#well that's ferociously painful

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[shotmrmiller]

simon's many things. a retired fighter, for one. he hung his mma gloves a few of years ago with the excuse of getting older. he still sticks around, though— sitting in the front, so close to the hexagonal cage that his knees can touch the steel, occasionally gesturing price over to hand him a crinkled wad of cash.

gambling's illegal, you know.

thought you were a medic not a cop, pet.

a veterinarian.

good thing we're all dogs here, then.

he's also a bit unhinged, or so price says. you had pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep from asking him if the hits simon's taken to the side of the head knocked a few things loose or if he was simply born that way. you'd be thoroughly unsurprised by the latter.

seen 'em take a man out with one ferocious hit— dislocated his jaw and retired him all in one second— all over cigarettes.

what, did they guy like steal them or something?

no. the prize for the winner of their fight was that pack of smokes.

incredible. (that's insane.)

he's also unrepentantly forward and a bit of a pervert, to boot. no explanation is needed.

lemme take ya out, love—

don't call me that.

and wear a pretty dress with heels. bet you'd look real good in—

stop talking, simon.

and now, you're about to find out that he's also, apparently, magnanimous.

a friday night's hustle and bustle has come and gone, as has the crowd that was in there earlier to watch a fight. the air smells of cheap alcohol and even cheaper cologne. the lighting inside is dim, casting a dull, almost sickly glow over wooden stands and the bloodied arena. the floor, once dry concrete, was now mud-slicked; drinks, urine, and spilled blood staining the surface. betting slips stick to your sneakers as you walk. (trudge, more like.)

with your worn medical supply bag around your shoulder, you tiredly head towards price's office whose metal door is being held open by an old barstool, and gently rap your knuckles on the frame. "i'm leaving, john."

he looks up at you, soft blue eyes crinkling over his glasses as he smiles. "sounds good, love. see ya later. want me to walk you out?"

always the gentleman. "no, i'm alright. i'm sure simon's out there waiting for me any—"

the metal entrance door slams open then, causing you to jump at the startling noise. you whip your head around and a resigned groan escapes your lips. it's simon and he's got bruised company. very bruised.

there's never any rest for the wicked.

"who's that?" john calls from behind you. "he lost?"

the guy whose arm is slung around simon's shoulders looks relatively young. thick, straight eyebrows, a swollen broken nose, and thin blood-crusted lips. the last time you saw a mohawk on someone, it'd been in the early 00s.

"somewhat but it's a good thing i found 'em," simon grunts. his eyes flash over to you. "can ya patch him up f'me, love? i'll go on tha' date you've been beggin' me for."

you ignore simon as you approach them both and tip the guy's head up with your fingers under his chin. searching in your front pocket, you tell him to look at you. "open your eyes as best you can, alright?"

his eyes are like sparkling blue gems— bright like the sky on a clear summer's day. he winces at the blinding white light emitting from the flashlight. "tha' necessary, lass? ah'm not seein' double, if tha's what ye lookin' fer."

he gives a pained grunt before simon tells him to stand still. "my girl here's the medic and what she says goes. clear?"

"crystal, sir." purple bruises are blooming like dark flowers around his left eye and right cheekbone, and the blood that oozed from his split lip long coagulated. his nose, however, continues to languidly drip crimson.

"not the worst break i've seen," you mutter.

the pair shuffle behind you quietly as you head toward the dedicated medical room. the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic wafts through the air as the door swings open.

"sit, please," you gesture to the well-worn chair in the corner.

black latex gloves squeak in protest as you slide them on. "wanna tell me what's going on, simon? i'm not gonna fix the nose of a wanted murderer, am i?"

simon chuckles under his breath. "no. unlucky bloke chose to mug the wrong person. johnny here is real good at fightin', though, for someone with no real proper trainin'. figured i could give him a way to earn his money instead of stealin' it off of hard-workin' folk."

you hum and press your thumbs as gently as you can where the nasal fracture is. johnny hisses sharply and grips your wrist tightly. "easy. i barely touched it." you quickly tap the back of his hand with your knuckles. "let go, please. last thing i need is you tensing and breaking my arm."

he slackens his fingers and sits on both of his hands. "sorry, lass. ah'd never hurt a bonnie lass like ye. say, how'd ye even end up in the bowels of the city?"

his talking re-opened the cut on his upper lip, blood streaking his teeth pink. "i'm a charity case, just like you, i reckon."

johnny means to continue the conversation, but you take advantage of his distracted mind and push to the left, the sickening crunch of cartilage follows the adjustment. he curls in on himself and lets out a guttural noise that bounces off the white walls. "i'd be sorry but..." you trail off with a casual shrug.

pulling a clean rag from a basket nearby, you order johnny to sit up straight. "look up for me." he leans his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "hold this there," he squeezes his eyes shut when you firmly press the rag under his nose, "you'll stop bleeding soon enough."

you swivel on your stool, turning your attention to simon who's been silently watching you work by the door. "any injuries on you?"

he pulls his balaclava up, revealing a blonde stubble and scarred lips. "i got an injury right," he points at his mouth, "here tha' you can kiss—"

"stop talking, simon."

johnny's laughter emerges from behind the crimson-stained cloth.

--

this is the first time you've ever seen simon in the ring.

simon, even while 'retired', fights with a viciousness that borders on primal. his snarl— a ravenous wolf's— bare crooked teeth that hunger for victory, for dominance.

even when he's merely teaching johnny how to survive in this subterranean battleground.

"there's no room for mercy, soap!" he bellows. his eyes are sharp as blades, holding an edge of madness. he charges forward with fists like sledgehammers, delivering blow after punishing blow; johnny's body paying the price for his mistakes.

pain is the currency in that pit of despair, laswell had once said.

simon is a beast in human skin, ferocity incarnate...and you don't remember the last time you were this aroused by such a brute display. if this is what he looks like now, after years of being the spectator and not the spectacle, you can only imagine him in the zenith of his strength, his power.

heat licks up your cheeks at the mere thought.

he looks like he was born and bred to fight. his crib must've been the stained mat he's dancing on, his lullabies the sound of fists making contact, forcing flesh to yield. his broad back bears the weight of history— jagged flesh that stretches taut with each swing.

"fight smart! rules dissolve once tha' bell tolls, mate. many come here for glory, others come for an escape but some--" simon ducks the undisciplined punch johnny throws and gives him a ruthless jab to the ribs once then another to the side of his cut jaw.

johnny falls like a tree that's been cut at the trunk, the sound his body makes on impact with the canvas echoing in the empty basement. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, sweat and trickles of blood mingling on his face. simon kneels next to him, grunting as he goes down. "some are only here for their next meal and those are the most dangerous."

he is in his element, all bruised flesh and bloodied nose.

oh no. johnny's nose is bleeding too. "simon!" his head snaps to you when you scream, eyes wide and unfettered. "i just fixed his nose, you dolt!" his expression softens then— furrowed brows and taut lips relax.

"he'll be alrigh'. even my nose whistles when i breathe," he remarks.

simpleton. nothing but fighting and gambling in that big head of his. "that doesn't mean that it's okay to break bones i mended a few days ago." you keep your eyes fixed on johnny, ignoring the way the heat that's radiating from simon's sweat-slick body seeps into your chilled skin. "why he call you soap, anyway? good at cleaning dishes?"

he slurs a little, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "'cuz ah'm a shlippery bashtard."

you bite on your tongue, hoping that his slurring is because he's still mildly dazed from the punch and not something worse.

"wha' about me, love? i've got a beaten face too, y'know." you look at him then, narrowing your eyes as you take his bare face in. the bridge of his nose is pretty swollen, and you can see the onset of bruising already happening. it's also freely dribbling blood.

"shit, let me go get my medbag."

he hooks his fingers around the loops of your jeans, keeping you in place. "'fraid of a little blood, are ya? i think you'd look real good with me on you."

a jolt of arousal shoots up your spine unbidden, blooming desire, focus wavering. your breath catches and pupils dilate as they lock with his rich, brown ones.

"oi, get a room, aye?" johnny's hoarse voice snaps you back to the present, your thunderous heartbeat ebbing away like a tide from shore.

"whenever you want, sweetheart," simon purred. the lump lodged in your throat makes it hard to respond. "get the bag 'fore i bleed out. price will have my head if i drop dead on his mat."

you blink and scramble away on shaky legs and weak knees.

[emmyrosee]

Kita shinsuke gets confused after you start dating.

It’s not like it’s been a long time, far from it, but you felt so comfortable in his everyday life that he stops thinking too hard about your interactions.

You reach for his hand, he takes it. You shiver, he gives you his jacket. You’re hungry, he shares his snacks.

He gives you a compliment, you… hate him?

You must. There it is, in capital letters under his own blue text: OFBEOD KITAAAA I HATE YOU FRRR😭😭

His heart races as he rereads the text over and over again, unsure of what he could’ve possibly said to have you say ‘I hate you.’

Whatever it is, he needs to find a way to apologize.

The idea of upsetting you in a way he barely understands is concerning, it makes him extremely saddened, and he picks up his pace to get to practice.

He’s sure there’s someone there that can help him decipher your distress.

Leave it to the two twins, tying their shoes in sync, to be the first ones to notice his stress.

“Kita-San?” Osamu asks, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” atsumu continues. “You’re late- you’re NEVER late.”

“And you look like you’re about to upchuck.”

Lovely.

“Osamu, Atsumu,” he says, breath shaky as the twins turn to look up at him. “You’re… familiar with relationships, yes?”

“Well he’s been single since birth-“

“HEY!”

“-but I’ve got a little bit of knowledge. What’s up?”

Kita gnaws on his lip before he passes the phone to the grey haired twin, showing him your sudden outburst of hatred towards him. Osamu quirks a confused brow as his eyes glaze over the text, the blonde twin quickly popping on his feet to peer over Osamu’s shoulder to read along.

Osamu flicks his eyes from his phone up to Kita, “what am I looking at?”

“She hates me,” he says, a frightened lilt in his tone. “And I don’t know what I do. I don’t know what I did,or said, or how I can fix this. And I…” he takes a breath in to calm down, “I need your help.”

Osamu stays silent for a bit, and atsumu cracks a cheesy smile, “cap… you didn’t do anything.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t do anything- this is just… how some girls act,” osamu explains, and kita feels his cheeks warm up from the sudden crowd that’s gathered.

“Are we teaching Kita-San something now?” Suna teases, peering over Osamu’s shoulder to read the message. “Teaching him about giiiiiirls.”

And shinsuke wants to say something back, about how he knows girls and he doesn’t need to be taught anything…

But maybe he does.

Osamu takes a small breath in before passing his captain’s phone back to him, “sometimes, girls are just… uhm….”

“Aggressive?” He asks, and Akagi chuckles behind him.

“No,” Osamu hums thoughtfully. “I would probably say more… excited than guys, and it makes them kinda wanna… be… ferocious?”

“Feral?” Suna chimes in.

“Buck wild?”

“How about all of the above,” Aran says easily.

Kita quirks a brow, “so she doesn’t actually hate me?”

“No! She’s just excited that you complimented her, I think.”

“Yeah Kita-San,” Atsumu chuckles. “Girls only say they hate you when they love you; that’s like. A thing.”

“They also bite,” Akagi cuts in. “For… some reason.”

“They BITE?”

“I’ve been smacked so many times,” Aran playfully laments, and Shinsuke’s head whips towards him, only to make the ace shrug, “what? She’ll get excited to see you, or something good happens, and she just. Smacks your arms. It doesn’t always hurt.”

“What do you mean ALWAYS!” Shinsuke is suddenly extremely nervous about whether he received a girlfriend… or a pitbull.

“Or she’ll bite you,” Suna hums.

“Or says she hates you,” the twins circle back. At seeing their captains new nerves, they rise to their feet to clap him on the back.

“You’ll be fine, cap,” the blonde assures. “It’ll catch you by surprise, sure.”

“May be a little painful,” osamu snorts.

Atsumu snickers, “but you’ve liked her for a long time. And if it’s too much, you tell her to stop.” He nods before turning on his heel and mumbling a soft ‘hell knows you’re good at that,’ under his breath.

The conversation makes Shinsuke… convinced. He’s sure that there’s minimal that you can do to upset him, even if these methods of love lean far into the unconventional. He gnaws at his lip as the crowd disperses, golden eyes glazing over the contents once more.

He cracks a small smile, taking a soft breath in and letting his fingers take over typing and saying everything he could want to say in just a few words.

SENT I love you, too :)

You reply with an absolute jumble of words and praises, capitals and random emojis. He smiles before planting his phone in his bag and heading out to practice, feeling it buzz more than a few times in his pocket.

Maybe a few well intentioned bite marks wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him.

[onlyseokmins]

ride slow - lee seokmin, choi seungcheol

happiest birthday ever to the loml, the most amazingest wife ever, and to my soulmate!! i hope today is as amazing and as wonderful as you are and I’m so very happy and thankful that you came into my life and i couldn’t ever imagine a world without you. i hope you enjoy one of many presents (as you deserve it) and I hope that today is everything you wished for and more - and if it isn’t I will make the world pay. anyways to keep this from being to long and sappy (don’t worry i’ve already said everything i wanted too in dm’s) happiest birthday ever my love (my dear, my bbygorl, my sunshine, my melody)!! MWAH!!! ( everyone go wish her a happy birthday Ron >:( !!!!!! ) @onlyseokmins

warning(s): smut under the cut (mdni!!), reader and seokmin are tied up, dick riding, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is called baby and princess, let me know if i forgot anything! - don’t mind grammatical errors/typos (i tried)

“cheollie.” you gasp quietly, your head leant back against his shoulder as his fingers dig into your hips. he’s moving them in slow circular motions, helping you ride seokmin who’s currently tied to the bed frame.

“what’s wrong baby?” he coos quietly, he pushes your hips down harder drawing a loud moan from the both of you.

“more.” you manage to breathe out, your fingers twitching from where they’re tied behind your back with a soft silk ribbon that seungcheol made into a bow so that you looked like a present.

“more? is this not enough for you?” he fake pouts as he moves your hips slower than before.

“cheol it’s her birthday.” seokmin sounded breathless, the pace was excruciatingly slow and he found himself on the brink of cumming so many times but you would beg for more and seungcheol would rip both of your releases away.

“oh is it now? last time i checked it’s still eleven forty-eight.” he looks at the clock in the bedside table.

“early birthday present?” seokmin whined a little, trying to fight for both of your releases.

“early birthday present?” cheol scoffs quietly as he looks at seokmin with raised eyebrows, a mischievous smirk on his face. “do you really think i’m that nice?” you whimper quietly when he noses against the side of your head to kiss gently at your ear before nipping it gently.

“cheol,” you whimper, wiggling your hips a little causing seokmin to arch his back and moan. “please.”

“please what?” he growls and pushes your hips down hard to keep you from moving.

“please let us cum, please.” you babble as you dig your knees deeper into the bed to try and move only for seungcheol to overpower you - his hands definitely leaving prints in your hips, especially after he lands two harsh smacks to both of them.

“you only get to cum on your birthday princess.” he starts to rock your hips while keeping you and seokmin pinned together so neither of you could move on your own.

“fuck,” seokmin hisses as he throws his head back, his long fingers wrapping around the silk rope that’s preventing him from touching you. “i’m gonna cum.”

“no the fuck you’re not.” seungcheol stops moving your hips again, the both of you gasping and whining at the loss of friction.

he waits a couple minutes, watching the clock until it strikes eleven fifty-five before he starts moving you again. both of your orgasms had died down enough for the build up to last a little longer as he stares intensely at the time, he moves you faster the closer it gets to midnight.

“you wanna cum baby?” he finally looks at you, your eyes closed and your mouth open as you babble out a quiet ‘yes’ between breathy moans. he looks back at the clock, his lips twitching up into a smile when it finally hits midnight. “you can cum.” he whispers before kissing your ear again. your loud moans overpower seokmins whines as you finally cum after hours of torturous edging.

the feeling of your plush walls squeezing seokmins cock cause him to go over the edge with you, filling you up with his cum. slowly seungcheol brings your hips to a stop, your body completely lax against his.

“happy birthday princess.” he smiles as he kisses your cheek before tilting your head to kiss your lips softly.

“happy birthday baby.” seokmin breathlessly echoes as he watches you two through hooded eyes.

happy elv day!!

[redeyerhaenyra]

Divine Hammer

Summary: You bring up something new to Simon. He's more enthusiastic than you expected.

Warnings: What else but smut, HEAVY UK slang usage (me and si come from the same area of England our slang is v similar) Simon slaps reader once, fem reader, oral(f), fingering in BOTH holes, pussy juice as lube, anal duh, simons fat cock, sprinkling of a size kink, mean Simon, kitchen sex mmm, no beta we die like soap (sorry), lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: Listen the taboo of anal just gets me going alright , also this has been in my drafts since JAN 9TH help

Wc: 2.5k

Simon's stare was unnerving. Well, it was always unnerving, to a degree. But he found ways to utilise it. Deadpan humour, emphasising points of conversation, scaring away would-be hookups from you in the pub. But here, it was unnerving in a whole other way.

It felt… intrusive.

Simon stared at you like he could see through your clothes, your body, into your mind to expose your deepest darkest fantasies. You squirmed under his penetrating gaze, tugging at the hem of your jumper.

After a little while of silence, you shook your head, scoffing at yourself;

“-No, nevermind um.. I'm.. s-sorry that was weird-” “Didn’ say tha’ ”

You gulped, gaze nervously fixed to the floor. Simon was still. Staring. At you. Never before had you felt so exposed, too embarrassed and, if you were honest, a little scared to look at your boyfriend face-on.

“Was just wonderin’ since when my bird was such a slag.”

His baritone words rolled down your spine, sending sparks of a deep, taboo satisfaction through you. You whimpered, and hid your face in your hands.

“Don’ act like a prude love, we both heard what you wanted just now.” “I shouldn't have said anythinnnggg-”

Conceptually, anal had… a certain taboo charm to it. From your perspective at least. Sure, it wasn't technically the “right” hole… it wouldn't feel the same, but the idea had always fascinated you.. intruded your shadowed thoughts at night with your fingers rubbing your clit and edging nervously to an opening further on than your cunt.

So, gently, you'd broached the topic one time you were both in the kitchen together- thinking, in hindsight foolishly, that it'd be something he'd instantly dismiss, or at least… talk about later. In the bedroom. Not in the middle of the kitchen… but now here you stood, in the hole you'd dug for yourself;

“On the contrary, I'm relieved you've finally admitted it to yourself.” His footsteps were heavy against the floorboards as he approached you. Confused, you peeked out of the gaps between your fingers to look at him;

“W-what?” “Don't be fuckin’ coy w'me love.” Simon towered over you, cadging you next to the kitchen side.

“Always suspected there was some depraved shit up here, yeah?” He poked your temple with his index finger, “Turns out my intuitions were correct then?”

“T-thats not-” “Oh yes it is sweet’art.” Simon's eyes grew more intense by the second, even more than before- you struggled to even picture them in your mind for fear of his retribution.

“Ay- fuckin’ look at me when I'm talking to ya.”

He could have been a lot harsher with the small smack he delivered to your cheek, but that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain, and your eyes watered a little at the sensation. He grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squishing them till you pouted and shaking your head lightly, as if to keep hold of your attention.

As if you could look anywhere else…

Forced to return his ferocious gaze, you crumbled, knees bucking like a fawn under you- Simon grabbed you and roughly hauled you back up, manhandling you to bend over the kitchen counter. You allowed him to, biting your lip in an attempt to muffle your unintentional sounds of appreciation.

It earned you a harsh smack to your rear, and Simon's big paw of a hand tugging your hair. He leaned over you, “ ‘M not ‘avin any of tha’ yeah? You're not gonna be hidin’ how much of a slut you are from me anymore sweet'art.”

The juxtaposition of his words and the way he sweetly kissed your temple after he said them was almost comical. The grip on your hair disappeared, replaced with firm and consistent pulling at your clothes until you shuffled out of them- Simon wasted no time running his warm hands up and down your body, rumbling out various admirations of your physical form.

He slunk down your body, nipping and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your back, and then to each of your cheeks, all the way down to your pussy. Earlier on, when you'd ridden yourself of your panties, Simon had laughed at how wet they were. “Already?” He'd asked, “Y'that turned on already? Whore. Like a bitch in heat f'me, ey?”

He had no further comments to mock you with, not now at least. He was busy approving of the view of your wet cunt in front of him- out of the corner of your eye you spied him nodding to himself as if he were appraising fine art.

You huffed, a little impatient, petulant you wiggled your bum at him- only all you got from him was another spank.

“Be patient.” He said curtly.

You whined, but otherwise did as you were told, meekly resigned to your fate as Simon's personal eye candy.

“Why ya’ into it then?” You made a noise of confusion, Simon huffed.

“This.”

One of hands had moved to idly grope and squish your bottom while he'd been down there, and now his thumb creeped ever so slowly over to press on your rim. You keened- suddenly understanding what he meant.

“Well?” His thumb pressed in deeper, you gasped- “I-i don't know!” “Hmmm…”

You could tell from his tone he didn't quite believe you. He kissed your cheek again.

“I'm sure I'll find out.”

With that said, his thumb remained almost gently rubbing at your hole, his free hand moving to pull his balaclava up over his nose- wasting no time in burying himself in your cunt. He sighed contentedly at the taste, smell, feel of you, lazily lapping at your cunny with his broad tongue. His thumb still rubbing you in slow circles, almost.. in a comforting manner.

There was no one more intimidating than Simon- at least out of all the people you've ever met, and yet here he was, eating your pussy like it was a home cooked, three-course meal. You looked over your shoulder, and bit your lip; The visual of big bad Simon Riley on his knees for you, make you shiver and clench.

Simon seemed to be secretly a telepath however, as the way he suddenly roughly pinched your clit between his index finger and thumb- tugging on it cruelly, came off as a punishment. You whined loudly, panting into the counter, drooling a little. Vaguely, you could hear Simon humming thoughtfully to himself. He released his hold on your poor clit, though quickly replaced it by rubbing small, soothing circles on it instead.

It quite quickly becomes a lot more intense, Simon grunting in approval as he plunges his thick tongue into your cunt. Your breathing is staggered, coming out in short, little huffs- you reach behind you to tug at Simon's head, shoving him closer. Again, he groans in appreciation, eagerly nuzzling between your thighs closer, the rhythm of his tongue and fingers rubbing at your clit increased a hundredfold;

Like lighting, your orgasm crashed through you, the noises that left your pussy- wet, squelching, the drip of your juices against the floor, should surely have had you feeling at least some shame, but no. You were too twitchy, too fucked stupid on Simon's tongue to care.

With much reluctantance, Simon hauled himself off of your puffy pussy. He'd gladly stay nestled between your kegs for the rest of him life, at least from further away, he could admire his work.

At this point, you thought perhaps he'd finally get to the meat of what you'd suggested.. Simon wasn't finished yet though- two of his deliciously thick fingers were swiftly shoved into your sopping pussy.

You cried out at the sudden penetration, shivering and trembling.

“What? ..silly cow.” Simon told you gruffly, somewhat annoyed that you'd dare disturb his probing at your cunt with your exclamation of surprise. You whined at his degradation, but were still coherent enough to recognise the underlying affection in his tone. Huffing, you leaned forward to lay your torso fully on the cold, sideboard. The cool temperature of the marble was sharp and sudden, but soon soft and gentle to your hot body, palliative to your hard, puffed up nipples.

He lazily pumped his fingers inside you for a few moments, before curling his fingers forward, dragging against that spongey spot deep within you, and eased his fingers out of you.

You were left huffing and panting like an animal into the counter- Simon had cupped his two fingers- the ones that was just inside of you- just under your clit.. then abruptly he slid them upwards, slowly, pressing down hard.

You squeaked, struggling not to quiver too hard. Simon's fingers kept creeping up and up and up, gliding firmly over your cunny, finally halting at your rim. The hot, wet sensation of Simon rubbing your own slick into your hole as lube had you trembling.

“How's tha?” You heard Simon mumble from behind you, his accent had gotten a little thicker. It always got thicker when he was “in the zone”.

“Oh.. uh..” Seemingly irked by your lack of response, your boyfriend slapped your clit harshly with the back of his hand.

“G-good!! It's good! Good!!” You choked, and whined again when you heard Simon chuckle lowly at you. He tapped his fingers twice on your hole- you nodded shyly at him;

Simon hummed, cautiously easing one of his broad fingers covered in your slick into your ass. The noise of utter debauched pleasure you let escape your throat was nothing compared to Simon's groan-

“Oh fuck that's tight..”

God it was, you felt how hard your greedy hole swallowed up his thick finger. You huffed and puffed- vainly attempting to breath consitently, but your body was too sensitive, muscles pulled too rigid inside you to keep your thoughts on one thing alone.

Simon was your rock, somewhere in the thousands of feelings inside you, was a certainty that he was holding back. Taking it slow, just for you.

You felt the hazey cloud of sex overwhelm you, rendering you more or less unable to speak, only babble incoherently into the counter, your pretty eyes filled with tears as Simon took his sweet, sweet time opening you up.

By comparison to how rough the pads of his digits were, they were remarkably soft with you, even as Simon squeezed one more of his fingers in you. You coughed and hiccups at the fullness of it.

“Tha's it.. good girl.. cmon.. open up luv.. there we go..”

You head him whisper, and you moaned impatiently. You wanted to politely express your readiness for his dick, but all the you were able to whine out was “C-cock-!”

Simon laughed, which was always a nice, comforting rumble. “I know sweet'art, gotta get you a little looser f'me first yeah?”

Even as you keened and begged, Simon would not budge. Occasionally, if he was feeling particularly mean in that moment, he'd flick your poor clit harshly, you'd squeal and twitch. This continued for a while, and by the time he deemed you “ready” you might have passed out, the electric fizzles of pleasure that sizzled between your legs kept you awake.

Simon could tell you were tired, he was gentle with the way he slipped his hand under you tummy to push your bum in the air, and tender with how he cradled your hip. Your clit was kindly soothed with slow, small circles rubbed in by his middle finger.

You sobbed into the side- “cock…” you babbled, sniffing and feeling sorry for yourself. You felt a kiss to the base of your neck;

“Mmmm.. I know baby, I know, m' so mean aren't I?”

Vaguely, you heard yourself murmuring in agreement. The metallic sound of Simon's belt loosening and then his zipper coming down had warm excitement flutter over your body.

You felt the heat of his dick before it even touched you, whimpering when it finally did. Simon rubbed his thick cock up and down the apex of your thighs, right up to hole and then back down to your clit. When you would whine at him, he'd hum right back.

God, he was so much bigger than you. He leant over you and covered your entire body with his bulk. You felt him throb at your rim. A kiss was levied at your neck- “Y’ready?” He asked, voice low, and you babbled back something that sounded like impatience. Simon chuckled and kissed your neck again, bracing one strong arm against the counter next to you.

All of a sudden he was inside you, not all the way but he was inside you and that's all you could think about. You gasped, inadvertently holding your breath and then once more remembering to breathe. Simon had stayed silent throughout this.. you reached backwards for him with one hand;

“Si?” “Y-yeah, yeah m’here, g’ve us a minute love-”

His voice came out ragged and shaky, and from the sounds of it he was doing the same forgetting-to-breath thing you were.

You both needed occasionally little breaks from him sliding his cock inside you this time, either of you would cum too quickly. But soon, all of him was pressed snugly inside you. You drooled on the counter and Simon's head had dropped to rest on your back, taking slow, steady breaths, grounding himself.

The both of you stayed like this for a while. It was almost peaceful. Soft. Till Simon decided he was fine to move and dragged his dick alllllllll the way back out and then in again in one thrust. It left you choked for breath, Simon too, he was more vocal this time than any other time you'd fucked.

Neither of you lasted long, specially not after your boyfriend had clasped his big paw of a hand under your leg, and lifted it up onto the counter next to you, an entirely new and more intimate angle. You were cumming before you even realised Simon had crept his hand down to pinch your clit. He was so mean about it too- that same hand then came up to shove to of his fingers into your mouth, creating a spit-slicked mess. And when he came it was an event:

He threw his head back and moaned more desperately than you'd ever heard from him before. The rhythmic squelch that narrated your encounter kept going even after he'd cum, if anything it was louder now. His and your cum dripping down out of you and puddling on the floor beneath you. Still, meekly, Simon kept thrusting into you, as if the orgasm was too good to end. Though finally it did, Simon's weight all but collapsing ontop of you.

You stayed like that for a while, still connected. Basking in your respective afterglows. Simon kissed your neck again and you croaked out a satisfied noise;

“Fun..” The man behind you laughed, “Yeah fun was it? Just fun eh? Just fun~?” Cruelly he reached under you to tickle your sides- you squealed; “More than f-fun!!” and that seemed to sate him, releasing you.

“Yeah, s’what I thought…..” He drummed his fingers on the counter..

“Bath?” “bath….”

[fayesia]

Day 4 - dubcon

"Snake" - Sirius x slytherin!reader

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ warnings - rough sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, breeding kink, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, no aftercare, petnames "bunny"

ִֶָ𓂃˖ ִֶָ✰࿐ wc - 1.1k

Everyone knew that you, a Malfoy, loathed the filthy blood traitor Sirius Black.

But no one knew the way he had his mouth and hands all over you in this small cramped broom closet, hidden in the winding hallways of forever changing directions by the moving staircases.

"Wait-Black stop-hmph"

You were shut up by the force of Sirius' hands pulling you chest to chest with him, one of his hands winding up your back to yank a fistful of your hair. Whining out your hand came forward to slap at his chest, but he dismissed your movements quickly with his other hand.

"Stop fucking fighting, little slut acting like she doesn't want this after practically begging for it with these clothes."

You thought the denim mini skirt was cute. It was never something your pureblood parents would allow you to wear at home, and it perfectly matched with your soft pink lace adorned singlet that read babygirl. Sirius seemed to disagree, as the mere sight of you in Hogsmeade had him using the table to cover his crotch. A rather large bulge under his jeans forming, similar to the one he had right now with the close proximity between the two of you.

His mouth canvased across the expanse of your jawline and neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, drawing out near sinful moans from you. Moving his hands beneath your top, he caressed the small of your back up to the middle of your spine, a whimper almost drawn out of you. Sirius' head bent down until your noses were almost touching, his eyes focused on your own, and you couldn't bear to look away. As he knee slid between your thighs, your denim skirt easily rode up your waist.

"Do you really want me to stop babydoll?"

"No"

You answered almost simultaneously with the movement of your hips, the contact of your pussy against the rough material of his jeans through your panties had you wet. Smirking against your jugular, you heard a huff of amusement come from Sirius' mouth.

"Don't think this fucking means anything Black"

"Oh no of course not I would never think anything of the way your cunt is soaking my jeans as you hump my thigh like a fucking dog in heat"

Blushing ferociously you grumbled at Sirius to shut up, continuing to ride his thigh you had finally found the perfect angle to rub your clit. The coil inside you tightening as you softly moaned out, a noise Sirius took immense pleasure from, his hard cock almost painfully yearning to be free from his jeans. Right as you neared your high, you dug your nails into Sirius' shoulders, digging harder when he removed his thigh from your thighs before you could even come.

"What the fuck- no that's it. If you can't fucking get me off I'll just find someone else to do it. I'm sure your brother Regulus can make me feel a lot better than your needle sized dick."

Finishing your rant you looked up at Sirius' face.

Fuck.

You made a mistake.

That rant ended up with you being bent over, panties pulled to the side, as Sirius had one hand pulling a fist of hair and another pushing your back into a deep arch. His cock was also deep. Pounding brutally inside of you as you whined at him to wait. Hands scrambling to push him away as well as grip onto a nearby shelf for balance. The stretch was painful which your face showed but Sirus didn't notice, or rather, he didn't fucking care, it was one way to prove you wrong about your "needle sized dick" comment. Something he didn't appreciate at all.

"You think anyone can fuck you like this. Only I make you a slut. Fucking whore for this cock aren't you"

You couldn't even get the words out, the start of one was quickly finished with various gasps and moans uncontrollably coming from your mouth.

"You wanted this though didn't you. Riled me up and put this whole show on so I would fuck you like a proper bitch"

"N-ugh-no no-didn't fuck ah"

"N-n-n dick made you so dumb you can't even fucking speak can you"

Sirius mocked you, and shamefully, you tightened around his thick length at his words, your noises only increasing alongside the ferocity of his movement and foul words. He roughly pulled you away from the shelves, turning you so that you were facing him before swiftly entering you again. Your pussy had gotten used to the stretch but the sheer length of him penetrating you from a different and deeper anger made your limbs weak. Enough so that Sirius was able to lift your top, continuing to thrust inside of you, and grope your breast. The supple flesh was ravaged by his long nimble fingers which found themselves busy with your nipples, tweaking the soft buds until the hardened.

"Fuckin' stupid babygirl huh, is that what you liked to be called when you bend over for every snake"

Your head moved side to side, Sirius had rendered you speechless suffice for the quiet noises still coming from you.

"Bet you're a cumslut for them too, you let them fill you up, let them breed you with their little pureblood devils"

"Ngh-no-never let them.."

"Fuck. But you'll let me yeah. Cause you want me to. Fill you and use you like the cumslut you are, turn you into my favourite breeding bunny. You want that don't you babygirl?"

Sirius' thrust were more furious as he ranted about cumming in you. Your back was growing sore from rubbing against the worn out wood as well as your neck which was forced to bend at an angle where you could see sirius' cock enter in and out of you. His dick was rubbing against that perfect spot in you as you furthered tightened around him almost cutting off the circulation to his cock. The noises he let out were now almost anamilistic, sounding like an angry canine marking its territory. Which is exactly what he was going to do.

"Gonna cum inside yeah, pump you full of my blood traitor babies."

"Sririus wait-"

But it was too late. His head had already dropped back to face the ceiling, and he was groaning out without a care as to who could hear him. Warm thick liquid was coating your inner walls, which you could barely react to from the body shattering climax you were experiencing. Left shaking in Sirius' arms from the feeling of your liquid mixed together dripping out of you as he pulled his now limp dick out.

"Look at you now fucked stupid. And you think my brother could've fucking done that, god you're pathetic."

His eyes glared at you as he used his wand to fix himself to look presentable before leaving the closet and closing the door behind him with a harsh slam. You were left leaning against the wall with your top flipped up and you skirt bunched around you waist, Sirius' cum still leaking out of you.

No, his brother would never do this.

Kinktober Masterlist

[velvetesrs]

Duty and Sacrifice | Hotd

Pairing | Aemond x Reader/Y/N

Warnings | Mentions of incest between siblings. 

Word count | 3032

Authors note | I haven’t written in a while and it shows but I’ve been working on this while I was in the bathroom and this might be a one shot or a short series leading into the murder of Lucerys.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Aemond would never admit it to you directly but he was fond of the way your hair was reminiscent of your mother.

The glossy red, like a promise of an unforgettable autumn, the smell of lilac blooms and gooseberry wine, trailed behind you as you came to sit next to your mother. you didn't look like the traditional Targaryen.

Despite Helaena being your twin you looked almost nothing like her, where as she was thin, gentle blue eyes and icy white hair. You were fire, bright red hair, full breast, your dark violet eyes being all that made the common folk shy away from naming you a bastard.

You had grown into your womanly figure early, your large bust that was extenuated by your tight stomach from years of training made all noble twats talk of you senselessly which made him ill at the thought of it.

Somehow you looked like the perfect mix of your eldest sister Rhaenyra and Your Queen mother, Alicent.

He loved playing with your curls, thoughts of how they'd look wrapped around his hand as he made you cum ferociously on his cock ran rapidly through his mind.

But there was an innocent light to it as well, Aemond loved his mother, and you mirrored her perfectly. no matter how unkind and stiff she was to you all. You were the opposite, you may have stolen her likeness in appearance but you were kind, gentle and loving, all the things she wasn't.

Having a motherly role to your idiotic drunk of a brother and your sweet twin sister.

Aemond also enjoyed having someone look after him, without the same judgement and expectations the Queen had for him.

He loved the way your hands felt on his face, while you sobbed cleaning his blood away, the fire in your eyes as you stood to defend him, covered in his blood.

Aemond never could grasp how you could love them all so much, even Rhaenyra and her bastard children, you'd stand before anyone and swear on the Gods that they were legitimate just because you knew what being Queen meant to her.

"Come Aemond, I must clean your bandages" you whispered amongst the crowd not to draw attention to his injury. It had been many moons since it happened but unfortunately being struck in the face during training cause the gash to bleed once more.

He stood unaffected by your words. still shy to show it in fear you may think him a monster like the other ladies of the court.

"They will be even more frightened by you if you are to bleed out in front of them, Brother" your soft scent floated through the air like a fragrant flower as your hand brushed against his, "Come" you urged noticing everyone's attention on the king as his health steadily declined.

It seemed the whole court was on edge that day, all attention on them as if Viserys was to die in moments and they'd kill each other reaching for his crown.

The stress was beginning to eat you alive, and the last thing you needed was Aemond to be in more agony knowing how badly it hurt your heart to him in pain.

You walked along side of him after excusing yourself from the commotion, not daring to grab your elder brother's hand until you were away from the crowd.

"Are you alright, my love?" Aemond hummed watching you audibly sigh gripping his hand tightly. "It is just the weigh of what is sure to happen soon" you mumbled.

You loved Viserys very much, he had never paid much attention to you in comparison to Rhaenyra. However you'd helped him build his mini statues of king's landing as a child and that moment cemented a love for your father that even his lack of care for you didn't sully.

"He will die soon" you stated walking into Aemond's chambers, his scent was more pungent now in his room.

He smelt like trees after it rained, clean and crisp with a hint of the strong Pine trees that sat outside of the sept he was frequenting lately. It was comforting and relaxing to be so fully immersed in what seemed like the essence of your big brother.

Your hands made quick work unlatching his eye patch as you settled in front of him, "does it truly trouble you this much sister? The thought of him dying?" Aemond questioned darting his good eye away from your face. He couldn't bare the idea that you'd look at him with disgust even though you were often the only one he'd allow change his bandages.

You quickly wiped away the blood leaking from his wound, applying a salve you made to keep away the infection, "your sapphire is irritating it again" you said softly ignoring his question, your plump lips almost touching his nose as you got closer to see it.

He pushed you away gently, pulling his eye patch back on with a hiss, "it is fine as it is, if Aegon had been mindful of his sword this wouldn't of happened"

You sighed watching him put away your things you kept in his chambers for times like this, "it 'twas an accident" you mumbled looking down.

"You baby him far too much" he groaned in almost annoyance before he caught the look in your eyes, "he isn't as innocent as you believe Sister"

You had been angry at Aegon for harming your brother but when he gave you the puppy dog eyes you couldn't help but defend him.

Still you felt bad that you had forgiven Aegon so quickly thinking that Aemond would be mad at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to be unkind to him.

"It is fine Y/n it will heal just as long as I have you to care for me" Aemond said walking up to you, he pulled you into a hug, letting your scent mix with his in a deliciously sensual way.

You blushed pulling away from him, "Always brother" you cleared your throat, "we must go back"

He nodded disliking how quickly you put distance between the two of you, he gripped your hand, "let us return then"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Aemond knew something was wrong with you, you didn't seem ill nor did your smile fade from your beautiful face but still something was off, he noticed at first at dinner, when you excused yourself early. Something you rarely did if not on your moons blood which he had written down so he could help you track so he knew for a fact it wasn't that.

If he hadn't been watching you so closely he wouldn't have noticed you putting your food into napkins underneath your Gown pocket as if saving it away for some reason.

The most unusual part of your sudden illness at dinner was you rushed to your chambers with your handmaiden. You liked to prepare for bed alone.

He knew it was wrong to follow you but when he knocked on your chamber door it creeped open slightly as if not to show too much.

You face was flushed as you glanced up at him, "Yes, Brother?" You questioned with a soft smile pretending to droop your eyes to mimic exhaustion.

Your hair was wet, a sprig of lavender behind your ear, something else unusual, "Nothing, just making sure you are well" he replied narrowing his eye in suspicion.

You nodded, "Very well, I'm off to bed Sweet dreams" you rushed to say as you shut the door in his face.

He stood there shocked for a moment before turning away, you were up to something and even though he knew it was wrong to doubt you he couldn't help it.

Your footsteps were nearly silent as you snuck from your chamber, a hood resting over your head and a dark shift covering your commoners clothes.

Aemond stood just far enough in the shadows to follow you as you went to flea bottom.

He watched as your Princess like presence turned into one much like the other people in walking at night. You had been here before he noted, you knew exactly how to cover your tracks and how to hide your true identity.

If he was any other it would've been easy to lose you amid the crowds of people covered by the moonlight but your glossy hair peaking through the hood was a dead giveaway.

You stopped at a door, knocking twice. He watched as a woman emerged wrapping you tightly in an embrace, she smiled at you with tears in her eyes and her hands shook as you gave her a bag he hadn't noticed you had.

"This will be enough to live comfortably in Pentos" you said quietly, brushing a hand through the woman's tangled dark hair, "you will have your own home and never want for anything"

The woman let out a sob, covering her mouth, "Thank you My Princess, I-i am forever in your debt I cannot repay you" she pulled you into another hug.

You didn't seem disgusted by the obvious dirt on the woman's clothing, nor the stench of the streets.

"I have one request" you said with a grin "may I see him once more please" Aemond watched as she nodded hurriedly rushing back into her shack.

Much to his surprise, in her arms was a baby. it's hair white as his own, small fat fingers reaching up to touch your face and you held it with such care as she passed it into your arms it made his heartbeat rapidly.

"Tell him that his Father was a brave knight that died at battle, he was a good man but he couldn't stay to care for the two of you" you told the woman glancing down at the baby with love in your eyes, "and that his Aunt loved him so much that she could hardly bare it"

You had tears in your eyes as you handed the woman back her child, "there will be a man here shortly named Erick to safely bring the two of you to a boat, after that it shall be smooth sailing" you pulled something else from your bag on your hip.

"Enough food for tonight but I made sure the boat is ready for you with accommodations" you nodded stepping away, "I hope you have a good life Ellesa, you're a good woman"

She smiled at you watching as you kissed the boy on his head, "Farewell My Queen" she whispered. You laughed pushing her arm playfully, "Farewell my friend"

As she walked back into the small hut that he assumed was her home. You turned around and caught his eye, "Brother" you said slowly approaching him.

"It is Aegon's" he stated obviously referring to the child. You nodded, falling into step with him, "Yes"

You held your hand out awaiting his as you always did when you walked alongside him, "Not the first she had by him either, the others died due to illness she couldn't afford to heal" you had no reason to keep the truth from him and knowing you could always trust him you didn't wish to.

"She was his favorite whore, he introduced us once and I took a liking to her as well just not in the same manner" you murmured pausing your steps as Aemond stopped to stare at you, "he took you back to the Street of Silk?" he all but growled in anger at their older sibling.

You laughed, rubbing a finger on his furrowed brow, "No, he'd brought her to me" he sighed calming down a bit, "you've bedded her?" He asked in quiet surprise.

"No" you shook your head, "she was simply a friend i had grown close to, but if mother were to find out about her she'd have her killed, the babe as well" 

"mother wouldn't do that" Aemond disagreed, as cruel as she could be he couldn't imagine her doing such a thing. "she'd never harm an innocent woman and her child"

You snorted as the two of you continued your walk back to the red keep, "you'd be surprised what our mother would do to protect our family's name"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had a difficult relationship with your mother, you loved her like no other but you saw the looks she gave you, the tone she used when she addressed you.

Your mother didn't like you very much, she loved you, of course as she did all of her children. But she couldn't bring herself to like them not when her life had to end to bring all of yours to fruition.

The Queen didn't blame you but she could never shake the feeling as she looked at your face so similar to hers in her youth.. so similar to Rhaenyra's.

You heard her before you saw her as you turned the corner in search of Aegon, "You are no son of mine" the words so harsh it made your heart sear with sadness.

"I am sorry" Aegon whispered out, "I am sorry I am not perfect like you" there was a stillness in the air before the sound of a slap.

You quickly walked into the room to see Aegon on the ground, his cheek bright red, tears in his eyes and your Queen mother standing above him.

"Mother" you called for her hesitantly, "I believe Grandfather was looking for you, The septa mentioned it to me" you mumbled as she turned to you.

Her eyes closed and she shook her head, "very well" she cleared her throat looking down at Aegon once more, "Excuse me Sweetling" she said as she walked past you.

You rushed to Aegon's side helping him sit up but he stumbled falling onto your lap, the stench ale heavy on his tongue, "Why" he whispered laying his head down on your lap, "why does she hate me" he asked you.

Sighing you brushed the hair from his face, "Mother is troubled much like us Aegon, Do not doubt her love"

He laughed drunkenly, "She is cruel, just like father they hate us" you felt your heart drop not knowing what to say, you couldn't argue you felt the same as he did.

"Why couldn’t she marry us" he mumbled suddenly into your gown, "I told her it was you I preferred, did you know?" He questioned and your heart sank.

You didn't want to marry Aegon, not because it disgusted you, but because you knew the type of man he was, A wanton man with selfish needs and he could never put aside his childlike behavior not even for your twin, His wife.

“No I did not brother” you whispered, your hand brushing the curls back, “she knew it would hurt me if you weren’t mine” he bitterly slurred out.

Silently you thanked your mother for not approving the proposal, You’d always be there for Aegon but you could never stomach his ways.

"She hates you the most" he lazily laughed looked up at you, "you look so much like her she can't bare the sight of your face"

You already knew that. Rhaenyra was actually the one who’d explained it to you in your youth, she’d found you crying underneath a table after tea with your mother, she had insulted your embroidery you’d made for your father and Rhaenyra wiped away your tears.

You were never enough to Alicent, you indulged your self in your studies, you sought out religion just to gain praise that never came, you were the prettiest girl in court yet she always had criticisms about your appearance or your poise.

You watched as his glassy eyes closed and he fell asleep but you continued running your hand through his greasy hair, his words heavy on your mind.

"What did he do now" you heard Aemond say as he leaned against the wall near you, "mother seemed upset"

You were quiet, "she hit him again, told him he wasn't her son" you murmured.

The soft snores filled the gap in the absence of conversation, "how can you love him" Aemond broke the silence watching you closely. "He is terrible, you've seen it firsthand cleaning away his messes, he doesn't deserve it"

You paused your movements, "because if i do not who will? Hel cannot comprehend most emotions, Father hates us, you cannot stand him.” You swallowed taking a shaky breath, “He is right, Mother hates me as well but i am strong unlike him, Aegon is weak he cannot handle the pressure placed on his head.

Aemond came to sit next to you, "she intends to send me away" you stated looking up at him, "to the grand sept the learn the ways of septas"

He nodded watching your face closely, "how do you know this?" You giggled shaking your head, "you learn quite a bit with kindness Brother"

"You do not wish for that?" He asked grabbing your smaller hand, it always fit with his like the missing piece to a puzzle as if you were made for him. He swallowed at the thought of you moving far away from him where he couldn't protect you.

You sighed, "To live a life under false religion just to please the woman that wishes i didn't exist does not sound too appealing to me"

"I am a Targaryen i belong here with my family" you stated in Valyrian, "I am not a Hightower no matter how much I resemble them they will not force my dragon to rot in the Pits because I cannot bring him with me"

"You asked me before if I was truly upset by the idea of father dying but to be honest I am not, I'm more afraid of what mother will do after he's gone" you whispered.

Aemond gripped your hand tighter as the mother tongue came from your soft lips, the beautiful words sounding like a song.

"What if I propose an idea to mother" he hesitated to ask in fear of what you would think. You hummed in confusion, "What is it?"

Aemond looked down at his brother laying his head in the lap he had decided was his, "I shall Marry you"

[diejager]

Hi! I got the notification that your requests are open skjsjsjs so exciting, can you do something about the noodle dragon with Monster!Task Force 141 please? That would be all, thank you and have a nice day! ❤️✨

Cw: canon-typical violence, weird water magic, weird dragon/monster shit and lore, death, crash, tell me if I missed any.

They’d gotten used to you over the month, watching you prance around them like a graceful panther in hunt, stalking around them with that cheeky smile of yours and a clawed hand always ready to patch someone up. You were a might dragon, a warm to some classifications and an Asian one to others, but the consensus was that you weren’t one to be trifled with —as most dragons were, but if anything, you were so a feline in a body of a dragon than the ferocious monster you were. Always prowling and on guard, watchful and observant, aware of the events transpiring around you like a protective cat.

They took well to you, forgoing the paranoia and apprehension at your eagerness to help them and you openness, your long tail, hard scales protecting the thick cords of sinewy muscles curled ever so softly around them, and the tuff of fur tickling any naked piece of skin. And however tender and soft-hearted you were, they’d seen the dangerous part of you, the draconic one with a strange affinity to water rather than the destructive fire they were so familiar with. Whereas Price was a chaotic force, burning everything on his path and leaving nothing but cinder and ash, you were an unmoving force of water, a typhoon and cyclone that would crash the land and leave broken pieces of what remained, cold and drowned —the calm before the storm as people said, a perfect imagery of you.

Yet there was a lingering suspicion that it was all, that there was a more monstrous part of you hidden away from their eyes. Horangi had shared such thoughts - another mythical creature of sacredness and nobility - and showed them what hehad heard of eastern dragons: giant snake-like creatures with the faces of lions and crowns of graceful antlers, born with lustrous manes and hard but flexible scales that let them dance and twirl as they wished it. Destructive beauty, Horangihad mumbled, a creature who’s image is drawn to represent beauty and nobility. 

They knew, they were fully aware, that you had more to show, yet they couldn’t hold back the awe and amazement that followed the gut-deep fear and worry after they saw you fall, your figure shrinking as you plummeted into the dark and silent ocean, gone into the wide, open sea. Rather than seeing your head pop out, gasping for air while they clung to their straps and helicopter, Nikolai screaming through the comma about holding onto something, swirling left and right to avoid being hit a second time by the war ship, it was calm, a smooth plain growing in darkness, a shape forming beneath the veil of a blue ocean. 

Then, before they knew it, a majestic serpent erupted from the sea, wet scales gleaming under the sun while you rose into the sky in a spiral, white fur floating like you hadn’t just come out of water. You were swift, curling in the air, your magicworking it’s wonder when you flew, stubby arms and legs moving as if you were swimming, looping around them to shield them from being narrowly hit. It was as Horangi gushed, water rose and fell with you, tendrils of salty water reaching out to curl around you, rising high to swarm the enemy ship the same way you did, circling around it until it was left submerged, swallowed up by your hydromancy. You had drowned warship in the depth of the abyss, a dark and cold pit that promised a lonely death, forgotten and painful. You had caused the deaths of hundreds with a twirling dance, an alluring, yet deadly show, like an oleander.

You made no show of joining them in the aircraft, keeping your distance from them, adequate enough to protect them from further damage without becoming a danger to them. They - especially Price, since he had never seen an eastern dragon, only from files and catalogues - gawked, gazing at your head-sized eye, blinking owlishly at them with a narrowed eyes, slitted pupil gleaming with glee at their admiration. You purred, a growling rumble that shook your gills, a deep sound shuddering through them like thunder, low and booming, but it was a happy sound, meant to comfort them from the near sinking that you’d saved them from.

Even in this situation, where they’d been saved by you, you were still trying to comfort them and reassure them despite having taken a hit or two. They were glad Laswell found you.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird-kamakse @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[repulsiveliquidation]

Thorn in My Side || Jessie Fleming

warnings : mentions of injury and surgeries. insinuations of cheating and false accusations. angst. happy ending and smut will be in part two.

summary : you get injured, its Jessie's fault. or so you thought.

a/n : as i type this, i think i've figured out how to incorporate the smut! i'll get to writing as soon as this is posted! i'm not sure if it makes much sense, here's to hoping. enjoy.

“for your UCLA Bruins, number 21, Jessie Fleming!”

Jessie steps forward and smiles, waving to the flood of Bruins fans in the stands cheering them on. You clap with a scowl on your face, watching as the girls in the stands ogle and fawn over her. You’re admittedly jealous of her for reasons unbeknownst to you, but seeing the 5’5’ Canadian made your blood boil.

She was good on the football pitch and was smart to go along with it. Jessie had it all. Being called up for most of her time in school and playing for her national team made her well-known in the soccer world from the moment she was here in America.

She was ferocious on the grass, a fearless midfielder who put everything out there.

The game was a close one, tied at the half 2-2. There were lots of contact, tackles, and battles that made it clear to anyone watching that there was tension between you and Jessie. One always found the other; if one had the ball, the other wanted it.

You had possession, running towards goal. There was a flash of blue and you were on the ground yelling in pain, hands clutching at your ankle. There was a loud pop and your ankle began to swell. The trainers came over and were hauling you off on a stretcher almost immediately, the ref showing Jessie a yellow for the unsafe tackle. It wasn’t a red card because really you fell a little weird and her studs were nowhere near your ankle.

She looked genuinely sorry, taking your hand in hers as you were stretchered off. You were in too much pain to care, shoving her hand out of yours and your teammates pulling her away from you.

A broken ankle was what they said. It was a clean break but you needed surgery and that meant no more soccer for the season.

Just great.

They put you in a wheelchair before you head to the hospital, your parents are already at the stadium to take you. You hear the final whistle blow and your teammate rolls you in, the girls all feeling sad when you tell them the news. There’s a little Bruins blue in the sea of Trojans in front of you and there’s a Canadian standing there digging her cleat into the grass, wanting to apologize.

Megan and Kasey stand beside you just in case things get a little heated. Jessie steps forward and looks more sorry for you when she sees the bandages and you in a wheelchair.

“Is it broken?” she asks genuinely, looking at your leg and then at you.

“No thanks to you,” you snide, rolling your eyes at her. “What do you want now, Fleming?”

“I wanted to apologize, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says sincerely but you’re too bitter to hear her take ownership of her actions.

“You knew what you were doing, Fleming. You’ve always been out to get me our entire college career and now in our final year you finally get what you want!”

You don’t know the tears were starting until they did, pouring down your face hot and fast. She looked a little mortified and pale, backing away and saying she was sorry over and over before a sea of Bruins pulled her away to celebrate their win.

The whole car ride to the hospital you spent weeping, thinking about how you’re not going to be able to play your senior year out like you had hoped. But more so of the look of pure horror on Jessie’s face when you accused her of hating you so much that she would purposely hurt you.

She looked on the verge of tears. Like hurting you scared her.  

You scared her.

||

“The break is clean, but rehab will take a while if you’re not careful,” said Dr. Jeff, the attending podiatrist.

“How long?”

“You’re looking at 14 to 16 weeks, kiddo. Two years if you’re stubborn like most of my patients are.”

“16 weeks sounds great.”

“Smart kid you got here,” the doctor tells your parents with a smile, “I’ll schedule you in for surgery today, you should be out of here by the end of the week.”

The doctor leaves and your mother begins to fuss, propping up pillows and getting your nurse to bring you more jello. Your father, on the other hand, has a look of all-knowing on his face.

“I’m sorry Dad,” you begin, head hanging low the moment your mother leaves the room.

“Don’t be sorry, peanut. These things happen. Better now than when you’re on a professional team, yeah?”

“She didn’t really make me break my ankle did she?” you ask, looking up at your dad who was rubbing your back as the tears filled your eyes again.

“It was the perfect tackle, kiddo. You just fell a little funny is all.”

“She looked so horrified when I said she did it on purpose,” you sob, leaning into your father’s stomach. He held you tight and cradled your head, your heart hurting more than your broken ankle, the face Jessie made when the words left your mouth etched behind your eyelids.

||

There are plenty of flowers in your room the moment you wake from surgery. Lots of cards and get well soon balloons hung from the ceiling. You were still groggy when your teammates visited, Megan was sure to bring lots of Sharpies to sign your cast with, all the girls leaving a nice note for you on it.

There was an hour left for visitations and your parents just left to wash up at home. You were mindlessly scrolling through the terrible TV channel selections while finishing your 5th Jello cup when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” you yell, thinking it was a nurse coming to check your vitals again. What you didn’t expect was to see a brunette Canadian poking her head through the door.

“Hi,” she said sheepishly, standing by the door unsure if you really would want her to come in.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as kindly as possible, eyes flickering towards the clock above the door, “it’s late, why aren’t you back at school?”

“Spring Break, my parents are down from Canada so I asked to see you before we drove back,” she says quietly, stepping in a little more. “Can I come in?”

You nod, unsure if your mouth would be polite enough. Anger still seethed in your bones but the look of sheer horror on her face was still fresh in your mind.

“How bad was it?” she begins, still standing near the now-closed door.

“Clean break, should take 16 weeks if I’m careful.”

“That’s good. The doctors here are great.”

“They are quite convincing, they know how to get a patient to stay on their medical plan.”

“Did you get Dr. Jeff?”

“He accused me of being stubborn.”

Jessie laughs and you smile, a light blush creeping up your cheeks. It’s an adorable sound and her face of laughter replaces the one of fear you had burned into your mind.

“I’m really sorry for all this,” she begins but you cut her off.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dad said it was a clean tackle. I just fell funny.”

You looked up at her and saw the relief on her face and she stepped forward, taking your hand in hers. You took a deep breath and reciprocated her ownership of her mistakes, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders the moment you looked her in the eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said the other day Jessie, that was not fair to you.”

“Heat of the moment love, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart clenches hard when the pet name slips out of her lips and you smile, hoping she didn’t see your eyes dilate and feel your skin warm up. She nods and bids goodbye just as her phone rings which tells you her parents are waiting outside.

You sit there giddy and a little starstruck as she disappears out of view. Your hand is warm from her touch and you can still feel her hand holding yours. You thump your head back and curse loudly, before grabbing your leg in pain temporarily forgetting that you were actually hurt.

You giggle and bite your lip, shaking your head when your phone dings.

Maybe: Jessie Fleming.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.”

You clap a hand to your mouth and smile, face heating up with a dark blush.

“You did this, you better fix it.”

“I think we can make that happen, love.”

You don’t think you slept much that night, texting till the sun came up. Your parents came in to check on you in the morning and found you with your phone still on call with Jessie but you two were asleep. You woke up to your doctors talking to your parents and discussing your rehab plan. There was another text from Jessie, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’re also very cute when you’re sleeping.”

Over the next few weeks, you two talked constantly. Jessie kept you company when you were bored at rehab and you kept her company while she was training on her own. You called her every night before bed, giggling and laughing well into the night most nights.

“How is rehab coming along?” Jessie asked as you were lying back on the examination table to relax your ankle. She was in her bed, looking as stunning as you had been denying yourself the chance to admit.

“Good, looks like I can put pressure on it by next week if Tiff lets me,” you say, side-eyeing your trainer Tiffany who was doing cupping on another teammate’s back.  

“Girl, I will hold your papers hostage, don’t test me,” Tiffany jokes, waving the lit fire stick at you.

“Yes ma’am I’ll be super-duper extra careful!” you answer with a salute, making Jessie laugh so loud it rings through the room. Most of your teammates know the thing you’ve got going with her and think it’s cute.

All but one.  

Megan.

She stood at the door listening to you ramble on about Jessie this and Jessie that, her blood boiling at the thought of you being buddy-buddy with the girl she believed to be the one who hurt you.

Megan was a freshman who was from Florida. She was a great pick from her high school team, and the best defender on the East Coast. She made the team here at USC and to say the least, she fit right in.

There was homogeny that wasn’t there before she joined and the linkup between you and her helped you take her under your wing. She looked up to you and was so ecstatic to play with you after watching you on TV.

She felt that Jessie took away her only chance to play with you before you graduated.

Jessie needed to pay.

“Hey, weird question,” Jessie starts, one night while you two were tucked in bed and on the phone with each other.

“Yeah?” you ask, turning over onto your side. Jessie looked a little concerned but you shrugged it off, the girl was known to constantly look worried.

“Someone sent me this photo but it’s from an unknown number, I thought it was weird.”

Sent.

You looked at it in shock.

It was you. Kissing a girl on the basketball team.

“Jess this isn’t me.”

“I’m not blind you know, that’s you.”

“Jessie, I swear this was doctored! I’ve never talked to this girl, let alone fucking kissed her!”

“Then why did the fucking photo come with a text that said, “She’s not who you think she is,”?”

“I don’t know! No one else but the girls know about you and me! I promise Jessie please!”

“I need some time to think. Leave me alone.”

She hangs up.

The tears fill your eyes as you stare at this photo. You don’t even think you’ve crossed paths with this girl, having not been the biggest fan of basketball. But your face was clearly there and hers was too. Her lips were on yours and you looked like you were enjoying yourself.

You think and you think hard. You didn’t go to any parties lately with your leg and you haven’t been to any games of theirs. You stared at the photo for hours, wracking your brain for some kind of explanation.

An explanation as to why Jessie looked so hurt at the thought of you with someone else.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

for ask-travaganza, (still patiently waiting on) free ride part 3?

So sorry it has taken 25 years!

Steven Grant x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo • ko-fi •

• Free Ride Masterlist •

Summary: You recognised Steven, and Jake had no choice but to play along and give in to some impulses of his own. Now Steven has woken right after the act and doesn't know how he got here.

A/N: I'm so sorry this has taken so long, honestly I'm not 100% with this one.

Warnings: Jake being mistaken for Steven, Steven waking up and being like oooohhh okkkayy what?, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talk Steven kind of just saying whatever is in his mind, cream pie, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3513

Steven freezes, unable to hide his very obvious deer caught in the headlights expression. He swallows and the audible gulp makes him wince. 

A small frown of worry begins to deepen on your forehead. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, good, great even, the best, I…” The words just tumble out like acid, burning his throat as they form. “Erm, I should…” He moves away from you quickly, standing up and then nearly tripping over the trousers and belt on the floor that he doesn’t recognise.

You kneel quickly to help him without thinking, grabbing hold of his forearms to steady his balance. 

Despite how he automatically wraps his fingers around your arms, he flinches ever so slightly at the touch, trying his best to hide it. But it was undeniably there. 

Something deep and sickening settles in your chest. The pressure of tears starts to form behind your eyes. You didn’t think he was the kind of person who just threw people aside after he’d fucked them. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Steven keeps his eyes trained on your jaw, not high enough to have to look into your eyes and not low enough to see anything. But… well, if he’d slept walked here and, he must of, so… he must sort of have seen everything, right? 

His thoughts ricochet around in his head, bouncing off his skull with a ferocious impact. He absentmindedly strokes the inside of your arms with his thumbs. 

There’s a little bruising on your neck, love bites he quickly realises. Fresh and still forming. He must have…

“You, erm,” you pause, you want to run. Hide. Leave. But you couldn’t exactly dart out of your own flat now, could you? “I-”

“I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, closing his eyes. God the pain in your voice was like a knife forced under his ribs. You obviously didn’t know he’d been sleepwalking. He’d read about cases like this, sexsomnia, had he done it before? Is that where he wandered off to? Had he been fucking you for months and just not realised?

“I know it was a bit fast,” you swallow, trying not to let your panic overtake you, “I don’t usually, you know… jump into bed with people like that.”

Well, that answered that question, didn’t it? 

You breathe in deeply, “I hope you don’t-”

“Love, no, no, no,” he looks up at you quickly, finally taking in your expression. The worry, the apprehension. Part of him screams to just tell you the truth. But what would he look like? A complete idiot. Or you just wouldn’t believe him, would think he was trying to fob you off. Steven couldn’t have that. 

“I, I, sorry, I zoned out and sort of-” He started, giving you his best reassuring smile. 

“Did you nod off?” You hate how shy you sound, naive and hopeful. “I thought you did, for a second?”

“Yes!” He says, a little too loudly and with a touch too much enthusiasm. “I fell asleep for a second, didn’t I? God,” he lightly bumps his forehead with the palm of his hand as he repeats your words. “Got all… startled for a second, I do that. Sorry. What a man I am? Yeah? Falls asleep straight away after…” His mouth flounders for a second, his mind stalling. It wasn’t like he was a child, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had sex before. It wasn’t like he was even embarrassed by the act. It was just that straight away after fucking sounded so impersonal. Especially when he didn’t even remember the fucking part. 

“It’s okay.” You smile warmly, relief washing over you. You lightly touch his cheek and he leans into you instantly. 

He must have got so worked up, you reason, self-conscious. 

“Thanks love, I…” He pauses and raises his finger, suddenly very aware of his nakedness and that he still had a condom on. “You know what? I’m gonna take this… off. Yeah.” He gestures, trying to be a little bit over the top and lighthearted. And to his absolute relief, you giggle. 

“Sure, let me grab you a tissue.” You grin and climb back on the bed to grab some from the bedside table. 

“Thanks, I…” He trails off as he can’t help but watch, mesmerised by your bare skin and the curve of your ass. He swallows as you turn back to him, handing over a few tissues. 

You pause a little at the look he gives you, his eyes dark. 

“Steven?” You say softly, about to inwardly curse yourself at using his name again when he’d acted a little unfavourably to it before, but instead, his breathing hitches ever so slightly. His throat bobs. 

“Sorry love,” he takes the tissues, wrapping the condom inside and throwing it into the bin when you gesture to where it is. He pauses again for a second. “You’re so pretty.” 

You laugh bashfully, “I… Thank you. So are you.” 

“No,” he touches your biceps, feather light in his caress. “I mean it, honestly, truly, so beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” You say softly, your voice coming out barely above a whisper. You hold your breath as he leans in and just faintly runs the bridge of his nose against yours while he lightly touches your neck. 

You shiver.

“Did I leave these marks?” He asks, his voice low and teasing as he strokes the love bites. 

You nod, heat starting to pool in your belly. 

“Did you like it?” He brushes his lips against your cheek, moving closer to your ear. 

“Yes.” You manage to mutter, your mouth dry.

“Good.” He mutters, placing the softest kiss to your jaw. 

You lean closer, biting your lip to keep down the shaky little sigh that wants so desperately to escape. It feels… different, him being so close. It’s strange, it’s like you weren’t just wrapped around each other minutes before. It’s like you’re here with a completely different person. 

He darts out his tongue, running the tip over a love bite just along your pulse point and groans when he feels you arch into him. 

Steven sucks at the bite, laps at it, sending a spiral of sensation along your nerves as he leans closer, as if he was trying to cover up the marks anew. 

He wraps his arms around you, gently urging you back down onto the mattress as he lightly presses his own legs between yours. 

By the time your back hits the sheets and his tongue slips past your lips you’re gone. Lightheaded and aching for every touch he’ll grace you with. 

He moans into your mouth, his touch light but quickly becoming more demanding as he feels you arching up to him. He moves against you languidly, grinding his hips ever so slightly as they come to rest against yours. 

The heat of your core just brushes his semi hard cock and he hisses, shivering as he flinches back a fraction of a centimetre before he pushes closer, greedily drinking down your little moans as he rubs himself against your wetness.

He hums happily, running his right hand along your skin to your chest. He squeezes your breast softly, kneads in between his fingers until your nipples have pebbled as you let out a desperate whimper. 

“Fuck yes,” He whispers, pulling his lips back a fraction so he can watch your face. He’s dizzy, his vision dreamlike. So sure that he’ll wake up any minute. He pinches your nipple, delighting in the little whine you grace him with, how your eyes snap open and you give him a look.

“Sorry, love,” He chuckles softly, “Don’t mean to tease.” He leans closer again before he trails kisses down your neck, nipping slightly at your collarbone in a rushed frenzy. Like you could push him away at any moment.

You shiver, digging your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks between your breasts slowly, looking up at you with his large doe eyes. 

“Can I…?” He bites his lip a little shyly, letting the question hang. 

You nod and he groans. 

Steven bends his neck so that he can lap slowly at your nipples, lavishing one with attention before moving to the other. He moans when you squirm and buck, pressing your skin further into his mouth. 

He pushes his heavy cock against your pussy so that he can rub his length along your clit and folds, shivering with how your hot, wet slick coats him. It’s only then that he sucks at your beast, flicking the tip of his tongue as he rocks his hips eagerly. 

You moan loudly, your back arching as you hold onto him, pulling him closer. Pleasure twists and churns in your belly, little jolts of electricity running along your nerves as he presses and rolls against your clit in a mesmerising rhythm.

He whimpers as your cries grow in pitch, his hips bucking faster against you as weight settles at the base of his cock. 

You pull his hair, a little harshly and he whines, nearly coming undone on the spot, “Fuck love, keep doing that.” He manages to stammer out, gasping when you pull again. “Fucking hell.”

He rocks faster, spurred on by your whimpers and how desperately you cling to him. You want him. You need him. 

Your legs hook around his waist as he laps at your breasts, he rolls his hips, the very tip of his cock just catching at your entrance. 

His body almost betrays him, moving practically of its own accord. Steven just manages to stop himself from pushing in completely, instead, he pulls back and continues to rub against you. Just the right pressure, the right rock and push.

You moan loudly, practically sobbing. 

“Say my name, love, please?” 

“Steven,” You whine, and oh god he wants you to say it again, scream it. The way it falls from your lips. How worked up you look as you clutch yourself to him. He can’t control himself. 

He groans and pinches your nipples as he covers your neck and jaw with kisses, continuously rolling his hips into yours. It’s so wet and warm between you both, your slick covering him and dripping onto the bed sheets. His mouth waters. 

“Steven,” You gasp, your thighs are tensing, shaking around his waist. 

“Fuck,” He pulls himself back quickly, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I got to,” he kneels up, muttering rushes apologies as you whine at the loss of his warmth and pressure. 

He practically throws himself further down the bed, grabbing hold of your thighs with shaking hands as he buries his face between your legs. 

Your back arches, spine bending as you cry out. His warm, thick tongue drags through your folds, laps at your clit until you're screaming. He moans, long and low, his eyes closed in bliss as he drinks down your wetness and then swirls around your bundle of nerves before he sucks it into his mouth. 

You grab at his hair, your body moving under its own will. Pleasure builds and builds and builds, so dizzyingly high and quick. Pulled taught until you can’t do anything but snap. “Steven, I’m gonna come.” You whine, bucking up as he sucks and lets out a small accompanying cry. 

His eyes practically roll back as you gasp, your cum hitting his mouth like ambrosia. You shake in his grip, his hands firm on your inner thighs to keep you open and spread as he works you through it. He sucks like his life depends on it, like your pleasure is his only reason for breathing. 

When you start to relax he moves back a fraction, lightly licking through your folds to collect and drink down all of your release. 

You whine a little softly, shivering from the after effects. But his tongue is so gentle, the touch so light, it doesn’t overstimulate you as you expect. Instead, the warmth is welcome as he laps, occasionally breaking his rhythm to press soft kisses to your legs. 

“Steven,” you whisper, your muscles are jelly, weak and boneless. But still you reach out and stroke his cheek. 

He looks up at you happily. “Thank you, love…” He smiles dreamily, “Was that okay?” 

You can’t help but laugh as you push his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “More than.” 

His smile widens and he sits up a little so he can kiss your wrist. His cock bobs between his legs, heavy and red. Practically straining with need. 

“Would you… like to?” You nod at his erection and smile. 

A little hint of red colours his cheeks, “Well, I mean, erm… no pressure of course, only if you want to, I don’t want to pres-”

You sit up quickly and kiss him, sliding your tongue past his lips and licking into his hot mouth. He whimpers, pushing closer.

“Of course I want to.” You nip his bottom lip lightly and he groans. 

“Do you… do you have another condom?” He swallows and you shake your head. 

“I… I’m on birth control… I don’t, I don’t have any STDs or anything?” You pause, suddenly a little embarrassed at your bluntness. God, he must think you’re so desperate. 

He groans again, pressing closer and shuddering. “I don’t either, have any, I mean.” He smiles and the knot of worry in your stomach dissolves. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I want to.” You whisper. 

“Oh fuck,” He swallows quickly, “You’re gonna make me come on the spot, sound too fucking sexy love.” He kisses your cheek and jaw. “Here,” he gently manoeuvres you onto your hands and knees, constantly kissing and checking in. 

You expect him to kneel behind you straight away and sink inside, but instead he dips his head down and runs his tongue only your folds once more, smiling as you jump. 

“Taste so good, love.” He mutters, repeating the movement. “I could stay here all night.” He kneads your ass with his large hands as he licks, revelling in your little shakes and moans as he flicks his tongue over your clit before dipping inside ever so slightly. He repeats the movement again and again and again, until you’re digging your hands into the duvet cover and thrusting back to meet his mouth. 

“Steven,” you gasp, your back arching. “Please, I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to stay upright if you make me come again.” 

He groans and grins, moving away slowly after one last lick. “Alright, love, alright.” His hands are warm on the small of your back as he strokes your skin, rubs your hips. The bed dips slightly as he repositions himself, his heart hammering in his chest as he takes himself in hand and notches his tip at your pussy. 

“Tell me if something doesn’t feel right, okay love?” 

You nod. 

“Please?”

“I will, I promise, I-” You moan deeply as he starts to push inside, stretching you so wonderfully. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he moans headily, “Can’t bare the thought of you, oh fuck, of you not having a good time.” He gasps, halfway in. He pulls back slightly before pushing forward again, slowly easing further with every slow thrust. 

He tries to swallow down a sob, but you just feel too good. “Taking me so well,” he moans, all high pitched. He can’t tear his eyes away from how he sinks inside, how you’re stretched so wide around him. Your walls squeeze and throb, pulling him deeper. 

“You feel amazing.” He manages to stammer out as he pushes all the way inside at last. 

You moan, rocking back lightly. Even though you’d already felt him splitting you open, he feels even larger at the angle, pushing every thought out of your head to make room for more of him. 

He whimpers as you move, his muscles flexing as he bucks shallowly to meet you. 

“Steven,” you swallow. “Ah, please!” 

He smiles, holding onto your hips with one hand as he picks up the pace, pulling you back to meet every single one of his deep, powerful thrusts. He rolls his hips, changing the angle ever so slightly with each buck, your moans music to his ears and only fulling him further. 

When you cry out particularly loudly he groans. 

“Oh, fuck love, there?” You nod your head rapidly, pleasure spurting up your spine. “Yes!”

He sobs as he looks down, watching himself disappear inside of you, the heavy sound echoing. Your wetness has dripped down his balls, sunk into the dark curls between his legs. He can see a white ring forming around the base of his cock, growing thick with every buck as the liquid leaks out of your pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, his voice low and desperate. “So fucking good for me, taking me and letting me fuck you and, ugh, feeling so good!” He gasps, his hips smacking into yours, jolting your forwards as he bullies his cock in and out of you. 

You moan, thrusting back with all your might and sobbing when he reaches around and rubs at your clit with his left hand. 

Pleasure sparks deep, twisting and growing and leaving you powerless to how he plays your body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, his fingers slippery on your pussy as he rubs. He presses his fore and middle finger to your clit while he feels his cock pumping in and out of you with his ring and little finger. The sound of your wetness is making him lightheaded, how you push back and take him so greedily, you want him. The thought echoes with the rapid beating of his heart. You want him, you want him, you want him.

“You’d, you’d,” he swallows, his head too blissed out to know or control what his mouth is saying. “You’d let me come in you, wouldn’t you? Let me fill you up?” 

You whine, nodding desperately.

“Oh shit, what, what about if I pull out and come all over your back? Can I? Can I make a fucking mess all over you?” 

“Yes,” You manage to whimper. 

“Oh god, love,” he whines, “I’m so close, I want you to have it all, all of me. You’re gonna make me come so hard, I can feel it. Shit. I used to, I used to fuck myself and think- think about you,” his voice raises as you buck back against him, “I used to come all over himself thinking about… you!” He gasps, his balls tightening. 

“Love, please,” Steven sobs, “I’m gonna come,” he sounds so weak, robbed of strength even though he is pounding into you like a man possessed. “Want to feel you squeeze me, please?” He shivers. “Want to feel you come on my cock, please? Can you? How, how can I help make you?” 

You moan low, his sweet needy words twist in your stomach. “Please, just a little bit more, I’m,” you swallow, “I’m nearly there.” 

He whimpers. “Love, oh god, thank you, thank you.” He rolls your clit, kissing your shoulder blades as he ruts against you. “Thank you so much for letting me fuck you, thank you so much. Can, can you say my name, can you scream it when you come? I want to hear you say it all the time, every day, want to fuck you every fucking second, I’ll just stay here and be ready for you whenever you want and, oh!”

You squeal, your muscles spasming as you come hard. Pleasure rushes along your veins as your thrust back against his thick cock, keeping him fully inside as your walls pulse and squeeze. Your orgasm burns, leaving only ashes in its wake. 

Steven stammers, his whole body freezing except for his hips. He bucks rapidly, practically screaming your name as he finally reaches his peak. He spurts deep inside of you, pumping hot and thick. He shivers, shakes and groans thankfully as you (as gently as you can) collapse onto the bed and pull him down on top of you. 

He nuzzles into your neck, his cock spasming with aftershocks. He can’t believe this is real. 

“I’m sorry.” You breathe hard, your skin sweaty.

“Hmm?” Steven lifts his head ever so slightly, confused.

“I didn’t say your name.” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, about to reassure you that he very, very much doesn’t care at this moment. That you are wonderful, perfect even, and that he thinks that was the hardest he’d ever come in his whole life. And maybe, perhaps he should say sorry for running his mouth like that. But you don’t give him a chance. 

“I guess I’ll have to try again the next time you fuck my brains out.” You giggle, angling your arm back so that you can awkwardly stroke his hair. 

Steven shivers, next time. Next. Time. His softening cock twitches in your heat. 

He wants to answer, but for once his brain is lost for words. Instead, he moans and buries his face into your shoulder, kissing and sucking as he cuddles you tight. 

Thank you so much for reading!

[mazamba]

Sponsored By

Ironically, the most eventful day in the careers of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had nothing to do with ghosts. The two had just returned from the supermarket and were carrying in the groceries, when the shadow in the corner began to speak.

"We need to talk."

"GHOST!"

The couple were on their back before they could draw their weapons.

"You are the foremost experts in the field of ecto-biology," said Batman as if he hadn't just brought down a three hundred pound man and a ninth-degree black-belt before either of them could realize he'd moved, "I have questions regarding your sponsor."

"Sweetie, is the Batman in our living room?" asked Jack.

"I do believe he is," replied Maddie as she stood up and patted the dust off her clothes, "you know, you could have called for an appointment. We'd have made time."

"In the 80's, the two of you had your doctorate studies rescinded due to your studies in what you called "ecto-science"," he stated, ignoring their indignation, "yet you now live in an upper-middle class neighborhood and spend thousands of dollars a year on technology that didn't have a proper proof-of-concept until recently."

"What's your point?" asked Jack.

"Where is the money coming from?"

"If you must know, we have a sponsor," replied Maddie, "after our dean proved to be too small-minded for our research, we were approached by a man who was more open to the possibility of inter-dimensional research."

"He wanted us to study ghosts!" cut in Jack, "He even gave us our very first sample of ectoplasm!"

"That one sample was the backbone of our research for years, until we got our portal running."

"You never asked where he got that sample from?"

"He seemed like a trust-worthy fellow," dismissed Maddie, "all he asks is for copies of our experiments and for ectoplasm from our portal."

"What sort of experiments?"

"Well, at first we needed to verify the psycho-active behavior of the sample," recalled Maddie, "if you give me a second, I have my research around here somewhere."

"You took the sample to several morgues," Batman told them, "the sample's most drastic and extreme behavior occurred when it was placed close to bodies who had a history of violent and anti-social behavior in life."

"Maddie, the League's reading our papers!" Jack giggled excitedly, "But yes, it's how we know that all ghosts are evil ectoplasmic scum!"

"You never questioned the origin of the sample?"

"It was the only sample we had," pointed out Maddie, "but it's properties matched all of our theories."

"The man you spoke with was Ra's al Ghul," he informed them, dropping a folder full of pictures and documents for them to peruse, "thousands of years ago, Ra's found a well of green water that is now known as a Lazarus Pit. Using its power, he has rejuvenated himself time and again to maintain his position as the head of the League of Assassins. After some experimentation, he found the same pits could keep his forces alive, even in death.

"Over time, the League came across a problem that threatened their continued existence. They were consuming the Pit's water faster than it was replenishing itself. After much experimentation, they found a solution. At the moment of death, when the human soul passes over to the Infinite Realms, what you call the Ghost Zone, a small amount of ectoplasm leaks over to our side."

"Wait, you don't mean...?" Maddie trailed off, horror settling in.

"Ra's killed people en masse to replenish his pool," affirmed Batman, "further experimentation revealed that people who died in a state of extreme fear or pain provided more ferocious soldiers. That is where your sample came from.

"In it's neutral state, ectoplasm reacts equally to all emotional ranges. Repeated exposure to emotional extremes will imprint the ectoplasm, causing it to react more strongly to a specific emotional range than to others. The negative emotions of Ra's victims imprinted on the ectoplasm, resulting in your skewed results."

"Wait, how would you know that?" demanded Maddie, "We're the foremost experts on ecto-science and we didn't know that!"

He pulled out a thick folder and slammed it onto the table.

"I had my research peer-reviewed."

"By who?" asked Jack, "We looked all over and couldn't find anyone in the scientific community!"

"You weren't looking in the right place. There is a branch of the Justice League that specializes in the supernatural, ghosts and demons chief among them. They want me to bring you in."

"Really!? Did you hear that Mads! We're being recruited by the Justice League!"

"They want me to arrest you," Batman corrected them, "for illegal poaching of innocent and neutral spirits, particularly after last week's attack on their newest member, Danny Phantom."

"The Ghost Boy!?" roared Jack, "That no-good ectoscum made the League before we did!?"

"I have watched his fights. He takes care to avoid collateral damage and only appears when other ghosts attack, sometimes at great personal cost."

"Look, Mr. Batman," sighed Maddie in a condescending tone, "we've fought the ghost boy for years. He has a history of crime and violence. If you look far enough, you'll find-."

Batman had no time for nonsense.

"The League has already looked into the incidents. All show indications of either coercion or mind control."

"Ghosts are deceitful and conniving-!"

"We have already established that your initial sample skewed your results," he cut Jack off, "this would imply that all of your research and experiments need to be reassessed, including your opinions towards ghosts in general.

"Regarding Ra's al Ghul, you will need to continue working with him. Cutting contact suddenly may put you and your family in danger."

That caught their attention.

"What do we need to do?" asked Jack, all jokes and outrage immediately tossed out the window.

"Keep doing your research with this new information in mind. Your experiments have been applied to the Lazarus Pits, resulting in unstable results. Recent subjects have come out in a mindless rage, while others have shown no effect on their mind, and yet others have had no effect. Ra's is already skeptical of your continued collaboration. If you provide him with research based off this new information, he may decide you are not worth his time or money. When it comes to Ra's, your best option is dismissal to irrelevance. You do not want to make an enemy out of him."

"It's not just that," admitted Maddie, "if we were the only ones being affected, we'd simply let him know we're exploring new horizons outside of ecto-science. The thing is, we have two children, one in college and one near graduation."

He gave them a card. "Call that number. All of their college expenses will be taken care of."

"I... Bruce Wayne?" read out Jack.

"We've collaborated before, he is trustworthy," he reassured them, "the next part is up to you. Will you be scientists, or poachers?"

Their lights flickered, and he was gone.

[miguelswifey04]

okok hear me out. miguel with a sunshine!fem!spidey!reader?? she’s literally his world and he loves her so much, sometimes he’ll call her over to the break room where it’s just them and he’d passionate kiss her—sending her back out feeling all dazed and fluttery from the kiss, leaving everyone confused.

and OTHER times…let’s just say that miguel looooves the pretty pretty sounds that leave her mouth whenever they’re fucking—(size kink warning!) let’s be real, miguel is 6’9. the kinds of orgasms he would give her would take such a toll on her body like oh my gosh, he would leave her breathless truly. and he doesn’t wanna ever hurt her so after they have sex he showers her with cuddles and kisses, rubbing her back and helping her get her breathing right; regulating it.

GOOD GOD THIS IS SOOO GOOD HELP almost fell off from my beach chair (i’m reading this at the beach with my family presents and i’m blushing like a madman)

🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️🧚🏽‍♀️

miguel loves how bubbly and how you’re a walking sun that shines so bright—he adores you and he adores you way to much that he will do anything to hear those pretty sounds you always make when he’s buried deep inside of your tight wet pussy. he loves how you take him so fucking well and god he can’t get enough of how sponges the walls of your pussy fells like every time his cock pumps ferociously—in and out of you. “awww, how’s my good girl doing?” he’s purposefully would whisper in your ear from behind you his strong frame is pressed against your smaller frame. he loves how big and powerful he is, taking you from behind as he’s fucking you hard, gripping on the fat of your hips and your feet don’t even touch the ground. he’s got you angled up against him as his hips snap against your ass. you’re holding on for dear life against the desk but don’t worry he has a tight grip on you. he isn’t letting you go any time soon. you love how powerful and big he feels, and you’ve always had a thing for big muscular men.

he’s also the type of man to switch positions especially where he’s standing up & he wraps your legs around his waist. he holds your body safely against him as his cock is deep inside you, and his teeth��s sink into the flesh of your shoulder. you squirm and moan out loudly feeling the sharp pain of his teeth’s being replaced by pleasure so good that you don’t know whether to cry or moan. your body shakes against him but that makes him want to pound into your harder. he loves the way your body responds to him and he will do anything to fuck out orgasms after orgasms from you. he’s very good at knowing your sweet spots as this isn’t the first time he’s fucked your brains out.

“i know you can take this, my love. you always know how to take this cock so well,” he’d praise you and maybe he’ll slow down just a bit if you’re struggling to keep up but he knows you’re strong to take a man of his caliber. and he’s proud just how good of a girl you’re being for him. he loves how perfect you feel against him, “this pussy was made just for me.” you both hear voices from outside the control room but that makes him wanna fuck you harder so that people could hear you. you were never one to be good at keeping quiet just because of how good miguel was at fucking you but that made things more exciting for miguel. miguel didn’t care if people ever heard you or not, they shouldn’t question him since he’s the boss…but deep down he likes it. he wants everyone to know you’re his and his to touch. to claim. and to love you so hard that he’s got you begging him to fuck you faster.

the sweetest thing after you both are done is he cares for you as if it was your guys first time. he puts you down after making you cum roughly around 10 times, and he’ll make sure you’re clean and taken care of. the afterglow after sex is something miguel will never get tired of. you always look so pretty afterwards, and he never fails to compliment you. he cuddles with you and then once you’ve both relaxed, he’ll take you out to eat and he does so each and every time. he has never had someone as good as you who can take him so fucking well. but, nonetheless, he loves you a lot and he’ll remind you of that.

———

a/n: i wrote this at the BEACH LOLOLOL so sorry if there’s errors <33

[crushmeeren]

☠ Bakugou/Fem Reader Part 2

❧ Everyone involved in this is aged up/18+.

☠ Master List Link ☠

❧ Warnings; cursing, kissing, rough sex, blood and bruises (from sparring), consensual fighting, pain kink, degradation and praise, squirting, aftercare.

Bakugou who unabashedly and unapologetically loves to fucking fight. Well, he loves to fuck and to fight. Together, preferably. As in, the man is genuinely feral. Who is ecstatic to be beaten up a bit before he indulges in a nasty fuck with you.

Bakugou who burns with arousal, all the blood in his body rushing to his cock when your knuckles collide with his jaw, snapping his head to the left. Who produces a noise similar to his chest being cracked open as pain blooms brightly, ricocheting down to his collarbone and up to his eye socket.

Bakugou who turns his head back to you, cracking his knuckles as he grins wolfishly. Whose tongue flickers out to trace the blood of his busted lip. Whose cock pulses hotly as he lazily runs his eyes up and down your body.

Bakugou whose eyes shine brightly when he registers the tension pulled taught and tight between you two. Who’s waiting for it to snap like a rubber band. Who’s absolutely gonna rip your clothes off — after he hits you a couple more times, consensually of course.

Bakugou who is just a beat too quick for you. Who spars on equal ground with you for a few minutes before he strikes like lightening, jabbing you in the nose. Who doesn’t put enough pressure in the weight of it to break the bone, but enough for your head to shoot backwards, eyes involuntarily welling with tears.

Bakugou who grits his teeth until they creak, panting heavily when your pretty pink tongue laps up the trail of blood running into your mouth. Who just about falls to his knees when you set loose an unhinged, delirious grin on him.

Bakugou who takes it in stride when you lunge for him, shoulder digging into his belly painfully as he lands with an oof on the sparring mat. Who groans throatily because the winds knocked out him. Whose base of his skull knocks on the ground violently enough for him to see stars. Whose cock starts twitching again, legs trembling with adrenaline.

Bakugou whose bare chest is slippery with sweat, beads of it trailing down his neck and pooling on the mat. Who laughs hysterically, taking note of just how sticky the tip of his dick is where it strains against his shorts. Who doesn’t hesitate before rolling you to your back, slamming your shoulders down to the floor.

Bakugou who shoves your sports bra up roughly so your tits pop out, groping them with hunger as he leans down to kiss you ferociously. Who can taste the coppery, bitter tang of your blood mixing with his when he licks into your mouth — who puts Kirishima’s quirk to shame with how fucking hard his cock is.

Bakugou whose bottom lip stings like lemon juice was poured into it as his mouth meets yours, saliva everywhere. Who pulls back just enough to let the corners of his lips tug upwards deviously, blood staining his otherwise pearly white teeth.

Bakugou who manhandles you onto your belly, ripping your shorts in half and off, before forcing your ass into the air. Who reaches a hand forward to place a palm at the base of your skull, shoving your face into the grimy mat, which you’re sure is disgusting. Who growls “stay” in a menacing tone.

Bakugou who meanly smacks your bare pussy, making sure his fingers strike your clit. Who revels in your yelp, tilting his head backwards briefly and rises up to his knees. Who shoves his shorts down under his balls, cock bobbing free. Who grips his shaft and presses the tip to your pussy, bullying his way in all at once.

Bakugou who listens to you sob and laugh delightedly when he pins you down by the nape of your neck. Whose fingers dig harshly into the sides, starting to fuck you like the nasty dog he can be. Who yanks one wrist behind you, twisting your arm until it aches.

Bakugou whose pelvis smacks wetly, obscenely into your ass. It’s so fucking loud it echoes throughout the training room. Who decides to pin both arms behind your back, wrists captured in one hand. Who watches his cock disappear into you like his life depends on it. Whose jaw hangs open from the sight, tongue running over his canines.

Bakugou whose entire body throbs and aches with soreness. Who knows a bruise is forming on his jaw as he rolls it around. Who doesn’t let his filthy deep stroke slow down until your pussy clenches his cock unyieldingly. You shout his name so loudly your throat is raw.

Bakugou who snarls “you’re such a nasty bitch. God I love you so fucking much.” Who lets out a whimper when you squeeze him again, switch flipping and cooing “You look so pretty taking my cock, your pussy fucking loves me.” Who pants hotly as he spits out his words, giving you a head rush.

Bakugou who is on the edge cumming so hard his vision will white out. Whose toes start to curl in his socks. Whose cock kicks, molding himself to your upper back, and white knuckling the flesh on your hips as he cums with a choked off moan. Who thrusts at just the right angle to make you wail and squirt all over the mat below you.

Bakugou who gulps air as he rolls off you, heart thundering, who feels pleasure buzzing through his blood as flops onto his back, who then turns on his side, smoothing a hand up and down your back comfortingly when you collapse on to your belly, melting into the floor

Bakugou who lets you both lay there for several, long moments as the two of you return to normal states of being. Who lets the adrenaline wear off, revealing all the ugly, nasty sore spots from your fight. Who winces as he runs a tongue over the slowly clotting open wound on his bottom lip.

Bakugou who somehow summons the energy to usher you to the showers, after cleaning the mess you made. Who tenderly washes your body, kissing the sore bridge of your nose in an apology. Who gets you both home and into bed for a much needed nap after grabbing an ice pack for his bruised jaw. Who whispers sweet nothings into your hair, snuggling you close as you pass out on his chest.

[mrs-hatake]

While I Weep

Pairing: Sylus x F!reader

Warning: anxiety

Genre: Hurt/Comfort and Fluff.

A/N: we anxiety rn ;u;

Sylus hears three timid knocks on the door to his study. He waits patiently for the other person–whom he is well aware to be Y/N from her knock alone as Luke and Kieran would barge into his study without a shred of decorum. When a handful of seconds pass by and no one enters, Sylus gently calls for them.

Just as he suspected, the wooden door opens to reveal Y/N. She is standing timorously by the door, eyes downcasted while her lips twist left and right. Sylus’ eyebrow raises at the sight. Her gung ho attitude is replaced by a meager mouse, shoulders tense as hair on the skin raises in alert. Sylus has never seen Y/N like this. Even during a dangerous and life threatening mission, Y/N would march in with bravado, smirking confidently at the face of adversity.

It takes Y/N a drawn out pause for her to ask Sylus, “Can I join you?”

Sylus takes Y/N in. She’s dressed in lounge wear; a cotton shirt with matching sweatpants and a pair of fluffy slippers. There’s no makeup coloring her already beautiful face. Her hair is let loose, free. Sylus nods. But then clears his throat, “Yeah.”

As silent as a graveyard, Y/N shuffles into Sylus’s study. Quick and light as a feather. Within seconds, she is standing in front of Sylus’ spinning chair. This surprises him as he, naturally, assumed that Y/N would sit on the few leather couches and chairs strewn about in his study. 

But as Sylus looks up at Y/N, he understands why she is standing in front of him. 

There’s a storm brewing in Y/N’s eyes, one she struggles to contain, desperately resisting the urge to be swept away by its fury. The air flowing from her slightly parted lips is thin and ragged, each exhale a fragile whisper of her inner turmoil. Unease is written all over Y/N’s face in bold strokes, vividly unveiling her fear.

No words are spoken as Sylus pushes his chair away from his desk. He gently pats one of his legs, as if coaxing a fearful animal to venture into its new home.

Hesitation flashes in Y/N’s eyes. Though it disappears as quickly as it has appeared. Gratitude can be seen instead. Slowly, Y/N sits sideways on Sylus’ lap.

Instantly, Y/N’s arms crawl up Sylus’ broad shoulders and make a home for themselves around his neck. Then, she is burying her face in that one spot under the curve of his jaw. Curious as he may be, Sylus remains silent at the display. 

The ticking of the desk clock reminds Sylus of the report he needs to finish by the end of the night if he wants to spend his weekend with Y/N. But just before he can pull his chair forward and resume his work, a soft sound, barely audible, has him freezing in place like an ice sculpture. 

The sniffles grow louder by the second. The tears cascade like a ferocious river, instantly soaking his neck. Y/N’s frame quakes in his arms, her body trembling with each sharp intake of breath as sob after sob overtakes her. She remains utterly silent, crying like a storm in the night, its chaos and devastation revealed only with the dawn.

Each gasp, every tear shed, and the seemingly endless tremors are more painful than any bullet that has been lodged deep into Sylus’ body. 

Having been alone most of his life, Sylus isn’t sure how to comfort those in distress. After all, when he was haunted by sadness, all that Sylus had done was to fight tooth and nail to overcome it. No one was there to whisper soothing words for him. There wasn’t a hand gently caressing his back as he wept. He had to grow quickly, hardening his heart before someone or something else breaks it.  

Yet, Sylus finds himself wrapping his arms around Y/N. His embrace encompasses her in a warmth that melts away all of her troubles. His hold tightens and he leans his head against hers, a gentle reminder that he is here for her, ready to catch her when she falls. 

Sylus doesn’t know how long they’ve sat like that but when Y/N finally lifts her head, her hair shielding her swollen eyes and tear streaked face, he notices just how drowsy she has gotten. 

“Hey.” Sylus whispers as he brushes away the strands of disheveled hair. He delicately wipes away the remaining tears lingering on her cheeks. 

Y/N says nothing but Sylus can clearly see the gratitude glowing in her eyes. 

Leaning in, Sylus rests his forehead against hers. 

“Let’s get you to bed.” 

Sylus then pecks Y/N’s forehead before he is carrying her to their shared bedroom, the important document left forgotten.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore's Manipulations: Part 6(?)

I just reread the scene in Deathly Hallows of Dumbledore and Snape on Snape's memories after Lily died, and that entire scene reminded me of the scene at the end of book 5. After Sirius died and Harry was having his breakdown.

Snape breaking down in front of Dumbledore after Lily dies:

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?” “DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone. . . dead. . . ” “Is this remorse, Severus?” “I wish. . . I wish I were dead. . . ” “And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.” Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him. “What—what do you mean?” “You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.” “He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone—” “The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.” There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last, he said, “Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear. . . especially Potter’s son. . . I want your word!” “My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. “If you insist. . . ”

(DH, 573)

Harry breaking down in front of Dumbledore after Sirius dies:

“There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,” said Dumbledore’s voice. “On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.” Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. “My greatest strength, is it?” said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. “You haven’t got a clue. . . . You don’t know . . .” “What don’t I know?” asked Dumbledore calmly. It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel, all right?” “Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —” “THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!” [...] “Let me out,” Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore’s. “Not until I have had my say,” said Dumbledore. [...] “It meant,” said Dumbledore, “that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.” Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him. His breathing seemed difficult again. “It means — me?” [...] “I am afraid,” said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, “that there is no doubt that it is you.”

(OotP, 823)

I just, found these two scenes awfully similar in tone when reading the one in Deathly Hallows last night.

In both Snape/Harry are in emotional turmoil after the most important person to them dies. Both feel like dying (Snape: "I wish I were dead", Hary: "then I don't want to be human"). Both shout at Dumbledore when he speaks all too calmly of things they don't want/need to hear at that moment.

And Dumbledore speaks calmly and coldly to both of them, revealing information he hid from them both (to Snape he tells about Voldemort's immortality, to Harry he tells about the Prophecy) before guilting them through their grief into what he needs them to do.

Now, I'm not exactly blaming him, because, from his position, he needs Snape as a spy and he needs Harry to be willing to do anything to kill Voldemort — to take Voldemort as his responsibility. Dumbledore needs these things to happen to have the best chance of completing his plan to defeat Voldemort.

I just, can't help but note how cold it is. How cold and manipulative Dumbledore can be when he feels he needs to be. Even as he explains his care for Harry as a flaw in his plan, he speaks calmly and simply. And he is right caring about Harry is a flaw, because he always planned for Harry to die. He knew since he saw the scar on Harry's forehead:

“I guessed, fifteen years ago,” said Dumbledore, “when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.”

(OotP, 826)

And even if I think Dumbledore is honest in that he'd rather Harry wouldn't die, I don't think he cares for him as much as he says he does. In the same way, he's very cold towards Snape even years later when he tells him Harry must die. (I don't think Snape and Dumbledore are actually friends)

Idk, I just read the scene in DH with Snape and it really reminded me of the scene with Harry at the end of OotP.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Short Frank Drabble

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank is a sweetheart when you aren’t feeling well.

warnings: swearing (I guess?), Frank being sweet, chronic pain mentions

a/n: my chronic pain has been so bothersome this week so I wrote this as catharsis. I hope you all like it!

w/c: 1.2k

Standing barefoot in the sun-streaked kitchen, you let the soft breeze waft over you as it drifted through the open window. The sounds of the city were carried to you atop the wisp of air–the beeps of early morning traffic, the distant sounds of machinery from the nearest construction site. Louder than the Manhattan ambiance, the pair of songbirds nesting on your balcony chirped and twittered. It was beautiful, serene.

Yet, from your place in front of the sink, your teeth ground together as you sluggishly scrubbed at the pan in your loose grip. Every joint in your body was pulsing with agony–a consequence of an injury you never incurred. This wasn’t a new experience. In fact, it was quite common, which was why you were frustratedly washing dishes until your painkillers kicked in.

You had tried to hold out, but after three irritating days and two sleepless nights courtesy of this renewed pain, you’d caved and thrown back a pair of ibuprofen on top of your prescription. There were a handful of reasons that could have contributed to a flare-up, but that didn’t bring you any consolation. Your flare-ups were usually short, and you tended to have a better handle on them than the ineptitude you’d displayed this week.

Sighing heavily, you narrowed your eyes at the charred mark on the frying pan you were holding, setting it atop the sink’s lip to apply more pressure. Vigorously scouring dishes was probably only going to make your existence less bearable, but sitting down and wallowing as your body ached ferociously wasn’t an activity you wanted to partake in. Well, not for the third time in 24 hours.

Finally making some headway on the patch of burnt material on the pan, your face was firmly twisted with a scowl when you heard the deadbolt unlatch. As the door creaked open, you listened to your partner’s heavy footfalls down the hallway towards you.

“You’re home early.” You forced out a huff of a laugh, strained smile across your lips.

Striding over to you, Frank’s broad shadow landed on the sink as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Squeezing you close, your back pressed flush against his chest, his chin tucking over your shoulder as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

“So? Last I checked, it ain’t a crime to run home to my girl.” He rasped deeply, tilting his forehead so it rested against your temple.

Shaking your head fondly, you leaned into Frank’s solid weight, allowing him to hold you upright. “You didn’t need to do that, Frank.”

“Who said I needed to? I wanted to, doll. Missed ya.” His voice quieted with the confession, your heart clenching with affection over his earnest tone.

“I missed you too. Always do.” You murmured, turning your face to kiss the bridge of his nose before turning back to the dishes.

“How long ya been outta bed, sweetheart?” Despite his best efforts, you spotted the concern bleeding into his words immediately.

Smile faltering, you gave a tiny shrug. “A bit. Wanted to get these done so I could cook something.”

“Shoulda told me you were hungry,” Frank frowned, stroking a thumb over your hip. “Woulda picked somethin’ up on my way back.”

“If I don’t cook the bacon in the fridge, I’ll forget about it again and it’ll go bad, so…” You trailed off, stifling a grimace at how weak the argument sounded.

Frank hummed softly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, thumb still tracing patterns into your soft skin. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and let me finish these, yah?”

Blowing air through your nose, you felt a small burst of annoyance in your chest. “I’m almost finished. It won’t take much longer.” Your voice was tight as you tried to keep your aggravation from coloring your words. It wasn’t Frank’s fault you were in a shitty mood. He was being sweet. But the suggestion still rubbed you the wrong way.

“Hey, look at me, dollface.” Using a strong finger to draw your chin upwards, he moved his hand to cradle your jaw when your eyes met his. “I’m not askin’ to take over because you’re takin’ too long. You shouldn’t be dealin’ with this crap if it ain’t gonna help ya feel better.”

Chewing at your bottom lip, you felt the telltale prickle in your throat and tear ducts. Shying away from Frank’s intense gaze, you buried your face in his firm chest. “I can do it.”

“I know ya can, darlin’. You’re the strongest girl I know. I just don’t want ya to hurt yourself over some stupid shit like the dishes.” Cupping the back of your head, Frank held you close, shielding you from the world.

Clamping your teeth onto your lip to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling, you didn’t respond. Frank’s jaw rubbed over your crown as he spoke again.

“Can’t feel good to be standin’ here, usin’ your hands, can it?” Lashes fluttering, you felt your cheeks grow damp as your emotions overwhelmed you.

“No.” You muttered, flexing your hands to lessen the throbbing of every joint within them.

“I ain’t gonna force ya to do anythin’, sweetheart. But these can wait until you’re feelin’ better.” Rocking you ever so slightly, Frank’s hands splayed over your back, rubbing gentle circles as he patiently waited for your decision.

“What about breakfast?” You pulled out of his embrace slightly to scrub at your face.

“I know I ain’t a genius, but I can cook a pan of bacon.” Frank chuckled, swiping a lingering tear from your chin.

“But you just got home,” You pouted, wrapping your arms around him again, nuzzling into his soft t-shirt.

“Exactly. I’m starvin’. Go sit down and I’ll make us some food.” With one final kiss to your forehead, Frank jerked a nod toward the living room. You didn’t protest when he withdrew his arms, stepping out of your embrace and towards the fridge, but you didn’t move either.

Raising an eyebrow at you, Frank cocked his head. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

Shaking your head fiercely, you dropped your gaze to your feet, bashfully shuffling in place. “No, just…”

“Just what, doll?”

You shrugged, insecurity churning within you. “You’re still in here.”

Smiling knowingly, Frank pulled the package of bacon and a carton of eggs from the ancient fridge, setting them next to the stove before holding up a finger. “Good point. Wait right there, sweetheart.”

Your eyes trailed after Frank as he paced towards your small dining room table. Lifting a single chair with ease, Frank carried it into the kitchen as if it was made of cardboard—setting it down to the right of the stove. “Better?”

Nodding sheepishly, you sank into the chair. “Thank you.”

Bending at the waist, Frank drew you into a kiss. “Always, sweet girl.”

Pulling your knees up onto the chair, you lay your chin atop them to watch Frank putter around the kitchen as he made breakfast. Though, this time, the smile on your face was genuine.