#the last of us II headers

[staincastle]

⠀⠀⠀ ★ rina's message is here! the last of us headers

[mmogurl]

Last to Fall Chapter 2 - The Future Is Now

18+ | 4.3k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Dragonseed Reader | less miserable now and more typical, alcoholic, still needs reassurance Aegon | half sister reader - you're not really a maid anymore - I guess that means you got a promotion? P in V, smut, wholesome, fluff, this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

I've decided to take this story home and revisit some of the scenes from the show going forward. Because the more I looked back at them, the more I realized a lot of messed up shit happens in season 2 with Aegon that I don't personally like! Let it be known, I'm mostly using scenes from the show, but I'm also going to be mixing in a lot from the book from now on. So, it's going to come off like a weird amalgamation of show, book, and my own fiction thrown in there! So, here we're going to overhaul the small council meeting where Aemond makes a fool out of Aegon and we're going to bring it in line with something more like what they would have discussed if the show followed the battle plans from the book.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall). I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - The Future is Now Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for headers and I actually made the above gif myself! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna, @meggletoomanyfandoms, @theanbitchless (If you wanna be removed or added from/to the taglist, just let me know)

-You “I find it highly unorthodox for you to keep your mistress as cupbearer, Aegon,” Alicent spoke up with clear distaste written upon her features as you filled her glass. You smile awkwardly in acknowledgment and she quickly diverts her eyes from you and onto the king. “We cannot trust one such as she with matters in need of the utmost secrecy.”

“I trust her more than I do any of you,” Aegon says nonplussed by his mother’s complaint. “I wish for her to be here and so she shall. Now back to more pressing matters.” He turned his sights towards Prince Aemond, gesturing for him to continue as he took a swig of wine from his cup. “Please continue with our efforts on the war front, Brother.”

Aemond sat perched like an owl in search of prey, one hand resting on the table while the other manipulated a golden coin effortlessly over the tops of his knuckles. The prince always held a slight smirk taut at the corners of his lips that unnerved you, holding back a viciousness that seemed barely restrained. He had his eye trained on you and it made the hair on the back of your neck prickle with discomfort. It was a relief when he met Aegon’s gaze and spoke.

“Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest. The castle is small, weakly defended, and Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council,” his words are deliberate and precisely executed as though he’d rehearsed the very words all morning in the mirror, yet you know that’s not the case.

“Whittling away at her morale seems a worthy effort indeed, “Aegon says with a devious grin. “And when Rhaenyra sends reinforcement, which she is sure to do… We’ll be lying in wait?”

You notice Lord Larys Strong’s brow raise in concern at the mention and soon the meaning washes over you as well. You quietly step towards Aegon, filling his cup and looking down at him anxiously as you try to swallow the lump that is forming in your throat. He does not return your worried stare, instead engaged deeply in the conversation with his brother, excitement written all over his face at the prospect of action.

“Precisely,” Aemond replies with cool clarity, his expression more serious now. “Cole will set the bait with his forces and Staunton will send word to Dragonstone for support. The only aid that might answer in time is a dragon and when it arrives, the trap will be sprung and we shall answer it with advantage on our side.”

“One less dragon to face later,” Aegon chuckles mirthfully, not taking the situation seriously at all. If you could, you would grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he snapped out of it and realized how dangerous this idea was.

“Surely we cannot risk losing our king on the field of battle?” Lord Strong finally speaks his dislike of the strategy out loud. “Would we not be handing the throne to our enemies?” You cannot help but feel relieved that he has voiced your fears, even if it wasn’t for your benefit.

The other members of the council all share glances with each other, neither Lannister, nor Orwyle, nor Ironrod willing to lend their thoughts. You take your place to the side of the long table, standing next to one of the newly appointed Kingsguard, regarding the scene with trepidation.

“I agree,” Alicent states with a growing look of concern. “What if you are both lost? Then who will rule?”

“You show such little confidence in our capabilities, Mother,” Aemond replies in a voice that sounds surprisingly sweet despite the venomous sarcasm that laces his words. “Surely encouragement would serve us better at this hour.”

Alicent’s eyes widen as he puts her on the spot. She quickly schools her expression, her lips flattening as she clenches her jaw briefly before speaking again. “Yes, of course, I wish you both well. But that does not change the potential losses we might suffer. Strategies do not always go as planned.”

“They do when you have dragons,” Aegon quips, still treating the war as though it were a game. You are glad to see his spirits improved since that very first time the two of you laid together, but could certainly do without the impetuousness he’s displaying at the moment.

“What if Rhaenyra sends more than one dragon?” Lord Strong poses the possibility to the king.

“It is highly unlikely,” Aemond interjects with a smug menace so intense that only the bravest of men might continue to argue. “Rhaenyra will no doubt be advised not to venture into battle herself and Daemon is presently holding down Harrenhal.”

“And no doubt she would be loathe to send another of her sons forth after what happened to the last,” the king concurs, letting out a derisive, pointed laugh. He runs his tongue along his teeth as though anticipating the taste of blood that will be spilled and relishing in it. “No other dragon yet tamed offers a significant challenge to the might of Vhagar and Sunfyre combined,” he adds, his eyes beaming with pride and superiority.

“Indeed,” Prince Aemond replies with barely curling lips, his eyes sharp as he regards his brother.

The Queen Dowager sighs, knowing she has lost this dispute and exchanges a despairing glance at Lord Strong. Your attention is drawn back to Aegon as he picks up his stone ball and places it in the large dish on the center of the table.

“We will leave when the second sun rises, then?” Aegon confirms to his brother who nods in return. It seems clear to you now that they have already spoken of this matter in private before even bringing it to the attention of the small council, and that it had already been decided upon.

The king steals a glance back towards you, nodding slightly in your direction as his eyes urge you to follow him. You eagerly oblige, anxious to have some words with him about his risky tactics in private. Aegon heads back to his chambers and you shadow him quietly as two of his Kingsguard take up the rear.

You almost can’t recognize the sweet and tender lover you’ve come to know so intimately. The sorrowful and lonely man you once comforted now replaced with a bloodthirsty warrior, a change you do not fully understand. Perhaps you are not fulfilling your duties as his companion well enough to satisfy the demons that haunt him, for he now seeks relief in brutality instead of you.

Aegon throws open the doors to his apartment and you are right behind him, closing them shut as you enter. He walks towards the table, not wasting any time in pouring a chalice of wine for himself. Bringing the cup to his lips, he takes a long swig before turning to face you.

“Alright then. Get on with it,” he says with mild annoyance. “I can already tell you are not pleased.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you say against your best judgment to quarrel with the king, but spurred by concern for him. “Any number of things might go wrong. I would prefer you stay here where it is safe in the keep. With me.”

He rolls his eyes with clear indifference to your worries, striding up to you confidently and running his knuckles softly against your cheek. “It will be fine,” he counters smoothly, his voice smooth like silk as he leans in to press a brief kiss against your lips. “We have the upper hand with two dragons, love.”

“Did you not ask me to sit in on your council meetings so that I might assist in offering you sincere and valid counsel?” you retort, hating his lackadaisical attitude towards the situation.

When he’d first requested you be his cupbearer, you had argued that you had no place in the chamber of the small council. Aegon had insisted though, stating he needed someone with a keen eye who was on his side for once. Now you wondered if he had even meant those words.

“Yes, but this is a matter of war, not court nor politics,” he replied with a scoff, turning and walking towards the center of the large room. “And you are just letting your womanly heart lead you.”

“Womanly heart?” you repeat, feeling your shoulders tighten at his cruel implication. “Or perhaps you must accept that war is not a child’s game,” your voice runs cold as anger grips you. “That a king has a responsibility to his people and not just to his own sense of glory.”

Aegon turns with a chuckle, regarding you snidely. This condescension actually bothers you more than the fury you expected from him. “Tis not glory I seek, but the alleviation of my boredom,” he says plainly and there’s an apathy in his voice that makes your chest ache.

“Am I not enough to keep you engaged?” you ask quietly, feeling your wrath fade into pain.

The king’s smile falters, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as you speak. He hesitates a moment before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. “Love…” he murmurs, sounding a bit repentant now. “It has nothing to do with you. I simply feel… constrained in this city. While everyone else fights to retain my crown, I am expected to stay here and be idle. I wish to prove myself.”

He closes the distance between you both, his violet eyes piercing into yours. Aegon reaches out to cradle your face, his touch gentle and his demeanor much warmer now. “I know that you worry for me,” he says, his voice tender as he rests his forehead against yours. “But I cannot lead my army from behind these castle walls. I trust you understand?”

“You didn’t have to be so cruel,” your voice is a whisper as you try to hold back the desire to cry. “Treating me as though I matter not to you.”

Aegon tugs you closer towards him, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. He lets out another weary exhale, seemingly releasing all of the tension that had held him taut moments prior. “I didn’t mean to be a bastard to you, my darling,” he says, voice heavy with remorse.

“You are not my enemy,” he adds, leaning back slightly to kiss your golden crown of hair. “There are whispers afoot within the Red Keep, they abound in the city as well. The people all speak of my cowardice. How I have usurped the throne and now hide in my castle, afraid to face the might of the true heir’s forces. I find myself on edge.”

“You might have told me this sooner,” you reply, shifting your head to peer up at him. “I am here for you, my king, and you alone. If you cannot confess such tensions to me, than they will only serve to devour you whole. I am not here to judge, but to listen, to offer support.”

“Such habits are not easy to break,” Aegon says with a flicker of shame adorning his features. “I have been ridiculed my entire life and it has made me averse to showing weakness.”

“But you revealed yourself to me and it brought us together,” you argue his absurd logic. “Do not hide from me. Ever.” Your hands slide across his chest, moving upwards until your fingers dance delicately across the line of his jaw.

Aegon lets out a shaky breath, his body easing under your gentle touch. “What is it about you, love?” he asks closing his eyes as your hand rakes back into his hair. “You always manage to disarm me so completely, breaking down the fortress I’ve spent a lifetime erecting.”

He opens his eyes and smiles at you with amusement. “Very well then. I will not distance myself from you, or at least I shall try not to. But I still intend to join Aemond and fight. Can you stand to watch me go?”

Your grip tightens slightly in his hair at the mention of the battle. You had hoped you could sway him to stay, but it is clear now that he will not listen. The king was dead set on clearing his name, on making his constituents believe that he truly deserved his seat on the Iron Throne.

“You must promise me that you will be careful,” you plead with him, knowing deep down that such a request was impossible to accommodate in war. “Do not take any unnecessary risks.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to accomplish from the back of a dragon, my darling,” Aegon lets out a small laugh, resting his hands on your hips. “But I will do my best and I have no intention of dying at Rook’s Rest.”

You lean up to kiss him once more as your hands wrap around his back, clinging fiercely. His lips are hot and wet and so alive with passion as he hungrily returns the embrace. You cannot help the gnawing feeling beginning to coalesce in your gut, that something horrible is going to happen to him. Each press of your lips against his echoing your desperation and the fear that he might not return to you.

He walks you back to the table and plucks you up, placing your bottom on the hard surface. His hands work at bunching up your skirts, lifting and pushing them aside so he has access to you. His hands slide up to your hips, hooking his fingers into the waistline of your smallclothes and pulling them down. He doesn’t waste any time in spreading your thighs apart with his knee, stepping closer until you can feel just how much he wants you.

“I’ll return to you, love,” he says breathlessly between kisses against your jaw. Aegon urgently unties his breeches as he continues, “Nothing could keep me from you.”

His lips crash into yours, devouring your mouth with intensity as he grinds against you, making you weak in your desire for him. Withdrawing from your mouth, he peppers kisses down your neck, and along your décolletage before letting out a gasping groan of lust.

Pulling you to the edge of the table, his purple eyes appear black with arousal as they lock onto yours. He slides into your wet slickness in one fluid motion, filling you completely. Aegon leans forward again, his face buried in your neck as he grasps onto your hips and moves into you with a desperate frenzy.

His lips nibble against your lobe as he whispers raggedly in your ear, “You will be waiting for me when I return, won’t you?” his words almost sounding insecure. “Tell me you love me. Tell me you need me. I must hear you say it.”

You are powerless to your king’s wishes, especially when he is fucking you so well. “I love you,” you say panting as his throbbing cock invades your wanting cunny. “I need you.”

Aegon groans loudly at the sound of your voice, the table quaking as he increases his pace, his hips snapping forward and driving into you harder, deeper. He is relentless in his efforts, pounding into your core with an urgency you’ve never experienced before. “Say it again,” he demands, his breaths short and heavy. “Again…” he growls as he buries himself within you, his grip on your hips bruising as he holds you steady.

It is hard to concentrate, let alone ponder the king’s strange choice of dirty talk, but Aegon’s vulnerability has always drawn you to him. It seemed mixing physical and emotional release at the same time was becoming quite commonplace for you both and you could not deny how therapeutic it felt for you either, to give of yourself and receive his devotion in return. Even if you had not been together for very long, you were sure that your attraction to Aegon was not simply fueled by sexual pleasure alone.

“I love you, Aegon,” you repeat, breathless and gasping as he chases his high within you.

He moans your name, a pained sound as he leans back and takes in your expression. “Make me believe it,” he pleads, pressing wet kisses against your face as he punctuates each spoken word with a particularly hard thrust.

“Gods, Aegon!” you cry out, feeling your peak near as his pelvis rolls mercilessly against your pearl. Each deep invasion paired with a ruthless grinding motion that makes your toes curl. “I-I do…” you confess with shaky breaths. “I have since I came into your service.”

“You what? I need to hear you say it,” he prompts you yet again, searching always for reassurance in you. “Let me taste the truth in your words,” his voice is ragged as he beseeches you.

Your hands that had been braced on the edge of the table, now find his hips and grasp firmly. The motion of your bodies like waves on the ocean, and it is not long before the familiar feeling of completion spreads through your inner walls. He immediately devours your lips in a desperate kiss. It’s tender and passionate at the same time, making you forget every rational thought or worry that you had.

Against his lips you reaffirm your adoration, your voice rough as you speak your convictions, “I love you, Aegon… Only you make me feel whole.”

A grunt breaks from the back of Aegon’s throat as he buries himself completely inside you, prodding against the tender entrance to your womb. His length swells as he spills his seed within you, his body twitching as he moves to wrap his arms around you.

Aegon collapses against you for a time, capturing his breath as you leave hungry kisses all along his neck and shoulder. You make a startled sound of shock when he suddenly pulls you off the table. His hands slip under your bottom, urging your thighs around his waist and you cling to him dearly making sure you don’t fall.

He holds you tightly in his arms and moves to the large velvet couch against the wall, flopping down on it and pulling you into his lap. Aegon cups his hand behind your head, pulling you close until he is all you can see, his violet eyes fixed on you.

“I don’t believe I’ve said it as much as I should,” his voice is low and quiet. “But I love you as well.”

Your expression softens from one of lusty playfulness to something more sincere at his heartfelt words. It was true, he hadn’t often, if ever, acknowledged his direct feelings towards you, but you’d still known that he cared. It was plain to see that needed you, even if he didn’t always admit it.

“I will come back to you, I swear it…” he says with a knowing smirk, reading the affection in your tender eyes. “And when I do, I intend to you make you mine forever.”

“How?” you ask quirking a brow in confusion, the haze of your orgasm still lingering.

“By wedding you, of course,” Aegon replies, as though it is the most obvious answer in the world. “I will take you as my second wife. There is no rule that states I cannot. Besides, it might be seen as disrespectful to my namesake if I did not follow in his footsteps.” His hand lifts to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he regards you with a dreamy look, as though imagining a future where you are his wife.

“Do you think it prudent to cause an uproar with such a controversy?” you say with a look of worry deepening your brow. “With the civil war? With the food shortages? As you said, there are already whispers among the people. Should we give them more to talk about?”

Aegon releases a heavy sigh, a look of displeasure crossing his face as his jaw clenches. You continue before he can get too upset.

“I am overjoyed that you’d have me as your wife, my love.. But I am also concerned. Perhaps we could have a private ceremony? Keep it secret until the war has passed?” You run you fingers gently from his forehead down his temple until your palm is resting on his cheek.

“Why should I keep you a secret!?” he asks petulantly. “My wife, Queen Helaena, sits in her rooms all day, crying and speaking to herself. I cannot blame her for the pain she has suffered, sadly, she was quite fragile to begin with… But as it stands, she is no queen. The people could do with a figurehead, someone to follow, to reassure them that everything is alright in these trying and uncertain times. I have never been adept at such persuasions, but you… You would be wonderful in that role. It is how a queen should behave.”

You shake your head and let out an exasperated breath. “Be that as it may. You seem to forget that I am not a noble. The people will not accept it.”

“And you forget that I am king,” Aegon replies with a shrug. “In fact, I will fix this issue before I leave for Rook’s Rest.” He gently places you to his side, setting you onto the plush cushions. You watch dumbfound as Aegon gets up from the couch and ties the laces of his breeches absentmindedly as he crosses the room to his desk. He takes out a piece of paper, a quill, some ink, and begins to write.

“What are you doing?” you ask with furled brows as you make your way over to him, impossibly curious to know what he is up to.

“I’m writing a decree,” he says, not looking up from his parchment. “It is not unheard of for nobles to petition the king to legitimize their offspring. Given you are my father’s daughter, that would elevate you to a Targaryen princess, with all the rights and privileges the title entails.” Aegon finished writing and signed the paper with a flourish. As he blew on the ink, impatient for it to dry, he added, “I think a princess would be considered more than suitable for a king, don’t you?”

You are dumbstruck at the precise and confident way he asserts such a complicated matter as concluded. “Is such a thing possible? Truly?”

“It’s as good as done,” Aegon says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It is likely for the best that I take care of the issue before I leave for battle. I would not wish for my mother to think she had any say when it comes to your well being in my absence.

He examines the parchment, making sure that the ink has set and then carefully folds it. You watch as he melts a chunk of red wax and presses his seal into it, sealing the decree and placing it aside on his desk.

“There, the matter is resolved,” he says with a satisfied smile as he pulls you down into his lap. “Now what are you going to do while I’m away?” he asks softly. “Without your king to serve?”

“You might still change your mind and stay here with me so that I do not wither away from loneliness,” you riposte with a slight puff in your cheeks as your lips purse.

The king lets out a laugh, shaking raising a finger to your mouth to shush you. “You are incorrigible,” he purrs fondly, placing a kiss upon your pouting lips. “You know I must go, love. I need to prove it to Mother, to the council, to the people… Hells, even to myself that I am worthy of the crown.” He looks at you earnestly, his eyes searching yours as though trying to convince himself that he’s right in this. “But, I will miss you terribly. More than you could possibly know.”

“What will I even do without you?” Leaning in you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, letting your nose nuzzle against his skin. You sit back in his lap more, fixing his hair by tucking it behind his ears dotingly. “Everyone treats me even more coldly now that we are together so openly. They all turn their backs to me as though I’m invisible,” you say sadly. Even though he is not due to leave for another day and night, you feel as though you miss him already.

Aegon’s arms tighten around you possessively, his hand caressing your back. “When you are queen they won’t dare turn their backs to you,” his voice was low and gravelly. “They will bow and scrape at your feet , and if they don’t…” he trails off, leaving the threat hanging the air.

“Ah yes,” you say with a morose chuckle. “There is nothing more civil then the threat of a noose.”

He laughs wholeheartedly at your jest, his eyes beaming with affection. “You worry too much,” he says with a warmth written in his expression. “There is only one matter left unresolved as far as I’m concerned.” Aegon looked you over with an almost stern gaze, sizing you up.

“And what is that, my love?” you ask with a curious glint in your eye.

“You haven’t said yes yet,” he says with a smooth grin, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “Will you be my wife?”

You gaze into his eyes, a happiness building in your chest as you realize the levity of this moment. You’re not sure if it’s the right choice to make in terms of harming his reign as king, but deep down you know there is only one answer you could ever give him.

“Yes,” you reply with a humble smile, your eyes threatening tears as you lean in and taste the lips of your lover, your future husband if the Gods so willed it.

Read Chapter 3

[yeowangies]

mutual understanding

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | CHAPTER V: Shiny green sprouts

PAIRING: Kenpachi/AFAB!Reader CONTENTS: AU - Fantasy, Medieval, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Virginity Loss. WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Explicit sexual content, lots of dialogue, minor yumichika/ikkaku. WORDCOUNT: 3518

Summary:

Kenpachi realized a few things as your relationship bloomed.

Notes:

Oh i'm sooooooooo happy with this chapter! It was fun to write, and I didn't think i'd enjoy it so much to explore ken's pov. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it 😭

This is the last chapter and i'm happy to finish this wonderful story! I love these two so much that i wanna add more chapters with a little more plot as well, but since i'm not sure if or when will that be, the story shall end here for now. Thank you for reading 💖

header by me, divider by @/saradika

taglist: @actuallysaiyan @lol-ktr @vrgelivvvv @pennameyoruichiii @hikariandptakchleb @thebestgirlever2 @tequila-coffee-things

Kenpachi had pictured you in his fantasies several times. Different activities, different places, different circumstances; but you were always there, tempting him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to experience any of them, but after that first night you two had sex, he’d let himself hope for more.

He didn’t think you’d have so much initiative, however. He couldn’t help but grin as you bounced on his lap one night, bracing your hands on his chest as you pleasured yourself on his cock. 

The alcohol was probably a factor in what you were currently doing, but Kenpachi knew you weren’t drunk. A little tipsy and on the happier side maybe, but you had gotten to the bedroom without his help; moreover, you had wrapped your arm around his, clinging for a minute before you started tugging at his hand to make him hurry up,and he let lead, dragging him down the hall. 

For someone so small, you had a lot of conviction, and it only took a second to make him remove his clothes when you got to the bedroom. He didn’t put up a fight, obviously; he was intrigued and incredibly turned on to see you so eager to fuck him, kissing him as if your life depended on it. The way he had kissed you since that first time. 

The sight was amazing, your breasts bouncing every time you moved up and down, moaning with your head thrown back in ecstasy. Kenpachi didn’t want to close his eyes, engraving your every curve in his memory. Just in case he had to be apart from you in the future, this was what he wanted to remember: you, completely bare, covered in beads of sweat, as you shamelessly impaled yourself on his dick. 

His hips bucked upwards, seeking more of your wet heat, and you hummed every time the head of his cock hit inside you just right. He was hoping you’d pick up the pace, and he encouraged you to hurry up with a firm grip on your hips to guide you, but you only seemed to care about your own pleasure at that moment, making him groan like a wounded animal. 

“It feels so good…” You purred, looking down at him with hooded eyes. 

You bit your lip as you slid one hand up his cheek, stroking softly. 

Kenpachi wasn’t used to those kinds of gestures, not even during sex, but he wasn’t going to say no to it. Every time you touched him his skin burned, and he’d gladly set himself on fire for you. Chasing your touch, he turned his head towards your hand, licking your finger before you put your thumb in his mouth. He eagerly sucked on it with a salacious smirk plastered on his face at the same time. Grunting when your walls around him clenched, he figured you probably really liked what he was doing. 

Holding your hips tightly, he thrust up, hitting deep inside you again as you let out a loud whimper. He picked up a rhythm to his own liking, watching with amusement as you stuttered to get coherent words out of your mouth as he slid his cock in and out of you. 

“Wait, Ken- Please, give me a sec-” You pleaded, dragging your nails down his chest. 

Kenpachi groaned in response, even more turned on than before. It was like you were made for him. 

You were still finding yourself when it came to sex, sometimes even explicitly asking him for certain things, and he was more than eager to please you every time. But moments like that night were spontaneous, and you carried yourself with that self assurance that he had enjoyed greatly since the first moment he saw you; those were the moments when he found out how perfect you were for him. Some women had tried to tame him and molded him for themselves, the few braves enough who thought they could anyway; but you weren’t even trying, and yet you were succeeding. 

“You had been teasing me for too long,” He squeezed your hips before dragging his hands towards your chest. “You shameless woman.”

“I wasn’t- Ah!” Whatever else you were about to say died in your throat when he slammed his hips particularly hard. 

Kenpachi rammed into you, smacking his hips against your ass, his orgasm getting closer and closer. With his hands on your tits, he groped them roughly, tugging at your nipples, earning a stuttered whine from you. It worked well for him that your chest was so sensitive, your breasts were marvelous and he’d gladly play with them all the time. 

He knew how close to the edge you were as well. Your hips kept grinding down on him at an uneven pace, and your moans were getting louder, little signs that gave you away. Sliding a hand down your stomach, he ran his thumb over your clit, stroking with pressure and obvious intent. Your body shuddered instantly, slanting forward on his chest, digging your nails on his shoulders. It made his cock throb inside your heat. 

“Oh God, I’m-” You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his.

“Come on, baby,” Kenpachi encouraged you, giving your clit all of his attention as he glided his dick in and out. “I wanna feel you come.”

Moans and whines left your lips against the skin of his neck, and it only spurred him on. He slid his hand over your ass, grabbing it roughly, making you scream when he slapped it harshly. 

It only took a couple more thrusts before you were coming, quivering as you rolled your hips, riding out your orgasm. Your insides tightened around his cock, bringing him closer to his own release than he expected. 

With a firm grip on your waist, Kenpachi rolled you over, pressing your back to the mattress before he started slamming his hips against yours, seeking his own pleasure. You let out little gasps as he stroked every spot inside you with his cock. He took pleasure in knowing you only made those noises for him and no one else. 

“Fucking hell!” He groaned against your neck, holding tight onto your hips.

Burying his cock deep inside you, he spilled his cum as he came, practically growling into your shoulder, seeing stars behind his lids. Gliding his length in and out until you had milked out every last drop of his load, he pressed his body against yours, panting against your skin. 

Your hands were on his back, softly caressing him, as you both caught your breaths. Kenpachi found the gesture extremely calming, even though he wasn’t used to the feeling. Pulling away after a few seconds, he sank onto his side of the bed, warmth spreading in his chest when you snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. That sensation was also brand new. 

In stark contrast to the coziness that was the bed, he observed, even through the fogged windows, that the snow outside the glass had started to melt. Winter hadn’t been as crude as other years, or at least it felt that way; since you got to the castle, the atmosphere felt different. 

Not to mention that once the intimacy started, the temperature rose. 

Since the castle was given to him, Kenpachi hadn’t been spending so much time in the bedroom as he did after he got married. At the end of the day, he simply couldn’t wait to get to where you were, and that was usually the bed; though you had visited him fairly often at the training grounds, watching him fight with enthusiasm. It was strange; your delicate presence didn’t seem to combine well with your surroundings, but he liked that you were there to see him regularly. It was a pleasant change when he took into account how terrified you looked the first time you saw him.

Kenpachi would have let you return to your palace if that was what you truly wanted, he really would have if you had asked for it when he offered the option to you. But at that moment, he couldn’t even imagine a life in the castle without you. Your presence brought color to his surroundings. If you were to ask him to leave then, he wasn’t sure he’d allowed it. 

Your hand running up and down his chest brought his attention to you, especially when your fingers started skimming through the scar on his left pectoral. You must have been doing it out of curiosity, as you usually did, but your touch burnt his skin easily, and it felt like being cut open all over again. 

“Stop doing that.”

“I’m sorry,” You replied right away, moving your hand to his side. “Does it hurt?”

“That’s not it.” Kenpachi replied, tightening his grip around your shoulder in case you pulled away. “You’re making me hard again.”

“Oh…” You blushed slightly, but remained still. “Is that actually a bad thing?”

Kenpachi quirked his brow. It had certainly been hours and several orgasms since you two got into the room; you had been determined to keep going after each one. You loved being pushed to the edge, and he was more than happy to oblige; but he knew your physical condition could not compare to his, and even the fact that you hadn’t insisted on going again after that last round meant that you needed a break. At least for only a few minutes; he hadn’t had enough just yet. 

“I know you need to recover. Don’t play tough, kid.”

“I’m not playing tough,” You pouted, playfully glaring at him. “I’m your wife, I am tough.”

With a deep laugh, Kenpachi squeezed your shoulder. You hit his chest in jest, but he remained unaffected. 

“I can’t believe I used to be afraid of you. You’re like a giant plushie.”

“A what?” He asked, frowning in confusion. 

“A cuddly toy. You’re very rough on the surface,” You explained, smoothly running your hand down his abdomen. “But you’re nice to cuddle with. And at the same time, you’re like a whole bed yourself with how big you are.”

“Maybe it’s just you who’s tiny.” Kenpachi replied with a smirk. It was a great delight for him that you were so much smaller than he was; picking you up barely required any effort.

“Regardless, I thoroughly enjoy this.” You snuggled closer, burying your face in his neck, goosebump forming on his skin when he felt your warm breath so close to his jaw. “I was so wrong about you.”

“So I’m not barbaric?” He asked teasingly. 

Kenpachi wasn’t a particularly resentful man, but it was even surprising for himself how much it had annoyed him to hear you talk so rudely about him when you tried to call off the wedding. You weren’t even completely wrong; he was violent and enjoyed brutal confrontation more than anything; but his anger had a lot to do with the image he had of you in his mind. Obviously that first encounter between the two of you had left an unpleasant impression on you. 

“You still remember that?” You covered your face with your hand, before sitting up to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, I was upset and… I did think you were barbaric, but I know better now!”

“You weren’t entirely wrong about all that stuff you said to your father.” Kenpachi had his gaze fixed on yours, gauging your reaction. 

“I guess… Honestly, I thought you were violent in every aspect. But I have seen now that you enjoy combat, and not just plain cruelty!” You added quickly, pleading eyes looking at him as if begging for understanding. “And I accept that. I’ve seen you train with your men, and not only do you look like you’re enjoying yourself, but even your soldiers seem to be having their morale raised by being in your presence. There’s something about you-”

“You get chatty when you’re drunk.” Kenpachi smirked, amused at how much you were rumbling. He noticed the first time you drank more than a couple of glasses how you usually dropped the formal speech, as well as loosening your tongue.

“I’m not drunk, I just had a few glasses of wine.” You pouted, lying back on his chest and nuzzling close once more. “Besides, you’re the one who doesn’t talk a lot.”

“Oh, what does my wife wanna hear?” Kenpachi asked with a grin that was clearly just to mock you. “Maybe I can entertain you.”

The pout on your lips had the ability to make him instantly hard, but he was more curious about whatever silly question you could throw at him.

“Very well then, why were you in the forest when I was attacked by that werewolf?”

The question caught him off guard. He turned to look at your face, trying to somehow see through you, wondering what kind of answer you were expecting from him. 

“I was following you.” Kenpachi replied after a long moment of silence.

“What?”

“I was nearby and saw you go into the forest. And I followed you.”

“Why?”

“I had already seen you at the palace before.” He would have doubted being completely straightforward in other circumstances, but you were already married, and there was no sign of any negative emotion in your eyes, only intrigue. “I was curious about what you were up to.”

“You’ve seen me before?” You asked, looking more confused than before. “But we were never at the same balls or social events.”

“Because I hate those things.” Kenpachi grimaced, recalling how uncomfortable the suits he was usually required to wear were. “But you spent an awful time in the gardens when me and my men were staying in one of the buildings nearby.”

“You’re more romantic than I expected.” You replied with a soft smile, running your hand up and down his side again. 

Kenpachi’s immediate thought was that he wasn’t being romantic, but it was pure lust that had taken him to you. You were carefree, walking around in the gardens with your bare feet as if you didn’t have a single worry in the world, with your maids chasing after you while holding your shoes. You smiled contently when you sat down in your garden full of flowers to pick them up regularly, seemingly unaware of the world around you. He had only wanted to have you when he looked at you from afar, tempted by that vivacious energy. On that fateful night he had followed you with the sole intention of attempting to lure you into having his way with you. He knew the risks and what you must have thought of him if he approached you and he hadn’t cared then, but it was confirmed when you spoke the way you did about him to your father when you tried to convince him not to go through with the wedding.

The romance part, that came much later when he got to know you after you got married. 

“A few of the seeds I planted last autumn have budded.” You suddenly commented, and it got to his attention that you might have had the ability to read minds. “Even through the snow, a few shiny green sprouts had emerged in the garden. I can’t wait to see how much they’ll grow.”

Kenpachi blinked and stared down at you for a long moment before you took notice.

“What?” 

He didn’t exactly know what to say. Your comments seemed to be making fun of him when it was obvious you weren’t. Something had budded inside him for you, that was for sure. He didn’t plan on developing feelings, or whatever other bullshit concept people sometimes talked about when they mentioned the word ‘love’. 

However, circumstances had tricked him into feeling something warm spreading in his chest as he looked at you, as if stars were dancing around you.

Your gaze was fixed on him in confusion before your lips curled into a smile.

“Do you want to see the sprouts?”

“The fuck are you saying, kid? It’s past midnight.”

“So?” You pulled away from his arms and got off the bed in the blink of an eye. “Come on, you’ll be with me! Besides, you already know how much I like going for walks at night!”

Kenpachi was close to letting you go alone, if his mind didn’t scream that it was late at night, and you’d be alone. The castle was secure, but who knows what kind of box full of curses you’d open if left to your own devices. 

Who was he kidding? He didn’t want anything to happen to you, even if that something was as silly as tripping with your own two feet. 

Cursing under his breath, Kenpachi got up, putting some of his warmest clothes on, and following your lead as you walked out the door. 

*

It was a starry night, but the beautiful sight of it didn’t stop it from being freezing cold. Yumichika huffed, wrapping the coat tighter around himself, as he walked along the battlements. 

Ever since you got to the castle, Kenpachi had put him and Ikkaku to guard the grounds, up until dawn at least. He couldn’t believe it at first, but the more he watched you two interact, there was no doubt in his mind on why the captain was being so careful. 

Nonetheless, it was surprising. Yumichika had never seen Kenpachi have a relationship that was even close to what you had with him. His bond with Yachiru was the closest thing, but even that wasn’t an accurate comparison, by a long shot. He didn’t think something like that would ever happen, simply because Kenpachi didn’t seem interested in those kinds of affairs. Most women didn’t like how abrasive he was, and at the beginning you weren’t the exception. 

Before his mind wandered further into what could have possibly happened between you two behind closed doors, Ikkaku walked up to him, complaining loudly. 

“This is so boring!” Ikkaku slumped against the cold brick wall. “If at least something would actually try to attack this place, it’d be justified. But no! Everyone knows who this castle belongs to, who the fuck would try?”

“I share the sentiment,” Yumichika replied, equally bored, as he scanned the gardens. “No matter how much the captain cares about the safety of the lady, I’m sure he’d appreciate the challenge of something attempting to invade us.”

“The safety of the lady?” Ikkaku looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you really that dense?” Yumichika turned to him, staring at him with a frown. “He’s obviously doing this for her.”

“I don’t get it, if it was for her, why put us as security during the night?”

“Because the captain is awake during the day, she doesn’t need protection then.”

“But she does at night?”

“Didn’t you see her taking random walks at night when she first arrived?” Yumichika groaned, exasperated. “Not to mention the circumstances of their meeting.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ikkaku commented, running his hand over his head as he recalled. “She walked past the limits of the woods.”

“I guess we know why she likes the captain now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She obviously likes putting her life at risk if she went into that forest alone at night.” Yumichika huffed, fixing his eyes back towards the garden. “Though I don’t really think that’s it.”

“What isn’t?”

“She wasn’t happy about being here at all, even less marrying the captain.” Yumichika squinted his eyes when he saw two figures in the garden, and grinned mischievously when he noticed who it was. “Speaking of which, look who’s there.”

Ikkaku approached the edge and followed his companion’s gaze, snorting when he recognized the two figures.

“The captain and the lady, walking through the gardens.” He clicked his tongue before chuckling. “Can’t believe he’s following her.”

“I can. Did you see the way he looked at her when she walked in the training grounds the first day?”

“Yeah, so?” 

“There were flowers emanating from him when he noticed her. It was creepy.” Yumichika shuddered dramatically, still keeping his eyes on you and Kenpachi as you walked together through the garden. 

“Yeah, I think I remember that.” Ikkaku paused when he noticed how close you two were walking, and even in the distance, it was obvious when Kenpachi leaned down to place a long kiss on your lips. “Huh, so the captain actually likes his wife.”

“I think it’s more than just like.” Yumichika sighed with a smile when he saw you grab Kenpachi’s hand. “And she seems to feel the same way.”

“Man, I hope they don’t fuck in the middle of the garden.” Ikkaku grimaced moments later when you practically jumped into Kenpachi’s arms to kiss him. 

“Doubt it, it’s too cold to do that.”

“Is that why we haven’t done it in a while?”

“We are here in the middle of the night, idiot, that’s why.” Yumichika rolled his eyes as he elbowed Ikkaku in the ribs.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

tommy's party (tommy's party pt. ii)

summary: you and frankie work things out. it just might be that actions speak louder than words.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're still having a good time! friends to lovers, massive idiots in love, split pov, little bit of fluff, a whole lotta sexual tension and actual sex this time. thighriding, m masturbation, unprotected p in v (wrap it, y'all), oral, creampie. use of pet names (good girl, baby, etc. (not platonic!))

song is tagged at end of fic - header does not represent reader, only the album!

wc: 12.3k

an: happy frankie friday, y'all <3

part i - you and your friends

Tasha leaves early the next morning. 

Frankie offers to make her coffee, but she politely declines, saying she should probably get home. He’s surprised at how quick and easy it is for her to cut her losses. He’s surprised at how little he cares about seeing her again. 

He’s surprised at how quickly all of last night is eaten up by thoughts of you.

You and how much you’d heard. You and how you’d left. You and where you’d gone. 

Frankie tries to keep his mind occupied as the hours tick by. He texts you again, just wanting to know if you’re safe, adding to the string of unanswered messages from the night before. He has a horrible, sour feeling that he’s upset you. And a deeper, nasty feeling that he can’t quite place. 

He hates the fact you have this hold over him, hates the fact that he felt nothing as he fucked Tasha last night, the fact that he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t moan your name. Hates the fact that when he shut his eyes he could only see you, only wanted to feel and hear you, and that it’s those thoughts that made him do it. The fact that you care so much you’d left the apartment, but not for the reasons he wants. 

His mood has soured so much by late morning that he wishes you won’t come home. He hopes he won’t have to see you, hopes he won’t have to talk to you until he solves the broiling mess swirling in his head. But it’s still bubbling when the front door opens and you step through it, in the same clothes you left in, hair wet and eyes tired.

Frankie’s stomach rolls as though he already knows, can already sense where you’ve been, who you were with.

You fix each other with a stare as you kick off your trainers and take off your hoodie. You hang it next to your jacket and turn to face Frankie at the kitchen counter. You hope he can tell you’re not wearing a bra. You hope he can see from there the bruises that are forming on your neck and collarbone from Benny last night. 

And this morning.

As you step into the kitchen, Frankie’s eyes sweep over you. The marks, the way you now avoid his gaze. You try to busy yourself with making coffee, but Frankie won’t move. Because now you’re this close, he can smell it. The faint, fresh scent of Benny’s body wash.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ He spits.

You purse your lips as though you’re trying not to smile, and Frankie feels himself drawing to his full height, incensed.

‘Benny’s.’ You say, and Frankie stares at you, hot and angry.

‘Benny’s?’ he asks, and you throw him a look.

‘Yes, Frankie. I was with Benny.’

Frankie’s jaw grinds, a hand flexing at his side.

‘What - what were you doing at -’

You turn to him, quick as a whip, a kind of disgust on your face.

‘What do you think we were doing, Frankie?’

You stare him down, heart beating hard in your chest, daring him. You’ve never been this angry with him, never felt the hot, heady lurch of it between you until now. But then he’s never hurt you like this, so deep and quick you didn’t even know what was happening until you’d washed his buddy from your skin this morning. 

Frankie’s nostrils flare as he looks down at you, face unreadable.

‘Knock it off.’ He seethes.

‘Knock what off, asshole?’

‘Whatever that is,’ he says, waving a hand over your shoulder. ‘Whatever that thing you have with Benny is.’

You sneer at him, stepping closer. He doesn’t move, just watches you with something molten in his eyes. 

‘Why do you want me to knock it off, Frankie? Hm?’

‘I don’t want you sleeping with my friends.’ 

His words sting, and you reel backwards as though he’s actually hit you. A well of something flourishes in your chest, at once cooling, at once stoking your anger. Your cheeks colour as you feel the embarrassment grow. Because he’s made it sound so out of proportion - he’s making this something it’s not.

‘What the fuck, Fish? What the fuck?’ You laugh, cruel and disbelieving. You turn from him, making your way back through the hallway. You shout over your shoulder, Frankie following you - ‘Seriously? You know if I hadn’t slept with your friend you wouldn’t be living here, right? You know you’d still be couch surfing, or living in some fucking bedsit somewhere -’

‘Fuck you -’

‘No, fuck you, asshole.’ You say, pulling your jacket on. ‘What is this really about, huh? You pissed off that I interrupted you last night? Or are you pissed off that I fucked Benny? Whatever kind of bullshit you’ve got going on here, it’s not gonna fly. And if it’s not something you can fix, you’re out.’

Frankie freezes. But you can’t stop, carried away now.

‘I’m - what?’

‘You’re out, y’hear me? You tell me to leave Benny alone again without giving me a good fuckin’ reason why, you’re out. Especially when I know who you had here last night.’

Frankie baulks at you. You laugh again, high pitched and thrilled as you stomp one of your boots on.

‘What, you really don’t think I know, Frankie? We work together. I’ve heard her laugh, and I know she gave you her number. So quit tryna be sly, too.’ You whirl around to him once you’ve stomped your last boot on and poke your finger in his face, chest heaving, the words barely scraping through your teeth.

‘And I’ve heard she’s a shit lay, baby. So congratu-fuckin’-lations. Enjoy.’

Frankie rocks as the door slams behind you. The silence left in the wake of the argument is deafening.

A prickling feeling works its way up Frankie’s torso, becoming hot as it floods his chest and neck. His breathing is shallow, his head swims. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, dials the only number he can think of.

‘Are you free right now?’

—

When you return later that evening, a little drunk, the flat is dark and empty. 

You toe your boots off by the door, and stand in the shadows, breathing them in. Streetlight and stars slant through the living room and kitchen windows, and the door to Frankie’s room is firmly shut. There’s not a snore, not a rustle of bedclothes, not a whisper of music floating from beneath the door. The tears you’ve been fighting to keep at bay all night prick in your eyes, and you whistle a breath out through your mouth, blinking up at the ceiling. 

If he’s gone to Tasha’s, if that’s who he’s turned to, you think you might be sick.

If she’s what Frankie wants, you will leave. This home you’ve made doesn’t mean enough to just sit by and watch him fall in love with someone else. 

The sound shocks you so much you freeze in the hallway, standing in dazed silence just long enough to realise what you’d heard was your own crying. Your face is wet to the touch, and your hands travel down your throat, to the burning in your chest. Fuck. This had been a bad idea from the start. His curls at the party, the shy smiles. You knew. You had known then, and you’d still let it happen. You’d gotten yourself attached, even convinced yourself it could work, and now you stood in its smouldering ashes. 

You rush into your bedroom, the door banging behind you as you claw at your chest. It hurts. It hurts so much, and there's nothing you can do to fix it, to stop it. The only thing in the world which could mend it is probably in the arms of another woman, memorising her smile, the flecks of colour in her eyes, the lilt in her voice when she speaks -

You bundle your fists into your blanket and cry hoarsely into your pillow. It doesn’t help. It does nothing to dissolve this cataclysmic feeling of loving him, of understanding him, of wanting him and knowing you won’t have it. You wish you could feel less stupid, less angry. You wish you could feel less.

You don’t know when you stop crying, but you welcome it. You welcome the silence, the blur and spin. You welcome the crackle in your throat. And finally, you welcome sleep.

You awake with your face still buried in your pillow, your temples pounding. You pull yourself up from the bed, stripping off the day’s clothes with mechanical movements, dumping them in your laundry basket before pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. You dig around in your duvet for your phone, pulling it out to find it empty - not a single text, nothing from Frankie to tell you where he is, to say he’s left his keys again, to ask you to wait up for him. 

Your throat burns, and you rub your eyes, pissed off now at the crying, at still being upset when it's so obvious he doesn’t want you. 

Even after all you’d heard through the bedroom wall. 

You open your door to the still flat and head to the kitchen through the black. You take a glass from the top cupboard and fill it with water, and painkillers from the drawer to your left. You gulp both down and refill your glass before padding back down the hall. 

When you return to your room, you swaddle yourself in blankets again and turn on the TV. The apartment is too quiet without any noise from Frankie’s room, no indication that it’s not just you in here. You doze to the drone of whatever movie is playing, and some time after midnight you hear the swish of the front door opening, and the click of it slipping shut. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, clamouring in your ears as you strain for noise, for whispers, for the sound of someone else with him. 

But there is nothing but the dull thud of his boots on the floorboards, and then nothing above the sound of your TV. You clutch the softest part of the blanket you have tucked around you and pull it towards you to bury your face in it. When you inhale, it smells like Frankie. 

There is a soft rap at the door, and you cringe away from it. 

You can’t bear to look at him, can’t bear to hear him say whatever it is he wants to say, but you can’t bear to turn him away either. 

When Frankie gets no response, your door swings slowly open.

He stands there in the doorway, one hand on the handle, unsure whether to come in or not. That easy familiarity gone in the space of ten minutes. He’s still wearing his clothes from this morning, his cap pressed down firmly over his curls. His eyes take a moment to adjust before he spots you wrapped up in your bed, and he swallows.

‘Hey.’ He says, so softly that it makes your eyes water again.

‘Hey.’ You say back, voice muffled, cracking and heavy at the end.

As though he can’t stop himself, as though nothing could keep him from you, Frankie steps into the room. You blink up at him with red, wet eyes and damp cheeks.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ He asks, worried, coming to the side of the bed - like he’s forgotten, like he doesn't know - ‘What’s happened?’

You shake your head, try to turn your face away from him, the tears coming faster. He says your name gently, a little firmer, reaching with both hands to cup your cheeks.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m sorry,’ you croak out. ‘I’m sorry.’ Before your throat seizes and you can’t say anymore, that burning in your chest returning.

‘Hey,’ Frankie coos again, lifting from his knees to join you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. ‘What happened?’ he asks again, ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m okay,’ you croak, ‘I’m just sorry. I hate fighting with you. I don’t know what that was this morning.’

Frankie squeezes you tighter but says nothing, and that scares you more. Maybe you’ve already said too much, maybe it’s already changed everything you’ve shared. The late nights and the lazy mornings, the meals, the conversations you’ve had at all hours, the beds you’ve shared. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you sob, everything catching up with you too quickly. What if you’ve done it? What if you’ve finally pushed him away like you should have done at the start? ‘I’m sorry, Frankie. Are we still friends? Please can we still be friends?’

‘Of course we’re still friends, hermosa.’ He says into your hair, his own voice tight. He angles his head down so his lips brush the top of your head at every word. ‘Of course we're still friends.’ He repeats, but whatever else he goes to say dies in his throat. You try to take deep breaths, try to muffle your crying.

‘God,’ you hiccup, ‘This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry -’ but when you pull away from his chest, Frankie quickly wipes his face with his hands, trying to smother the evidence of his own tears. ‘Frankie -’ you breathe.

‘No, no,’ he says, waving away your concern, ‘I’m fine. I just - I don’t like seeing you upset. Not over me. And - I’m sorry, too. I don’t know where that came from this morning -’ he takes a deep breath, and your heart swoops with a strange disappointment - ‘But I won’t do it again. It was a weird thing for me to do.’

You stay sat up, staring at him as his chin wobbles in the faint lamplight of your room. He looks at you again with big ol’ baby cow eyes, the ones you always giggle about but can’t bring yourself to now.

‘I keep thinking about what I said,’ he whispers, voice thick, ‘And I know it’s too late, but I want to take it all back. I hate it. I hate that I said it. You can see whoever you want - that’s none of my business. And - and I’d hate for you to think that I thought you were some kind of - I dunno - slut for sleeping with him. Because you’re not. I just -’ he swallows, ‘It’s so lame, it’s such a bad excuse. I got jealous. You’re my best friend, we live together. I don’t like the idea of Benny being that for you.’

It’s only as it hangs in the silence between you that Frankie realises just how bad of an excuse it is. How blatantly obvious of a lie, a half truth. You’re my best friend, we live together, and I think I’m in love with you. I don’t like the idea of Benny being something I’m not. I hate the idea of him having his hands on you, making you feel good, when that’s all I can think about. I got jealous because I want you. I want you to myself.

‘It’s only happened twice,’ you breathe, ‘Only twice, and he has never come close to the kind of person you’ve been for me.’

Frankie nods, looks away. He twists his hands in your blanket. He doesn’t want to hear you say it’s okay or I forgive you. He doesn't feel like he deserves it.

‘Did you see her tonight?’ You ask, and Frankie glances back at you. Your voice sounds foreign, too loud in the room.

‘Who?’ He asks.

‘Tasha.’ You whisper, ashamed at your transparency. Frankie stares at you before speaking.

‘I’ve been - I was with Santi.’

You nod, staring down at your hands. 

‘Okay.’

Frankie doesn’t ask you anything else. You don’t ask him, either. Instead, you lie back down, tucking your face into a pillow, unsure of what to do. There’s still a jealous little fire burning in your belly, something he won’t be able to fix overnight. But you don’t want to tell him about it. 

‘You can stay here, if you like,’ you say, voice small. ‘Like a sleepover.’

‘Are you sure?’ Frankie says. You nod.

‘’Course I’m sure.’

And Frankie doesn’t let you think anymore, just pulls you into him, still in his jeans. You breathe him in deeply, wrapping your arms around his waist, and that’s how you sleep. 

—

Tasha doesn't come round to yours again. In fact, Frankie doesn’t even mention her. You try not to think about it too much, and you hardly see her at work. When she greets you at changeover, she’s pretty sheepish, but doesn’t seem at all upset. 

At least that’s one bullet you’ve managed to dodge. If she’d been crying on your shoulder, demanding to know why he hadn’t called, it would have led to a long conversation about feelings you weren’t ready to have with a coworker.

Things settle back into their normal rhythm around the flat, and you almost forget about the fight and the half truths told between the two of you that night. Frankie brings you your favourite flowers and you keep the cupboards stocked with his favourite snacks. He picks you up from work when he’s home, and you cook dinner for him if you get in first. Some evenings you smoke together and watch a film or holler at him playing air guitar in the kitchen to Peach Pit. It's easy. It feels right. And you find yourself slipping into daydreams again.

On a rare Friday night when you’re not working, Frankie packs you up in his truck and you head round to Pope’s. 

Santi’s not keen on throwing the kind of parties Will does, so it takes a fair bit of bribery on his end to keep it to watching a film and sinking some beers with the boys. You’ve become a regular fixture, and tonight you spend it sunk into Frankie’s side, leant against him as the movie plays, listening to the rumble of his chest as he laughs, the bass as he says something to one of the other men. When the movie’s finished, you sit around and dissect it, each of you drinking more and more as though your directorial expertise will improve with alcohol. By the time the tequila is passed around, the five of you have largely lost the sense of the direction the conversation was going in.

Pope tells you you and Frankie can stay. You graciously accept his offer before Frankie can protest, and you wait to wave Benny and Will goodbye before Santi leads you upstairs.

He leads you both to a room along the hallway, opening the door and flicking the light on for you. A huge double bed sits in the middle of the space, and its pillows and duvets look so soft and welcoming you think you could actually cry. 

‘Pope,’ you breathe, ‘This is wonderful.’

He chuckles and rolls his eyes at you.

‘Yeah, yeah, too many beers for you,’ he says, and you swat his arm. ‘I’m gonna get you guys some water. I’ll be back up in a bit.’

The room is quiet again as Santi turns and treads down the hall. You turn to find Frankie stood close by.

‘Whaddya think?’ You ask him. He smiles softly at you through lowered lashes.

‘Looks good to me.’ He says, bending to press a kiss to your hair. You close your eyes and smile, scrunching your face a little. Frankie runs a finger under your chin, and you blink up at him. He is so pretty. ‘C’mon,’ he murmurs, ‘Get ready for bed.’

The two of you split off to other sides of the room, backs turned to each other. You pull your arms into your t-shirt so you can loop yourself out of your bra, undoing the clasp and pulling it out of your top before laying it on the floor. You unbutton your jeans and pull them off next, folding them neatly and using them to cover the lace you’d just stripped yourself of. 

‘I’m gonna get into bed.’ You say softly, giving Frankie the chance to cover himself or get in before you.

‘Go ahead.’ He says, and you turn to find him already tucked up, his jeans slung on the floor a couple of feet away. You gasp in mock horror.

‘Did you watch me?’ You say, slipping in beside him. He laughs. 

‘Only for like, the twelfth time since I moved in.’

You giggle, pressing your face into a pillow to hide your blush. Frankie watches you, his own eyes crinkled and warm.

‘Like what you see?’ You grin. A pretty pink flush spreads across Frankie’s cheeks.

‘Always, hermosa.’ He says.

The quiet moment that follows is only interrupted by Pope appearing in the doorway, carrying two glasses of water. He pauses at the threshold, laughing at the sight of you both tucked in together. 

‘’S like I’m babysitting.’ He chuckles, placing a glass on Frankie’s bedside table before coming round to set one on yours.

‘Are we your favourite children?’ You ask, looking up at him. He strokes your hair.

‘Aw, nena,’ he coos, ‘I don't have favourites.’ 

He laughs when you pout, moving away to grab the cushions from the chair by the window. ‘But,’ he continues, ‘I do have least favourites.’

Santi begins to place the cushions between you and Frankie, creating some kind of barrier. You watch him, confused. He moves to Frankie’s side of the bed to place the last one between your heads, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

‘And my least favourite,’ he says, running a thumb along Frankie’s cheek, ‘Is you.’ He whispers, bringing his thumb and finger to Frankie’s nipple, twisting it roughly. Frankie howls, almost leaping off the bed as Pope cackles at him, laughter tumbling from your lips before you can stop yourself.

‘Fuck you,’ Frankie pants, a smile splitting his face even as he still clutches his chest. ‘And what the fuck is this?’ He asks, gesturing to the cushions.

Santi begins to back away to the door.

‘It’s a pillow wall,’ he says, ‘To make sure you two don’t touch each other.’

‘Touch each other?’ Frankie asks. Pope mm-hms.

‘No touching. No funny business.’ 

You scoff at him, unable to help the chuckle that escapes. You look between Santi and Frankie, baffled, wanting to see your roommates reaction.

‘I’m on my best behaviour,’ Frankie laughs, ‘I always keep my hands to myself.’ 

Santi waves him off, turning in the doorway to face you both. He places a finger on the light switch.

‘It’s not you I’m worried about.’ He says to him, turning his face and playfully narrowing his eyes at you. Your arms come flying out from the covers, protesting your innocence.

‘What the fuck?!’ You cry. ‘It was just Benny, one time.’

Santi waits, raising an eyebrow. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

‘Okay, twice, but that does not mean - we are not going to fuck in your house.’

Santi points a finger at you.

‘In my house - interesting. That leaves other possibilities. I’ll ask you about that again tomorrow morning.’

‘Santiago -’ you hiss, but Santi has already flicked the room into darkness, pulling the door softly closed behind him.

‘Sweet dreams,’ he coos, ‘And no fucking.’

Frankie can’t help the disbelieving little chuckle which bubbles out of his throat, but when he turns his face from the ceiling to look at you, he finds you turned with your back to him.

The amusement is gone in a moment. He breathes your name.

‘You okay?’

‘M fine,’ you say, ‘Just gonna sleep. I’m tired.’ 

Frankie turns on his side to face you, trying to make you out in the low light.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ You say again, and he frowns.

‘Was it what Pope said about Be-’

‘No.’ 

Frankie reaches a hand over the cushions between you to touch your shoulder.

‘Hermosa,’ he says, pulling to turn you over. You go easily. ‘What is it?’

In the halflight, he can see you cringe. He waits, leaning over the cushions to see you properly.

‘Does it… isn’t it weird for you, to have the boys joke like that?’

He props himself up more, arms folded over the pillows.

‘Like what?’ He says.

‘Like… they know about Benny. And then they joke about you and me. I mean - if it makes you uncomfortable I can -’

Frankie shakes his head at you.

‘It’s never been weird,’ he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. ‘Really. God, the jokes we’ve made over the years - we’re getting away with it lightly.’ He smiles at you, and you smile a little back.

‘Okay.’ You whisper. It’s quiet for a moment.

‘It’s a compliment,’ he murmurs, ‘That they think I could get with you,’ You frown at him, at the tinge of sadness in his eyes - wrong - ‘But if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can tell them to stop.’

You look up to the ceiling, shaking your head. 

‘No,’ you breathe, ‘No, it’s okay. It’s - funny.’ 

What you want to say is that you like it. You like the way the boys have put you together, you like how you come as a pair. You like how the two of you fit.

Frankie moves to kick off the cushions between your legs and reaches to throw off the ones between your bodies and heads. He pulls the hand he was holding towards him so you’re as close as possible, and wraps his arms around you. You do the same. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, breathing in your smell, feeling your warmth seep through the layers between you. ‘Get some sleep.’ 

You nod against him, clutching his t-shirt in your fists.

‘Okay. Night, Frankie.’

‘G’night, baby.’

In your dream, underneath it all, there is a deep, dark sense of panic.

Even as you chase your orgasm, even as you watch Frankie below you, covered in sweat, hands on your hips, blissed and fucked out, you have the sense that something is wrong. There is a noise pulling at the fibres of your dreamscape, and once you tug on it, it sucks you out of the darkness and into the halflight of Santi’s bedroom.

Your own moaning has woken you, along with the heavy breaths and quiet groans Frankie releases against your head. You rear back from him in horror, realising now what had been happening - the way you had been rutting against his leg in your sleep like a dog, the way you had been moaning, how wet you are -

‘Frankie -’ You begin, but you don’t even know what to say. Shame bursts hot and ripe through your gut. You can barely see him in the dusky room, can barely think through the fog of arousal. 

‘S’okay,’ he pants, hands scrabbling to find you. He takes ahold of your bare thighs. ‘C’mere,’ he says, and you move with him, willing, confused, on fire. ‘D’you wanna finish?’ He whispers.

Every sensible thought you’d had flees, and your mouth replies of its own accord.

‘Yes.’ You moan, feeling your pussy clench as he runs his fingers over your skin. 

It happens in such a fever that you don’t even process what’s happening until you’re already straddled across one of his thighs. Frankie pulls you firmly down onto the muscle and moves your hips so your swollen clit can graze against him. You moan so loudly at the contact that he cups a strong hand around your mouth.

‘Shh,’ he says, ‘Gotta be quiet. Be a good girl.’ Your moan is barely muffled as your eyes roll back. At his words, your hips begin to move of almost their own accord, delirious in your pleasure, his proximity. Frankie helps guide you steadily, pulling you back and forth over him, groaning and breathing deeply as he watches you, eyes molten in the shadows. 

‘So pretty, baby,’ he murmurs as you whine against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in his t-shirt, bunching it above his ribs. Your face burns, and you duck your head down to avoid his gaze. He halts your movements, a hand leaving your hip to touch beneath your chin. Gently, he pulls you back up to meet his gaze

‘Look at me, hermosa,’ he says, and you do, goosebumps flaring over your skin at the fire you find, the way he devours you, undresses you with his eyes. ‘That’s it.’ he groans, allowing you to move again.

You can feel your wetness seeping through your panties, your body jelly, surrendering control to him completely.

‘Frankie,’ you whisper, desperate, begging -

‘Not gonna fuck ya,’ He grits out, throwing his head back as he squeezes the flesh of your bare thighs. ‘Just want you to use me. Show me. Show me how you make yourself come, baby.’

You moan again, loudly, but he doesn't quieten you this time. He lets you grind down on him harder, faster, and you watch the muscles in his neck strain, watch the way his stomach tightens. You watch the way he fists his cock over his boxers, the way he fixes you with his burning eyes.

‘Can I?’ He chokes out, and it doesn’t even sound like him. Breaking, desperate. You nod, frantically, and he slips a hand beneath the material. You watch the way he moves his arm, can only imagine the way his cock looks, the girth you can just about see the outline of, the pearls of precum that would be leaking from the tip. You work yourself up and down his thigh faster, sweat dripping down your temples. He goads you on, murmuring praises, cooing at you, so pretty, so needy, so wet.

‘You gonna come, hermosa?’ He says, and you bite your lip as you whine, the knot so tight you think you might break. Your cunt pulses and clenches as you try to breathe through it, gather some control so you don’t wake up the whole house. ‘C’mon, baby,’ Frankie breathes under you, squeezing and twisting and pulling. ‘Be a good girl. Come for me.’

Your movements turn broken, jerky, as you come. Your blood roars in your ears as you let out a stream of moans and curses, whispers of his name. You can feel that you have soaked through to Frankie’s thigh, and in the moonlight you can see the trail of slick you’ve left. You whimper, your eyes flicking up to Frankie’s as he throws his head back, muscles straining, vein throbbing in his temple as he comes all over his hand in his boxers. You moan at the sight, the way he comes undone underneath you, the way he pants as he soaks in the sight of you a little longer.

Your head still fuzzy, he pulls you down into his arms, giving you no time to panic.

‘That’s it,’ he whispers, kissing your hair. ‘Go back to sleep. It’s all okay. Don’t worry about it. Let’s sleep.’ 

And as easily he had given his command, you shut your eyes, and succumb.

When Santi wakes you both for breakfast the next day, he says nothing about the cushions on the floor. He says nothing of the way you and Frankie avoid looking at each other, and pretends to be oblivious to the permanent blush on your cheeks. He pretends he doesn’t notice something has changed. And he lets you go home believing no one else could guess, either.

—

The flat is quiet for the rest of the week. 

It’s not like you're trying to avoid your roommate, but your schedules have worked out at opposite times, and there’s always something going on. You text each other so neither of you have to worry about where you are. Frankie out with the boys, you out with your friends, a regular’s birthday, a job interview for Frankie.

At the end of the week you finish your shift a little earlier than expected, stumbling through the door, exhausted, a little after eleven. You take a quick, blisteringly hot shower and pull on Frankie’s t-shirt which had gotten mixed up in your washing, a pair of boyshorts on underneath. You roll a joint cross-legged on your bed, Adventure Time humming away in the background, moving to open the window when you’re ready to smoke. You flick the lighter and the joint burns to life, the orange reflecting your face in the glass. 

The front door swoops open in the hallway, and you hear it shut. Hear Frankie go into his room, hear him throw a few things around before he exits and knocks on your door. He pushes it open in his pyjamas.

‘Hey.’ He says.

‘Hey.’ 

He closes the door behind him, coming to join you at the window. He presses a kiss to your temple, a hand on your shoulder as he takes the space next to you on the sill.

You offer him the joint silently. He takes it from you, pinches it between two fingers, takes a couple of draws, and hands it back. 

When you’ve finished sharing it, he turns Adventure Time off and plays Peach Pit through your speaker quietly before crawling into your bed. You stare at him for a moment, unsure, before he holds open the other side of the duvet for you. You come forward on heavy feet before bundling yourself down and snuggling into his side without thinking too hard. It’s pretty easy to do with your smoke-riddled brain.

‘Still friends?’ He rumbles into your hair. You squeeze him tighter.

‘’Course we are.’ You mumble back. 

You don’t get to the end of the first song before slipping into the depths of sleep.

---

The next morning, sun still burning off the nighttime clouds, a text buzzes through to both your phones at the same time.

Y’all coming to Tommy’s party tonight?

You groan at the sight of it, having completely forgotten about the promise you’d made to Will about going to his friend’s birthday party. You smush your face back into your pillow as Frankie kicks your door open, holding two mugs of coffee. 

He chuckles at your bedhead, and you sit up and take your cup, thanking him. Once he’s back beneath the duvet, you remind him about the party. He grumbles, sinking back down onto the mattress, leaving his coffee on your bedside table. You do the same, and he curls up into your side. 

The minutes tick by, warm and quiet. 

‘’M not going.’ You mumble.

‘What do you mean you’re not going?’ Frankie says, drawing his head up from where it’s lodged near your neck, speaking directly into your ear.

You pull a face and pinch your thumb and forefinger together, twisting them like a dial. 

‘Too loud, buddy.’ You say, and he relaxes, murmurs a sorry against your shoulder.

‘Too tired. Ain’t going,’ you say, stretching, ‘And you can’t make me.’

Frankie chuckles.

‘Alright, ya grump.’

You pull him by the forearm, bringing him in closer. He rests his head on your stomach, just below your breasts. He breathes you in, and you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the silken feel of it. A small ache stretches in your heart. A wish that this be the way every day starts. A small ache over the fact that, even after everything at Santi’s, nothing seems to have changed that much. Nothing has granted that wish.

You get split off from Frankie pretty quick at Tommy’s party. 

He’s not worried about it - he’s used to it. Even despite your protests this morning, he knew you’d be charming your way around the house as soon as you walked through the door. He stands with Pope in the kitchen, a couple beers deep, catching glimpses of you in the hallway making a group of girls laugh.

‘So it’s happened, then?’ Pope says.

Frankie shoots his eyes back to him and cocks his head.

‘What?’ he asks. Pope frowns.

‘You two,’ he says, gesturing towards you with his bottle. ‘You’ve finally, y’know, explored your feelings for each other.’

Frankie’s jaw drops.

‘We - what?’

Santi pulls a face at him.

‘Frankie, it’s okay. It’s fuckin’ obvious to all of us. Even to Benny. You don’t have to dance around it anymore -’ But Frankie is still staring at him, open mouthed, stunned. Realisation folds Santi’s features. ‘Jesus Christ.’ He whispers.

He grabs Frankie’s elbow and hauls him into the pantry, shutting the door behind them. 

‘What are you talking about, Pope -’ Frankie rushes out.

‘Nothing’s happened between you two?’ The man asks, fixing Frankie with his eyes. He squirms.

‘Only one thing,’ he says, ‘But nothing serious. It’s not like we’re in love or anything -’

‘You seriously -’ Pope breaks off, looking around the cupboard, exasperated. ‘Really?’

Frankie frowns at him, barely getting out a yeah- before Santi groans, face in his hands.

He takes Frankie by the shoulders, and shakes him, hard.

‘Are you in love with her, yes or no?’ 

Frankie swallows.

‘Yes.’ 

‘Okay, good. And she’s clearly got it bad for you, Fi-’

‘She doesn’t, Pope, c’mon man -’

Pope grunts at him, knocking his head against Frankie’s shoulder.

‘Stop it,’ he says. ‘I can’t do this, Fish. It’s impossible. You two need to have a conversation. I thought Benny was slow,’ he says, shaking his head, ‘But you… Jesus Christ. Go on, get lost. Go and find her.’

Pope takes him by the shoulders again, pushing him out the pantry.

Frankie stumbles into the kitchen, sets his beer down in a daze. And without quite knowing why, he sets off to find you.

You’re close to the same spot you were in last time he saw you, but sat on the bottom step of the stairs instead, making friends with the pretty, dark-haired girl sat next to you. Frankie leans against the bannister awkwardly and clears his throat. When you look up, your eyes go wide, delighted.

‘Hey sugar,’ you say, reaching out to grab his hand. You turn to the girl beside you, and say - ‘This is Frankie,’ like you’ve been telling her about him. ‘Frankie, this is Sakura.’

Frankie nods tightly to the girl, and she smiles brightly back at him. To his surprise, she stands and slips past him. 

‘I’ll leave you guys to chat,’ she says, winking at you. ‘Catch you later.’

Frankie looks back at you, questioningly. You shrug.

‘Everything okay?’ You ask. Frankie squeezes your hand.

‘Can we talk?’

Frankie leads you into the bedroom furthest away from the top of the staircase, and locks the door. You sit down on the edge of the mattress as he turns the bedside lamp on, bathing the room in a sweet, pink-orange glow.

‘What d’you wanna talk about, baby?’ You ask, laying back and closing your eyes. Frankie can feel himself panicking, can feel the walls getting a little closer. Why was he doing this? 

He closes his eyes for a moment. 

‘I’m gettin’ to it.’ He says, and you hum, lips quirking a little.

The room is quiet for far too long. It’s warm, and the sounds of the party are muffled, close. The bass slinking through the floorboards, the chatter - it’s not unlike the night you met.

Frankie pinches the inside of his arm, trying to will himself to think of something, to say something, but -

‘We should fuck. Like, actually fuck.’

Your eyes are still closed when you say it, and you miss the way Frankie’s jaw falls slack, the way the muscle in his cheek ticks when he wrenches it shut. Frankie watches you, serene, laid out on the bed like an angel. He swallows.

‘You’re drunk.’ He says, soft but firm. He tries to lean against the wall in an unfazed way, and slips a hand into his pocket to will his cock to stop twitching.

‘I’m not drunk,’ you pout, eyes still closed. ‘Unfair how you always think I’m drunk off a few beers. Did you ever think I might just be having a good time?’

Frankie shifts his weight and watches your face; tries to ignore how fast, how hard his heart is beating.

‘Sure. But you’ve had a few beers tonight.’

You crack an eye open at him, a devastating grin growing across your lips.

‘So?’ You purr, ‘Still not drunk.’

Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose, his control of the situation slipping, his mind clamouring at your suggestion. He tries to look away, anywhere around the room, chest pounding. The desk, the wardrobe, the fireplace, the cupboard. But he can’t. His eyes are glued to your body, the way your feet dangle just off the floor, your bare legs, the bunched up skirt which only just covers your thighs. He tries not to let his mind linger on what he can and can’t see in the low light, instead letting his eyes travel to the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your belly, your tits, your glistening neck, your hair splayed out over the duvet, your arms stretching up above your head. Your wanton smile.

‘You don’t mean it. You’d regret it in the morning.’

You suck a breath in through your teeth and open your other eye, rolling them up to the ceiling. You arch your back like a cat, and Frankie barely contains a moan at the stretch, your skirt climbing higher, a slither of skin exposed on your midriff. Your grin fades, a pained little smirk. You swipe a hand over your face. 

Frankie waits. Your eyes slide to his again.

‘I wouldn’t.’ You say. 

Frankie shakes his head.

‘You would.’

You sit up suddenly, hands gripping the sheets.

‘I wouldn’t, Frankie.’ Your eyes are fierce, burning. Frankie swallows.

You duck your head to look at your toes, swinging them just above the carpet.

‘I’ve thought about it a lot,’ you say softly.

Frankie’s mouth goes dry. He tries to work some moisture into his throat to make some kind of noise, something to convey his surprise, but he’s frozen in place. His heart drops to the floor and then picks up at a pace that he can feel hammering in his neck. 

‘Long before that night at Pope’s. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the walls in our apartment are pretty thin.’ You look up at him through your eyelashes, all darkness and mischief. You bite your lip as you wait for the penny to drop.

Fuck. Fuck.

Frankie’s mouth works open as his stomach swoops, knees loose and heavy. His hands are unbearably clammy in his pockets. He brings them to his front, crossing his thick arms over his pounding chest. He says your name quietly.

‘’S’okay,’ you whisper. And then you giggle, face briefly turned to the ceiling, slightly more illuminated. You are so beautiful. 

‘I heard you,’ you murmur, and Frankie wants to beg you to stop, to not say what you’re about to say. He’d rather drop dead. He’d rather leave this house and walk forever if it meant he didn’t have to hear how you’d listened to him moan your name through the drywall. But he can’t. He can only look at you with wide, brown eyes, and hope you’ll grant him this small mercy. 

You cock your head at him, furrowing your brow, looking at him shyly.  

‘Did you really want me, Frankie?’

He’s going to pass out. His blood roars through his ears, straight down to his cock. Frankie can only nod, try and breathe out a yes.

You smile a little, trailing a couple of fingers up your thighs.

‘Did you ever hear me?’ You ask him. His breath catches in his throat.

‘Hear you?’ He whispers.

‘Yeah,’ you breathe. ‘Did you ever hear me, baby?’

Frankie’s throat works as he stares at you. He thinks of the gasps and whimpers he’s heard, the groans and breathy curses. The high pitched noises you breathe out when someone or something fucks into you, your moans when you’re getting close. Your wet body in the shower, the shake of your legs, the grip you had on your own breast, your head thrown back in ecstasy -

Yeah, he’s heard you. But he’s not sure if that's what you’re really asking.

He nods, and you smile, all feline and pleased.

You lower your feet to the floor, and stand from the bed. You pad towards him, every muscle in his body wound impossibly tight. 

‘Did you hear me say your name?’ You ask, your breath fanning against his chin. Frankie fights to keep his arms crossed, to not reach out and touch you. He fixes his gaze on an eyelash cradled on your cheek.

‘My name?’ He croaks. He’s fighting a losing battle, his hard cock betraying him in his jeans.

‘Yeah, Frankie,’ you whisper, ‘I could never think of anyone else.’ 

Your confession hangs in the air between you, and to gauge its truth, Frankie’s eyes dart up to meet yours. His resolve crumbles immediately. You stare up at him, eyes big and wide and clear. The realisation is crushing - not drunk, not high, honest and wanting and hopeful -

Frankie’s hands drop to his sides, twitching to reach for you, grab your tiny skirt in both fists, hold to your thighs -

‘Can I kiss you?’ You murmur against his jaw.

‘Please.’ He whimpers.

Your hands make their slow journey from your sides to his stomach, and Frankie flinches at the contact. You pause, looking up at him. He swallows and nods, and you continue. You push both palms over his stomach, over his chest, resting them on his shoulders. You admire every plane of his body, even through clothes, before reaching up on your tiptoes, wrapping both your hands around the nape of his neck, tangling them in the curls there.

Frankie breathes heavily, watching you, eyes tracking all over your face as you go. He traces every freckle, every mole. Each colour in your eyes, the shape of your nose, the bow of your lips. He lets his hands drift towards you, lets both of them rest on your hips to pull you closer, squeezing your soft flesh before bringing one up to cup your cheek. He inclines his head, and your eyes flutter shut.

The first meeting of your lips is soft. It’s warm and gentle and everything you had wanted it to be. It should have been the quiet kiss you had over coffee in the morning, the kind of kiss you shared after a first date. But here, it’s perfect. 

Frankie brushes his thumb over your cheek before dipping his hand lower, hinging your jaw to open your mouth to him. He licks your bottom lip and you grant him access, moaning into the kiss. His grip on your hip tightens.

The movement of your mouths is slow, languid. There is no rush. Just gentle pressure, acknowledgement as it all falls into place. The feeling that this is what the two of you were made for. This is what you’ve avoided for too long. 

Frankie’s tongue swipes against yours, and you tug on his hair. He groans into your mouth, the hand on your jaw dropping to your waist, pulling you closer. 

You press your chest against him, kiss him back harder, slipping a hand down past his shoulder to scrape at the skin under his t-shirt. Frankie shudders against you, the hand on your hip moving to grab a handful of your ass, the one on your waist inching up to your breast. You breathe against his lips as he feels you, moaning as he palms you over your top, as your nipples tense, flicking one with his thumb. 

He nips and kisses at your jaw as your hands travel back to his chest, one catching on his belt, stroking his hip as you whine, your whole body warm and sensitive. You step closer to him again as he drops the hand on your ass, bringing it to cradle the back of your neck as he continues to work on your jaw, your tits. 

‘Frankie,’ you breathe, and he returns his mouth to yours for a slow, deep kiss. He bites your bottom lip as you pull away to slip a hand lower to palm him through his jeans. He’s so hard already, you can feel him straining against the zipper, and it seems to match the dry heat you feel for him, something which burns its way down your throat and straight to your cunt. It aches, and your lace beneath your skirt is so wet that the only thing you want to do is take them off. 

Frankie groans loudly against you, both hands coming to cup your face so he can kiss your forehead slowly, tenderly.

He pulls your face back so he can look you in the eye. The intensity there stops your movements, stills your hands.

‘I love you.’ He says. 

The noise from the party below fades to an almost nothing as something bright and white fills the room. Joy, relief blooms in your chest.

‘What?’ You say.

Frankie’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

‘I love you.’ He repeats.

You giggle as the feeling overtakes you, sway in his arms as you become lightheaded.

‘I love you, too.’ You whisper, and Frankie breaks out into a grin. It all seems so simple now, all seems so easy. It all makes sense. All the bullshit, the touching, the looks. Frankie kisses you again, all tongue and teeth and smiles before he chuckles.

‘Fucks sake,’ he mumbles.

‘What?’ You ask, still grinning.

‘Now I have to tell Pope he was right. That you do like me.’

You laugh at him, pulling him close by the hip, a hand tangled in his hair again. 

‘I do like you,’ you say. ‘I like you quite a lot.’

You dip your hand back to the front of his jeans, palming his cock in earnest. His hips buck against you as he groans into your mouth, as he slips his hands down to your tits again, this time yanking your top up to expose them. Frankie moans at the sight of the lace you’re wearing, thumbing and twisting and pinching your nipples again.

‘You’re gonna kill me,’ he whines as you begin to undo his belt.

‘Panties match.’ You breathe into his collarbone, and he moans, ducking his head to your neck, sucking at your pulse point, biting and then licking to soothe the mark he’s made.

You pant against him, growing frustrated with your sloppy fingers on his buckle. He chuckles at you, guiding your hands away before replacing them with his own. He whips it off and throws it down by his feet. You lick your lips. Hungry, impatient.

‘Come to bed, Frankie. Please.’

‘Be patient, baby,’ he coos. ‘We have so much time.’

You pout at him, and he smirks.

But an idea is already forming. If he's not going to come to bed, you’re going to go to him.

You smile sweetly as you step back towards him, reaching a hand up to his cheek to draw him in for a kiss again. Frankie lets you, and you take the moment to pop open his button and undo his zipper. He breathes out shakily against your lips, but you suck on his bottom lip, licking, nipping, until he regains his focus. When you slip your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, he shudders, gasping against you. You smile into his mouth before tipping his head back and sucking marks into his neck. Deep and hard so they bruise, licking into the hollow of his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock. Your fingers don’t meet, and you moan at this realisation, eager to feel the stretch, the burn as you take him. You grip him tighter, running your fist along his shaft, pulling at the soft skin until you reach his tip, thumbing the precum over the rest of his length. When you’re satisfied he’s been teased enough, you drop down to your knees. 

He watches you, one hand pressed to your cheek, your temple, your hair as you look up at him all doe-eyed, pulling his jeans and boxers down so that his length can spring free. When Frankie’s cock lurches out from his underwear, you loose a gasp and a groan. He’s beautiful. So thick, so soft-looking as he twitches under your gaze, tip deeply flushed and oozing precum, his balls heavy beneath.

‘Fuck, baby,’ you breathe. Frankie inhales deeply through his nose, his hand still tangled in your hair as he says, quietly -

‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘I know,’ you say, ‘But I want to.’ 

Frankie’s grip in your hair tightens imperceptibly, and you hum quietly, licking your lips before curling over your palm and spitting into it. Frankie groans above you, full lower lip caught behind his teeth, his head cocked to the side. His broad chest rises and falls quickly, flushed.

His breath catches harshly in his throat when you reach out and touch him. He throbs in your hand, and you smile delightedly up at him when again your fingers don’t meet around him. You lean forward to mouth at his hip, and his hips buck towards you as you lick, kiss, suck, and bite. You want to leave marks everywhere, want him to remember this for days, to feel your teeth on him for weeks. You stroke him slowly and tightly all the time, moving down to his thighs, coating his skin in your saliva, nipping at the soft flesh there, moving your mouth up, up, up, reaching out with your tongue to kitten-lick his balls.

Frankie’s fist balls in your hair as he lets out a whimper, and you smirk into him, nudging forward to breathe in his musky scent. 

‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘Please, hermosa -’

‘Be patient, baby,’ you say, mocking him. ‘We have so much time.’

He doesn’t answer with words, but he uses the fist in your hair to move you further out from his body so your mouth sits so pretty, a little open, in front of his weeping cock. You grin up at him, clearly enjoying the tease.

Holding his eye, you pull your top and bra down to just below your tits, exposing your pebbled nipples. You rock back on your heels to play with them a little, twisting and pinching and moaning before Frankie tries to push you a little closer.

‘Fuck, put me in your mouth,’ he growls. ‘Put me in your mouth while you play with yourself like that, baby. Lemme fuck your throat.’

You moan lewdly back up at him, giving your tits one last squeeze before you take his tip between your lips, swirling your tongue over the tight skin, fluttering it over his frenulum. Frankie throws his head back in a choked moan, his whole body rigid as he tries his best not to thrust all the way into your mouth. You bring your hands to his thighs and scrape your nails along them gently before pressing forward. You loosen your jaw and take him as far as you can, satisfied when you feel him hit the back of your throat, when he hisses through his teeth.

‘Fuck,’ he grits, ‘Fuck, so good - your mouth feels so good, cielo - can you feel me all the way back there? Can you -’

He cuts himself off as you swallow around him, tasting the salt of his precum as he lets out a pained sound, his cock achingly swollen. You pull off him slowly.

‘Keep talking,’ you rasp, ‘It’s sexy.’

His cock is already so wet from your throat that he slides back in easily. Frankie rocks as you hum around him at the taste, the feel, the weight of it. Salt pools in your mouth when he whimpers again, as you swirl circles on his pulsating head, as you lick long stripes up him and cup his balls.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he says, louder this time. ‘Never knew you had such a mouth, babygirl. All those smart things and - fuck - this is what it was made for - made for me, made for my cock - shit - aren’t you?’ 

You move faster as Frankie babbles, as you feel the drips from his cock warm the heat in your belly further, take him deeper. His hips begin to move almost beyond his will, not harsh, not pressing, but like he just can’t help himself. Tears well in your eyes and begin to drip down your cheeks, flushed, hungry, proud. You hum again and swallow around him, reaching between your legs, hiking your skirt up so you can push your ruined panties aside. Your pussy is soaked, embarrassingly so, and you moan around him again, losing focus for a second at the first fingertip you press to your aching clit.

‘Wanna fuck you,’ Frankie pants out, ‘Please, wanna fuck you baby - let me out your mouth, come on now - please, baby, please, baby - fuck - fuck -’

You flick your eyelashes up at him as you bob at the same pace as your fingers, and Frankie damn near loses it at the sight of your hand disappearing up towards your cunt.

‘Get off - get off, lemme fuck you like you need, baby - fuck, fuck - shit -’

You smirk around him, enjoying this, enjoying seeing him strung out, begging, throbbing in your mouth as he tries desperately to keep from coming.

‘Stop,’ he moans. You hollow your cheeks and whine again, but this time he pulls you off quickly, strong with his hand in your hair, and the sting of it feels delicious. Frankie stands half ruined above you, panting, closing his eyes at the sight of the string of spit connecting your mouth to his twitching cock. ‘Please, baby,’ he says, ‘Be good. I don’t want to come down your throat in five minutes the first time we do this.’

You blink up at him through your tears, and he makes a low noise in the back of his throat.

‘Come here,’ he murmurs, pulling you gently back up to your feet. He sits you down on the bed, and you haul yourself further back on your elbows. He watches you, stepping out of his shoes, his pants and underwear, throwing off his shirt to some dark corner of the room as he sets a knee on the bed and comes crawling towards you. The sight reminds you of another night, him on your bed, you at the window - 

‘Let me undress you,’ he murmurs against your neck, his cock heavy and wet against your thigh You arch your back up into him, too hot, aching, too wet -

‘Please,’ you gasp.

Frankie pulls you forwards by your jaw, tugging your shirt over your chin as you sit up, hands reaching greedily for his skin. He lets you as he unfastens your bra, whipping it away from your chest, moaning as he takes you in. His lips latch to your collarbones as he shuffles away from you, and your hands fly to his hair. He bites and licks and sucks and kisses in the same way you did, moaning against you as you tug on his curls, as you buck your hips up to bump at his cock. He makes his way lower, pressing feather light kisses to your sternum, to the top of each breast, before closing his lips around your nipple, sucking and biting and swirling. You gasp, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, the ache in your pussy almost painful now. Frankie plants a hand by your head to hold himself up, letting the other one fall to your thigh, dancing on your feverish skin.

‘Frankie -’ you plead, but it’s useless, useless as he releases your nipple with a pop, only to give the other the same attention.

Grunting, you shift your hips, wiggling your hands down to your skirt, pushing it down and halfway off.

‘Hey,’ Frankie grunts, stopping his ministrations altogether to pin both of your hands above your head. You arch your chest and Frankie nips at the mound of flesh you present to him, his acknowledgement of you continuing to play dirty. He breathes your soft skin in, slow and deep, before looking up at you. His eyes are hot, molten, and you whine and twist in his grip as his nostrils flair. ‘Keep your hands up here, y’hear me?’ He says. You nod furiously, and he squeezes your wrists again before slowly letting you go.

Before slowly backing down the bed, slowly kissing your chest, your belly, before slowly spreading your thighs, before burying his face in your lace-covered pussy, mouthing at you behind the fabric, breathing in and groaning out.

‘Soaked through, baby,’ he breathes. ‘That all for me?’

Yes, you think, as his fingers hook around the waistband, as he begins to pull them down and off. Feeling the cool air meet your hot, slick centre and hearing the sound of his breath hitch at the visual. All for you. He opens you up wider once your underwear is off, and looks up at you through his eyelashes, flushed, fucked out already.

‘You look so - fucking good like this.’ He says.

You nudge your hips gently up to his face, and he finally, finally indulges, flicking his tongue out to scoop up your arousal, to swallow it down, to groan as he laps at your clit. 

It almost hurts, how good it feels. This slow, hot, velvet texture licking at you, pointed where it needs to be, soft wherever else, as he delves and dives and slurps and draws every imaginable sound from you. You’re past the point of coherent words, just bucking hips and fingers that scrape through his curls, muffled pleases and Frankies as he works you out in circles and figure eights. As he spreads your lips with his fingers for better, more sensitive access, as he sucks your clit into his mouth, as he slips a finger in. And then another.

The stretch is delicious, even if you know it’s not a patch on what’s coming.

Frankie hums deeply in the back of his throat, his eyes closed and face wet with slick. You watch him, amazed. Your best friend who you’ve seen in almost any scenario. Sharing dinner, out for walks, changing batteries, below you as you ground out an orgasm on his thick thigh - but nothing, nothing can compare to the blissed out, sweaty sight of him between your thighs. Brow furrowed and curved in pleasure and concentration, mouth working over you. Thick curls falling over his forehead, his fingertips pressed into your thighs, the other hand pressed deep inside you.

This is heaven. This is fucking heaven, laying here as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curved up towards that spot you can never quite reach yourself. The band of heat, of light which has been bunched up at the apex of your thighs is tightening, tightening, and you can feel it inside you as your muscles clench, turn solid. 

‘Frankie - Frankie - Frankie -’ you gasp, trying to warn him as a molten high tide rises in your body, as your hips lift, as you work yourself further onto him, as your hands twist and clutch at the bed, at your tits.

He doesn’t pull his mouth away to hum an mmhmm in encouragement against your clit, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, the pressure unbearable.

‘Gonna come - fuck - I’m gonna come Frankie, fuck -’

It’s fucking devastating. The rip and heat which tears through you, your body erupting in ecstasy, as something hot, heavy, and destructive sears through you. 

Your back arches and the darkness behind your eyes contracts to red, limbs rigid as you shatter in his mouth, as he continues to lick and suck and take every drip which floods itself out of you, grunting and gasping as he chuckles, as he tells you -

‘Good girl, baby, good girl. Fuckin’ delicious. You look so good baby, squeezing my fingers so tight. God, what’d I do, what’d I do to deserve this.’

You feel yourself radiate across the room, illuminating every corner before banding back into yourself. For a while, there is only the pant of your breath and Frankie’s muffled voice and something hot and wet moving against your pulsing clit. You don’t know how long you’ve been gripping his hair for, or how hard, but you slowly let go, teasing your fingers from his curls as you breathe. Frankie pulls his fingers out of you and you groan at the loss, eyes fluttering shut, head rolling to your shoulder. He sucks your clit into his mouth one more time, and you jerk away from the overstimulation.

Frankie crawls back up the bed again, and you open his eyes when his warm hand presses to your cheek. He’s grinning at you, thrilled as he holds his used fingers out in front of your lips. Wordlessly, you pull them into your mouth, tongue working to clean him of your taste. He swoops a breath out, removing his fingers gently when you’re done before leaning in to kiss you. He tastes salty sweet, beard heavy with the smell of you as he ghosts his hands all over your body. He swallows.

‘How do you want me, querida?’ He whispers.

You want him in every position, and you seem to tell him as much. He laughs as he plants more kisses to your lips, tongue darting out to find yours, to trace the line of your throat. You watch, delirious, as he settles between your thighs, thumbing over your clit so you twitch again. 

‘Want you on your back, like this,’ he murmurs, ‘Wanna watch you take me.’

You nod at him, utter something like a please, a thank you, a Frankie as he notches himself at your entrance, the fat head of his cock already bruising, already stretching. Frankie sees it, flicks his eyes to yours.

‘Are you sure you’re ready?’ he asks, kindly, softly. You hook your legs around his hips by way of answer, pulling him closer, toppling him forward. A big, bright smile blossoms over his cheeks, creasing his crows feet. You can’t help but mirror him, pressing a hand to his chest, the other tangling in the nape of his neck.

‘I love you,’ you breathe against his teeth. He lays his forehead against yours.

‘I love you,’ he murmurs.

Frankie cants his hips forward, and the bruising feeling gives way to something which is almost sharply painful as it pulls through you. The pain quickly dulls to a full ache as Franlie slides a little further forwards, watching you, tracing every part of your features. You hook your legs higher around his waist and wrap your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close as you breathe, as you whine and leak around him. Frankie drinks it all in, giving soft praises, pushing back from you so he can take it in. Your slick, puffy cunt split open and stretched around him, and your body, glowing, sweaty, layed out lazily, knees spread and dropped either side of your chest as you watch him, brow furrowed, lip bitten. 

He’s going too slow. 

Far, far too slow for the pressure already rebuilding in your gut, for the way he presses against every place inside your body. You move your hips to fuck yourself down his cock a little more, and one of his big hands shoots out to stop you. 

‘Easy, baby, easy. Take it slow. Doin’ so good for me, look at you.’

You whine, back arching again, and he groans low and full.

‘Stop doing that,’ he says, ‘Making yourself look so good. I’m tryna make this good. I’m tryna make this last.’

Frankie latches his mouth back to your skin, forming bruises as he bottoms out, as he waits for you to beg him.

‘Wanna feel you tomorrow,’ you huff, warm against him. ‘Wanna remember, wanna be sore. God, Frankie, please - please move. I need you to, you have to -’ words fail at the slow drag of his cock, heavy against your walls. Your throat constricts as he pauses and begins to push back in, picking up the pace every time. Your noises are  keening and needy, and he brushes the hair back from your face.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ He coos.

You make a breathless, high-pitched noise at every punch of his hips, and Frankie lifts his head to swallow them as they fall from your lips. And it’s unfair. Unfair that a word like ‘fucking’ is what has to be used for this, for how tightly you have to cling to him to make sure you’re not flung into outer space. You grip his biceps as you watch him, legs wrapped around his waist again so he can drive in deeper, deeper, deeper, as you get louder, louder, louder -

‘Benny fuck you like this, baby?’

The question takes you by surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t. It riles something in your gut, a satisfaction, a delight, because he knows. Already knows as he fucks you, as he cages you in and stares at you, your body, the way you fit together and move, the noises you’re making, the look on your face, the way you choke him tighter and tighter -

‘Fuck no, Frankie. God, fucking - no -’

Frankie grunts deep, accentuating your response with a particularly sharp thrust which makes you cry out and see stars. You grit your teeth, feeling the coil tighten further, craning to meet his lips.

He pecks them as he thrusts, sucking your lips, biting when he can.

‘You asked if I heard you,’ he pants, and you hold your breath. ‘I heard you - fuck - so many times, baby. Fucked my fist to you so many times. Couldn’t think of anything else but your little moans and noises.’

You clench excruciatingly around him, and he makes that same pained noise from before.

‘And I saw you, too,’ he gasps. Your eyes lock, his black and earnest, like he could devour you and the universe whole. You feel something loosen and pull inside of you. ‘Once, in the shower. And I couldn’t look away, couldn’t forget - but I wished I could, you were just -’ He swallows into your neck as you begin to pulsate, his words pushing you closer. You know what he’s talking about, had wondered for weeks, had had fantasies and hoped for months, fuck - ‘And then at Santi’s, feeling you lose yourself on top of me, feeling you come, god -’ he grits out. ‘I could live with loving you, just about. I could, if I wasn’t what you needed. But when I heard you say my name like that in your sleep, baby, when I felt you push it out on me, I had to know, I had to know - you feel so goddamn good. Nothing should ever feel this good. Nothing ever has.’

And then, because you can’t help it, because you need to hear it, you choke out -

‘Tasha?’ And he shakes his head, breathing raggedly.

‘Nothing,’ he says, ‘Fucking - nothing.’

You eyes spin back in their sockets, and you claw at him, something white hot just within your grasp, your pussy throbbing -

‘Frankie,’ you cry, ‘Frankiefrankiefrankiefrankiefrankie -’ in a warning, a prayer, a promise; and he answers you, the aquiline curve of his nose pressing into your cheek as he coaxes you, begs you, tells you to come for him. 

It’s too much, the movement of him, the size, the weight. He doesn’t need to touch you anywhere else as you splinter apart beneath him, shards of light splashing across the walls as you heat and combust, as you tighten and tighten and then burst, wet against his lap, against the sheets, as you cling on to him, as you shake and gasp and gasp out any noise you can. Your pussy flutters and contracts around him, and Frankie grunts and moans in your ear, breath hot, cock twitching and so hard inside your body.

‘Where -?’ He chokes out.

‘Inside.’

And fresh dizziness laps at your temples as you feel him pump inside your body, as you feel his cock jump with his spend, as he softly fucks it in to you. The squelch, the wetness, is obscene. You want to be full like this all the time. 

You lay there for sometime, wrapped up in each other, his cock still keeping you plugged, as you breathe in each other’s air and whisper your thoughts and confessions. Frankie keeps you close, legs tangled, softening, tracing shapes on your bare shoulders in the glow of the lamp as the sounds of the party slowly begin to filter back through the crack under the door.

‘Hope Tommy doesn’t mind us using the bedroom.’ You murmur, and he snorts.

‘Bit late now,’ he says. ‘Hope Will doesn’t like him too much.’

You laugh, knocking his shoulder with your fist. He makes to bite at it, clicking his teeth together as you pull it away. You grin at each other, eyes gleaming and full.

‘I love you.’ He says again.

You hum into his shoulder, stifling a yawn. ‘Love you, too.’

There’s quiet for a moment, your head clear, before Frankie shifts beside you.

‘We’re still friends though, right?’ He says into your hair, and watches as you laugh, loud, tucking your face into his neck.

‘You asshole,’ you giggle, glancing up into his eyes. ‘’Course we are.’

He hums into your scalp, tangling his legs with yours further. You run your feet up his calves.

His thumb strokes along the back of your knuckles, and his breath tangles in your hair. Soft kisses are pressed to any inch of skin he can find, and you bury your face in his neck, nipping and soothing, smiling like an idiot.

You don’t think you’ll ever be friends again. But maybe that’s a good thing.

[saradika-graphics]

Masterlist Headers + Matching Divider Sets

AESTHETICS

— Ace (Moon/Stars)

— Alchemy

— Bakery

— Blush Romantic

— Burgundy & Gold

— Constellations (Blue/Green)

— Cottagecore / Dark Academia

— Fallout

— Fire

— Forest-themed

— Halloween

— Hyacinth

— Jujutsu Kaisen

— Maroon/Purple Witch

— Misty Forests

— Neon

— Orange-themed

— Purple/Blue Space

— Seasonal Aesthetic

— Skulls & Lace / Skeletons

— Stars & Space: Sun

— Strawberry | part ii

— Sun

— Taupe and Teal

— Winter/Christmas

— Yellow-themed

FANDOMS

Star Wars

— Andor (The Eye)

— Bi-Pride Colors

— Dark Blue (& R2D2)

— Din Djarin

— Din Djarin & Boba-themed (Star Wars)

— Endor (Forest)

— Golden-themed

— Pastel Colors

— Pink/Mauve (Star Wars)

— Poe Dameron

— Red & Orange-themed

Marvel/DC

— The Batman

— Blue Beetle

— Bucky Barnes

— Deadpool & Wolverine

— DC

— Marvel Inspired

— Loki Inspired

— Miguel O’Hara

Games/Series

— Astarion (BG3)

— Lae’zel (BG3)

— Call Of Duty

— House of the Dragon

— The Last Of Us

— The Witcher

Movies/Books:

— Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes

— Ezra/Prospect

— Lord of the Rings & matching Navigation

— One Piece (Zoro) — Scream / Ghostface | Ethan Landry

✨(Everything was made in and using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

[princessdimondheart]

💀COD: Modern Warfare II Masterlist💀

🚫No Requests🚫

🔖 Taglist

Guide:

🔪- violence | 😭- angst | 🔥- NSFW 18+ MDI | 🥺- fluff

Note: Posts irregular. Any x Reader posts are usually female unless marked otherwise. All character headers are created by myself so please don't use without permission. I DO NOT give permission to repost on other sites, translate or otherwise copy/plagiarize any of my works. Thank you.

Last Update: 4/20/2024 USA

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☽⭐︎☾~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Task Force 141

That Time of the Month | TF-141 x Reader | Oneshot | 🥺

➖ Reader gets her period.

It’s The Dog | Ghost x f! OC | 🔪😭🔥🥺

➖A Ghost and a woman and a dog…. What could go wrong?

Prologue | Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4 | Ch.5 [Soon]

Hot Tamales | Ghost x Canis + TF-141 + Los Vaqueros | Oneshot | 🥺

➖ Canis is homesick so she makes everyone some tamales. The team loves them.

Interlude: It’s The Puppy | Canis + Riley | Oneshot | 🥺 [Soon] ➖ The time Riley came into Canis’ life.

Tells | Ghost x Secret Wife! Reader | Oneshot | 🥺

➖Johnny meets his L.t.’s wife after realizing that he should have known about her long ago. 

Friendly Ghosts in the Shadows | Ghost x Reader | Oneshot | 🔪 🥺

➖Reader runs into Task Force 141, after they completed their mission, under not so good circumstances. Ghost is intimidating to certain people and he walks her home.

Until I Found You | Ghost x Reader | Oneshot | (Soon)

➖(Summary soon, in process of writing)

The Twins | Ghost x Reader | Oneshot | 🔪😭🥺

➖Ghost meets the children he never knew he had… but in the worst case scenario.

Rave | Gaz x Reader | Oneshot | 🔥😭

➖How Kyle met the love of his life while covered in holo glitter.

Sea of Cortéz | Price x Daughter! Reader x OC | Oneshot/Series TBD | 🔪😭

➖While John conversed a lot with his daughter through text, the last time Price physically saw his daughter was several years ago. The Captain learns that his daughter isn’t who he thought she was. Now just who the hell was on the other side of that damn phone?

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.?

Incorrect MWII Quotes:

1 - Ovulating | Ghost x Reader

2 - Proposal | Soap x Reader

3 - Pink Mug | Ghost x Reader

4 - Your Son | Ghost x Reader + Soap

5 - Dress Up | Ghost x Reader + TF 141 + Shepherd

6 - Pspsps | König x Reader

7 - Baby Knife | Ghost x Reader + Baby #2

8 - Section 8 | Canis (It’s The Dog) + Riley + Instructors

9 - Wake Up~ | Ghost x Reader + Soap | Video

10 - Bloody Carpet | Price + Teen! Reader + Mrs. Price

11 - He Don’t Bite | Canis + Riley + AQ Member

12 - Like a Tree | König x Reader

13 - .exe | Ghost x Pregnant! Reader

14 - Kabedon | König x Reader

15 - Happy Birthday | Ghost x Reader + TF-141

16 - Boston Tea Party | TF-141 + Reader

17 - Cucaracha | Roach x Reader

18 - Burn Them Off | Soap x Reader

19 - Period. | TF-141 + Reader + Dumb Privates

20 - Boobs | Ghost x Reader

21 - Double. D. | TF-141

22 - Bed Sheets | TF-141 + Reader | Halloween

23 - Sunset | Soap x Reader

24 - Turducken | TF-141 + Reader | Thanksgiving

25 - GRADUATION | Ghost x Reader + TF-141

26 - New Year | TF-141

27 - Valentine’s Day | TF-141 + Reader

[fanhackers]

Illegitimate Media, Part II

In my last post, I shouted out Abigail De Kosnik’s dissertation, Illegitimate Media: Race, Gender, and Censorship in Digital Remix Culture. De Kosnik’s goal for this project was “to place African Americans and women at the beginning of the history of popular digital culture, to ensure that they are credited with the invention and popularization of the earliest forms of digital remix culture.” She also wants to explain “why their genres of remix have been subjected to so much censorship and restraint, from outside and in.”  Notably, De Kosnik spends considerable time examining censorship from the inside–that is, she looks at the ways in which female media fans have not just fought off censorship from outside, but negotiated their attempts to censor each other.  She notes the early adoption of the convention of warnings–which were meant to warn readers away: 

Note, in Examples 2 and 3, the word “WARNING” in capital letters leading off the posts, and the series of repetitive, emphatic statements making clear the fact that the stories contain sexual content, and the defensive phrases that seem to anticipate a reader’s negative reaction to the sexual content: (in Example 1) “I really can’t take any complaints seriously if you fail to heed this warning”; (in Example 2) “if you don’t like that, too bad. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to”; (in Example 3) “If that bothers you, do NOT read this story...Don’t flame me if you’re silly enough to go ahead and read it after I warned you, and then get offended by it.” These prefaces put the onus of the responsibility for the reader’s enjoyment of the erotic fiction squarely on the reader: (in Example 1) “Caveat lector,” or “Reader beware.” In all three examples of headers, the writers do not advertise the appeal of the sexual fantasies they have taken the trouble to create; they do not promise the reader pleasure. They do just the opposite: they address the reader with the assumption that the reader will find these stories about sexual gratification unpleasing, and these headers constitute pre-emptive strikes in the expected blame game that will ensue from the reader’s discomfort and displeasure. These headers state, It will not be my, the writer’s, fault for writing what I should not have if you are made angry or uncomfortable by this sexually graphic story, instead it will be your, the reader’s, fault for reading what you should not have (148).

That said, De Kosnik also acknowledges that “every severe warning can also be read as an invitation,” as “sly and flirtatious come-ons, meant to intrigue and entice” the reader.  She thinks that the history of erotic fanfiction (and the warnings thereof) speaks very specifically to the feminist pornography wars of the 1980s - which might be useful to think about as we consider how our own use of tags and warnings speaks to our own historical moment. 

--Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

[slashingdisneypasta]

Villains through the Rainbow

I cant believe I did this for fun. This was painful XD 😅 So be free to use them as wallpapers or headers or whatever ^^

Made on BeFunky with kissthemgoodbye.net and Google (And more). CLICK FOR BETTER QUALITY.

Below the cut are all the characters and movies and shows ^^

Red: Gaston (Beauty and The Beast, 1991), Pearl (Pearl, 2022), Professor Ratigan (The Great Mouse Detective, 1986), Captain Hook (Peter Pan, 2003), Lord Shen (Kung Fu Panda 2, 2011), The Djinn (Wishmaster, 1999), Jafar (Aladdin, 1992), Otis B Driftwood (House of 1000 Corpses, 2003), Death (Puss N Boots; The Last Wish, 2022), Chucky / Charles Lee Ray (Seed of Chucky, 2004), Scar (The Lion King, 1994), and Erik Destler (The Phantom of the Opera, 1989).

Yellow: Percival C McLeach (The Rescuers Down Under, 1990), Mayor George W. Buckman (2001 Maniacs, 2005), Clayton (Tarzan, 1999), Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt Jr (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, 2003 + The Texas Chainsaw Massacre; The Beginning, 2006), Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls, 2012), Baby Firefly (House of 1000 Corpses, 2003), Cruella De Vil (101 Dalmations, 1961), Human!Chucky / Charles Lee Ray (Childs Play, 1988), Commander Lyle Rourke (Atlantis; The Lost Empire, 2001), Kahmunrah (Night At The Museum; Battle of the Smithsonian, 2009), Hopper (A Bugs Life, 1998), and Gilderoy Lockheart (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, 2002).

Green: Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty, 1959), The Riddler (Fox Gotham, 2014), Scar (The Lion King, 1994), Leslie Vernon (Behind The Mask; Rise of Leslie Vernon, 2006), Chick Hicks (Cars, 2006), Freddy Krueger (Freddy Vs Jason, 2003), General Kai (Kung Fu Panda 3, 2016), Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice, 1988), Marvin the Martian (Space Jam, 1996), Oogie Boogie (A Nightmare Before Christmas, 1993), Greasy Weasel (Who Framed Roger Rabbit, 1988), and Lady Tremaine (Cinderella, 2015).

Blue: Wheezy Weasel (Who Framed Roger Rabbit, 1988), Michael Myers (Halloween, 1978), Hades (Hercules, 1997), Maleficent (Once Upon A Time, 2011), Prince John (Robin Hood, 1973), Pamela Voorhees (Friday the 13th, 1980), Tai Lung (Kung Fu Panda, 2008), Stuart Lloyd (The Last Showing, 2014), Prince Hans of the Southern Isles (Frozen, 2013), Hades (Once Upon A Time, 2011), Shan Yu (Mulan, 1998), and Bo Sinclair (House of Wax, 2005).

Purple: Eris (Sinbad; Legend of the Seven Seas, 2003), Carrie White (Carrie, 1978), Jafar (Aladdin, 1992), Chop Top Sawyer (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre II, 1986), Evil Queen Grimhilde (Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs, 1937), Tiffany Valentine (Bride of Chucky, 1998), Dr Facilier (The Princess and the Frog, 2009), Jervis Tetch (Fox Gotham, 2014), Ursula (The Little Mermaid, 1989), Regina Mills (Once Upon A Time, 2011), Long John Silver (Treasure Planet, 2002), and Jennifer Check (Jennifer's Body, 2009).

[mythrilthread]

Allow me to present: What We've Got series by @definitionsfading

The complete series (over 300k words) is bound into two volumes. One set of books is for me, and the other was sent as a gift to the author.

Now, this series was on my to-bind list from the moment I learned about the concept of ficbinding. It is the ultimate comfort reading, and I spent many happy hours with it — both while it was still ongoing, and when I reread it (which usualy happens right after I rewatch True Detective season 1). And still I didn't have a clear idea for design when I started, so I reread it again. And by about chapter 27 it came to me like a vision. So there you have it.

I designed the covers using the double exposure effect that made the opening credits to True Detective so mesmerising for me. I wanted to use the motifs that came from Rust's synestesia, and also I am known to be quite heavy-handed with my symbolism, so. Yellows and blues, homes, sunflowers, and of course, stars are important, and there they are. I splashed Northern lights all over Rust because the Alaska chapters take up the majority of the second volume, and also because they feel very hopeful.

I painted the endpapers in watercolor (and let me tell you, the last time I tried my hand at that was 15+ years ago) with them gradually changing colors from yellow in the beginning of volume I to blue in the end of volume II. I used salt and bubblewrap to add extra texture, and that was FUN (even though I'll be reluctunt to trust watercolor paper again any time soon).

For title pages I wanted something simpler but also important, so you have little miss Ghost for volume I, and Rust's new tattoo for volume II.

The rest of the typesetting is pretty minimalist, main body font is my beloved Georgia, and the headers are done in a font that closely resembles the one used for True Detective posters. (But also I did play around with a couple of other fonts for addad effect where I felt it was appropriate.)

And of course, a binding of this story wouldn't be complete without some very nice ribbons (complete with star charms, because the light, my dudes, is winning).

This project fought me every step of the way and it was worth every second. Those four books are the first bookbinding project I did after I moved to a different country, and finding supplies has been a challenge. Also, this was my first time trying a three-piece Bradel binding, using ribbon bookmarks, and trying this particular way of titling the spines, and my second time rounding spines and making Oxford hollows. So it gives me enormous joy that all of it somehow worked. Maybe not perfectly, but very, very well.

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 6 - "I'll Beg You Nice from my Knees"

AN: I am so sorry this took so long, I have had some medical testing done and had some health episodes so I couldn't dedicate as much time as I wanted to with this chapter. I hope you like it! This dedication has been removed. Also the title is a line from "All I Wanted" by Paramore cause that song went through my mind a lot during this chapter. In another life, reader would be with Erryk.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

Please feel free to leave any thoughts below! Definitely not required but so appreciated.

Find the series masterlist here!

Summary: Three weeks. That is how long it took Y/N to get any of the men back in her company after the horrific dinner. She didn't spend the entire time angry, though. She just didn't understand what she did to make them avoid her. All she wanted was to have them.

TW: A lot of reflection on the Driftmark incident, a lot of anger, vaginal fingering, mentions of substance use, mentions of violence, angst, talks of injury, character death of sorts but in the past and not anyone major, profanity, Aemond being dirty af

Relationship: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader, talks of Jacaerys Velaryon x Twin!Reader, talks of Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon!Reader, Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen (not explicit but realized it's a thing)

Word Count: 4.8k

Mother and Alicent had come to help escort me back to my room after the dinner. Ser Erryk provided the physical support I needed while they were providing me some emotional. It was nice to be with them and not be expected to say anything about the dinner.

Time began to pass in a blur in a way that made me unable to distinguish the days from one another. I was aware of Mother and Alicent both agreeing, given how hurt I still was, that the homecoming feast should wait a few weeks. It was fine with me, as I did not want to even have a feast to begin with. The mornings were spent in the dragon pit with the children.

The five of them loved that I went with them. The keepers helped me to bring Vhaela out so that the two of us could get reacquainted while the kids learned with an adult dragon. It was always nice to spend time with her. Feeding her was one of my favorite things. She was so proud of herself when she blew fire to cook the meat provided she always looked to me for approval.

And in the evenings, I soothed my aches with a warm bath and biscuit. That part was nice too. Something about feeling the water wash over me as the fuzziness took over my brain allowed me to truly relax.

Well, as relaxed as I could be when neither of the men that declared my hand was theirs came to speak with me. At first, I would’ve only accepted them talking to me to apology for making a scene. Aemond and Jacaerys truly could not get past the stupid competition they alone create, and that had caused such a fuss so many times.

Then morning came and I just hoped one of them would at least come to check on me. Hours passed by that day and still neither came to find me. Even after sending my new handmaid, a young girl named Elayna Tyrell, to bring them to me, they did not come. Why were they avoiding me?

Though what made less sense was how Aegon avoided me. Correction. How he avoided me during my conscious hours was what didn’t make sense. I could tell by the way my pillow smelled of him that he would lay beside me as I slept. Knowing him he probably held me.

After it became several days without sight of any of them, I began to deflate. And then it became nearly three weeks. What did I do wrong?

Mother and Alicent were with me as the Maester were doing their daily examination. It was how I started most of my days. Mother and Alicent would bring breakfast to me and they sat with me until the exam was finished.

“Any pain the last few days?” he asked as he ran his fingers along my ribs.

“No. I have not needed to use the biscuits for physical pain, only at night to ease me to sleep,” I said to him. It no longer felt painful or inconvenient to move. My busted lip had healed. Finally I felt like myself.

“Any memories or visions further than what we’ve discussed?” he asked me quietly, so low that Mother and Alicent would not hear.

That was a more complicated matter. Every night I dreamt of being in complete darkness, only for the small red vial to turn up and be the only light source. I would walk towards it. Hours could pass and I would only be just approaching it, when a woman would appear just as it had.

This woman was devastatingly beautiful. Her hair and eyes looked to be made of flames, contrasting greatly against her pale skin. If one could imagine the ideal woman’s body, I believe they would imagine this woman. Full breasts yet an otherwise slender figure, the way any man preferred his whores. She constantly wore robes that matched the red of her hair and eyes. And around her neck laid a golden choker embedded with rubies.

This was not a woman I had memory of ever seeing. Believe me when I say she was so beautiful I know I would remember her. Her haunting my dreams every night was enough to make me certain of that.

None of that was new. What was, however, was her speaking. She would reach out, taking the vial in her hand, only to offer it to me while saying the words, “Gūrogon bisa skori ao jaelagon naejot sagon lenton.” It was Valyrian, and roughly translated to, “Take this when you want to go home.”

Only telling the Maester of this woman felt the best way to go about it. If Mother knew, she would tear the whole Kingdom brick from brick until she found this woman. I could not predict anyone else’s response nor did I really want to think about it.

“Nothing I am certain of,” I responded, which only garnered a nod.

He stepped away from my body and turned to Mother. “She is as healed as she can be. The damage done to her bones may always be there. You can feel an indent in the fifth and sixth ribs, where I suspect the bones ended together.”

“That will not affect her further?” Alicent asked him, speaking for Mother.

My jaw tightened. While I was not entirely sure what was going on between them, I was not a huge fan. Alicent speaking for Mother, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, as though she still had any right. How was it fair or possible that Alicent got to sit at the side of the Iron Throne for so long?

“No, Your Grace,” he said to Alicent before turning to look to me. “Though I would recommend caution. Bones once broken could be easier to break.”

“Luckily I have no plans of being further beaten or tortured,” I muttered, earning a sharp look from Mother. “Sorry.”

I thought it was hilarious. Though I always thought I was funnier than those around me. Jace found me funny.

“And what is your opinion on me flying?” I asked him. I was aware how eager I sounded.

“I see no reason to restrict you further,” he said.

Whatever else was said between Mother, Alicent, and the Maester was lost on me. Slipping behind the partition, I pulled on my riding dress.

It belonged to Mother when she was young, before the way her body changed with pregnancy. It was a simple black with grey fastenings. A slit ran up the middle of the skirt so that while standing it appeared to be a normal skirt, yet it parted when I would be mounted on Vhaela. Black scale accents adorned the shoulders and the lower quarter of the sleeves. The fabric was heavy, helping avoid any chill.

I did not do anything particularly special with my hair. The front section on either side, less than an inch, got pulled back away from my face into a small braid. With that, I was ready.

When I stepped out from behind the partition, the Maester was gone. Thank the gods.

“I do not think you should go flying yet,” Mother told me as she stood from her chair.

“You cannot stop me,” I said firmly.

“Y/N” she said, beginning to explain her reasoning.

“No. No. I have been reasonable and compliant this entire time. You two want to play house and pretend the past did not happen, and I have not spoken a word. You both prepare a grand feast that will happen in two days time and I accept it without argument despite not wanting it. Being poked and prodded by the Maester every morning before I even have finished my breakfast has been irritating to no end but still I stayed silent,” I said, feeling a fire build up inside of me. “I went eighteen years, waiting for a dragon while all my brothers’ eggs hatched! Aegon and Helaena had a dragon before I could even form a thought! Even Aemond had Vhagar by the time he was ten! And yet I only had weeks with Vhaela before five years was stolen from me!”

“Rhaenyra, she has a point,” Alicent said to her, taking her hand. The way Mother relaxed made me freeze.

That was what it was. Why Mother allowed Alicent a seat, even still. Why Mother had clung to the idea of the Alicent of their girlhood, even when Alicent was a nightmare. They were in love.

“You would need to chain me in the black cells to keep from her,” I whispered, stepping forward to take her hands in my own. “I am not leaving. I am not disappearing. But Vhaela more than anything is my birthright as a Targaryen.”

She looked between me and Alicent. I could see the thoughts brewing in her mind, trying to find a way to convince both of us to keep me here. Yet, I was my mother’s daughter, blood of the dragon. There was nothing keeping me where I did not want to be.

“Take Aemond or Jace with you,” she instructed me.

Despite not wanting to give them more opportunity to ignore me, I did not want to keep arguing with Mother. Any fight between Targaryens could turn explosive rather quickly. It is why I am grateful that there was no war for Mother’s crown. Had there been, I imagine our entire family would be gone, if not the entire kingdom.

Without another word, I left the room. Erryk was immediately by my side. His presence was comforting, as I found in recent weeks he was my greatest company. And in truth, he wasn’t a bad looking man either. If he hadn’t taken the oath preventing him from taking a wife, I may have said screw the other three and just chosen him.

“Where are we headed, Princess? I assume the Dragon Pit?” he asked as we walked. He looked me up and down, giving a small smile at my attire.

“First we need to find either Jace or Aemond,” I muttered.

“You have not desired to see them for a while now. What’s changed?” he asked me.

“I have been permitted to fly again. Mother, however, insists I take one of the two of them,” I explained. He said nothing else.

As we walked, I knew where both men would be. Aemond would most likely be in the training yard. Despite having been a very accomplished swordsman by his sixteenth nameday, he continued training just as obsessively as before. And Jace? On days like today, where the sun was hidden just enough to avoid hurting one’s eyes but glimmered through the clouds like a treasure waiting to be found, he liked to go down to the shoreline and watch the boats.

My heart pulled me in two different directions. Jace was who my head told me I should want. He truly had been my other half. There was no way I could ever exist without him. Yet still he stayed away. He was the type of person to use the silent treatment as a punishment. Whenever I had made him angry, he would go long bouts of time without saying a thing to me. The longest he went was three months.

Yet Aemond felt like who I wanted to spend time with the most. He was who I wanted to make see my side of things. These last few weeks had driven me crazy because he had refused to come to me. He had never stayed far from my side for more than a few hours if we were in the same place.

My heart decided I needed Aemond. I needed him like one needs to breathe. It felt as though without him life did not make sense.

Instead of turning right at the end of the corridor to leave through the main doors of the Keep, I turned left. It was the fastest way to the training yard. Well, actually, from my room there was a secret corridor hidden behind this dragon statue that lead directly to the training yard, with a few offshoots to get to other rooms around the Keep. But given the fact I don’t want many people knowing about it, including Erryk, it was smarter for me to take this way.

“You look well, Princess,” Erryk commented as we passed several members of Court.

Members of Court were lords and ladies who came from houses that felt they deserved to live among us, yet were evidently unimportant enough that they could abandon their holdings to play dress up with royals. In truth they disgusted me as a general rule. What bothered me was not that they were not royalty, I truthfully couldn’t care less about birth status. No, it bothered me that they would so carelessly abandon their duties at their own homes to come and live in mine.

Perhaps if they just were happy to live here it would not be so terrible. Yet, they would eat the food we had and take the benefits of being a member of court to live lavish lifestyles, all while spreading rumors of our lives. I did not like liars. I did not like people who benefit from lies they spread.

That’s not to say all members of Court were bad. When I was little I had a handmaid named Tarla Greyjoy who was absolutely lovely. She was kind to me, got along with the rest of my family without trying to insert herself into relationships. She didn’t try to get Jacaerys to marry her instead of me like some girls did. And most importantly, she was a very good secret keeper.

She had died when she was thirteen and I was fourteen. We had been sailing to Driftmark so that Jace and I could visit our grandparents, and naturally I had her with me. I didn’t know how scared she was of storms. We sailed right into one and in a panic, she slipped on the deck. To this day I don’t really understand, but she fell in such a way that her neck broke and she died instantly. I was inconsolable for days. She had been my friend for nearly ten years, stood by my side every day during that time. I missed her dearly, but if I gave her too much thought it resulted in a crippling panic attack.

When we stepped out into the training yard, it was not a surprise to see Aemond. He moved gracefully with every swing of his sword. It was like watching Caraxes do his mating dance for Syrax in a way. Which if I were honest sounds a lot dorkier than it was.

He didn’t notice me at first, I don’t think. He was solely focused on his opponent, who I vaguely recognized as another member of Court. The opponent came from a lesser house, I think House Redwyne, and those types of men always liked the chance to get close as possible to us. They also always liked to flirt with Helaena and I to try to make us fall in love and get all gooey when we see them so they can improve their station.

With a swift jab of the sword’s pommel into the shoulder from Aemond, the Redwyne lordling stumbled. In mere seconds, Aemond swept his legs out from under him then held the tip of the sword to his throat. I couldn’t help but to smirk.

Aemond hadn’t used wooden swords to train since about a year after he lost his eye. He said there was no joy for him in it if there was no danger in it. To me, it always sounded like he secretly wished to be injured again.

Mother allowed me to stay by his side for a month after the incident in Driftmark. That month was the worst time of his life, I think. He had to begin to relearn everything before he had even stopped feeling pained from his injury. His depth perception was completely off which hindered his ability to feed himself, to traverse the Keep by himself, or really do much of anything.

He was angry, too, angrier than I had ever seen him. He was angry at my brothers, my mother, his mother, even the gods could’ve feared his wrath. Yet, I was the one person spared his anger, and all he wanted was for me to stay by his side. His reasoning?

That night on Driftmark, I told the truth. That Aemond had woken me up to share with me the chance to claim Vhagar. That when he got back from his inaugural flight, Rhaena was angered by his claim on Vhagar. That her and Baela’s anger caused them to attack Aemond. That he pushed me out of the way before defending himself. Then my brothers jumped in, and eventually it became all of them beating Aemond.

I think what really sealed it that night, at least for Aemond and especially for Alicent, was that I confirmed it was Jace who had brought the knife. He was the one to introduce it.

Jace filled in the words. How Aemond was vicious and violent in his words. That Aemond had called my brothers bastards. Which Jace made sure to glare at me that night as he said that, as to remind me that meant Aemond called me a bastard. And he made sure to point out that Luke only did that to protect his family. Completely ignoring the fact that Aemond was family.

I want to be very clear that I do not believe Luke should have lost his eye as punishment. Alicent suggesting that made my stomach twist and turn back then, and still does to this day. I do, however, believe that my brothers never received punishment for anything they did.

Like why did it matter more to Mother the words that Aemond said rather than the fact her sons were among the attackers? Why did Jace continue to get to carry a knife while I returned home and was forbidden from Jace’s side for three months? When it was I who saw that the actions of those four weighed just as heavily as the words of Aemond? Why did Mother completely forget that Jace made Aemond’s life hell for not having a dragon, making him feel lesser than, while I sat there and listened to him belittle someone in the same position I was in?

And to be honest, it wasn’t as though Aemond was wrong. Yes, it was technically treasonous of him to say it out loud. But again, he wasn’t wrong. Vaemond Velaryon was not wrong. We are bastards. Our blood is Harwin Strong. Not a drop of Velaryon blood resides in our veins. Though, they could’ve said it less disgustedly.

It was doubtful anyone could understand how frustrating these thoughts are. They made me feel as though I betray Mother and my brothers by acknowledging the circumstances of our birth. But, if I denounce Aemond for speaking that, it is like I am calling him a liar, which he isn’t. Truly, it feels like no matter what I feel about that situation, I am screwed.

Aemond noticed me at that point. Given the way his head snapped up in my direction, I imagine I let out a grunt of frustration. He looked almost ashamed when he saw me.

Good.

“Prince Aemond, a word if you will,” I said loudly to him. We were about five feet apart, so I did not have to practically yell it to him. But I spoke louder than needed so that he would have no choice.

Wordlessly, he put his sword in its scabbard and walked over to me. Just having him within arms reach again was enough to make me feel my heart rate increase. Fucking Seven Hells, I love him so much.

“Princess,” he said quietly, giving me a subtle nod of his head.

“You are to accompany me in flight, as requested by Her Grace the Queen,” I told him firmly.

Sometimes, I really liked pulling rank. It was truly the only thing he would listen to at times. He was annoyingly stubborn. Not in the way that most anyone with a cock was, but in a special and overwhelming way.

“And where are you wishing to go, Princess?” he asked me.

“I think perhaps Felwood. A short flight from here, three hours tops,” I said, shrugging a bit.

He nodded and motioned for me lead the way. I tried to relax my jaw as it tightened in annoyance. He was still wanting to put a distance between us.

“Ser Erryk, you are dismissed for the time being. I shall seek you out when I return,” I said to Erryk. The sweet knight nodded and took his leave.

Now there was no buffer between Aemond and I. He could not feign interest in anyone else’s life. He could not ignore me.

We walked in silence from the training yard, though he did still give me his arm to hold. The walk from the Keep to the Dragon Pit typically talk about an hour and a half. They were about five miles apart. When I went there with the children, we always took a carriage. When I was with Aemond, though, he preferred the walk.

Passing by several shops on the streets of city, several shopkeepers and their patrons stared at us. I wasn’t entirely sure why but they had never approached us. Mother always feared they would mob me. Though they didn’t seem to care most of the time. Maybe it was because I had spent so much time among them they saw me more as a person.

“It wasn’t just us that missed you,” Aemond said quietly. I looked to him immediately, my heart speeding up as he pulled me closer. “The people of the city missed you as well.”

He was probably right. Before my disappearance, I worked hard to gain the love and respect of the citizens of King’s Landing. It wasn’t that I needed everyone in the world to like me. But I knew, more than anything, that one day these people would be my people. One day I would be their Queen. And it is easier to rule people that love you.

“You hurt me,” I told him as we kept walking.

He sighed rather loudly. “I know.”

“I’m not speaking of the dinner, Aemond. Which, by the way, was a dick move for a lot of reasons. But I’m talking about the fact that today is the first time since that you’ve spoken to me,” I said.

I was trying desperately to hold my voice steady. Every part of me wanted to scream at him. It wasn’t even necessarily anger that made me feel this way. It was just there was so much crap in my head and in my heart, and he didn’t seem to get it.

“I was embarrassed,” he admitted.

“Gods, I can’t imagine why you would be,” I muttered rather harshly.

Immediately, he went back to being quiet. I wanted to kick myself in the head. Why did I have to say that?

This was not the first time in my life I had said something that caused instant regret. Hells, it was not even the first time since I’ve returned that I’ve done it. I tended to speak before I thought at times when I really should just be quiet.

The rest of our walk was in silence. In the near hour and a half it takes to walk from the Red Keep to the Dragon Pit, he only said maybe twenty words to me. I longed for his voice, his declarations of love. Yet, because of who I am I could not receive them.

Aemond discussed with the keepers that we wish to fly. He spoke quietly with them, so quietly it was obvious he did not want me to hear, telling them they only need bring Vhaela. They had nodded in understanding near immediately before shuffling off to bring Vhaela to me.

“You do understand the rules are I have to take you with me, yes?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“I shall fly on Vhaela with you,” he said simply.

My face heated up as blood rushed to my cheeks. Aemond had always told me that I needed to fly on a dragon before I had my own. So we went weekly into the skies, grateful to Vhagar that she was so good. The last time we rode on the same dragon was before I had Vhaela. It was not the feeling of flying that I remembered from that trip. No, it was the feeling of his cock buried inside me that was the only thing I could remember.

I caught him looking at me and smirking. That caused my cheeks to heat up even more. My breath caught in the space between my lungs and my throat and a fire burned inside me, nestled in the svalley between my thighs.

“You remember,” he said quietly. We were all alone in this moment.

“How could I not?” I whispered. Feeling emboldened by his obvious or perhaps just stupid, I changed our position. Now I stood chest to chest with him.

“Which part do you remember most, my love?” he whispered to me. His hands found my waist to hold me close. Though they didn’t stay there, slowly working their way back and down.

I took a deep breath. He was looking at me with such an intensity it felt like he could burn a hole in my soul. All I could think was how the ache between my thighs was becoming overwhelming. If he could hear my heart, he would hear it thudding against my chest harder with every passing second.

“Or how about you tell me your memories of it?” I whispered, smirking up at him. “After all, you’re the one who needs to make up for your behavior.”

He chuckled as his hands worked their way over my ass and around to my front. “Always been a brat, haven’t you? Can’t do as you are told?” he asked. His voice was quiet and deep.

“I listen to those who deserve it,” I said to him. My breath caught in my throat as his fingers moved past the parting of my skirt. They brushed against my clit through the thin material of the shift I wore underneath. The touch was so light one could miss it.

“And if I beg you for forgiveness?” he whispered, watching my face intently as he increased the pressure of his touch. There was no denying the pleasure of it.

“Get to begging,” I practically commanded him. I couldn’t help but to inch my hips forward.

Gods if I had any ounce of self respect I would push him away. I wouldn’t allow him to touch me like this without a proper apology. In fact, I perhaps should’ve championed for Aegon to accompany me just to prove my point to Aemond. That it was not fair of him to ignore me when I had done nothing wrong.

But as he rubbed my clit through the flimsy skirt of my shift, I couldn’t help but lean against him. My forehead was pressed against his chest, my breathing becoming ragged. I gripped his wrist tightly as I felt that all too familiar band tightening behind my navel.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered when I finally let out a breathy moan. “Should’ve been doing this for you the entire time. I promise, baby, I won’t be so stupid ever again.”

With his free hand, he lifted the shift up enough to where he could touch my clit directly. I let out a loud moan, one that caused him to chuckle. His thumb stayed firmly pressed against my clit, moving in tight little circles, as he moved his other fingers to my entrance.

“So wet for me, baby,” he whispered in my ear before pushing his fingers inside. Right off the bat he started with two. His fingers were long and slender, feeling heavenly inside me. “You deserve the world you know that?”

“Fuck, Aemond,” I moaned as he pumped his fingers in and out.

He eagerly worked my cunt as he continued to rub my clit. My grip on his wrist tightened as I began seeing stars.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” he praised me as the band behind my navel finally snapped. Orgasmic bliss washed over me. “Such a perfect girl. Do you forgive, princess?”

I only just managed to pull myself away as the Keeper surfaced with Vhaela in tow. Aemond was smirking at me. He maintained eye contact with me as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. I swear to the gods he moaned.

“Perhaps,” I told him quietly, smirking a bit before walking over to Vhaela.

[galdra-studios]

October is here! Time to pull out your sweaters, scented candles and spiced coffee, as we settle in for maximum Fall coziness!… Right after we’re done addressing the big corporate elephant who’s wandered into the room ^^0

Last month, Unity made a startling decision that had us scrambling for a few days.

Unity is the game engine we use for Arcadia Fallen. It’s a popular tool that’s used by many indie developers, and it used to run on a monthly subscription model. But this month they suddenly announced they would change their monetization to instead charge a set fee every time a game runs their installer; more specifically, they wanted 20 cents every time someone installed a game. This sparked quite the stir online, from developers, gamers, and influencers. It was actually quite refreshing to see the industry unified for once, though the circumstances were very…urg.  Eventually, Unity reconsidered these changes and came up with something more reasonable, but we still felt uneasy. Daniel’s been reading through the fine print, and we’re not comfortable with the terms Unity proposes going forward. The difference is, they used to only charge a subscription fee for developing Unity games, but now they have added an implicit fee for distributing Unity games, which they can change at a whim and the change would also affect previously released games under the new terms. When they decide to crank up the fee, there’s no telling how it might affect a small studio like us, which is scary.

So what does this mean for us?

We’re going to continue developing Arcadia Fallen II in Unity, because we’re still on the old terms for the project, but any future projects will likely be moved to another engine. It sucks, because we’ve been developing a lot of really cool tools for our dialogue system that will now have to be remade, but we can’t risk our livelihood and the future of the studio on the whim of unpredictable tech giants. Speaking of which!

We’re on Bluesky now as well!^^ If there’s one thing we’ve learned this month, it's that you should never become dependent on one mega corporation, so we’re trying to spread out a little. We’ll still be posting on Twitter, since Bluesky isn’t very accessible yet with their invite-only system, but hopefully it will be a good alternative to those who have left the old bird app.

Writing is progressing smoothly. Lots of editing of the early chapters is being done at the moment to polish that section. Meanwhile, Hannah’s new sprite is looking super cute. The Illusionist prefect is ready to take on her exams with determination, coffee, and sleepless nights… Wait what?

As a bonus this month, we also have a short time lapse of this month’s header art, enjoy~

Thank you so much for following our journey! And we’ll see you in November for another DevLog!

Cheers!

The Galdra Team

[staincastle]

⠀⠀⠀ ★ rina's message is here! ellie's journal headers

[cchickki]

My Fanfic Masterlist

My fanfics through the years from both ao3 and fanfiction.net

thinking about opening requests for some one shots soon! i also have more ideas for some shorter fics, but i want to try and catch up on what i'm already working on first

complete - story is finished

in progress - story is among my wips/currently being worked on

incomplete - not sure if i'll ever finish this story

Image credits for headers: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Thank you all for the support <3

Spiderverse / Marvel

Tomorrow Never Came - Miguel O'Hara x fem reader ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 15/? | rating: M | status: in progress Say Yes to Heaven, Say Yes To Me - Miguel O'Hara x fem reader ao3 | tumblr | chapters: 1/1 | rating: M | status: complete Surprise! - Miguel O'Hara x fem reader ao3 | tumblr | chapters: 2/2 | rating: G | status: complete

HBO War / Band of Brothers

A Woman At War - Donald Malarkey x OC / Floyd Talbert x OC ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 65/65 | rating: T/M | status: complete A Woman At War (Rewritten) - Donald Malarkey x OC / Floyd Talbert x OC ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 13/? | rating: T | status: in progress A Miracle In Bastogne - Eugene Roe / Renee LeMaire ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 6/6 | rating: T | status: complete Embedded - Nate Fick x OC (Generation Kill) ao3 |ff.net | chapters: 3/? | rating: M | status: incomplete

Uncharted (video game series)

Crossing Paths - Sam Drake x OC ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 21/21 | rating: T/M | status: complete Crossing Paths Part II - Sam Drake x OC / Nadine Ross x Chloe Frazer ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 2/? | rating: T/M | status: in progress Crossing Paths AU Libertalia - Sam Drake x OC / Rafe Adler x OC ao3 | chapters: 1/? | rating: T | status: in progress

Mass Effect

Beyond the Deep - Kaidan Alenko x (Custom) Fem Shep ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 11/? | rating: M | status: in progress

More Stories (misc)

Movies

Serenity - Shu Lien x Mu Bai (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 1/1 | rating: G/K | status: complete Ameliorate - Furiosa x Praetorian Jack (Mad Max) series ao3 | parts: 3/3(?) | rating: T/M | status: in progress

Video Games

Rage Against the Dying of the Light - Astarion x Tav (BG3) ao3 | chapters: 3/7 | rating: M | status: in progress it would feel like this - Gale x Tav (BG3) ao3 | chapters: 1/1 | rating: E | status: complete The Ugly Truth - Ellie Williams (The Last of Us) ff.net | chapters: 1/1 | rating: M | status: complete A Grim Prognosis - Genji Shimada x Angela "Mercy" Ziegler (Overwatch) ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 3/? | rating: T | status: incomplete

Television Shows

Hallelujah - Charlotte "Charly" Weiss x Wilhelm Winter (Generation War/ Unsere Mütter, Unsere Väter) ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 4/? | rating: T | status: incomplete Run, Girl, Run - Roman Godfrey x OC (Hemlock Grove) ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 3/? | rating: T | status: incomplete Joanne - John Shelby x OC (Peaky Blinders) ao3 | ff.net | chapters: 8/? | rating: T | status: in progress?

[h3lian]

༝ ⊹₊ [ HELIAN . THEY / THEM . 25+ ] ˎˊ˗ Thank you for taking the time to visit my art blog. I’m a multi-fandom artist with a strong love of caffeine. I have a tendency to gravitate heavily towards fantasy  &  horror media so that's usually the kind of content you’ll find here outside of ship doodles & the occasional commission. Posts sporadically because of irl factors & occasional art burn out.

` ＊  requests [ OPEN ] ＊  commissions [ CLOSED ] last batch is in currently progress ＊  trades [ CLOSED ]

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[saradika-graphics]

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[galacticgraffiti]

⋞ The War of Life and Death ⋟

An Eya & Fives story. Huge thanks to @pinkiemme for loving me and letting me borrow Fives art for my little header!

Rating: Mature (for some gore and heavy themes) Wordcount: 2.6k Warnings: Angst, talks of war, depersonalisation, Eya is anxious Summary: Fives wants to spar, and Eya hesitantly agrees. Surely, it'll turn out fine... right?

A/N: Just in case there's some new people around, meet my OC Kyreya! They are a Nautolan, grew up in a Mandalorian créche on Glee Anselm, and fun fact, they used to be part of Death Watch. Enjoy their trauma.

Part I ✧ Part II ✧ Part III

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Part I: The Challenge of the Soldier

Coruscant, Lower Levels. 19 BBY.

It starts with Fives, sauntering over to Eya who is leaning against the bar. It starts with the cocky grin on his face, and the expression he makes as he sizes them up: Their fangs, the glittering knuckle spikes on their fists, the thick cords of their biceps and the circumference of their thighs.

“Oya, vod.” He stops right next to them and grins up at their neutral face like he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Su cuy’gar,” Eya throws back at him, a twitch tugging at the corner of their mouth.

“Aye, nearly wasn’t, though.” Fives sighs heavily as he plops down on a bar stool, waving his hand at the bartender with a flirtatious smile. The sunny expression falls for a moment when he turns back to Eya. “Last mission… an ka’gaht, if you will.”

Eya snorts at the very literal translation of what they assume is a Basic phrase they don’t know.

“It was… bad?” they inquire, cocking their head to taste the air. It turns sour and rancid when Fives shakes his head and sighs deeply, letting out all the air as if it was so heavy it could weigh him down.

“It was bad,” he agrees. “But… I would like to say it was worth it in the end. I’d like to say we were heroes, that we saved everyone and everybody thanked us on their knees for the help we provided… for the vode we sacrificed to make it.”

He pauses, takes a sip. Eya doesn’t press him. Fives rarely ever talks about the missions, like it’s an unspoken law. Maybe he likes remembering the crack of necks under his hands as little as Eya does.

“So… I would like to say it was worth it,” Fives eventually continues. “I- I just don’t know that it was. The mission itself was bad enough. Lost a lot of brothers down there, and it was- it was so stupid. Intel was bad, nothing was worth anything, and there was nobody worth saving. It was a ploy, it must’ve been, something to get our hopes up that it might turn the tides of war- something that let us think for a second that we could maybe win. But the worst part was that we were so… hated. From the second we touched down, everything went wrong and it wasn't even our fault. It wasn't even mistakes that could have been avoid, it was just- These people… osik, Eya, they didn’t even want to be saved. Not by us. They would rather have stayed Separatist slaves than look any of us in the face. Unnatural, one of them called me. A mistake of creation, an error of judgement, a lapse of reason. Would rather have died than be touched by me, said so himself.”

Fives downs his drink in one go, slams the glass down and signals the bartender for another. Eya doesn’t stop him, even if they don’t agree with the choice. They never have been one to drown their sorrows in alcohol, but thinking back, that might have been healthier than the alternative they picked.

“It doesn’t… please me that you were treated like this,” they offer, extending a hand to lay it on Fives’s warm forearm. He flinches, but then leans into the soft touch.

“You have an odd way of putting things sometimes, do you know that?” he mumbles. Eya’s hand seems so large on his small form. Slowly, they let their affection sink into his skin until the lines of rage are smoothed from Fives’s face.

“Mhhm, so I’ve been told. Not all of us grew up on Basic, vod’ika. Excuse me for having a family that stuck to the way,” Eya teases lightly.

“Believe me, if I had gotten to choose the language in which I was raised, it would not have been this one.” The words are tinged with anger, a bitterness seeping into Eya’s skin. “If I had gotten to choose the way I was raised, it would not have been this, if I had gotten to choose the man I wanted to become… I don’t think it would have been this.”

“Gar ori’jate verd, vod’ika,” Eya whispers, basking in the familiarity of their mother tongue saying words any Mando’ad should get to hear every day growing up. “Why would you-”

“It’s not about that.” Fives’s voice breaks even in those few syllables, and the deep lines of sorrow return to his face. “I never… Eya, cyare, this was never the way for me. I don’t think I would have ever chosen to become a soldier if I’d had a choice. Doesn’t matter I’m good at it. Doesn’t matter how many I kill, doesn’t matter that most of them aren’t even alive, are just droids, nothing more than violent machinery.”

He lowers his voice even more, speaking treasonous words that ring in Eya’s ears.

“I would never have chosen to fight in this pointless war. If I’d had a choice… some days I would have rather not been born. Not even born, Eya- Gods, I wasn't even born, was I? Decanted.” He spits the word out like it’s poisonous. “My creation was for one purpose only, do you understand that?”

“Gar sosol ti ni.” Eya’s words are meant to be consolation, but Fives’s eyes flare with anger at them.

“Nayc,” he disagrees passionately. “You had every option, Eya. You could have been whatever you wanted, you chose-”

Rage bubbles up in Eya’s chest, hot and bitter and ugly.

“Could I have?” they hiss, and notice that Fives leans back and away from their touch at the bitter words. They pull back their hand from him – they have no affection to give right now. “Really, vod? Go on- tell me what I could have been, since you seem to know so much about my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words sound strange off of Fives’s tongue. Maybe because Eya has rarely ever heard them before, not from anyone.

“You should be.” Eya’s kyram’edeem dig so hard into their lip that they taste blood, salty like the seas of their home. “You are important to me, Rayshe’e. But don’t ever assume that you know anything about my past.”

“Only because you never tell me anything,” Fives grumbles, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore. The air is filled with… frustration, yes, but also curiosity. He leans forward until his arm touches Eya’s again – a gesture of reconciliation.

Eya sighs heavily. Sometimes, fights with words are like this: Quick and sharp, and easily resolved. They prefer it to the quiet anger that smoulders and grows behind closed doors.

“It’s better this way, better that you know nothing,” they try to convince Fives, who has this expression on his face like he is about to ask a very dumb question. “It doesn’t… matter. I don’t want it to matter. It’s not important to who I am today.”

“Our past makes us everything we are,” Fives contradicts, and Eya has to hold their tongue.

“If that is true, then you should be running screaming,” they mumble, staring at the blank slate of the bar before them.

“Is that so?” There is a challenge in Fives’s voice, and it’s so stupid. It’s so, so stupid. Jare’la vod’ika.

Eya takes a deep breath and decides not to get mad at Fived. He doesn't know what he is asking.

“Elek, vod. That is so. Let’s leave it at that.” Eya knocks on the sealed wood of the bar with their mareve and revels in the sound of them, in the quiet warning that their weight carries. Fives, though, is seemingly resistant to that warning.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he drawls, drawing out each word like chewing gum. “Have you… have you ever lost a fight?”

Memories come crashing in, making Eya’s head spin: Someone whisked away from them, the sounds of explosions in the distance. More recent: black blood on their hands, the stench of their own blood in the air when they pick metal-covered bone splinters from the cut-up palm of their hand. Dead yellow eyes staring up at them.

They pull a small knife from the holster on their hip and start twirling it between their fingers, forcing themself to be grounded by the repetition.

“Naysol soletar.” Their answer is cold, detached, betrays nothing of the turmoil inside their head and hearts. Fives cocks his head.

“Too many to count, huh? You don’t seem like a person who likes to lose.”

Eya grits their teeth and clenches their fist, knife twirling faster in the other hand until it seems to blur between their fingers.

“Never said I liked it. I was a sore loser when I was younger… maybe I still am. Haven’t had many chances to find out.”

The only fights they have lost were the ones that really mattered. Not fights you leave as a sore loser, but fights where you lose a piece of yourself if you lose them. Fights of life and death, and destiny. One fight they have avenged already – not that they feel any better for it. It was never that one that really mattered in the end.

Fives stares for a moment, processing their words.

“Kyreya, cyare- tell me. When was the last time you lost a fight?”

Eya shrugs.

“Depends on what you count as losing. Or a fight for that matter.”

“A duel, preferably one on one, where you were beaten in fair battle and had to give up.” Fives’s answer comes to quickly. He shrugs at the expression on their face. “What? You asked for a definition.”

Eya shoves the memories down and down and down before they answer, twirling the knife between their fingers almost like they are bored.

“‘bout a year ago.”

“And before that?” Fives presses, eagerness dripping off of him like he is a puppy waiting for his treat.

“Few months before the last one.”

“And before that?” Fives asks impatiently.

Eya sighs and decides that it’s inevitable. Fives is pushy today, he is spoiling for a fight, eager for it, this has to be what this is about. They can feel it in their gills. He is leading them somewhere with his probing questions.

“When I was a tadpole. Just a wee one- I mean, I had legs and everything. But I was… young. A child, by your definition.”

Fives gawks, the expression on his face almost funny in its dumbfoundedness.

“Gev, utreekov,” Eya mumbles.

“You have lost… two… battles… in your entire lifetime?”

“Just told you I haven’t. Lost many more than that. Nobody is born a warrior, no matter what they tell you at that stupid army of yours. It’s a learned skill like anything else. For some people, the… learning curve is just steeper that for others.” In spite of everything, Eya can’t help the undertone of pride that sneaks into their voice.

Nobody is born a warrior, that’s true. Some ad’ike just take better to a fight than others. And they had been the best their créche had seen in ages.

“I’m talking about fights that matter,” Fives waves his hand impatiently. “Not training fights, not… not the fights that kids fight. I’m talking about the battles you have fought since you became the warrior you are today.”

“Those would be none,” Eya says coldly, surprised by how much his words hit the bullseye of their pain. “I am Mando’ad, but I am no longer Mando’verd. I don’t fight anymore, not like that. I swore an oath.”

“To whom?” Fives demands.

“To the only person who matters,” Eya retorts, feeling almost childish in their secrecy, but they are not ready to open that can of fish just yet.

“Will you elaborate?” Fives asks, the eagerness back in his voice.

“No.”

Silence envelops them for a moment. Fives hasn’t touched his second drink. His fingers tap quietly on his knees, like he is trying to hold something in… and failing spectacularly.

Eya braces themself for the next question he is bound to ask. When it comes, it’s not a question at all. It’s bait.

“I bet I could take you,” Fives murmurs, under his breath and almost so quiet that Eya can’t hear it. Almost.

“Mhhm.” They shrug noncommittally. 

“Do you not think so?” Fives asks, seeming genuinely curious. Gods, his eternal curiosity. One of these days it’ll get him killed.

Eya has to will their tendrils to calm down. They knew this was coming. They know Fives won’t give up, not unless they are very harsh about it. Thing is- they don’t want him to give up, not really. He is too cocky for his own good, too sure of himself. He could use a reminder that despite everything, despite all his training and teachings, he is not the best warrior this planet has ever seen. Not even the best warrior this rundown shithole of a bar has ever seen… not so long as Eya is here.

“Maybe you could,” Eya says slowly. “I’m… a bit out of practice.”

That’s a lie. The dojo they go to is very good, even if there is nobody that can really match them. Not even other Mando’ade; too many have forsaken the way, have grown soft and used to their gadgets. There are warriors more skilled with a sword, with a dagger; certainly more skilled with the graceless violence of a blaster than Eya. But nobody beats them at hand to hand, not ever.

Nobody except Brutus ever managed that, and Brutus is… well. Brutus is dead, Brutus bled out on the floor of a dirty arena with his throat ripped out and his horns crushed, the taste of his viscera on Eya’s tongue, the black of his blood eternally on their hands.

Fives pulls them from their sanguineous remembrance of the dead. His voice is the lifeline in the darkness that grips their hearts.

“I think I could,” he says confidently, sizing them up once again. This is what he has wanted from the start, Eya realises. This is what he came over to ask for, even before he talked about the war. He wants a distraction, and Eya is about to make his night a whole lot better… or worse, depending on how you look at it.

“Well, if you think so, I’m sure you could, verd’ika.” The nickname is intentional, just condescending enough to make Fives bristle from it.

“I don’t like to assume things,” he says, leaning over and looking at Eya with eager, shining eyes. “I’d like to put my theory to the test.”

“Would you now.”

Fives nods, and Eya bares their fangs in a beskar-coloured smile of death. To his credit, Fives barely shudders and his voice remains steady.

“I would, cyare. Would you do me the honours?”

“If you don’t stop calling me that, I most certainly will.”

Fives grins his sunniest grin.

“Oya, cyare. It’s a date.”

Eya shakes their head, but the promise of a fight between friends puts them in a good mood. While they are certain that Fives will be the loser in a fight against them, he will certainly be a challenge. They were not lying when they said he was a good soldier- they have seen him fight, they have been told many stories by him and his vode. Fives will not go down easy, and he won’t be too precious to cheat and use everything he knows to his advantage. Hopefully.

Eya’s tendrils dance at the thought.

By Nephto, this will be fun.

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» Part II: The Path of the Sword

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Mando'a:

Oya, vod. - Cheers, man. Su cuy'gar. - What's up? (Lit. You're alive) an ka'gaht - everything (went) south Gar ori'jate verd, vod'ika. - You are an excellent soldier, little brother. cyare - beloved Gar sosol ti ni. - You the same as I. Rayshe'e - 'Fives' Jare'la vod'ika - Stupid little brother. Elek, vod - Yes, brother. Naysol soletar. - Too many to count. Gev, utreekov. - Stop it, dumbass. Oya, cyare. - Come on (in this case in the sense of: alright)

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Taggies for all of youse who love Eya as much as I do. Huge shoutout for my eternal and beloved beta @baba-fett and to @ulchabhangorm who is the most wonderful reader of all times and has godlike inspiration abilities.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @daimyosprincess @deewithani @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sleepingsun501 @queen--kenobi @kik51199 @ficsbynight @writingbylee @thefact0rygirl @wild-karrde @rescuethewretched @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @mandoloriancookie @felinaone @rosieofcorona @amyroswell @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @kimiheartblade