’t you check on Mor?”

The winged-male hesitates, Rhysand giving him a nod to urge him along, and with the brush against her mental walls just a few moments ago, Asteria has no doubt the powerful male in front of her has the ability to speak in his General’s mind.

“Mor?” Asteria repeats. 

“The female you nearly sent through the wall,” The General states with a glare, moving with a wide berth around the silver-haired female, “Another apology to put on your list.”

All he gets in response is a low growl. One that he sends right back. The pair watch each other with pulled back lips until Cassian disappears inside the luxurious estate.

“Your General is a bastard,” Asteria grunts, turning back to the High Lord to see an amused smirk upturning the corners of his lips. 

“He’s been called worse.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“He’s got a real soft heart when you get to know him,” Rhysand smirks, “He’s just upset that you put him on his ass before he could blink.”

“And why shouldn’t I do the same to you?”

Rhysands eyes glisten, and Asteria swears there are actual stars trapped within the violent toned shade of blue. His mouth doesn’t move, and yet Asteria hears him, Because I know what you are.

Is that so, High Lord?

Your mental shields are impressive. Some of the strongest I’ve encountered, but not nearly as strong when you’re unconscious, Realm Reader.

Asteria’s eyes narrow, her title making her thudding heart pick up speed yet again, I am not yours. You are not mine. 

“You fell from the stars seven nights ago,” Rhysand says, a sigh leaving his lips as his hands clasp behind his back, turning to look over the stone fence Asteria had been rushing towards before Cassian got in her way, “It was the night of the Winter Solstice. You gave my Mate and I quite the surprise.”

“You seem to have recovered since then,” Asteria mumbles, moving to stand beside the night-blessed male, looking over the same view he gazes upon so fondly. 

A view that makes her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. 

Before her is an endless sky, wisps of night-darkened cloud surrounds them, more stars than Asteria had ever seen glistening above, and below; a plummeting drop to the hard, rocky earth. She had been racing towards it prepared to jump, and in this strange realm, one that does not know her or care for her, it would not protect her. 

Even her immortal body wouldn’t have survived.

“Quite the view, isn’t it?”

Asteria gulps, “Please don’t make me thank your General for stopping me.”

Rhysand’s chuckle is a deep and breathy sound, one that would have been beautiful if Asteria wasn’t so stunned by what she’d almost done to herself, “He doesn’t need that ego boost.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Asteria asks, her eyes scanning the side of the High Lord’s face.

“It seemed better to contain you here rather than down in the city,” Rhysand answers, his voice nothing but honest, “Based off what I saw behind your shields, I didn’t know what you’d be like if you woke up.”

“If?”

“Do I have to repeat that you fell from the stars?” Rhysand asks, turning to the female with a quirked brow, “It’s a fall you shouldn’t have survived.”

“And because I did, you looked into my head?”

“Not many people outside of this court know about Velaris, but you landed right outside the city’s walls. I needed to make sure you weren’t sent by an enemy. It was to keep both you and my people safe.”

Asteria’s leather-gloved hands clasp themselves behind her back, mirroring the violet-eyed male’s stance, “What did you see?”

“Everything.”

“And? Am I your enemy?”

“No, Asteria,” Rhysand breathes, “I believe you may be exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

“I fear that the realm is weakening,” The High Lord continues, that quiet power more prominent than ever despite his suddenly solemn expression, “There was a war, something I know you are no stranger to.”

Asteria eyes him wearily, “The war isn't over.”

“Maybe not in your realm, but in this one it is. We won, but the cost may have been-”

“The wellbeing of the realm,” Asteria finishes, earning a nod from Rhysand.

“The battlefields haven’t healed, and the woods beyond them are rotting. The High Lords across all territories have tried to fix the damage, but it’s no use. It’s spreading, and I think you may be capable of stopping it.”

Asteria shakes her head, “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, panic beginning to build in her yet again, Asteria’s eyes shift back to the glorious night that stretches on before her, “I do not belong to this Realm, it’s already told me as much.”

“You do not belong to this Realm now, but you could,” Rhysand says, turning to face the silver haired female and returning her gaze to him, “Realms feel pain, and joy. They know trust. It’s how it decides its High Lords. It picks who it trusts. If you earn that trust, you could help it to heal.”

“Your faith is misplaced,” Asteria states, her own green eyes searching deep within Rhysand’s, searching for any kind of deceit or trickery. All she finds is a burning passion. A genuine one. It pisses her off, “You believe all of this after just one look behind my shields?”

“I do,” Rhysand nods, his smirk reappearing, “Your magic is unique, Asteria. It’s been missing from Prythian far too long.”

“Maybe so,” Asteria shrugs, having no reason to argue, “But what reason do I have to trust you, Lord Rhysand?”

“Just Rhysand is fine,” The High Lord tuts, and Asteria rolls her eyes in response, “And you can trust me, because I’m willing to give you the very thing I took while you slept.”

He holds out his hand, and Asteria understands.

She swallows, eyes locked on the High Lord’s upturned palm, “You truly saw everything then?”

“I did. It’s time for you to do the same.”

Asteria’s movements are slow, and stiff, her eyes locked on Rhysand’s as her fingers pry themselves free of the brown leather gloves that always cover them. 

Revealing what lay beneath, the High Lord doesn’t gawk, or cower away. No disgust lines his features. He looks at her expectantly, and with patience. 

He does not fear her, even after what he’d seen. 

So, Asteria presses her palm into his, the little magic she has that isn’t reliant on the Realm glowing brightly between them, wisps of light winding around their arms and further; around each piece of them. 

Her magic brushes against Rhysand’s mental shields, grand walls made of the strongest, most elegant obsidian. At her gentle prod, the gates give way.

And then five hundred years of memories slams into Asteria. 

She sees it all; feels every second of it. Every sharp inhale on the battlefield, and every relieved exhale in moments of peace. She’s lived in Illyrian war camps, and found bastards there that she lovingly calls brothers. She mourns her mother and sister, and takes swift revenge for them, losing her father and becoming High Lord in the process. She knows and loves her inner circle. She suffered under the mountain. She knows her mate; heard her neck snap and felt her die, only to be brought back. 

Feyre, Rhysand’s memories purr, the bond glowing in an incandescent light that has nothing to do with Asteria’s magic. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre. 

What follows makes Asteria shudder, she sees her mate as a shell of who she is, hollowed out by the ignorance of the High Lord of Spring. Sees him lock her in the house, only for her to be saved by Mor. She sees her training, her healing. The cabin. Her sisters being plunged into the Cauldron and emerging as high fae. 

Then, after a meeting with each of the High Lords of the Realm, she sees the war.

She sees Hybern coming for them, and the efforts taken to hold the front line. She tastes the blood that filled the air, felt the surges of power from the creatures that joined them, and the unlikely allies, both fae and human, that came to their aid.

Then, she feels the cold kiss of death. She sees the light back home, and clings to the bond of two souls. Then she is brought back.

She sees the aftermath of the war, the rebuilding and healing. The impact on the inner circle, on her mate and especially her sister. She sees the Winter Solstice, the night of her mate’s birth, their private celebration interrupted by a burning red star blazing through the sky. She sees the week leading to where they stand now. 

Asteria lets go, having seen every piece of the High Lord’s past in mere seconds. 

She breathes heavily, looking up at the male to see his eyes lined with silver, about to spill over, “You truly saw everything then?”

“I did,” Asteria nods, breath coming in uneven heaves. She squeezes her eyes closed, her focus shifting on regaining herself. Her thoughts slowly come back to her, her name, her home, her magic, what and who she trusts; she begins to list the things she knows, finding gaps that are still filled by Rhysand, but everything else is her own.

Using her magic this way strips her down, and makes her bare. She experiences another person’s entire life; their memories, thoughts, fears, joy. All of it. Over the centuries it had gotten easier to control it, and to come back to herself. It is still an effort, and Asteria still feels as though she loses a part of herself every time. But she’d always had her Realm to soothe her, to remind her who she is. She doesn’t have that anymore.

You are not mine.

“And do you trust me?”

“I-” Asteria pauses to breathe, thinking about what she had seen. For a while she was Rhysand, and she knows his purest intentions. Despite what he thinks of himself, he is a good, honorable male, and he’s been genuine since he appeared before her, “I think I do.”

“If you help me, if you help this realm, Asteria, you will stay here under the protection of my inner circle, with free reign to come and go as you please.”

The bargain is nearly perfect to the silver-haired female, so much so that she lets the corners of her mouth perk up into a small smirk. But then, the memory of a naive seventeen year old fae with too much budding power than she knew what to do with rams into her with all the pain that followed. All the torture. 

Asteria frowns, meeting the High Lord’s eyes again, “I won’t take your blood oath.”

“There are no blood oaths here,” Rhysand assures, a hand clamping down on the female’s strong shoulder and squeezing, “That’s a primitive practice, it hasn’t been used in thousands of years in this court. All you can give me is your word.”

“And if I deny you?” Asteria prods.

“Then you may go,” Rhysand says with a slight shrug, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, and to him maybe it is, “There are lots of places to live in this court and the others beyond it.”

The answer makes her feel like she can breathe again.

It’s with certainty that Asteria nods to Rhysand, standing a little straighter, a little more confidently. She knows her answer, and she’s known it from the second the male gave her his hand, “Okay,” She says steadily, “I’ll help you.”

Rhysand’s grin is bright enough to light up the entirety of the glorious night sky that stretches out before them, “Well then, allow me to welcome you to the Court of Dreams, Realm Reader.”

[maxwell-coffeepot101]

(I do yandere/not yandere the owl house, trolls world tour, trollstopia, trolls, dhmis tv series, dhmis yt series, John Doe, spooky month, Lego monkie kid, and Steven universe stuff when I don't post art.)

I will do:

Romantic.

Platonic.

Any of the characters.

Death.

LGBTQ+.

Smut. (Even though it's probably going to be horrible)

Suicide.

Non yandere things.

I will NOT do:

Romantic yandere with: hooty, king, Lilith, collector, skid, pump, yellow guy, tiny diamond, basically any character that is younger then 18 (unless aged up) aro ace characters, and Warren the wor- eagle.

Smut for characters under the age 18 or asexual characters.

Character x character.

[celestial-kit]

August

Inspired by August by Taylor Swift. All characters are 18+.

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors dni, angst, cheating, loss of virginity, dry humping, Tsukishima is kind of an asshole in this, I don’t know how to write endings

______________________________________________________________

You never expected your summer to end in heartbreak. You had every intention to have a fun, harmless summer with your friends, but now you’re here, a boy that will most certainly hurt you, a boy that you are in love with, and you know that there isn’t another ending to this story. 

You first saw Tsukishima Kei in your dad’s lab, bent over a microscope, examining some sort of sample. The lab is on the edge of the water in your little beach town. Apparently, there was a rare microorganism discovered in the coral reefs, so the lab got a grant to expand their operation and study the small creatures. Tsukishima was hired as an intern for the summer to help with the project, and you were immediately captivated by him. His blonde hair, golden eyes, broad shoulders, sharp cheekbones, everything about him created a thirst in you that you needed to quench. 

You quickly reached out to make a connection, learning that he was a biology major at a school in Sendai City and moved to your little town for the summer for this internship. While you did your best to flirt with him, his phone lit up with a text and you caught a glance of his lock screen. It was a picture of him and a girl. You paused mid joke to ask, “Is that your girlfriend?” 

He didn’t look at you as he replied to the text and said, “Yeah.”

You could feel your heart start to crack, disappointed by the discovery, but you still found yourself gravitating towards him over the coming weeks, going out of your way to talk to him, spend time with him, doing anything to get closer to him. 

One afternoon you were driving your car through town on your way to the local ice cream shop when you saw Tsukishima walking on the sidewalk, his headphones over his ears, hands in his pockets, and his head tilted toward the sky, presumably admiring the clear sky. 

You skidded to a stop next him, rolling your window down and pushing your sunglasses down your nose to look him in the eyes. He stopped strolling, surprised, and pulled his headphones down to hear what you had to say.

“Get in the car,” you smiled sweetly at him. You knew it was wrong to continue to pursue this, you knew he had a girlfriend, you knew it would hurt when you had to let him go, but part of you hoped that you could have him, keep him. 

He didn’t reject you, but rather gave you a smirk as he rounded your car, getting in your passenger seat. You laughed giddily as you continued your drive to the ice cream shop. After getting your ice cream, you sat on a bench overlooking the beach, appreciating the way the waves crashed on the shoreline. As you talked to each other, you found yourself becoming mesmerized by him. Watching him as his lips curved in a smile from a fond memory, his eyes lighting up as he let out a soft chuckle as he reminisced. 

He looked down at you after a minute and said, “Your ice cream is melting.” And sure enough, it was. The creamy vanilla had started to drip down the cone in your hand, down your fingers and hand, and you exclaimed with a quiet, “Oh!” as you searched for a napkin to clean yourself up. Before you could find one, you felt Tsukishima grab your arm to bring your hand up to his mouth and used his tongue to clean the sticky cream of your hand. He made eye contact with you as he made long swipes up your hand with his tongue. You couldn’t stop your breath from hitching in your throat and your heart from pounding in your chest. 

When he had cleaned up most of your mess, he stood up, a soft blush painting his cheeks as he said, “I should go.” Then he started walking away. You put a hand out, getting ready to stop him, tell him to wait, but he turned around to look at you and said, “I’ll see you later.” 

You found yourself making plans around him, waiting for him to be free so you could see him again, even canceling plans that you had been looking forward to in case he called you. One Saturday afternoon, Tsukishima texted you, “Meet me behind the mall.” So you got in your car and met him behind the cookie shop that was attached to the mall. The parking lot was empty as he climbed into your passenger seat, and you looked at him expectantly. 

“Where do you want to go?” you ask, trying to quell any hope in your heart as you waited for his reply. 

“Nowhere,” he replied, and then leaned across your console to grab your face and pull your lips to his. Your heart started to pound again, you could feel the beat of it in your ears, and even though you knew you should stop him, tell him that it was wrong, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You were so happy that he wanted you, so you let him kiss you. 

He pressed his tongue into your mouth, massaging your own and making you whine into the kiss. His other hand moved to your hip, grabbing and squeezing you over your skirt as he tried to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. When he pulled away, he reached under his seat to push it as far back as it could go, then he looked at you and said, “Come here.” His voice was gravelly and he looked at you in a way that made heat pool in your stomach and wetness seep into your panties. You scrambled over the console, climbing into his lap as he grabbed your hips as he seated you on top of his hard cock through his pants. 

You gasp at the contact, not expecting to feel him in that way, but still finding yourself trembling at the feeling as he dragged your clothed cunt against the front of his pants. He brought your lips down to his and continued to kiss you while thrusting up against your heat, making you mewl and gasp and pant against his lips. 

You hadn’t told him you were a virgin, never finding someone until this moment who you were interested in doing this with. But now as you feel pleasure rack across your body, you think that you wouldn’t mind giving it to him. 

He leaned his head back, resting on the back of his seat as he watched you grind yourself down on him, chasing a high that you had never felt before. You gripped his shoulders tightly as you pressed down harder, faster until you felt your mind being taken over by static, your mouth dropping open as you spasmed against his chest and he continued to thrust against you until he stopped with a grunt. 

You both breathed heavily as you rested your head on his chest, looking down to find that your skirt had hiked up from him grabbing your ass and moving you along his length, your panties completely exposed to him and anyone that might walk by the car. You could see your slick had dripped down your thighs and onto the front of his pants, and there was a distinct wet spot where Tsukishima had finished. 

“You made a mess,” Tsukishima said darkly, as you examined the scene. You looked at him, your face beating red from embarrassment, unsure how to take his comment.

“I’m sorry,” you dipped your head, trying to avoid his gaze. 

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him and said, “Don’t be.” Then he was kissing you again with your head feeling light and your heart feeling full. 

After that moment, you spent the rest of the summer waiting for his call, meeting him privately, and touching each other, despite the guilt that you felt after each interaction. One night, he asked you to go see a movie, and he fingered you in the back of the dark moving theatre, one hand over your mouth to keep you quiet while he whispered in your ear about how you were a dirty girl. Another day, you met him under the pier on the beach, laying out a blanket to have a picnic and you ended up giving him a blowjob, choking as he pushed your head down on his cock and wincing when he came down your throat. 

Each interaction made you feel sorry for his girlfriend, but they also made you fall harder for him, and you never wanted to let him go.

Now, you find yourself with one week left of summer, in his makeshift apartment, laying on blankets in his living room while the tv plays a movie that is long forgotten. Tsukishima has his fingers inside you, rubbing against your walls and making you see stars. You’re crying out for him as you lay naked underneath him, and he hovers over you with a smirk.

“Kei, please, Kei! I need you,” you whine. You know this is your last chance to be with him, he was leaving in just a few days to go back to school, and he would be busy with the lab right up until he left. 

He shoves his fingers harder inside you, making you cry out again, and says, “Are you sure?”

You nod, sure that you want him, that you need him, but you also say, “I’ve never…” trailing off, unsure how to explain that he’ll be your first. He leans down, softly kissing your lips and shushing you, pulling his fingers out of your cunt to rub gentle circles on your clit. 

“I know,” he whispers. “We’ll go slow.” Then he’s kissing you while your pushing his shirt off his shoulders, feeling the lean muscles of his chest and down his abdomen until you reach his pants. With shaky hands, you undo the button and he pushes them down his legs with his underwear, letting his hard length spring free. You reach down to give him a few pumps, feeling the weight of him in your hands as you shiver at the thought of him filling you up.

He pulls a condom out of his packet and starts rolling it down his length, then he’s lining himself up with your entrance while his forearms brace themselves next to your head. He looks down into your eyes before asking, “Are you sure?” 

When you nod, he starts pushing in, slowly filling you up as you gasp and tears well in your eyes. The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before, and it’s uncomfortable, it even hurts a little, but it also amazes you that you are so close to Tsukishima. You can see the blissed out look on his face as he continues to push in until he’s bottomed out and his balls are pressed snuggly against you, and it makes you want to keep going.

He holds himself there to give you time to adjust to the new pressure inside you, and you can feel the tears start to pour down your cheeks as you reach up to fist your hands in his hair and whisper, “I love you.” 

At this, he drops his head to the crook of your neck and sighs your name, gently kissing and nipping at your neck as he pulls out and gently pushes back in. You’re acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t return your sentiment, that he may not love you back, but at this moment you don’t know if you care because he is inside you and the feeling of him dragging along your walls makes you cry out and hold onto him tighter. 

He continues to push into you at this slow pace, and you continue to cry as he reaches down to rub circles into your clit, trying to get you to reach your peak before him. You end up cumming together, a watery sob leaving your lips as pleasure rocks through you and you realize that this moment with him is over.

Tsukishima stays on top of you for a few more moments before he pulls his softening length from you and stands to discard the used condom and clean himself up. You use one of the blankets that you’re laying on to wrap yourself up, feeling vulnerable and exposed as you watch him walk around his apartment and get dressed. You used the edges of the blanket to wipe the tears from your face and you sniffle a little when you ask, “Will you call me? When you’re back at school?” 

Tsukishima pauses his search for a clean shirt to look over his shoulder at you, giving you a sympathetic smile and saying “Of course” before continuing his search. You snuggle deeper into the blanket that you’ve cocooned yourself in as you feel a weight in your heart that you knew would come at the end of this.

_

When Tsukishima left, he gave you a hug and kissed your cheek, telling you that he would call you when he got the chance. True to his word, he did call you. He told you he missed you, asked you what you were wearing, requested you send him pictures. You always complied because you loved him, and you wanted him to want you. Sometimes late at night, he would call and whisper into your ear about how he needed you, and he would tell you how to touch yourself as he jacked off on the other end. 

Eventually though, the phone calls became shorter and the time between calls got longer. He stopped calling you late at night, stopped telling you that he missed you, and you could tell that he was ready for it to end. You cried when you knew it was over, even though he didn’t say it, you could tell by the way he said goodbye at the end of a call that he would not call again. 

You hoped that he knew that you loved him, that he brought you something you didn’t know existed and he will forever live in your heart. You hoped that he found happiness, that his girlfriend gave him everything you did and more, and you hoped that one day, even if it was far in the future, that he would come back to your open arms, despite the fact that he broke your heart.