#what blooms after the storm

[leahfrog]

This is like, the first time in my life I had art done way before I wrote the chapter.

Growing Pains, Chapter 15 is up.

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (07)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content mature content, nsfw (nothing too explicit, it gets interrupted), suggestive, making out, pet names, unresolved tension, fluff, sexual jokes, desperate rafe (mhmmmm), brief mention of cocaine

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 06 ! 07 ¡ 08

↳ yourusername replied to your story: hey… that’s not very nice :( 

Rafe kissed you. 

It wasn’t a dream, nor was it accidental. Rafe Cameron, whom you marked off limits, kissed you, and hell, did you enjoy every second of it. 

From that moment on, every minute you spent within his presence felt like living on edge; sneaking behind your brother’s back to enjoy his company, aware of the consequences, and the heartbreak that would result out of the truth. 

Liking Rafe was like a calm after the storm, the moment your eyes land on him, time stops, and you forget all your worries. How were you supposed to resist him, when he’s your only escape from reality? The only person who’s ever made your heart rate increase in pace within a span of seconds. 

Getting a casual conversation out of a guy, without it oscillating to something sexual was difficult in this society, however, with Rafe, it was easy. His eyes bloomed with more than just lust, it made all your doubts about finding the one fade, and that alone, would have younger you screaming. 

Because what do you mean there’s a man out there that lines up with everything you’ve dreamed of and more, the puzzle you’ve been missing your whole life, merely for him to end up being your brother’s best friend, someone so forbidden, it burns when his touch lingers.

A bob formed in your throat, one hard to swallow down, that as much as it stings, you chose to bear it, even if it goes against the trust you formed with your brother. You told yourself it was okay, Ryan won’t overreact if he found out, right?

With a few touches, you managed to head downstairs, with everyone rushing you to come out, starting with Ryan, who somehow managed to call you fifteen times in the span of a minute. To your surprise, it wasn’t him driving, though, but Rafe? 

You slightly halted when he greeted you with a smile, one hidden from everyone else’s eyes. A pair of sunglasses hugged the bridge of his nose, covering the glint of cockiness swelling through his gaze. 

Reaching for the door handle, you quickly smiled at the sight of Sarah as she perked up from her seat once she seized sight of you. A grin formed on your lips, joining the girl’s side, completely forgetting yourself in her embrace, that Ryan’s scoldings barely registered in your system.

“Your brother is such a dick,” she joked, eyebrows furrowing with fake annoyance. “I couldn’t even properly get ready ‘cause of him.” 

“Me?” He gasped, irritated by the ‘false’ remark. “You’re the one busy eating your boyfriend’s face!” 

“Why am I getting involved?” John B chimed from Sarah’s side. “I was helping her out.” 

“Yeah?” Ryan muttered in a mocking tone, “How so?” 

“I do not want to know that.” Rafe clicked his teeth, dismissing Ryan’s question with his statement. 

“You shut the fuck up.” Ryan scoffed, a sour expression smeared over his face. “Lending JJ my car? God knows what will happen to it.” 

“JJ’s not a bad driver…” you trailed off, earning a dirty glare from your brother. “What?! Unless he’s drunk off his mind, then you’re good. He was always in charge of Twinkie.” 

“That horrendous Van?” Ryan asked, voice filled with disbelief. “My baby and that ugly thing are two different things, don’t you dare compare them.” 

“Alright man,” John B started, “At least it gets the job done.” 

“Why are you picking a fight with everyone?” Rafe chuckled, pulling out of the driveway. “Sit back and relax, don’t stress your pretty lil’ brain out.” 

“Gross.” Sarah muttered under her breath, nose scrunching with disgust. 

“Can I get aux?” You asked, earning Rafe’s attention as he seeked the chord plugged to the speakers, immediately offering it to you from over his shoulder when it was within his reach. “Thank you.” 

“Mhm.” He hummed, the grogginess in his tone rattling through your chest. 

“Why is she in control of aux?” Ryan perked up at the act, addressing Rafe with his question. “I thought we agreed I’d be in charge.” 

“That’s in bed, baby.” Rafe flashed him a tight-lipped smile, sparing him a glimpse for a second, before his attention was back on the road. His fingers found the curve of Ryan’s jaw, using the tip of the digits to scratch the latter’s chin. 

“Move!” He slapped Rafe’s hand away, lips jutting into a frown. “Why’s everyone ganging up on me today?” 

“‘Kay, stop acting like a bitch.” You started, further getting on your brother’s nerves. “Should’ve stayed home.” 

Rafe’s arm blocked Ryan from shooting off his seat, a glint of amusement smothering through his expression. If one could calm Ryan, it was definitely Rafe. Considering their differences, they get along quite well, perhaps why they’ve made it together far this long. 

The rest of the car ride filled with havoc, as both you and Sarah sang along to the lyrics, while John B sat back and watched, admiring his girlfriend with so much love, you were envious. Oh to openly stare and have it not be a problem; was that too much to ask for? 

A pit of jealousy laid low in your stomach, gaze shifting back to Rafe, whose eyes were glued to the road. Or so you thought, as his pupils caught you staring through the rearview mirror, not breaking the contact in hopes of you noticing him, even for a mere second. 

The action was cut short when Ryan took notice of the situation, eyebrows furrowing with puzzlement as he directed his attention to you in a swift movement. His face pressed to the leather seats, reaching over the dashboard, and flicking your arm with the intent of capturing your focus. 

“Where’s your wallet?” He asked, voice muffled due to the melody playing in the background. 

“My wallet?” You repeated, afraid you heard the phrase wrong. “Why do you need my wallet?” 

“I put my ID in there,” he explained, searching for the object with his gaze. “Figured you’d have it on you.” 

You rolled your eyes, patting around your seat, in an attempt to grab your wallet, instantly coming to a halt as realization washed over. “Wait.” 

“What?” Ryan mumbled. 

“Did I get my wallet?” You asked, the question mostly to yourself. “I think I forgot my wallet.” You stated, peeking down the seats, in case it fell by accident. “You idiot, this is all your fault!” 

“How is it my fault?!” He shot back, “Who forgets their wallet? That’s totally on you!” 

“Yeah, own one then come talk.” You stifled out a sarcastic laugh, crying out with frustration. “This is so annoying, can’t we go back?” 

“That’s a twenty minute drive from here.” Rafe answered, “I’d go back, but that would delay our plans.” 

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, rubbing soothing circles to the blade of your shoulder. “It’s fine, you can jus’ use my card, baby.” 

“It’s okay Sarah,” you groaned, falling back in your seat. “That’s not necessary.” 

“Oh come on, are you scared I’ll put you on a budget?” Sarah teased, attempting to ease your discomfort. “Don’t worry, I’ll sugar mama you.” 

A giggled escaped your throat at her words, mockingly sticking out your tongue when Ryan flipped you off. While Sarah strived to comfort you, worry yet washed over your expression, contemplating how you were going to spend the next few hours, with nothing but your phone on you. 

The passing few minutes felt like an eternity upon your arrival, quickly joined by your friends once Rafe was all parked. It was fun, despite your friends insisting they’d pay for you, you still refused, shaking your head anytime they offered to buy you something that caught your interest. 

Rafe noticed your shift in mood, cracking a joke every now and then, for a mere reaction out of you. And surprisingly, it worked, the latter managed to squeeze a giggle out of you, ridiculed by the horrible dad jokes he added in between conversations. 

“Is it hot?” Rafe questioned, eyebrows furrowing with concern at the droplets of sweat trickling down your neck. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, lips jutting with confusion. “It’s not bad.” 

“Yeah?” He teased, gaze flickering to your hand, as you patted your neck dry with the gesture. “Want something to drink?” 

“What? No.” You shook your head, admiring while your friends observed the handbags displayed on the counter. “I’m fine.” 

“Hey uh,” Rafe’s voice suddenly broke out, earning everyone’s attention in the process. “We’re grabbing drinks, do you guys want anything?

Your gaze fixed on Rafe with disbelief, taken aback when he tugged your wrist, nodding along to your friends’ requests. Ryan took in the scene with confusion, mind racing with all sorts of thoughts, over why he shouldn’t reach over and yank Rafe’s hold off, forcing the fact that he was his best friend, he wouldn’t do such a thing, and betray his trust. 

And if Rafe saw, he didn’t say a thing, choosing to not acknowledge it as he dragged you with him to the main lobby surrounded by different varieties of fast foods’ restaurants. Rafe let go of your hand, upon standing in line, with you already missing the warmness of his touch, breath hitching when he stood close enough for you to take a whiff of his musky cologne.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Rafe flashed the cashier a polite smile once it was your turn, eyes hovering over the menu displayed on the screens. “Can I get a uhh…” 

You took Rafe's side while he listed your friends’ orders, stiffening when he turned to face you, with the purpose of asking for what you wanted. “I’ll get a milkshake.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, observing the milkshake options on the menu. “What flavor would you like?” 

“Whatever that’s available.” You stammered, clearing your throat as your eyes flickered to where Rafe was looking, trailing off before you muttered your next sentence. “Chocolate’s fine.” 

“We’ll take one chocolate milkshake, then.” Rafe informed the cashier, flashing him a tight-lipped smile as he handed him his card. 

The cashier passed Rafe the receipt, politely asking you two to step to the side, while waiting for your order to finish. You obliged to the request, following in Rafe’s steps as he took a corner, snorting when he plopped his arm over the counter, for the mere purpose of supporting his weight. 

“What?” He chuckled, toying with the straws presented in the cup. “What’s so funny, Bug?” 

“Don’t call me that.” You jokingly huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Is this about your wallet?” He cooed, poking your side with one of the straws. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.” You repeated, denying the assumption, though the boy had you practically figured out. “You’re annoying.” 

“Yeah, and you’re grumpy.” He scrunched his nose, the gesture playful, teasing you in a way. “Whatever you want, buy it, I’ll pay for you.” 

“I spend a lot of money, Rafe.” You uttered, ridiculed by his words. “Sure you can handle it?” 

“Well,” he leaned down, voice dropping barely above a whisper. “Can you spend as much as I can earn?” 

That earned a scuff out of you, rolling your eyes as you lightly smacked his shoulder, the action rattling a chuckle out of Rafe. Your face flushed with heat , remaining silent to suppress your flustered state from taking over your expression. 

It didn’t take long before you were heading back, with the drinks ceased in your hold, as well as Rafe’s. Your friends were quick to help out, handing each person their order, while they offered you a smile of gratitude in return for your act of kindness. 

Conversation with Rafe flowed like water, lifting your spirits, and cracking a smile of you every time he’d lean down and whisper hushed words into your ears. The action was subtle, you were sure none of your friends picked up on the way you’d tense each time Rafe stood too close, or made his presence known, shamefully letting his gaze flicker to your parted lips while your brother stood a few inches away, unaware of the latter’s intentions, and the tension seeping through the thick air. 

Speaking of Ryan, the boy wandered off, leaving you and your friends behind, though that swiftly oscillated as each of you split into pairs, leaving you with Rafe, who did everything in his power to cut through the silence building up. 

You brushed off his statements with short sentences, your dry responses settling a pang of guilt through your chest, intents far from hurting the latter, only realizing the switch in Rafe’s mood after you glanced up, and noticed the look of disappointment smothered all over his face. 

Your attention fixed on the several fragrance bottles splayed on the shelf, misting the aroma over the paper samples to sniff each one. Rafe stood and watched, whirling your shake (God knows how that ended up in his hold) around with a lack of enthusiasm, failing to hide the fact that he wasn’t interested in what you were doing. 

One of the perfumes piqued your curiosity, spraying it on your wrist to take another whiff, the soft vanilla scent intoxicating your senses. You suddenly turned to face Rafe, a smile spreading across your lips when he halted, lips extending with confusion at your sudden burst of excitement. 

“What is it?” He mumbled, brows pinching in a knot. 

“This one smells so good,” You uttered, taking a step forward, then pausing to ask your next question. “Do you wanna smell?” 

“Sure.” He instantly straightened up, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Without thinking, you moved your arm ahead, offering the boy the patch of perfume sprayed on your hand, the action deemed innocent, catching Rafe off guard as he froze. He took a moment to process how close you were, now merely separated by your wrist as it blocked his vision from landing on your face, and hell, did you look pretty up close, though the majority of your features were covered.

Rafe hesitated, processing the risky ponders wandering through his head with haste, letting his impulsive thoughts take over as his fingers seized control of your wrist, inching it closer to his chin before he planted a gentle peck to the palm of your hand. 

His hold lingered around your wrist, his mouth burning hot over your flesh, and spiraling a rush of adrenaline through your veins. A shuddered sigh barely escaped your parted lips, fluttering your eyes up at the latter, your flustered expression not much of help; smearing a mischievous smile across his lips.

“What are you doing?’You stuttered through a breath, hastily retrieving your hand from Rafe’s hold.

“Smelling it,” he explained, acting as if the action was the most normalest thing ever. “You asked me to smell it, did you not?” 

“I did,” you shot back with frustration, pupils narrowing with the flutter of your chest, feeling your pulse quicken under Rafe’s gaze. “I said to smell it, not kiss it.”

“What’s wrong?” He chuckled, pointing his finger in your direction. “Are you shy?” 

“What?” Your face twisted with fake annoyance, glimpsing around before you lightly kicked his knee. “No, Rafe. What if someone saw you?” 

“I don’t care.” He stifled out a sarcastic laugh, amused by your reaction. 

“Yeah?” You forced your lips into a fake smile, ridiculed by Rafe’s lack of worry. “And how will you explain whatever that was to Ryan, Mr. I don’t care?” 

“He’ll understand.” Rafe mocked, grabbing the perfume you sprayed from the shelf. “How can I hold myself back, when you’re this beautiful, baby?”

There it was, baby. The pet name only made your heart race more, the sound so loud, you heard it echoing through your ears.

A hitched breath knocked out of your chest, taken aback by the sudden boldness seeping through Rafe’s tone, your shyness only encouraging him more. You cleared your throat, grabbing the drink from his hold before facing away, afraid you’d crumble if you stared any longer. 

“Shut up.” You dismissed, faking interest in the purses displayed on the shelf. “Don’t do that again.” 

“‘Won’t make any promises.” He clicked his teeth, grabbing a packaged perfume from next to the various ones on display. “Do you want to get it?” 

“No.” You shook your head, politely refusing with a glimpse over your shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“Alright,” he nodded, streaking past you, and heading straight towards the line. “We’re getting it.” 

“That’s not necessary, Rafe.” You muttered through gritted teeth, avoiding the weird looks you received when Rafe dodged your attempt at snatching the boxed fragrance. 

While you were stubborn, the latter was twice as stubborn as you were, insisting on buying it, despite you refusing. And true to his intentions, Rafe ends up purchasing the perfume for you, a defeated scoff exiting your throat when he flashed you a sheepish grin, proud of his accomplishment. 

A sigh of relief tumbled past your mouth when you spotted Cleo, along with Pope, taking the scene as an opportunity to escape Rafe’s side; though that wasn’t a choice, with the blond practically gluing to you, following in your steps like a lost  puppy. 

It didn’t take long for the rest to join in, deciding it was a good time to leave upon the stores closing, one followed by another. Ryan contently retrieved his keys from JJ, fetching Pope, Cleo, and JJ, while the rest of you stuck in a group, the ride back filling with chaos, as yet, another karaoke session broke out, excpet this time, it involved lots of heartbreaks. 

A new category. 

The majority of your evening was consumed by the ocean waves rocketing, while you and your friends messed around. You let your worries go for once, heart swelling with happiness, one you didn’t think could be ruined.

Things were perfect, as you reunited with your friends, got to spend your summer vacation with them, and you met Rafe. You haven’t been happier since, it terrified you, heart stinging with horror, because you refused to believe this wasn’t ending on a bad note, hence it was a little too perfect.

The night ended off quite earlier than you had expected, with your friends excusing themselves to bed after movie night. Rafe subtly sneaked a smile your way, mouthing ‘goodnight’ before disappearing off to his room. 

That being said, you strived to fall asleep, resetting your progress every time you’d accidently unlatched your eyes, a huff of frustration escaping your throat in the process. You were too overwhelmed to sleep, unable to suppress the foolish grin masking your lips as what happened earlier stumbles across your mind, the vivid image of Rafe’s expression creating a flustered mess out of you. 

You tried not to think about it, being as quiet as physically possible, to avoid stirring Kiara’s slumber, anything but wanting to disturb her sleep. A random video played on your phone, a mere background noise as your brain, yet wandered back to the situation, zoning out, and fully abandoning the device in your hold. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a ping, attention shifting back to the bright screen, almost gasping when you caught the contact of the sender. 

It was Rafe. (not one person is surprised)

rafe 👍: You awake?

Sent, 12:55 am

You: ?? hello

rafe 👍: Hi baby

Your face flushed with heat, unfamiliar with the latter constantly using pet names, the act surprising, never failing to make your heart flutter. 

You: why are you awake?

rafe 👍: Hmm

rafe 👍: Probably the same reason you are

A laugh stifled out of your throat at the message, hurrying to type back a response.

You: yeah 🤨

You: and what reason must that be

Rafe’s text bubble appeared and disappeared, fingers hesitatingly hovering over the screen, while you awaited the latter’s answer. 

rafe 👍: I 

rafe 👍: I can’t stop thinking about you

rafe: It’s driving me crazy

Oh. 

Oh. 

You: stop being an idiot

You: go to sleep its late

rafe 👍: I’m not fucking around

rafe 👍: Wanna see you so bad

Your eyes fluttered with utmost desire, digging your teeth through your bottom lip, merely to confirm this wasn't a dream. 

You: we’ll see eo tmr 

rafe 👍: You think

rafe 👍: I can wait til’ tomorrow? 

rafe 👍: I can't Yn

rafe 👍: Can I come to your room

You: Huh

You: what

You: for what?

rafe 👍: Js’ wanna see you baby

rafe 👍: Am I not allowed to do that?

You nervously gulped, well aware he wanted more than to just see you; both of you did. 

You: kies asleep

rafe 👍: Okay 

rafe 👍: I’ll be fast

The desperation in his tone squeezes a shy snort out of you, sitting up in bed as you typed out a reply. 

You: don’t come

You: stay in your room

rafe 👍:  What

rafe 👍: Why? 

You: i’ll

You: come to you

rafe 👍: Shit wait

rafe 👍: Are you serious?

rafe 👍: Don’t fuck with me 

You: is anyone by you

rafe 👍: NOo

rafe 👍: No one is by me

rafe 👍: I’m all alone

you: alr

you: im coming

You don’t know whether it was the sleep heaving your eyes, or the desire engulfing your insides,  however, you felt sure of your decision, leisurely pulling the covers off your figure, before you hastily made your way out, with the purpose of seeking Rafe. 

A knock is all it took, with the latter quickly unlatching the door, chest rising and falling with a breath once he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed down to your satin sleep set, perfectly adorning your figure, that holding himself back felt far out of the picture. 

“Hi.” You sheepishly greeted the latter, growing nervous under his gaze. At that, Rafe’s head shoots up, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat. 

“Hey,” he shot back, clutching the doorknob with force. “Come in.” 

You accepted the invitation, steps slow as you let yourself inside, observing the plain furniture, so boring,yet screaming Rafe’s name. “Your room is nice.” 

“Thanks.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head once he shut the door, eyes roaming everywhere but your face. 

He was starting to regret this, tempting himself when he knows he can’t handle another minute with you this far away, wanting nothing but to seize the distance, cross the now invisible line and fuck it. 

“You’re welcome.” You hummed, lips pursing into a thin line. 

Tension seeped through the air, heaving the atmosphere with lust, desire; all your wants and needs. 

“Why did you want to see me?” You abruptly asked, approaching the door once again, a few feet down from Rafe. A chuckle escaped your lips, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “In the middle of the night, too? You’re not slick, Cameron.”

Mhm, that made things even worse. 

“Do I need a reason to see you now?” He answered you with another question, casually, but deliberately approaching you. “You think I’m that bad?” 

“No.” You whispered, fingers clutching the fabric of your shorts, reminiscing over the memory of his lips colliding with yours after your back firmly pressed to the door, chest immediately swelling with Deja Vu. “It was a joke.” 

“Yeah?” He mumbled, voice dropping to match yours. “You think that night was a mistake?”

“What night?” You stiffened, prior to acknowledging his question, as you’ve done nothing but avoid it over the past few days. 

“The night I kissed you.” He further clarified, his figure swallowing yours as he hovered over you. “You regret it?” 

“Why are you bringing that up?” You nearly choked on your own spit at the confrontation, goosebumps breaking out across your arms when the tip of his fingers lightly traced over your forearm, the sensation like feathers to your flesh. 

“Don’t know,” he replies, vision going blurry. “Wanna know how you feel.” 

A shaky sigh managed its way past your lips, mouth gaping to speak, but instead met with utter silence in return. Rafe’s eyes glinted with keen, seeking an answer out of you; a response to all his problems and more. 

But nothing. 

“I’ll leave.” You started, words far from what you wanted. “It’s getting late.”

Rafe’s face fell at that, chest swelling with disappointment as he shifted to step back, giving you enough space to squeeze through. “Right, you should; ‘s totally my fault for keeping you up.” 

One word. That’s all you wanted to hear; don’t. 

However, you were both idiots, too afraid to express your feelings for each other, hesitating over the possibilities of what if’s.

So what if Ryan found out? 

You like Rafe, so much it stings knowing you can’t have him, your said brother being the reason he’s forbidden. He’s your blood, though, him of all people should know how much this means to you, hence he’s witnessed all your horrific experiences with dating. 

Telling Ryan wasn’t the problem, it was you all along; teetering to make the first move, let your impulsive thoughts win and claim him, move forward and crash your lips on his, it was all on you for putting other people’s priorities over yours. 

Putting yourself first spoke like no other, and that’s exactly what you did as you grabbed Rafe by the collar of his shirt, wasting no time before you collided his lips with yours. 

Rafe’s eyes widened with shock, arms awkwardly hanging to his sides as you captured his bottom lip in between your own, proceeding with the gesture when you angled your head to the side, intending to deepen the kiss. 

Rafe didn’t do anything though, he froze in his spot, not daring to move, even after you mustered up the courage to kiss him. Panic immediately washed over as you pulled away, mouth moving faster than your brain while muttering your next words. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You apologized, guilt evident in your expression. “I thought you wanted this– I didn’t mean to force anything on you, we can jus’ act like this never happened, I don’t m–”

Your rambling cut short, interrupted when Rafe sweeped you in an eager kiss, the action desperate, seeking closure through it. You contently kissed him back, yelping when his arm found the curve of your waist, applying enough pressure to seize control of your body. 

The latter almost stumbled over his own feet, nearly falling in the process of leading you to the bed. Rafe took action when he noticed your struggle to keep up, hands traveling to the back of your thighs, and before you knew it, the boy scooped you in a swift movement, your legs latching to his sides for support.

Your arms wrapped around Rafe’s neck, moaning as he nibbled the plump of your lip with the graze of his teeth, using your parted lips as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, letting the warmth of your spit coat his own. 

His tongue swirled over yours, managing to plop himself on the edge of the bed, all while squeezing and kneeding your ass, chasing after your pleasure with each time you squirmed in his hold. 

“Fuck,” rafe muffled in between kisses, “Taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” 

A moan rolls off your tongue at the praise, mind hazing with despair as Rafe’s hot breath fanned over your face, the warmth tickling your skin, and sending shivers down your spine. Rafe wasted no time, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the tip of his digits teasingly toying with it.

You whined into his mouth, protesting to the wait he’s putting you through, hips unintentionally rolling down over his crotch in the process, almost folding when you felt him twitch at the gesture. Rafe hissed at the contact, swiftly pressing your hips down in place, the hardon in his pants not being much of help. 

“Don’t fucking do that.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. “God, you’re killing me.” 

“Rafeee,” you cooed, throwing your head back with the intent of arching your back, panties now soaked with your juices. “Feels s’ good.” 

“You’re a mess.” Rafe teased, stifling out a laugh. He purposely halted, testing your limits, and how far you can go without crumbling in his hold. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?.” 

“Fucking do something.” Your nails dug to his shoulders with force, well aware your hold would bruise, already forming red marks with the touch. “Don’t jus’ tease me.” 

“You’re being a brat.” He chuckled with amusement, gaze landing on your cleavage, now half exposed from him groping the delicate flesh. “Thought you were a good girl, baby.” 

At that, your breath hitched, forehead leaning against Rafe’s when his fingers lightly traced over your breasts, the sensation like feathers to your skin. He licked a stripe of your tit, the warmth of his spit coating the outer shell of your boob. 

Rafe took your chest in his hold, action falling short as a knock suddenly erupted through the door, startling both of you out of your haze and despair. You instantly froze, pushing Rafe off to spare him a glance, almost as if to ask what the noise was. 

“Aye Rafe.” The familiar voice echoed through your ears, causing your heart to sink to the pit of your stomach. “Are you in there?” 

“That’s Ryan.” Rafe beat you to speaking, words stating the obvious. 

“No shit it’s Ryan.” You sarcastically whisper-yelled, “What is he doing here?” 

“I don’t know!” Rafe shrugged his shoulders. “I thought he was asleep.” 

Both of you turned with panic when the doorknob twisted back and fourth, indicating the latter was trying to open the door. “Aye come on, open up; I know you’re awake.” 

“Shit, we’re in trouble.” You nervously bit your lip, scrambling to get off his lap. Rafe fixed his shirt, adjusting his position to hide the hardon visible in his pants. “What do we do?” 

“Okay– shit, wait.” Rafe took a breath, observing the room with frustration. “I’ll hide in the closet, you open the door and shoo him away.” 

“It’s your room, dude.” Your face scrunched with disbelief, “I’m the one that should be hiding.” 

“No, yeah, right.” The latter nodded, pacing back and forth. “Where should you hide?” 

“Not the closet,” you shook your head, checking under the bed. “I’m claustrophobic.” 

“Under the bed?” Rafe suggested, eyeing the somewhat narrowed place, though it was slightly bigger than the said closet.

“Okay–” you winced as another thud erupted through the door, rushing to bend down, and slide under the bed. “Be fast, please.” 

Rafe nodded, flashing you a reassuring smile before fixing up the covers, vision now glistening with dimness. You perked up at the sound of the door creaking, groaning when Ryan’s footsteps practically shook the floor. He plopped himself on the bed, with Rafe hissing at the gesture, knowing your brother probably startled you with the action. 

And he did, but that wasn’t the point. 

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asked, sprawling himself next to Ryan. 

“I got some yayo,” Ryan whispered with a chuckle, probably already high by the tone of his voice. “Figured we could smoke it together.” 

“At one past midnight?” Rafe argued. 

“So what?” Ryan shrugged, ruffling his hand in the plastic bag he spread out on the bed. “You’re actin’ as if we’ve never done it before, this is not– wait, what?” 

Rafe paused before responding, face turning pale. “What?” 

“Is that Bug’s phone?” Ryan questioned, smile fading off his lips. “What is my sister’s phone doing in your room?”

Shit, your phone.

a/n all support is v much appreciated!! i honestly have no idea how i got this out bye literally stress wrote almost the whole thing and im surviving off three hours of sleep mind you for the past two days AND i also finished most of this on the plane so feel special... i cherish my plane rides but i put you guys first since ily 😣 that being said i spent the past like eight hours finishing it up HELP yeah sorry to disappoint mama tried her best 💔 nsfw part is not detailed on purpose i want to put my badussy for their first time yeah (it wont be explicit dw) 💪💪

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[earthtooz]

x : LUNCH BREAK :*+ﾟ

in which: you don't visit wriothesley during his lunch break after last night's argument, so he goes to the court of fontaine just to see you.

warnings: approx. 1.9k words, PURE FLUFF, gn!reader x pathetic and soppy and lovesick wriothesley, canon setting, reader works at the court of fontaine, post-argument so very minimal angst, probs not in character LOL

a/n: there's not a lot of content regarding fontaine or wriothesley rn so i apologise if this isn't completely in character. what i do not apologise for, however, is the urge to make him as lovesick as possible.

There is a notable tension in the Fortress of Meropide, and although a prison isn’t a place for rainbows and sunshine, today it feels especially devastating. It seems that the lord of the prison is the one responsible for it.

Brooding at his desk, Wriothesley glances occasionally at the clock on his desk, growing more and more impatient with each document he has to read through. He is waiting for something: a knock on his door. He is waiting for the call of his name, the reason for their interruption, then your name will reach his ears and an unmatched excitement will bloom in his chest. Then you’ll slip through the doors with lunch for two, he’ll pull out a chair for you right beside him, and mask professionalism that betrays the eagerness your presence always brings out. 

Your absence must be because of the argument that happened last night. One that remained unresolved because he went to bed before you, too furious to try to talk it out. Yet, when Wriothesley woke in the morning, a wave of guilt washed over him when you weren’t pressed against him like usual. Instead, you were on the other side of the mattress, further than an arm’s length away whilst turned away from him and Fontaine’s chilly mornings had never felt colder.

If he didn’t need to go to work much earlier than you, he would have waited until you had woken up to leave, but being the lord of the Fortress of Meropide meant that his presence was demanded. So, with a lingering kiss to your cheek and then your temple, he leaves into the dewy mornings of Fontaine, looking forward to his lunch break that the two of you often share together.

Except now, lunch is almost over and there hasn’t been a knock on his door. No one has called his name- not people he cared about, at least. You haven’t slipped through the heavy set of doors. You haven’t come down from the Court of Fontaine to visit him, and Wriothesley’s patience is thinning.

His fingers itch with the need to hold you, to tuck you close to his chest and just keep you there for a few moments as time pass by. Especially after last night, Wriothesley needs you now more than ever. 

By the time there’s only one hour left in the work day, he snaps. Stands up from his seat with an unmatched sense of fervour because of the unnervingly quiet day and snatches his coat from the hanger, leaving documents unread as he makes a beeline for the exit of the prison. The guards listen attentively to Wriothesley’s final commands for the day in his absence and once the information is cemented, the dark-haired is off without another second wasted.

You, on the other hand, sit in your office drowned in piles upon piles of papers. Wriothesley is a passing thought every now and then, the memories of last night’s harsh argument settling like weights in your stomach. You miss Wriothesley, very dearly, and all you want is to settle things with him. However, the image of his furious eyes and clenched jaw terrifies you beyond belief, you’re not even sure if he’ll be calmer by the time you get home, so for the first time ever, you dread the idea of going home. 

What you are completely unaware of, however, is your lover that is storming your way, desperate to receive the medicine that will cure his moodiness and irritation. 

The knock on your door distracts you from the piles of papers on your desk. 

“Who is it?” you call out, voice reverberating around the spaciousness of your office.

“It’s Wriothesley, can I come in?” His tone is sharp and leaves no room for you to reject him, but the mere sound of his voice causes you to stiffen, grip on your pen tightening as the papers before you lay forgotten. 

What is Wriothesley doing here? He normally never comes up to the Court of Fontaine just to see you because leaving the prison would be far too neglectful. There was also half an hour before he was done for the day, so could there be official business that needs to be discussed? Something urgent, perhaps? 

If it was urgent, then why come to you and not Monsieur Neuvillette- or even Lady Furina?

“Yeah- yes, you can come in,” you mutter.

When the door clicks open, Wriothesley practically barges through, door shutting behind him as he marches towards you. Getting up from your chair, you’re frightened with anticipation due to  how intense his stance is. 

“Is something the matter?” You begin, panic seeping into your voice as he pauses before you, determination setting his eyes ablaze as he eyes you down like prey. “Wriothesley, you’re scaring me, did something happen at the prison-”

“Where were you at lunch?” He demands.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you come visit?” 

“Is… is why you came up here? To ask why I didn’t visit you during lunch?”

He nods, expression stern as usual save for a small pout.

“I was swamped with work,” you half-lie, gesturing to the desk behind you and although there is clear evidence on your table through the form of stacked folders and paper, a storm of uncertainty brews in his blue eyes. “I couldn’t visit if I wanted to get these done, I apologise.”

The dark-haired frowns. “Is that it?”

“Yes. That’s all.” His eyebrows furrow, creating crease marks in his forehead that you want to kiss away, alleviating his worries, but you hold yourself back from doing so in fear that Wriothesley does not want you touching him. 

However, a switch is flicked when Wriothesley’s stern expression softens, melting into one resembling a kicked dog. “So you’re not upset with me?” 

“Oh, is that also on your mind?”

“Of course, I don’t like it when you’re upset with me,” your lover mutters, looking away bashfully to conceal the reddening of his cheeks. “You aren’t though, right?”

“No, not upset. Scared, maybe, but definitely not upset.” 

His eyes are glossy when he looks back at you. “Scared, why are you scared?” 

“W-we didn’t end on a good note last night,” you rub your wrist nervously. “I didn’t know if you would be happy with seeing me. On top of that, you can be really intimidating sometimes, so admittedly, I was a little scared to come see you just in case that you did not want me there.”

Wriothesley visually deflates with your last statement, shoulders dropping and eyes glistening as he murmurs a small, pathetic, “is that so?”

He wonders what part about him ever made it seem like he never wants you beside him, and the thought that he had frightened you enough to prevent you visiting him is an upsetting one. You must see it in his eyes with the way you frantically begin to explain yourself. 

“Oh no, darling, I didn’t mean it like that-”

He turns his head away again, disappointed in himself. It’s one thing for his prisoners to consider him intimidating but it’s another for you, his own lover, to think so as well, and the thought that he had scared you creates insurmountable shame to swell within him. Yet, his whirlwind of anxieties ceases when your hand goes to cup his cheek, gently prompting him to look at you. Then, a kiss is pressed to the corner of his lips, and his heart skips a beat at the sensation, love blocking his airways when you pull away to smile up at him. 

“As scary as you might be, oh great lord of the Fortress of Meropide, I also know you will never hurt me,” you reassure. “Rather, I feel safest when I’m around you, please never doubt that.”

Wriothesley sighs, hand snaking up to grip your waist and pull you closer to him. “Thank you, my love. But I beg, even if you assume I am upset with you, please keep visiting my office during lunch, it is the part of the day I look forward to most.”

“If that is your request then maybe you just need to be good and listen to me instead of arguing until your head pops off,” you tease, patting his face twice and he huffs before muttering an ‘understood’. Anything to see you. “Is there something else you need from my office?”

“No, just wanted to see you,” he looks at the brown paper bag in his hands. “I brought you lunch, just in case you didn’t eat.” 

“Wriothesley,” you melt, “how thoughtful of you. I’ll make sure to eat it when I finish reading those contracts.”

“You should eat now, though. Don’t drown yourself in work, it’s not healthy.”

“I wish it were that easy, but these piles were dumped on my desk this morning and were assigned to be done by the end of the week.”

The hand that was on your waist comes up to gently hover over your cheek and Wriothesley studies you, icy eyes hardening due to the fatigue present in your expression. You grab his wrist, trying to diverge his attention, but you should know better than assuming that your wellbeing isn’t of utmost importance to him. “Unacceptable, I should have a word with your supervisor-”

“-no, no, Wriothesley! I insist, this is manageable.”

He frowns, deep and serious before surrendering to your pleas. “Fine, but if it doesn’t get better by the end of the week, then I will be interfering.”

“If you do so, my supervisor will be too scared to come in for a month,” you squeeze his wrist and gently guide it away from your face, ignorant to how your neglect for your own health hurts Wriothesley as well. He knows you love your job, but he still thinks that you deserve to live life carefree, that you should get everything you want without ever lifting a finger. “It’s alright, dear, you mustn’t worry about me when your work is a thousand times more stressful.”

“Impossible.” He worries about you every second of the day. Telling Wriothesley to stop fretting over you would be like telling him to stop breathing. “Now eat.” 

You yelp when he pulls you towards your chair, sitting you down. From the paper bag, he takes out a sandwich, one that you recognise is from one of fontaine’s favourite cafés, and he carefully unwraps it before raising it to your mouth.

“Wriothesley… this is a little embarrassing,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He doesn’t say anything, just persistently stares at you, gaze intense enough for you to give in. As you lean in to take the first bite, you are bashfully looking away from your lover, who wears a pleased expression, satisfied with the fact that you’re letting him take care of you. 

The tension from last night’s dispute hasn’t completely melted away, there are still things that need to be discussed calmly, but as you keep trying to push his hand away and battle Wriothesley’s indestructible stubbornness, he knows it will work out in the end. You love him and he loves you, and if you ever forget to visit him during lunch break again, then he’ll have to tear himself away from the prison and come up, just to meet you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

They Didn't

Once there was a town far removed from the capitol. Its citizens lived according to the seasons and held that all things would fall as they should. So when the regime came under fire, they were not alarmed. They did not lock their doors nor did they send their strong ones to go fight. They knew there were good people out there who held their interests and fought for their country in their stead.

And, of course, they were right. The Monarch fell and a new Monarch bloomed in their place. Not a scrap of the war came to the town's doorstep. Of course their crops were less than they should be - seed trade had screeched to a halt two years ago - but they were alive and still citizens of their country which had always looked out for their interests before.

So when the new Monarch sent a representative to their village, they were curious. They had neither rebelled nor contributed. What could the Monarch have to say to them?

"Resources are scarce after two years of war," the representative said. "We have come to see what is needed."

The citizens nodded for this was to be expected. The war had hollowed out their winter stores and delayed major repairs to roads and roofs. They needed much.

They were glad for the representative's arrival, but there was much work to do. They set up their stalls for market and did not pay him much mind. There was not much fare to lay out on their tables. They spent their time arranging each vegetable to hide its bruising and to showcase the best side of handicrafts made with amateur hands.

"By show of hands," he said, "who needs new tools to work their fields?"

Such a silly question! The representative had to have seen their fields while riding into town. He knew the barren state of them.

(They did not see he rode in a covered carriage, so sick by the motion of the wheels that he could not open his eyes.)

Seeing no hands, the representative moved on. "Who needs grain to see them through winter?"

Again so silly! Their storage gaped open and empty at the other end of the square. Surely he knew they needed grain.

(The representative thought it charming to have an empty barn as a communal gathering place and made a note to bring the idea to his own hometown.)

"Very good," the representative praised. Not a single hand! He had been to 40 towns already. What a relief to have one not on the verge of collapse! "And your roads? Your bridge?"

At this, some of the villagers rolled their eyes. The last storm had wiped away their bridge. The representative had to take the long way to come into their town square because of it.

(The representative asked to take the long way into town as his report claimed the village had a rope bridge which would make him even more violently motion sick.)

"And shelter?" the representative asked, checking No on every box. He would have said they needed new roads, but what did he know? Not a single one raised their hand. They must be used to traversing such pitted and rutted roads. "Do you have adequate shelter for the long winter ahead?"

Villagers chuckled for they did not have adequate shelter now. The autumn leaves blew through their eaves and their thatched roofs were gray with age. They had no materials to repair them, nor talent. Did the representative not see that their carpenter's booth at the market sat empty?

(Next year, the representative will do a survey of the town himself. He will count the artisans and craftsmen for his census. He will sleep under their roof to judge their condition for himself. He will eat their food to judge its quality. This year...well. Too many needs in too many places.)

"Thank you for an easy visit," he said. He turned back to his carriage. "See you in the summer."

The villagers watched him go in shock. To think he would leave so quickly! Well, it was fine. He had seen their roads and roofs, their storage and fields, their empty market stalls and slim market fare. They didn't need to worry.

They didn't.

The representative hummed to himself as a distraction while the carriage dipped and rolled away from the town. He thought that it was very good that they needed no craftsmen or grain or tools. This village lay in a valley that would become impossible to traverse in the winter months. He would have to act very quickly if they needed help.

But good! They didn't.

[dolicekiss]

Silver Sobs

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Sister!reader

CONTENT WARNING: incestous relationships (obviously) noncon, dubious con (?), somnophilia, smut (18+, mdni), dark aemond, unprotected sex, breeding, nipple play, forced kissing, threats, coercion, praise, obsessed and sick aemond, display of possessiveness, hair pulling, biting.

SYNOPSIS: After the terrifying battle which took place at Rook’s Rest, Aemond’s lust for power had still not subsided despite burning his own brother, the king of Westeros. He arrives at King’s Landing with one thing in mind; to claim everything that belongs to his brother which included — you, his sweet dear sister. The Queen.

Restless and relentless, you paced around the floor of your chambers. Finger nails scratching the skin around them, drawing blood from beneath the stripped flesh.

War was blooming, like a dangerous grey cloud above your heads with the prominent promise of a storm. Panic was everywhere, as well as despair. Multiple soldiers had died, leaving behind their families to fend for themselves, the King had fallen.

And amongst all that, you could only possibly worry for the well being of your only child, Jaehaera. After what had befallen your innocent babe, you had completely disconnected from everything.

Under the name of war, you suffered. You witnessed the atrocities committed by Rhaenyra’s men and your mind had become a void — as you found yourself sinking deeper and deeper into it. Images and reality merging together. Both a foreign concept.

There was no one there for you.

Everyone enamoured with the idea of winning the war, playing their parts, desperate to stay alive. You were all but a pawn, a machine to produce heirs. You knew they didn't even consider you a proper Queen.

The smallfolk and even your own mother, Dowager Queen as well as your brother, Aemond.

Yet you did not care.

You wished to be left alone, pay no mind to such things. Break free from the uneasy restraints of danger and war. Form peace, relish in it. Is all you wanted.

You were not blessed with the courage to go pay your badly injured husband a visit, choosing to nip and scratch at your own skin was a much better and comforting option.

Losing your babe made you realize none of this was worth it. Not a single person in Westeros could end the brewing war and you'd left everyone to fend for themselves — just as they had abandoned you.

Darkness fell over Westeros and meanwhile your maidens were preparing you for bed, Aemond on the other hand battled obscene thoughts and needs at such a dark hour.

Aemond drowned himself in wine yet it had no affect on him. Instead he found himself wondering about staking a claim over everything that belonged to his brother. He got the throne, when he didn't even wish for it and he got you — the sister that Aemond himself wanted.

From when you both were only children, little kids, Aemond had thought of marrying his older sister. Only a year younger, he was. Hoping he'd be the one who's children you'd carry, watching your stomach swell up with his babes and be his wife but even that was snatched right away from him in the name of serving the realm.

His childhood snatched — face left deformed and disabled, a laughing stock that he'd become for his older brother. The drunken fool who had no right to even linger around such a prestigious throne, made only for strong willed men and warriors to take a seat on.

Aegon was no warrior.

He was foolish, an embarrassment and an utter disappointment.

Incapable of pronouncing a word properly in high valyrian.

And he surely did not deserve to have such a sweet little bird such as yourself by his side.

He finished his wine in one gulp and slammed the glass down, aggressively against the wooden table. Criston Cole was nowhere to be seen and Aemond made up his mind to ravage you, to claim you like he had already desired to from the beginning of time.

His steps were stable and strong, booming through the halls of the red keep. Each step only brought him closer to your chambers, driving himself quickly up the stairs which lead to your chambers.

He was relieved to find no guards guardian you and scoffed, realizing how little and less important you were to the Hightowers.

Aemond’s hands moved to push past the doors and there you were, sound asleep in your bed. Your daughter asleep in a cradle a little far away from your bed. He closed the heavy doors and sauntered towards the bed, standing at its foot.

He had consumed wine but he was not drunk at all. Matter of fact, Aemond was as sober as the day he was born.

Your silk robe concealed the plush of your creamy breasts as they rose up and down in soft little attempts to inhale air, one arm laid leisurely over your stomach while the other somewhere concealed within your silver, sparkling hair.

Aemond felt his cock harden in his leather slacks, his sword still attached to his hip. Reaching for it, he undid it and placed it over a table across and then moved his body to continue admiring your body, the vulnerability you showcased had him frozen on the spot.

The lecherous act he was heading to engage in would surely leave you in disarray too but Aemond was too far gone to even care anymore.

He'd arrived to claim what was rightfully his.

He walked to the side of the bed, hands reaching out to remove the blanket from your frail figure. Then his hands pried open the robe, revealing your kirtle. It scarcely did anything to veil your dignity and Aemond shuddered.

His hands, his war causing hands, sinful hands, moved covetously over your body. Fingers digging into your neckline to pull it down, watching with his one good eye as your breasts spilled out. The cold air forced your pebbles into peaks and Aemond nearly lost all restraint.

Large hand cupping your left breast, a callous thumb flicked your nipple and your already parted lips released a short lived gasp. He was pleased with the soft sound, as subtle as it was.

Aemond sat next to you on the empty space, slithering his tongue over his plump lips. Your breaths were soft, the only sound echoing in the expanse of your room, cutting through the silence like butter. His own breath hitched in his throat, upon witnessing the disarray you were in.

Hair like rippled waves of the narrow sea, body loose and comfortable. Aemond leaned in, shrinking the space between the two of you, to analyze your features. He'd never gotten the chance to do, you'd never allow him. You were anything but an immoral woman who'd give herself to him on a silver platter.

You were the Queen.

Aemond knew he'd be reprimanded for even being in your room, staring at you up close like this. He had unraveled you like some gift, like a present and he wished to do so much more.

Your beautifully long lashes coated the apples of your cheeks and Aemond, with a gloved hand, reached to swipe the thick strand of hair away from your cheek. Just by touching you, despite having leather separate his skin from becoming one with yours, he was already thanking the Gods for blessing him with you.

Aemond slowly slipped his gloves off, resting them on the table next to the bed. He fully slipped into bed next to you, face buried in the crook of your neck and bare hands slithering to fondle with your beautiful, plump breasts.

Soft flesh with hardened nipples.

A soft breath from his lips ghosted over your nape, his hips pushing into your hip in dire need for physical affection. Aemond had slept with whores, he'd fucked them but for the first time in his life he wanted to lay with a woman to satiate his hopelessness for affection.

Something he never received from his mother, Alicent and Rhaenyra always managed to overshadow him.

He let out a guttural moan, pushing his hips more into you and when you shifted in your sleep — back turned to him, Aemond fucking lost it. You had exposed your perfect curves to him, how your ass was shaped and how your side dipped in, giving you the shape of a goddess.

In your state of unconsciousness, you had presented yourself to him like a feast.

Aemond’s actions grew haste. Hands reaching from behind to grope your tits much more roughly, hips stuttering into you from behind and his cock leaked from the amount of pleasure the depravity of this endeavor brought him.

His breath grew quicker, heavier and your sleep was soon disturbed. As you fluttered your eyes opened, revealing the purple hues, your sleepy brain finally acknowledged your surroundings and the cold, callous hands fondling you from behind.

You gasped, giving away hint of your consciousness and before you could even scream, Aemond had already wrapped a palm over your mouth.

“Sh, sh. It's me, Aemond.” As if that would make things much better for you, but this revelation only worked to make things harder for you.

Your eyes widening in horror and when you tried to shift, a feeble attempt to slip out of his tight grasp, you realized the severity of the situation. Aemond’s hard manhood was pressed up right between your ass. Your brother's and it left you completely astonished. Your flight or fight response being triggered.

You tried to say something but only muffled words paired with broken sobs tore managed to make through the little space between Aemond’s slim fingers clasped tightly over your lips. Your vision blurred as you tried to focus on the cradle in which your daughter laid, asleep and in peace.

Aemond had glued himself to you. “I've missed you, dear sister. I miss our childhood, I miss what we had. Remnants of our childhood always haunts me.”

You almost felt bad. Guilt ridden because somewhere, deep down, you were aware of the feelings your brother harbored for you. The two of you would even go as far as behaving as you were already betrothed to each other when younglings.

You moved past it, accepted your loveless marriage with the care less drunken brother of yours. You succumbed to your targaryen traditions, roles and duties bestowed upon you by the Gods but it appeared that Aemond decided to fight that Gods.

He chose to go against destiny and the traditions.

“I will remove my hand and you shall keep your honor and dignity intact, Dear sister.” You nodded in desperation and Aemond with great reluctance peeled his hand off your face, causing you to inhale a sharp breath.

You registered the situation you were in. Breasts spilled out, hair pushed aside with Aemond buried in your nape. Seeking solace that he never found in his mother's embrace and you swallowed. Tears streamed down, soaking into the cushions.

“This is wrong.” You whispered, hoping that you don't awaken the dragon in him. “Immoral, Aemond. I am your sister, the Queen. I carried His Grace’s heirs. You cannot do this.”

Your tone was fearsome and Aemond’s irritation grew when you faced him with the facts. He knew about this already and he did not care, not in the slightest. His arm which had wrapped around your waist, tightened, a warning to tread carefully.

“His Grace is also your brother, our brother, so what is so immoral about us engaging in such..” Aemond couldn't call it debauchery, because he didn't see it exactly as that. He saw it as something more, something pure beyond anyone's understanding. “acts.”

You tried to shift, to face him and when you did, Aemond was already staring back at you, his patch still over his disabled eye.

Surely with more persuasion he would leave your chambers and you could pretend that none of this happened but unfortunately for you, there was no God, no sept or no traditions that could change his mind.

“Aemond, I'm his lady wife. I'm merely your sister. Please try to understan—”

Aemond nearly growled. “Do not remind me over and over again that he – a drunkard, an idiot – managed to put his heirs in you when you were supposed to carry mine! You were mine, do you hear me? It is about time I get what is rightfully mine, what was taken from me.”

Before you could say more, Aemond closed the space between you two and captured your lips in a rough kiss. One with which you could not keep up — small fists banging at his chest, in tethered hope that he might have a change of heart and dissipate from your presence.

Your husband was fighting for his life, meanwhile you were laying nearly bare in front of your brother.

You felt bile rise up in your throat but you had no other option than to swallow it back down as Aemond’s passionate lip lock grew more restless and haste. Using up all your strength in an endeavor to push him, yet there was no retribution. He carried on with his sick intentions.

His hands moved down to grab a handful of both your tits, his lips swallowing your little whines and pleas. His rutting which had stalled, continued again as he pushed his hardened cock into your mound.

“A-Aemond.. ” You tried to reason, still.

His hands worked their way around your breasts, flicking your hardened peaks repeatedly and your body twitched. You did not wish to accept it but this was the most pleasure you'd felt in your whole life.

Warming your husband’s bed was only to fulfill his desires, his needs and wants. You were solely a doll, a lifeless being who only existed for Aegon to have his pleasures with. You always wondered how your own mother could subject you to such cruelty, such monstrosity.

To lay awake at night and welcome your husband, whom you do not wish to even breath the same air as, with open arms.

Aemond’s potent tongue pried your lips open and you let it happen, not possessing any more of courage. His tongue danced with yours, a reminiscent of the dragons that danced above Rooks’s Rest. He panted like a wild beast, and you followed.

Dire need to consume you warred with his ache for you and Aemond soon tore away from you but continued flicking your swollen buds. He stared at you, eye dark and rapacious.

Your cheeks were flushed and the rays of moonlight illuminated the beads of sweat on your forehead. Aemond was lost in you, drunk off a single kiss and he simply could not wait to have more of you.

“You have grown into such a beautiful woman, Sister.” Aemond praised, pinching both your hardened pebbles simultaneously and you cried out a wail. “But before me I still see my older sister, nuha byka hunte.”

You flinched at the name.

He addressed you as his little bird in high valyrian when you were kids and then he stopped, after witnessing your wedding to his brother. In all honesty, you longed to be called that and Aemond had finally responded to that longing of yours, unknowingly.

Aemond’s hands fell, fingers tucking underneath the edge of your silk robe as he tugged at it. You didn't allow it — still fighting back as you stayed still. He didn't like that one bit. The Targaryen man pressed his forehead against yours, warm breath lingering like a looming threat.

“You will let it happen.” He commanded, rendering you speechless. Chills dancing across your frail frame at the sheer dominance in his voice. Just when did your little Aemond grow up into a masculine and domineering man?

You shook your head, staring at him with a plea. “Stop ‘tis for I am the Queen, I am your Queen and I demand you to stop.”

Aemond tugged at the dress, bunching it up past your thighs. “I wish you were my Queen but instead those fucking cunts had you warming up my brother’s bed like some common whore.”

The overwhelming urge to cry took over and you sobbed, banging your fists against Aemond’s chest. It didn't seem to affect him much but it did rile him up how you fought to accept him but most probably allowed his brother in — gave yourself up to him in the name of duty and sacrifice.

“I'm not a whore!” You wailed, punching him over and over again. To flee from the upcoming acceptance of your situation but Aemond reprimanded you. He forbade you and greeted you in the form of your queasy truth.

Aemond grabbed both your wrists, glaring at you. “Yet he treats you as one. You're even below that for him. I have seen him show kindness he's never shown you, to a fucking whore. Not the mother of his children, not his queen, but a whore for some coin.”

The reality Aemond was making you face was slowly poisoning you from the inside. You couldn't even hit him anymore as your wrists had been restrained. Your demeanor fell and Aemond took notice, his fingers unclasping from around your small wrists.

He saw how you cried.

Softly, each tear falling as your pale pillow awaited to absorb your pain.

“But I would treat you differently. If it had been me, I would have cherished you like the only woman in the seven kingdoms and beyond that.” He whispered to you with yearning obvious in his voice.

Aemond managed to slip the petticoat off your body and revealed you to him — in all your glory. Skin bare and glistening from sweat. Each curve delicious and crafted by the seven Gods themselves. You were the embodiment of pure targaryen beauty, some even going as far as claiming you to be the most beautiful targaryen woman.

You tried to reach for the blanket, to cover the shredded pieces of your dignity but Aemond hurried to refrain you from doing so.

He grabbed both your wrists, slamming your back down on the bed and pinning you against the mattress. His body hovering over yours, knee bent and settled between your thighs. Your chest heaved, and tits bounced from the force of harsh pants.

Aemond’s knee pried open your thighs rather forcefully, pressing his knee against your cunt. His vile action had earned a whimper of discomfort and embarrassment out of you, your whole being resenting the throbbing sensation spreading in your core as it flourished.

“Tonight I shall have you and cherish you like you deserve, like I should have.” Aemond whispered, tone grave. “If you choose to stay adamant and resilient, I cannot promise you humility, nuha byka hunte.”

Your lips formed into a pout, tear ducts sore from all the droplets you'd shed. “A-Aemond please, don't. If you do this, everything will change.”

Aemond scoffed at your naivety. “Everything has changed, Sister. Brother is injured, I'm prince regent and you're going to carry my children.”

You shook your head, pushing at his slim frame but that only resulted in Aemond’s hand drowning in your silver, pale locks. A malicious grip tugging at the roots, a fiery sensation blooming.

“They will be bastards.” A lone tear slid down.

Aemond’s lips broke in a sadistic smirk. “And? The pretender can have bastards, not even remotely close to her late husband’s features but I can't have bastards with you?”

He licked his lips, his pointy, sharp nose caressing against your own. “Our children will look like true born Targaryens. They will have our purple eyes and silver hair.”

There was no point.

You were defeated.

Aemond saw you accept defeat and he smiled in victory, his other letting go off your hair and moving to grab yours. He pulled it to the strings of his leather slacks and encouraged you to undo them.

You shook your head and that angered Aemond.

How adamant could you be?

“I will shove my cock into your cunt one way or another and I will make sure my seed takes root inside you.” The vulgarity of his words made you sob, your hands trembling as you began to undo his strings. Pulling each one from the knots and finally loosening the leather enough for him to slide out of it.

Aemond was pleased and soon, he was naked too.

Leather pieces thrown over to the side along with his eye patch too.

When your gaze captured the sparkling sapphire in the void of his left eye, you were left appalled.

He had never ever shown you what was behind that eye patch. Even after you begged him to, he grew cold and pushed you away but now you had begun to realize it was probably because of the announcement of your betrothal to Aegon.

His silky strands were in a tedious contrast to your wavy, thick ones.

Lingering eyes caught the awakened cock between his legs and horror flashed in your widened eyes. He was blessed by the Gods, that was for sure and no wonder your brother was this famous amongst the ladies. He had the equipment to satisfy them.

You gulped, nervousness donning your face.

“I slept with other woman so I could become better for you. Incompetence and lack of experience would surely ruin this time, don't you think so, sweet Sister?” Aemond spoke, as his hand dropped from your knee to your center.

You flinched every time he caressed your skin and your abdomen twitched with absolute need. You failed to fathom where all this rush and need was birthing from — how the disgust lingered but along it roamed a feeling of desire which had erupted in the form of essence from your hole.

Aemond ran his slim, tenacious fingers over the stripe of your cunt, gathering the arousal you produced. “Your little cunt is very wet, Sister. Disobedience, wails and pounding at my chest. Is this all merely an act, to veil your sickly desires beneath?”

Your breath broke and humiliation draped itself around you like an invisible blanket. Your small hand reached over to deliver a tight slap to your brother's face, but it barely caused an impact. All you left was a red hand print on his face.

Aemond looked at you, head tilted and fire born in his eye.

You had awakened the dragon.

“Your actions tell me you have no desire to be treated with respect. So be it then.”

Your low chances of rebuttal were revoked as he slid two fingers at once into your opening, going to the point until he was knuckles deep inside your squelching cunt. You sobbed hopelessly, hands trying to push at him but none of it worked.

Your resistance only boosted his ego, his god complex. He had all the power over you, despite you being the Queen. How fucking pathetic and cruel life had been to you but Aemond was here. He was here to save you, and in order to do that, he had to claim you first.

You pushed inside you, caressing your cervix and your gummy walls clasped around his fingers. Your nails dug into his shoulder to cause him pain but that was a failed attempt as Aemond’s cock hardened even more — if that were possible — when he felt the prickling feeling on his shoulder.

The pain inflicted only heightened his arousal.

“A-Aemond, please.” Your cries were the least bit of his concerns, as he curved his fingers up and managed to hit that sweet concealed spot of yours.

Your back arched, lifting up from the mattress, hands bunching up the sheets in them. Writhing your hips, Aemond used his other hand to strike you down — a stinging sensation blossoming on your thigh. You suckled on your lower lip, to stifle your sounds. Jaehaera waking up could possibly ruin everything.

“The Queen’s cunt is truly worth becoming a kingslayer for. Look at how tightly you squeeze around my fingers, Sister.” He whispered, staring at you. You caught the shimmering of the sapphire and sniffled, your cheeks and nose a crimson color.

Death was much better than this humiliation at the hands of your own brother — one you used to see as your protector when you were a little girl.

“H-Have shame. Your sister.” You managed to whimper out and Aemond groaned in annoyance, retrieving his fingers from your cunt.

Your hole gaped as you whined at the loss of contact. He laid next to you, flipping you so your back was facing him. Aemond kicked your thighs open with his shins and pressed his red leaking cock head over your clit, moving it in soft little circles. The burial of your face in your pillows made you realize just how unbearable all this was.

“Do not turn away from me.” Aemond’s voice had a plea in it. “You allowed Aegon in, why is it so difficult to allow me in? I promise you, nuha byka hunte. You will never feel shame again, you will never be embarrassed by your husband again.”

His promises almost worked.

You found yourself wondering whether this was so bad. You'd slept with Aegon, in a much more brutal way, worse than Aemond. Usually he'd ignore you and your pleasure in his drunken state, only chasing after his own. Aemond made you feel good.

He actually cared enough to bring you pleasure.

You nodded your head with a soft sob. You wished things were better, that your betrothed was Aemond, not the other brother but things never turned out the way you wanted them to.

Aemond aligned his cock with your hole and sunk into you, face hidden in your nape as his naked body sought comfort in your presence, basking in it. His chin resting on the small cup of your shoulder, breath caressing the skin of your neck.

He was almost like a babe.

“Aemond.” You called out, feeling bad for what he was put through as a child. For what he had turned out to be.

Having your own children made you realize how easy it was to provide them with affection, so it was difficult for you to fathom why your own mother failed to show you and your brothers affection.

Aemond melted at the way you softly called out his name and his cock had fully sheathed inside your cunt, thighs pressed up against your ass. You'd become one and he was going to have you for himself now.

“Yes, my sweet sister?”

“It feels weird.” You spoke truthfully as you had never ever lay with a man in such a close and intimate position. Aemond figured what you were hinting at and he smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to your nape.

He moved his hips, stuttering inside you, grinding into your ass. Your sounds nearly woke up your daughter if it wasn't for Aemond’s hands slithering from behind, one groping your tits while the other silencing you.

“Quiet now. You don't wish to wake up your daughter, do you now?” You shook your head as he slowly rutted his cock inside you, pushing it deeper into that weak spot of yours and muffled sounds escaped your sealed lips.

Tears fell, and so did your dignity as your brother fucked himself into you with newfound vigor meant to swallow you whole.

Aemond lost his demeanor, his usually calm and nonchalant demeanor. Transforming into the sadistic monster that he was. He pulled his hand back from your swollen breasts and brought it to your hair, pulling it up rather harshly to expose more of your sweet skin.

A perfect spot. A clean canvas for him to paint his bloody streaks across.

He parted his lips open, baring his teeth and sinking the sharp canines into your skin. Being punctured with such severity, even his hand could not prevent the piercing scream that tore through your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut as Aemond sunk his teeth. The searing pain of prickling bones a deadly contrast with the soft, sensual thrusts of his cock. A mess he had made you into and there was no escape from the lecherous bounds of your brother.

“I-It hurts. Aemond, it hurts!” You cried out, writhing against his body but his arm had locked you in place. Right against him.

The more you struggled, the more his long arm like a snake tightened around your stomach. He did not budge, not at all. Focused fully on the task at hand which was to leave a gut wrenching mark, as a testament to his claim over you.

When he was done suckling and drawing blood, he pulled back and hummed in satisfaction at the mark. A mix of reds, blues and purples. Such hues looked absolutely breathtaking on you. He pressed a soft kiss over the bruise, the two punctured hole and you shuddered.

Helplessness washed over you.

Your husband was hurt, in pain meanwhile you engaged in such debauchery with your brother.

Aemond snapped his hips, now ramming his cock into you. Pounding with potency and your body surged forward. He reached for your leg and pulled it up, holding it in air as he fucked you.

“P-Please. You're my broth–”

“Shut your damn hole.” Aemond snapped, patience wearing thin. “Keep saying I'm your brother but it only arouses me more.”

You gasped when you felt his cock head hit into that spongy bubble of sensitivity and Aemond scrunched his brows in over whelming pleasure. He had taken many maidens and whores but you were different – of course you were. A targaryen princess turned Queen, his own blood and flesh.

You ought to be different.

Aemond reveled in the feeling of your tight cunt pressing down on his cock, caressing every vein, soaking it in your juices. The sounds of his flesh colliding against yours enticed him in a way that he could not fathom. Like milk of the poppy, he wished to continue absorbing you.

His fingers rubbed your clit, the swollen bud twitching. All this pleasure, that you were so foreign to, it overwhelmed you. Thighs convulsing and abdomen building up knots, a warning of your upcoming orgasm.

“Brother, something’s happening. Aemond, please!” You wailed and he stared at your sweaty, flustered face.

Gods, had Aegon never once made you unravel?

How fucking pitiful.

Aemond grinned. “Yeah? You're going to make a mess, dear sister.”

Your stomach tightened and this unfamiliar feeling took over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and your hands shifted hastily to find something, anything to grab a hold of as your body transcended to another realm. One visible to those who indulged themselves im such debauchery.

Aemond hissed. The sheer tightness of your cunt made him feel like he'll snap in half, his own groans and moans loud enough to reverberate through your chambers. He still continued to thrust, earning your climax out of you.

When you were done, Aemond raised himself and pulled his cock out of you. Relief washed over you but how naive were you, to assume he'd get dressed and leave without chasing after his own pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open and you found him right between your legs, kneeled.

“Are you not done?” Your voice was weary, soft and tired. Aemond chuckled at your innocence, both hands pulling your thighs apart.

His one good eye stared at your cunt, pink flesh glistening from your creamy arousal. He felt the urge to lean in and lick along the swollen stripe of your pussy but the throbbing of his cock made him cave in. He slipped inside you again, pulling both your legs up and balancing them on his shoulders.

Your lips released a gasp.

Aemond’s bestial and rapacious thrusts made you cry, muffled wails breaking apart. He stared at you as the sapphire glinted, his cock driving itself with fervor into your cunt, enjoying your sweet vice like grip.

Your shaky hands reached for his face, to cup it and Aemond leaned in your touch. Affectionate it was, his lips parted as he let out a broken breath, similar to how he felt on the inside. A broken boy and you felt horrible, like it was all your fault to begin with.

He had turned into a monster and it was all your fault.

“Your eye,” you whispered, his snaps coming to a halt. “its beautiful. You look so beautiful, Aemond.”

He admired you before snapping out of the trance and pounding into you. Aemond’s cock found comfort in your tight cunt and his release had grown closer to. You cried out, vision completely blurry and lips swollen, covered in drool.

“My beautiful sister.” He growled, pressing his pelvis against yours. “I shall fill you up, give you a child of mine. Your stomach will swell with our child. Your beautiful breasts will once again pump milk, this time for our babe.”

His palm laid flat on your stomach and you shook your head. You didn't want him to give you a child, as it would end badly for the both of you yet Aemond did not bother himself with traditions. He nuzzled his cock into you and with a loud groan, shot ropes after ropes into your walls.

Tainting your gummy flesh white. You sobbed as you felt the warm fluid fill up your stomach, your whole body suffering from prominent convulsions. Aemond’s cock bulged against your taut stomach, a fine print visible to you both.

When Aemond was done with his release, he pulled out and dropped on the bed right besides you. Body numb and throat parched from all the sounds you'd made, your gaze lingered across the room to find your daughter sound asleep.

Thank the Gods.

You turned to Aemond and found him already staring at you. His arm wrapped around you, refraining you from moving away from him as he nuzzled his neck into your neck. Aemond sniffed your scent, closing his eyes and relishing the sweetness of it. God, you were a dream come true for him.

“I will get rid of him soon.” Aemond whispered, hair mixing in with yours. “And then I will have you as my wife. Our child shall be conceived within the bounds of our marriage.”

[flangore]

❥ scarlet plumes

feat.: Valentino/f!reader

warnings: nsfw content, noncon, physical + psychological abuse, unhealthy relationships, violence, drugging, rough sex, choking, punishments, manipulation, Valentino is his own warning

You were not the type to get into trouble.

Being confrontational, at least attempting to have things go your way through protests and complaints, had never seemed worth it; not when the one you were up against was Valentino, who always got what he wanted in the end, one way or another.

All too often, you had seen the way he punished disobedient whores; all too often, you had watched the way they were still limping days after, bruises blooming on skin if they had been lucky, bullet wounds trying to heal, oozing blood, if they had been less so.

There was no reason to willingly go through the struggle of disobeying when simply giving in, caving to Val's wishes and orders, was so much easier.

When Valentino told you to bend over, you did so readily, spreading your thighs apart in offering; when Valentino ordered you down onto your knees, you went obediently, lips dropping open, praying he wasn't in a bad mood, unpredictable as his sudden bursts of anger often made him.

You were not the type to get into trouble, and yet you currently found yourself on the floor, crumpled in front of Valentino's boots, cheek warm and stinging.

“Now, why don't you tell me what happened, baby?” His tone was a low coo, almost gentle enough to soothe your sobs. “You've never acted out like this before. What happened to my well-behaved girl, hm?”

In your defense, it really hadn't been your fault — you hadn't meant to do it.

Your night shift had been supposed to be a simple session for a well-known client, consisting of some lap dancing and a blow job; that was what he had paid for, at least. Your surprise when he had begun ripping your skimpy panties off you, forcing your legs apart, hands greedy, mouth drooling, high on some drug, was therefore understandable in your eyes; as was the way you, in your shock, had lashed out, claws scratching at his chest in order to push him off you. A split second later, the side of your face had ached with pain, his flat palm having met your cheek before he had stormed out of the room, screaming and spitting.

Valentino had been with you after barely any time at all.

“I didn't—”, you choked out, voice trembling, “I didn't mean to do it, sir, I swear, he just startled me, and, I mean, he didn't pay for more, he wanted to —, he wanted to—”

One hand of his cupped your cheek, golden claw gently tracing over your jaw. Even with him crouched down in front of you, he seemed ridiculously tall. “Hey—, relax, sweetheart.” At an exhale, red smoke coiled around you, assaulting your senses. Instinctively, your raised shoulders fell as tension bled from your muscles. “I get it. I understand.”

With how utterly merciless Valentino was known to be, it took a few moments for you to actually understand the meaning of his words. Even then, you barely dared to let go of the dreadful fear curled in your stomach. “You do?”

“Of course I do”, he said, eyes half-lidded behind heart-shaped glasses. His voice was soft enough to cause more tears, now of relief, to drip down your cheeks. “You know, I was really surprised when that patron came up to me, demanding to have you fired, if not killed for your disobedience. You're usually such an obedient girl — I was wondering what actually happened. Good job for being honest with me.”

Hope bloomed in your chest, your eyes widening. Streaks of mascara and eyeshadow, black and colourful, ran down your wet cheeks. “So you're not upset with me?”

“Upset with you? Of course not, amorcito. You were scared, that's alright. It happens, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitched in a stifled sob, lips, the gloss now smudged, curling up into a pitiful mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Thank you, Val.”

This could have gone much worse. Your hands were still shaking, anxiety thrumming underneath your skin, and yet Valentino didn't even seem particularly upset. Some higher being — whether that was Lucifer or God, you didn't really care — must have blessed you, somehow.

“Of course, baby.” The moment Valentino stood once more, he towered over you, his shadow swallowing you up. “Now, follow me, yeah?”

Your legs struggled to support your weight, knees feeling weak as you trailed behind him through corridors you didn't recognise. Your steps were unsure, the heels, ridiculously high, only adding to your troubles. You have half a mind to stop yourself from asking where you're going.

It's entirely unnecessary, either way.

You arrive but a moment later, the noise of a heavy door falling shut causing you to flinch; where Valentino was in front of you just a second ago, he was now behind you, a looming presence at your back.

It was a studio; not the fancy kind actual stars like Angel Dust filmed in, but a smaller one, the light bulb flickering, the sheets on the bed stained. Voxtech cameras were pointed at the mattress.

“Val—?”

“Bend over, baby.”

“You said you're not angry with me.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without your permission, a panicked high-pitched tone. “You said you're not—”

“And I'm not, as long as you hurry the fuck up and do what I tell you to.” His voice was sharp. Instinctively, you obeyed, bending over the edge of the bed, nausea churning in your stomach. “See, that guy you were a bitch to was a regular. Good money. I gotta show him you're sorry, sweetheart. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, you didn't get a word out, throat tight as tears spilled past your lashes. Eventually, you managed a shaky; “Yes, Valentino.”

“There we go. Knew you'd get why I have to do this.”

Large hands settled on your thighs, the touch making you flinch; his claws, all too sharp, teased at your skin, leaving faint scratch marks, before they prodded at your folds.

This, by now, should have been routine. It was; and yet, the idea of this being a punishment had you tensing, muscles locking up while Valentino thrust one claw into you, only to grunt, irritated.

“Ungrateful bitch”, he spat, one hand settling on your lower back, pinning you to the bed while another fumbled with his belt, metal clinking. “That's what I get for tryin' to be nice and preparing you — tightest cunt I've ever seen. Loosen the fuck up or deal with it.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice shook, though the threat of violence, of pain, didn't help with relaxing in the slightest. Instead, you instinctively clenched around the digit, only to whimper when he yanked it back out.

“Sure doesn't seem like it.”

The fat head of his cock, pierced, the metal cold, pressed against you, then pushed inside; you were unable to stop yourself from letting out a pitiful noise, sounding more like a wounded animal than a practiced porn star.

Valentino didn't seem to mind it one bit.

Your vision blackened out for a moment when he bottomed out inside of you, the pain agonising. For a moment, you were certain he was tearing you from the inside out. His hips slapped against your plush ones, building up a steady rhythm; one set of his hands grabbed onto your hips, claws digging into your skin, using his grip for leverage to pull you back against him

“Some wetness would help us out here, y'know”, Valentino mumbled, complaining, bitching, like this was your fault. It probably was.

The only response you were able to come up with was a choked out sob, a dull ache steadily present in your abdomen, only interrupted by sharp stabbing pain whenever Valentino's tip hit an impossibly deep spot inside of you.

This couldn't have possibly gotten worse — or so you thought, tears dripping down your face, your claws ripping the sheets as you scrambled for purchase, only for it to get so much more agonising when, all of a sudden, his hand closed around your throat, squeezing.

You weren't able to breathe.

Instinctively, you clenched around him, thighs shaking. If he wasn't still holding you up, you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, you're so damn tight.” Valentino groaned, low and raspy. His tongue lapped at your neck, leaving trails of pink saliva to drip down your shoulders, your chest. “We could've had such a pleasant time together, baby, if only you hadn't been such a disobedient slut. Hate that you're making me do this.”

His pace was unforgiving, the metal of his belt buckle hitting your hip with every other thrust, surely leaving bruises. Not that it mattered — Valentino did provide you with full coverage makeup, after all.

Out of the corner of your eye, you focused on the red dots of the many cameras, blinking, recording. By now, numbness spread through you, a small blessing. You weren't certain just how long it went on; only that, eventually, Valentino came with a groan, filling you up, making you whimper.

When his grip on your throat loosened for a split second, allowing you to suck a burning breath into your lungs, it felt like Heaven.

“Use your words, baby. Talk to me.”

“Val, 'm sorry—”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, the words barely audible through sobs, “I'm sorry, Val, I'm sorry—”

Suddenly, his hand, still on your throat, yanked your head up, his lips clashing against yours; the very moment you opened your mouth, pliant with submission, with exhaustion, smoke flooded it, you choking on it.

Your mind felt muddled, mouth dry even as saliva trickled out of your lips, jaw slack.

Faintly, you were able to feel his cum drip out of your cunt and down your thighs, sticky.

“Now”, Valentino said, voice a sultry purr, “Why don't you wait here, I'll send you your client and you apologise properly to him?”

Mind filled with scarlet plumes, you barely knew what you were agreeing to, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, Valentino.”

“That's what I like to hear. Good girl.”

When multiple pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, you, even in your hazy state, had the bad feeling that you were going to be having a long night.

i won't lie i didn't proofread this yet.. tomorrow... ALSO FIRST POST YIPPEEE

[bklynsboys]

Rest On Me (And I'll Lean On You)

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: what surprised the unit chief was that your head, as if drawn by an invisible string, had laid rest on spencer's shoulder—a stray strand of hair tickling his cheek. and not only that, spencer didn't seem to mind, not one bit. or, you fall asleep on spencer's shoulder and the rest of the team sees.

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: back with another spencer fluff! i miss seeing my baby on my screen. i had to rewatch old episodes right after seeing the new ones because i miss him so bad. anyhow, enjoy reading this one.

RAIN LASHED AGAINST THE WINDSHIELD, BLURRING THE NEON GLOW OF THE CITY LIGHTS INTO A SMEAR. Inside the car, the air was filled with the silence of exhaustion. The BAU just narrowly captured another unsub—fortunately, just in time to save the most recent victim. Hotch, who was driving, glued his eyes to the rearview mirror. He had caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding behind him.

Spencer, usually busy poring through whatever piece of literature on his legs, was nestled into the corner, his head resting against the cool glass of the window. While, you, the newest member of the team, sat beside the male, curled up in the backseat, and brow furrowed in light sleep. Hotch recalled earlier how you were fighting back a yawn and wasn't surprised that he had found you passed out cold.

What surprised the unit chief was that your head, as if drawn by an invisible string, had laid rest on Spencer's shoulder—a stray strand of hair tickling his cheek. And not only that, Spencer didn't seem to mind, not one bit. In fact, a faint blush had dusted his cheeks, and his own eyes, momentarily fluttering open, held a hint of something akin to fondness.

Hotch watched, a small smile tugging at his lips. You and Spencer had been partnered for a particularly grueling case—a string of arsons with a unique signature. The long hours and emotional toll had clearly taken their toll.

Yet, even in exhaustion, an intimacy has bloomed between the both of you. Spencer, ever the gentleman, hadn't moved a muscle, seemingly content to act as a human pillow. On your part, like magnets, you had unconsciously gravitated towards his warmth, your breathing slowing into a peaceful rhythm.

Beside Hotch, a knowing grin spread across Morgan's face in the passenger seat. He glanced back at you and Spencer through the rearview mirror, catching the tender scene. He stifled a chuckle, it was endearing to see the boy genius to be intimate with someone, knowing that he wasn't known to be keen on physical affection.

With a playful nudge to Hotch's arm, Morgan kept his voice low. "Looks like someone found a comfy pillow, Hotch."

Hotch chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving the rearview mirror. "Seems so, Derek. Seems so."

But Morgan, ever the tease, couldn't resist adding another jab. "Just don't drool on him, kid," he called back in a mock-serious tone, knowing full well you were fast asleep.

Hotch shot him a withering look, but a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. He knew Morgan wouldn't disturb the peaceful tableau unfolding in the back. They all needed a moment of rest, a stolen fraction of comfort in the storm.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain. It was then, with a slight bump in the road, that the car dipped, causing Spencer to jostle ever so slightly. His head, as if following the car's movement, dipped as well, and his hair brushed against yours in a soft, unexpected touch.

You stirred in your sleep, a frown momentarily creasing your brow before smoothing out again. Spencer, wide awake now with a jolt of surprised awareness, froze. His hand instinctively reached up to brush the stray strand of hair back from his own face, but his fingers lingered in the air, hovering just above your head.

Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized the intimate position you had found yourselves in. He wanted to apologize, to gently move away, but a strange sense of peace settled over him. You looked so peaceful, nestled against the cool leather, and your brow finally relaxed. The exhaustion of the case seemed etched on your face, a shared burden they both carried.

With a silent sigh, Spencer decided against disturbing your slumber. He leaned his head back against the window, his gaze fixed on the blurry cityscape outside.

The car continued its journey through the city, the gentle sway a lullaby against the harsh symphony of the storm. You drifted deeper into sleep, the weight of Spencer's head on yours a grounding anchor.

As dawn painted the horizon with streaks of pink and orange, the rain finally subsided. Hotch, ever vigilant, announced they were nearing the precinct. Morgan, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, nudged Hotch again. "Think they'll wake up before we get there?" he whispered.

Hotch chuckled. "Knowing them, they'll probably jolt awake the second we stop. But for now, let them sleep."

The car pulled into the familiar parking lot of the BAU headquarters. Hotch gently nudged the brakes, careful not to disturb the peaceful scene in the back.

A trace of sunlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the interior of the car. It danced across your face, warming your cheek and causing your eyelids to flutter open. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the events of the previous night flooded back.

A blush crept up your neck as you realized your head was resting on Spencer's shoulder. You were about to mumble an apology when you noticed his head turned towards the window, a thoughtful expression etched on his face.

Gathering your courage, you cleared your throat softly. "Spencer?"

He turned his head slightly, a surprised look flickering across his features before a gentle smile softened his expression. "Good morning."

You felt a tug in your chest, a mixture of awkwardness and something else, something warmer and more exhilarating. The sound of the car door opening startled both of you. Spencer's eyes flew open, a look of surprise mirroring yours.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You felt a renewed warmth bloom in your cheeks. "I… I think so," you stammered, suddenly self-conscious. "How about you?"

Before you got the chance to hear what Spencer had to say, Morgan's voice boomed from behind you. "Well, well, well. Looks like someone slept well."

You scrambled to sit up straight, your face burning. Spencer mirrored your movement, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Uh, good morning, Morgan," you stammered.

"Morning, kids," Morgan chuckled. "Hotch is grabbing coffee. You two coming in, or are you planning on catching some more shut-eye in the parking lot?"

You stole a glance at Spencer, who was gathering his things with a focus that seemed almost deliberate. The memory of his hair brushing against yours sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure if it was the exhaustion of the case or something else entirely, but the shared touch felt undeniably intimate.

"We're coming, Morgan," you called out, your voice a little shaky.

As you were about to exit the car, Spencer held the door for you with a shy smile. "Thanks for letting me, uh, borrow your shoulder," he mumbled, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink.

"No worries, Spencer," you replied, forcing a casual tone. "We both needed the rest. And thank you, as well. I used your shoulder first, so I guess it's only fair I let you borrow mine."

Spencer chuckled at this which caused your cheeks to pinken.

"About earlier," Spencer started. "When you asked me how I'm doing? Much better than I expected, considering the circumstances," he admitted with a hint of a chuckle.

The air crackled with unspoken words, a tension that felt both electric and strangely comfortable. You stole a glance at his profile, the way the soft morning light highlighted the planes of his face.

"That's good," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "We should probably get going."

Spencer seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Right. We have forms to fill up."

Before you could unbuckle your seatbelt, Spencer beat you to it—his hand brushed against yours for a fleeting moment. It sent a jolt through you, a silent echo of the intimacy from the night before.

Stepping out of the car, you took a deep breath of crisp morning air. The city stretched out before you bathed in the golden hues of sunrise.

"Ready to face another day?" Morgan uttered loudly ahead of you, his voice laced with amusement.

You turned to face him, sighing at his teasing. You weren't oblivious to the fact that Morgan liked seeing you and Spencer together. "As ready as I'll ever be, Morgan."

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: When the Hour Strikes

(Your doom is drawing nearer and nearer, and now you see the signs that will lead to it)

poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader, time loop

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two

Chaos eventually bloomed like rot within the castle walls, just as you’d expected. It began as whispers- always, in every life. Soft, serpentine murmurs slipping through the cracks of stone and shadow- but they spread quickly, clawing their way into the hearts of servants and courtiers alike. The air grew heavy with suspicion, thick as the scent of burning wax and spilled ink.

You felt it before you heard it.

A shift in the way the guards tightened their grips on their spears, in the way your maids avoided your gaze as they fastened your corset too tightly, fingers trembling against your spine. The silence when you entered a room was not the silence of reverence but the hush of fear- of vultures circling, their wings brushing against the walls.

You knew this song. Far too well.

The opening notes were always the same, a familiar melody of betrayal and inevitability, and like every time… the chords struck ominously. Sharp. Harsh. As if the unseen hand twisting the strings were far bolder.

And then the letters came.

Three sealed envelopes left abandoned in the corridors- no names, no crests, just ink blotted into thin, cheap parchment. The first was delivered to the head steward, its contents enough to send the kitchens into disarray as accusations flew. Poisoned wine. A plot to kill the king. Fingers pointed, but no evidence surfaced beyond the words themselves.

The food you were served was always cold and on occasions, spoiled.

The second letter found its way to your father’s study. You hadn’t been there when he read it, but the rage in his voice cracked through the halls like thunder. Words like “treason” and “execution” followed you even after the doors slammed shut.

The third appeared in your chambers. Unmarked. Unsigned.

But unmistakably meant for you.

You turned the paper over in your hands as the candlelight flickered against the script. It bore no threats- only a single sentence, written in a trembling hand:

Trust no one.

You burned it before the wax dripped too far. It didn’t warm the cold ache that burrowed itself in the tendons of your neck.

Of course, your “protectors” had to be aware of everything- maybe they even knew better than you of what rumors were spreading about you, and just as they’d done in most of your latest lives, they try to help:

Soap was the first to storm into yours room, expression thunderous, brows furrowed and his voice tight in his anger.

“Ye need to tell me if ye’ve seen anyone suspicious,” he said, pacing like a caged animal. It was nice to see that you weren’t the only one to feel like that “Anyone lurking where they shouldn’t be. Even if it’s one of the servants.”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Suspicious? In this place, everything was suspicious. Every glance, every word spoken behind closed doors, every breath held too long. No one could be trusted, not really. Everyone and everything was another knot on the noose to go around your neck.

But you bit your tongue, folding your arms against the cold that crept through the stones. “You think it’s one of them?”

He stopped, turning to face you. “I think it’s someone close. Someone who knows enough about ye to make this believable.”

The implication lingered between you, unspoken but heavy.

Soap didn’t say it, but you saw it in the way his eyes flickered to the ashes in the hearth where the letter had burned, in the way his hand hovered near the hilt of his dagger.

“It’s not me.” You sighed.

“I ken, lass.” He said it too quickly, like he was reassuring himself more than you. Then he ran a hand through his shabby hair, exhaling sharply. “But someone wants it to look like it is.”

You scoffed, turning away from him at last. If your hands were shaking, he said nothing of them. “You and I both know someone could come, admit to spreading rumors, and my father would still believe I am to blame. Let it go, Johnny.”

“Lass…”

You had no reply for him. Why would you? You had given up. All you had left was just attempt to ease the fear that constantly plagued you like a swarm of flies.

Ghost was next. He came with shadows clinging to his heels, his presence a weight that settled over the room like the storm clouds of cold winters.

“Who gave you the letter?”

You stared at him, fingers curling into your skirts. They were rumpled, not fully cleaned, but you cared not. Bit by bit, you were nearing the striking hour and everyone around you was a constant reminder of the ticking seconds. “No one. It was already here when I came back.”

Ghost said nothing, the mask leaving him as unreadable as always, but his silence was suffocating.

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“No.” A grunt. A pause. “But I think someone’s lying to you.”

His words burrowed under your skin, sharp and invasive. You didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to acknowledge the seed of doubt taking root in your chest.

But it was there. Growing and spreading its invasive roots.

Ghost lingered even after the questions stopped, his eyes never leaving you, as if he thought you might disappear if he looked away for one second. You should have found it unnerving, but instead, it felt like armor- thin and brittle, but armor nonetheless.

After him, Gaz found you in the gardens, the dying roses from before now nothing more than brittle stems and scattered petals. He didn’t speak at first, didn’t press, just sat beside you.

And for once, you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. Your tongue stopped being a weapon several lifetimes ago; you’d rather have it still in your mouth when you were executed, rather than brutally ripped off for “spreading filthy lies” against your beloved father.

It was Gaz who broke it, eventually. “… We’ll figure it out. We are all searching leads, you know.”

You turned to look at him, searching for something- reassurance, perhaps, or conviction- but found only quiet determination. You wished you could bathe in such an emotion, but…

“Even if it’s too late?” you asked softly.

“It won’t be.”

The certainty in his voice twisted something inside you, fragile and aching. You didn’t want to believe him..

Couldn’t allow yourself such a hope, after all the lives you’d been robbed of. You knew they didn’t like this attitude of yours, found it strange; how certain you were of your early demise.

Price, on the other hand, was a pillar- unshakable and steady in a way that felt rare amidst all the chaos unfolding around you. While the others hunted for answers, sharp and swift, Price moved differently. Slower. More deliberate.

Ghost had told you Price had always been like that; a born, patient hunter. He never rushed, never panicked. Instead, he listened. Observed. Held the room together with nothing but the weight of his presence.

“There’s more to this than letters and rumors.” He said one evening, his voice low as he studied the map of the palace spread between you. Distantly, you noted that his writing was not the same as the one on the letter. “Whoever’s behind this knows what they’re doing.”

You swallowed, the words curling tight in your chest. It made it hard to speak, to think, but you didn’t allow yourself to drown just yet. “Do you think it’ll matter?”

His eyes met yours then- calm and steady. Grounding.

“It matters,” he said quietly. “All of it does, princess. Your insistence on dying so soon is almost making me uncomfortable.”

You ignored his second service; no one would truly understand. It wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting, but it was one you found yourself holding onto anyway.

Because as the days stretched and the shadows pressed closer, Price didn’t falter. He never looked at you the way others did. Never let the whispers of treason or guilt change the way he stood beside you.

When the tension twisted sharp and the weight of it all threatened to drag you under, he didn’t flinch.

He stayed.

And it wasn’t in words or reassurances- it was in the small, steady things. The way he made sure you ate, quietly setting a plate down beside you when your hands were too unsteady to hold a fork. The way he noticed when the walls felt too close, wordlessly leading you outside to breathe.

He was a tether when everything else threatened to break apart.

You never questioned it- never questioned him. Had no energy to do, so why would you question one of the few who didn’t look at you like you were a speck of sticky dirt under their shoes?

Because Price wasn’t like the others. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He didn’t fill the silence with pretty words.

He simply stayed.

And even when you felt like the world was caving in, that was enough.

By the end of the week, the castle was a hornet’s nest of accusations and fear. The kitchens were searched. The servants were questioned. Even the guards began turning on each other. The hour of the accusations had struck, and now the hour of your execution was nearing.

You were tired- bone-deep, soul-deep. The kind of exhaustion that even sleep couldn’t ease. Not that you slept much these days. The nightmares saw to that, clawing at the edges of your mind until the walls between dream and waking began to blur.

You stared too long into the mirrors, searching for someone you might still recognize and finding only the hollow reflection of a girl who had died too many times to keep pretending she was still whole.

I can’t keep doing this.

I am going to die again. And again. And again.

If anyone- if they- heard you pacing your rooms like a restless animal, no one came in to check you. If they heard your sobs, they knew no comfort offered would soothe you.

One night, after your father visited, after he made you kneel and kiss his feet and swear that you were not attempting to overthrow him, you broke.

Loud, pained, terrified sobs tore through your chest, raw and unrelenting. You pressed your hands to your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds, but it did little to silence the grief clawing its way out of you.

Your knees buckled beneath the weight of it, and you crumpled to the floor, trembling as the cold seeped into your skin. The walls of your chambers felt smaller, closer, as though they were closing in, suffocating you.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there- folded in on yourself, shivering and broken. Minutes? Hours? Time had lost its meaning, stretching endlessly as your thoughts spiraled.

The door creaked.

You flinched, your breath hitching as shadows shifted across the floor. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t.

Not until a warm, heavy cloak was draped over your shoulders.

Price knelt beside you, silent as he settled onto the floor. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to pull words from you. He only sat, solid and steady, his presence filling the room like the glow of dying embers- quiet, but enduring.

And for the first time that night, the sobs began to slow.

[catchastarorten]

—Babysit.

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: your sister and her husband wanted a romantic night out, so they left their baby girl for you and Dae-ho to babysit.

Content: fluff, your niece is a sweetheart, comfort, cuddles, he would be such a good dad, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 0.9k

You hadn’t planned on spending the evening babysitting, but when your sister called, practically glowing through the phone about her “much-needed” romantic night out, you couldn’t say no. She sounded so happy, and besides, it wasn’t like you and Dae-ho had anything else to do.

Now, here you were, standing in the middle of your small but cozy apartment, watching your niece barely wobbling on her feet, a ball of curiosity.

She explored every inch of your apartment, cooing at the strangest things—like the edge of the coffee table, the fabric of the couch, even the hem of Dae-ho’s sleeve. You had expected to feel exhausted keeping up with her, but instead, a warmth bloomed in your chest.

She nearly fell once, her tiny legs unable to balance after an attempt at climbing onto the couch. Your heart leapt into your throat, but before you could reach for her, Dae-ho had already caught her, his strong arms circling her tiny frame with effortless ease.

The baby blinked up at him in surprise before breaking into a delighted giggle.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Dae-ho chuckled, his deep voice gentle in a way you knew too well. He set her down carefully on the carpet, then crouched beside her. “Alright, let’s take this one step at a time, okay?”

She cooed, bouncing on her feet, and grabbed onto his outstretched hands as he guided her. She stumbled, but he never let her fall.

You smiled from where you sat on the couch, watching the two of them. The sight was unexpectedly heartwarming. Dae-ho was so patient with her in a way that made something deep inside your chest ache.

You had never really thought about him as a father before, but now, watching him crouch beside the baby, murmuring softly as he guided her across the room, the thought lingered in your mind.

Every time Dae-ho shifted, your niece's dark eyes followed him, wide and filled with trust. She clung to his fingers when she walked, her tiny feet tapping against the floor as she took cautious steps forward.

“She likes you,” you commented, gaze softening.

Dae-ho glanced up at you with a smile. “Well, I did save her from an untimely fall.”

You let out a chuckle, settling beside them on the floor as your niece plopped down, kicking her feet happily. She babbled something incoherent before reaching for your sleeve, tugging it as if she had something important to say.

“Oh? What is it?” you asked, leaning in curiously.

She responded by patting your cheek with her chubby hand, giggling at her own actions. Dae-ho laughed quietly at the sight.

You and him spent the next hour like that, playing and entertaining the baby, who seemed to have an endless supply of energy.

At one point, she discovered the small bookshelf in the corner and decided it was her mission to pull out every book within reach. Dae-ho sat beside her, handing them back as she babbled nonsense, clearly delighted with her newfound game.

The night was peaceful—until the storm rolled in.

It started with a soft patter of rain against the window, then came the distant rumble of thunder. At first, your niece didn’t seem to notice, too busy playing with the different couch pillows. But when a loud clap of thunder shook the apartment, she startled, her tiny fingers clenched into fists, and her lip wobbled before she let out a tiny, fearful whimper.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you murmured, immediately scooping her into your arms.

She buried her face against your chest, curling into you as if trying to disappear. You rocked her gently, rubbing circles on her back while whispering soft reassurances.

Dae-ho, who had been watching quietly, joined you on the couch. He didn’t say anything, just leaned in and placed a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles.

“She’s scared,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Another roll of thunder crashed outside, and the baby let out a soft cry, burrowing even deeper into your embrace. Without hesitation, Dae-ho reached out and pulled both of you toward him, wrapping his arms around you in a loose but protective hold.

He shifted closer, pulling the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch around the three of you. “She’s safe,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Dae-ho rested his chin on the top of your head, one hand stroking the baby’s back soothingly. His other arm remained around you, his touch solid and steady.

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the baby. “We’ve got you.”

Your niece sniffled but didn’t cry again, just let out a long, shaky sigh as her tiny fingers loosened their grip.

The three of you curled together on the couch, a small huddle of warmth against the storm outside. You could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing as she finally began to drift off, her weight growing heavier as sleep took over.

You glanced at Dae-ho. He was watching her with something tender in his gaze. When he looked up and met your eyes, that same look softened into something deeper.

The rain continued its steady rhythm, and the thunder softened, growing distant. The apartment was quiet aside from the occasional rustle of the blanket and the soft, barely there snores of the baby girl nestled between the two of you.

Dae-ho was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I think we did pretty well,” he mumbled.

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Yeah. I think so too.”

[leahfrog]

My new fantasy novel, The Viridian Dream, releases March 5th. I'm excited to share it with you! It has autistic dragons, reversed gender roles, and Nova's biceps.

The series will be released on https://www.leahfrog.com in weekly chapter installments and is entirely free to read! All chapters come with artwork by either myself or Aiole Sauce.

First chapter preview available on my patreon, and concept art is up for view on our discord server.

[star2fishmeg]

ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

[2.2k] Pairing | Dad!Luke Hughes x Mum!Afab!Reader Summary | After multiple back-and-forth conversations, y/n and Luke finally get to start the next chapter in their lives with the beginning of their new family. Warnings | Fluff, little swearing. Authors Note | Could this be…a crossover? 🫢 This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes.

Luke’s cheeks hadn’t faded from their pink even after she’d been gripping his hand through the labour. Actually, he hadn’t moved since he’d thrown himself down into the visitor’s chair next to her hospital bed, eyes still slightly wide and his heartbeat still in his ears. The moment replaying in his head on repeat; the bright lights blinding, y/n’s hand with a vice grip he’d never experienced before, her wails of agony and gasping breath, his voice reassuring and praising her throughout the whole thing yet he remembered the second when her eyes gazed up at his; gentle, tears welling, an unspoken gratitude that he’d chosen to stay with her through it and not passed out. And now it was over, and the room was quiet again, nothing but the whirring of machines bouncing off the walls and heavy breathing once his son had been soothed. His son. His son who was now nestled in y/n’s arms and wrapped in a blanket with little moose dotted on it (a gift from his eldest brother, Quinn).

He exhaled, running his hands over his face before setting his elbows on his knees, admiring the way a smile graced her lips as she basked in their son’s sweet face. She’d caught her breath, hair tangled still but as beautiful as the day Luke had met her. 

“How’re you feeling?” he gently said, keeping his voice quiet as his deep rasp would allow him, his tender eyes peering up at her, glossed over. His leg bounced erratically. It was real. Everything was all so real, and it wasn’t another dream anymore. What was he supposed to do? His mind was racing, raking through a mental file of all the things Quinn and his teammates had told him about, what to do during and after the birth, what to say, what to prepare for and suddenly he’d drawn a complete blank. A ringing in his ears until the sound of her voice took him into her arms and pulled him into the world again.

Their eyes locked, hers hooded and sleepy but seeing them properly, uninterrupted, settled his jitters and calmed the storm in his chest. He wasn’t the one giving birth, and he was a mess, how was she so composed?

“Tired, but happy it’s over. Happy you’re here.” She rasped, leaning back into the pillows. She giggled at him, his hair unruly from running his fingers through it obsessively. “Lu, come closer, he doesn’t bite.”

He perked up, wiping his hands on his jeans before standing and stepping closer, “Nervous, sorry.”

Luke brushed his knuckle against her cheek, the skin still supple and soft as she melted into it. 

“You must think I look awful right now, huh?” She chuckled, looking up at him. In all her honesty, she knew she didn’t look her best with tangled hair, a sheen of sweat over her skin but that didn’t matter in that moment. What mattered was the ever-growing warmth blooming in her heart that seeped through her body and now, she finally had a break. Their son cosied in his blanket, cradled in her arms, which was the reason Luke’s hand trembled as she felt it land on her head.

“Angel, I think you’re always beautiful,” he gazed back down at her, pupils blown with a smile unable to control, his hand softly stroked over her hair before stopping, replacing the gesture by tenderly rubbing his thumb over her forehead, “he’s beautiful.”

“He is. He’s your new little buddy. Look at him, say hi.” She raised her arms, meeting Luke halfway as he - apprehensively, trying to remember how he’d practiced - cradled the baby in his arms, close to his chest with bursts of rapture surging through his body. He let her settle the newborn into his arms and copied the way she held him. His eyes couldn’t stop fixating on his little face, how he was holding his flesh and blood in his arms now, how his child would grow to develop his and y/n’s features. It dawned upon him how far he’d come in life, it only felt like yesterday he was stepping onto NHL ice for the first time and now he was cradling his child to his chest with nothing but adoration and a sparkle in his eye.

“Hey Bud,” he muttered softly, his finger pushing back the blanket a little to see Bud’s face better, his tiny, flushed face finally asleep. “Welcome to the world. M’so proud of you, baby. He’s so small, wow.”

He smiled at her, eyes catching hers and locking intently with a wet glaze over them. She was glowing, well, to him. All those months of waiting, through the worst of pain and cravings, doing his best to prioritise his beloveds and there he was sitting with his new family. A bursting of ecstatic joy in his chest and his heart hammering. Bud was their son.

This crawling anxiety pitted in his stomach. He was a dad. A real dad. 

He leaned down, y/n taking Bud back into her arms and Luke kissed her forehead, no matter how salty the sweat tasted. 

“No, you’re just huge and he’s yours too…” she quipped before falling quiet. Her lips opened and faltered, words formulated slowly until she squeaked them out with brows pulled together, worry written over her face. “Luke, what if I’m a bad mum? Like, what if I fail him?” 

Anxiety dissipated into a sinking in his stomach, every parent’s worst nightmare. That’s the natural thing with parenthood, one that they’d both been unprepared for because it was something you couldn’t prepare for. He’d never been anxious about much in his life, hockey came naturally to him, and confidence in hockey was something he’d built and felt regularly but looking after a child? There’s only so much you can do before the ‘what ifs’ settle in. But if he was swimming in nerves, she was drowning in anxiety.

“Angel, you worry too much. You’re gonna be a great mum, we’ve been preparing for this for ages, we’ll get through it together and hey, if worse comes to worse, I’ll call Quinn for advice. He’s on his second now.” His fingertips held the bottom of her chin, tilting her head up. With eyes fluttering close, he pressed her lips to hers with fervour, their fears and frets seeping to the floor beneath them until they were left in bliss. He pulled away and mumbled into her lips, “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

Every time Luke kissed her it had meaning. One that made the world stop.

“Yeah, one day at a time.” A smile cracked onto her lips, their breaths tangling and her eyes followed him as he pulled the visitor’s chair closer to her bed and sat down. Y/n’s body relaxed into the pillows and took another peek at Bud, “Man, I can’t believe Q’s on his second child. Holidays are gonna be loud. At least the little man here will have a friend, or two. Are you-”

Faint sniffs crept into their space, and she turned towards the noise, Luke’s puppy-like eyes pink as he wiped them with his hoodie sleeve, chuckles mixed with sobs stammering from his chest in bursts, his smirk still lighting up the room.

“-I’m happy, baby. Don’t rinse me for being a proud husband and father.”

Y/n and Luke certainly hadn’t expected their precious, little Bud who was once wrapped in a moose blanket to have grown so much over almost a year. His little body now sat on the rug in a plethora of toys and books, changing between the Zamboni toy and the animal books while the TV played the children’s channel and out of everything Bud had, his tiny fist clutched the arm of his stuffed moose. 

Luke chuckled at him from the sofa above, arm lazed over the top of the cushions with y/n tucked into his side, her hand soothing over his chest with her head resting on his shoulder. The little, quiet moments meant the most, just the three of them where they could soak in their life under the daylight breaking through the windows, remembering the day they met, the day Luke accidentally, informally proposed drunk at a party in college and to their almost one-year-old now. 

“He’s so…quiet. Is that normal?” Luke murmured, watching Bud figure out which wooden block shape fit in which corresponding hole. He always thought toddlers were supposed to be babbly and loud, perhaps even messy (not that he wasn’t) but Bud just seemed…content all the time. And it perplexed and worried him.

“I was a quiet toddler, really easy according to my mum.” She shrugged, fingers reaching the collar of his t-shirt and tugging out the dainty chain, running the pad of her thumb over the charm of her first initial. 

Bud, sporting a Devils t-shirt by default, giggled upon successfully placing all the blocks in their correct places, moving on to the next best thing that piqued his interest: the Vtech Sit To Stand Learning Walker that played all sorts of sounds and music which eventually drove any parent up the wall after their child would repeatedly smack the piano keys on the bottom, the keys which made farm animal noises. 

Luke spoke up over the melodies of pig oinks and cow moos, leaning closer to her ear, “I can’t believe he’s almost a year old too, like, where did that go? Look at him, I can’t wait to get him into skates.”

“You’re telling me, he’s so big now. Please consult with me before you buy him something stupid for his birthday. And just be careful with him on the ice, don’t force him if he doesn’t like it.” Y/n knew he’d get Bud onto the ice at some point, it was Hughes blood to at least try and play hockey. Luke wasn’t one to give up on him either so the lovely home they’d bought and decorated would soon fall to scuffs on the paintwork from little balls and mini sticks and the basement converted to a shooting station, pucks slamming through the wall. It was inevitable. “Remember that Cub’s and Bug’s birthdays are approaching too.”

He threw his head back, he forgot how the addition of children meant more birthdays to remember and meant that perhaps he should put them on the calendar, like y/n had suggested after he almost forgot his friend Ethan’s two years ago.

“Fuck!” he swore under his breath, head jolting forward when she lightly slapped his chest as a warning, “Sorry. Yeah, we’ll go shopping next week, I have a day off on the Friday.”

The arm over the back of the sofa wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into him and he placed a kiss to her head, “It’s so…weird, but like, a good weird having three of us now. A family of our own and, like, I can join the other guys in seeing you and Bud at the glass. Does he have a jersey yet?”

“Yes, he has a jersey, it says ‘daddy’ on the back, don’t worry, pretty boy.” She sighed. Luke had droned on about the jersey for months, desperate to get Bud in one as soon as possible just to show Curtis, for some stupid thing they had going on, y/n never got what their rivalry was anymore. She watched her son giggle and smiled, his hair blond like Luke’s was when he was a kid yet locked in on the talking animals on the TV like she once was, “He’s adorable, isn’t he.” 

“Of course he is,” Luke leaned off the sofa, groaning as if he was getting too old, as a typical dad would, to reach Bud, picking him up off the floor beneath them and sitting him on his thigh, making sure he was in the middle of them both comfortably without leaving the toy moose behind, “he’s got a bit of me in him, don’t ya, Bud? He’s got your pretty eyes though.” 

“Stop it,” her cheeks flushed warm as he wrapped his arm around her again. All those years and he still managed to make her heart flutter like they’d just met, his crooked yet charming smile contagious. For a moment, she got lost in his eyes, the way they fixated on hers with pupils in little hearts, how they always shifted to her lips only to be interrupted by a tiny, chubby hand grasping her finger and she cocked a brow at Luke, “I think he likes me better.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, he sighed, “Well, all the more reason to have another, gotta have evens.”

“All right let’s focus on this one for now. One day at a time, remember.” Her free hand took him by the shirt, pulling him closer, “But I’m not opposed to it.”

She pressed her lips to his tenderly, intending to be no more than a chaste kiss but Luke’s adrenaline surged and once she’d pulled away, he dove in again. He hummed, tongue sliding along her bottom lip with passion driving him to lick into her mouth when her mouth parted. Lips moved together in a rhythm softly, not hot and heavy, not with lust pooling in their stomachs but with fidelity blooming in their chests until they couldn’t breathe anymore. They pulled away with gentle chuckles, Bud babbling between them in a chorus of jubilation. They say your twenties are for navigating your way through life, making mistakes and finding out what you want, but Luke and y/n were exactly where they wanted to be with exactly what they wanted.

[Masterlist] [Requests CLOSED] nhl wags | @bunbunbl0gs @bewaryofpity @stayg-0ld @hodgepodge-musings @capquinn

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2025 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost any of my works. Please let me know if you notice that any of these have been done to my work.

Dividers belong to @/cafekitsune

[rose24207]

Hi hi😻.. I can’t help it, I have another request 😗(these prompts are really good) anywayyy as you may know I’ll do mafia!Lando Norris x reader as always(I’m a simple girl😔) with these prompts:

22. "I found this note under my door. It says they’re watching me."

21. "There’s someone else in the house."

26. "I swear, that thing wasn’t there a second ago.“

28. "Whatever you do, don’t turn around."

where obviously someone breaks into there place, and in the end lando kills them(protecting his lady🤭). u obviously don’t have to do them I just wanted to send them to u lol, but if u do read this I just wanna say thank youu🫶🏼🤍

Are you hurt?

Summary: After a chilling note reveals you're being watched and an intruder invades your home, Lando arrives just in time to ruthlessly kill the attacker and protect you.

Genre: Angst, Mafia, Dark

Mafia!Lando x reader

TW: Mafia, gun, lando offs someone, breaking in, violence, fighting

A/N: Hello!! Ex-squeeze me? What do mean I don’t have to? I want to!! 🥰 English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

You almost missed it.

The small, folded note wedged under your door.

You frowned, bending down to pick it up, and as soon as you unfolded the paper, a chill crawled down your spine.

We‘re watching you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

This wasn’t some prank. It wasn’t paranoia creeping in.

You had been with Lando long enough to know what this meant.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed your phone and dialed his number. It rang twice before he answered.

"Angel?" His voice was calm, but you could hear the underlying alertness.

"Lando," you whispered, swallowing hard. "I found this note under my door. It says they’re watching me."

Silence.

Then, his voice dropped an octave, lethal and controlled.

"Where are you?"

"In the living room, I—"

Creak.

The sound sent a violent shiver down your spine.

It came from upstairs.

"Lando," your voice barely came out. "There's someone else in the house."

His chair scraped back. The faint background noise on the phone vanished.

"Get out." He didn’t yell—Lando never did when he was angry. His voice was quiet, clipped, and ice-cold. "Go through the back door. Now."

"I— I think they’re already coming down," you choked out.

More silence. Then, a single command:

"Stay on the phone with me."

Your breath came in quick, uneven bursts as you grabbed the closest weapon—a fireplace poker. Your grip was clammy, your hands shaking as you edged toward the kitchen.

Something felt off.

The air was too heavy.

You risked a glance toward the hallway.

A chair was knocked over.

You hadn't heard that happen.

Which meant—

"I swear, that thing wasn’t there a second ago," you whispered.

Lando's tone was razor-sharp. "Do not move."

Another creak. Closer this time.

And then—

A figure emerged from the shadows.

A man, dressed in black, face obscured by a mask. But the gleam of a knife in his hand was unmistakable.

"Whatever you do," Lando's voice came through the phone, controlled and deadly, "don't turn around."

Your grip tightened around the poker, chest heaving.

Too late.

The intruder lunged.

Adrenaline exploded through you. You swung blindly, striking his arm. He grunted but barely faltered, reaching for you again.

"Big mistake," the man sneered.

You wrenched away, sprinting toward the alarm panel—

But a hand clamped down on your wrist.

A sharp yank sent you stumbling, crashing into the dining table. The world tilted as you hit the ground, stars bursting behind your eyes.

You barely had time to react before he was towering over you, knife raised.

A deafening BANG shattered the air.

The man staggered.

Blood bloomed across his chest.

His body crumpled—just as Lando stormed through the door, gun still raised, his expression nothing short of murderous.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His nostrils flared as he took slow, deliberate steps forward, gun never wavering.

"Lando—" you started.

"Shh, angel," he murmured. His voice was eerily soft. "Not now."

The intruder groaned, barely clinging to consciousness, hand twitching toward his knife.

Lando scoffed, stepping on the man's wrist with brutal force, making him cry out.

"You picked the wrong house," he said coldly.

His boot pressed down harder. A sickening crack echoed through the room.

The intruder screamed.

Lando exhaled slowly, as if trying to control the bloodthirsty rage simmering beneath his skin. His eyes flicked to you, scanning for injuries.

"Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, throat tight.

Lando's jaw clenched. He crouched, grabbing the man's collar and yanking him upright.

"Who sent you?" His voice was death itself.

The man whimpered, blood dripping from his mouth.

Lando pressed the gun against his temple.

"Last chance."

The man barely managed to spit out, "You're already dead."

Lando smirked. "No. You are."

Then, without hesitation—

BANG.

The man's body slumped, lifeless.

Lando let him fall unceremoniously, the air thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.

The silence was suffocating.

Then, in one swift motion, Lando turned back to you.

Before you could react, his hands were cupping your face, his eyes scanning yours, desperate, furious, terrified.

"I almost lost you," he whispered.

"You didn't," you murmured, placing your hands over his. "You got here in time."

He shook his head, exhaling shakily. "Not good enough." His thumb brushed against your cheek. "We're leaving. Tonight."

You frowned. "Lando—"

"I'm not arguing with you, angel." His voice was low, possessive. "This house is compromised. We’re moving. I don’t care what I have to burn down to keep you safe."

You swallowed hard.

Because when Lando Norris made a promise, he kept it.

And right now, he was promising one thing:

Whoever sent this man?

They were next.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren

[huntingingoodwill]

aren’t you gonna tuck me in? (j.m.)

masterlist

pairing: brat!reader x joel miller

prompt: goodnight kiss

a/n: a lil sumn for @janaispunk’s 1.5k kisses challenge!!! with a bit of a grumpy x sunshine dynamic smirk smirk... congrats babes 💕

“You crazy old motherfucker!” Your screams were tinged with laughter as Joel slung you over his shoulder, carrying you out of the Tipsy Bison. 

“Who’re you calling a crazy old motherfucker?” Joel grumbled, locking his arm tight around your thigh and kicking open the door as he pointedly ignored your friends’ whoops and whistles. 

You blew them a kiss before they disappeared behind the swinging door, at which point you gestured to the desolate road Joel had carried you out onto.

“Don’t see any other crazy old motherfuckers around.” 

The slice of light that fell upon the road from the open door reduced into nothingness as it swung shut, leaving you and Joel awash in blue moonlight. 

“If I’m crazy, it’s only ‘cause you drove me to the brink-” He paused in exasperation, landing a smack to your thigh that prompted a delicious, ticklish pain to shoot up your leg, and peals of laughter to come falling out your mouth,“will you stop wiggling up there?” 

“Sure thing.” The saccharine words dripped off your tongue before you halted your movements, muscles slackening as you draped your dead weight over his shoulder. 

“Jesus,” He huffed, suddenly exhausted as he had to literally shoulder the burden of your lax body. “Y’know what, just get down.” He said, quickly lowering you to the ground. 

“Joel Miller, you are quite the party pooper.” You chuckled, stumbling to your feet. 

He had stormed into the Tipsy Bison, locking eyes with yours as he pushed past a crush of people, causing your lips to twist into a smirk and your heartbeat to quicken in time with the beat of the warbling song blasting from the jukebox. He had barely given you time to shoot off a sly remark before he tossed you over your shoulder and whisked you away, an act much more interesting to you than the drunken conversation you were enjoying with your friends. 

“I did not poop any parties.” He said, watching you stifle a laugh as you walked beside him. “Maybe you don’t recall, but we’re on patrol together tomorrow, and I am not gonna play nurse to you when you’re hungover on a horse.” 

When Tommy had first put the both of you on patrol together, he had thought his brother was pulling some sick joke. He probably was. You had taken a particular interest in Joel whenever you saw him around Jackson, never failing to deliberately bump into him and engage in some teasing that would render Tommy helpless with laughter as Joel stood on, unamused. 

As much as Joel hated to admit it, and as much as he felt he really was being driven crazy on his patrols with you, he had almost come around to it.

The gleam of your smile in those dark forests as you told him corny jokes around a crackling fire. Like sunlight peeking out from behind a dark cloud.

He pushed the thought away. Maybe you really were driving him to the brink. 

“Please,” you rolled your eyes, gait leisurely besides his focused march down the road, “I’ve been hungover on that horse before and you never had to baby me. I just think you hate fun.” 

“I do not ‘hate fun’.” He said, his monotonous drawl sounding pretty fun-hating, “...But maybe you were having too much fun. ‘Specially with that boy of yours.” 

He regretted letting the words slip as soon as he said them, but he couldn’t deny the flare of heat that simmered under his skin when he entered the bar to see you laughing your head off with one of the guys that always seemed to trail after you around Jackson. 

“Oh. My. God.” You said, a thin sheen of dust rising around your boots as you screeched to a halt. 

“What?” Joel said, heart pounding as he whipped his head around.

“You’re jealous!” 

“I am not-“ Joel spluttered, heat blooming across his collar. 

“I’m walking home with a green-eyed monster!” You grabbed him by the jaw, and Joel prayed you couldn’t feel the heat from his cheeks searing the pads of your fingers. You turned his head, prompting him to look in your eyes. He had to fight off the urge to melt against your touch under the intensity of your stare, his jaw clenching beneath your fingers.

“Nope. Not green. Still shit brown.” You said, killing the moment with a grin. 

Joel shook you off, quickening his pace rather unsteadily as you continued to walk beside him. 

“You’re obsessed with me. First, you’re carrying me out of the Tipsy Bison, and next, you’ll be carrying me over the threshold after our wedding." You laughed.

That made even more heat blossom in his cheeks, and he tried to push that image out of his mind as he cleared his throat, biting his tongue as he let you carry on.

“Don’t be too jealous, Joel.” You purred, slipping your arm through his, nuzzling up to him in a way that made blood roar in his ears, “That guy’s not really my type. I like older guys.” You placed extra emphasis on the last phrase, making Joel’s head swim. 

After making him squirm under your gaze for a couple seconds, you burst into laughter.

“As mean as you look, you get flustered so easily. It’s adorable.” You said, punctuating the sentence with a coddling pout. 

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” Joel grumbled, eyes trained straight ahead. 

“It’s hilarious.” 

Your footsteps trailed off as the both of you arrived in front of his house, staring at its squat silhouette in the dark. 

You turned to grin at him, Joel shooting a sideways glance at you, debating whether or not to take the bait. 

“What?” He mumbled, taking the bait. 

“Miller, you devil. You could’ve at least bought me a drink before bringing me back to your place.” 

He rolled his eyes, walking up the porch steps as you trailed behind him. 

“Your place is all the way on the other side of Jackson. So you can either sleep here tonight, or we’ll spend another hour walking around in the dark.” He said, opening the door. 

“Excuses, excuses.” You clucked your tongue, shaking your head with false disapproval, "As much as I'd like that long, romantic, moonlit walk, I am getting a little sleepy. I'll stay the night."

He held the door open for you, gesturing for you to head inside, a motion that you simply returned with an expectant stare.

“What?” He said, trying not to shift under your gaze.

“Aren’t you gonna carry me over the threshold?” 

“Get your ass in the damn house.” 

Your laughter rang, clear as a bell, through the sparse rooms of his house as you kicked off your boots, flouncing up the stairs as if you were right at home. 

He heard the sound of his shower turning on and the syrupy hum of your voice over the splash of water.

He reached for your shoes, overturned and muddied, before straightening them and placing them next to his. Staring at the both of them next to each other, your voice ringing in his ears as you sang a discordant melody in the shower, a flicker of strange emotion shot through him. 

The realisation he wouldn’t mind picking up after you, putting your shoes next to his. They would have a place next to each other, where they belonged, whenever you came home. 

The realisation that he wouldn’t mind if your voice filled up every room in the house, where once he thought he was content with silence. 

As he poured a glass of water for you and began carrying it up to his bedroom, he realised he wouldn’t mind bringing up a glass of water for you every night, and a cup of coffee every morning. 

“I’m going insane.” He muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. 

“You decent?” He called out, knocking on his bedroom door. 

“Hardly ever. Come in!” You sang. 

The scent of his soap hung in the air, clinging to your skin. You grinned at him, a soft glow haloing you from his bedside lamp as you towelled water out of your hair, one of his flannels hanging off your frame.  

“Is that mine?” He swallowed, the words flying out of his mouth so quickly they almost sounded accusatory. 

“Yeah.” You turned to look at his furrowed brow. “What? I can give it back to you if you want.” You said, beginning to unbutton it.

He averted his eyes, that familiar heat shooting under his skin again. “Jesus- just- you can keep it on.” 

You burst into laughter as Joel rubbed the back of his heated neck.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He mumbled. 

“Thank you, Joel.” You whispered, your sincerely grateful, soft voice sending his walls tumbling down.

He cut his eyes at you one more time, a vision in his worn, old flannel, before making a move to leave. 

You cleared your throat, the noise exaggeratedly loud in the quiet room. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

He looked at you, his deep brown eyes wide in confusion, a furrow set in his brow. 

“Aren’t you gonna tuck me in?” 

His cheeks reddened as he stared at you, swallowing thickly. 

Hiding his trepidation behind an exasperated eye roll, he crossed the room. His hand, the skin rough in contrast to the soft blanket, pulled the fabric over your body, covering you. You smiled up at him, that evil glint in your eye that drove him crazy shining up at him. 

“Goodnight kiss?” You whispered with feigned innocence, glancing up at him through thick lashes. 

“Christ.” He whispered, heartbeat pounding in his ears, his heart somewhere between wanting, annoyance and restraint. 

“Please?” You whispered, lips turning up at the corners into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. 

He felt his resolve crumble to pieces, and he couldn’t resist. He leaned in, heartbeat kicking in his chest as he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

He felt dizzy as he felt your hot breath against his ear, the soft skin of your cheek nuzzling into the scruff on his cheek. 

“Oh, c’mon,” you whispered, lips ghosting his cheek, “you can do better than that, can’t you?” 

He melted against your touch, barely able to formulate a smart retort before he felt your teeth digging into his cheek. 

“Jesus!” He recoiled, the bite radiating with a dull pain. 

“That’s for pooping my party, Miller.” Laughter bubbled from your lips as you watched him run his fingers over the grooves your teeth left in his skin. 

“You’re fucking crazy.” His wounded tone just made you even more amused, your smile growing on your face. 

“Don’t sulk.” You pouted, hand reaching up to skim a thumb across his cheek, and he couldn’t help leaning into your touch. “Let me kiss it better.” 

He let you press a kiss to the quickly fading bite mark, his head swimming as your tongue darted out, giving him a playful lick before you laughed against his skin, breath fanning out over his cheek. 

He turned his head, forehead pressed against yours as his nose brushed yours, his eyes screwed shut.

“You’re driving me crazy.” He mumbled. 

“I know.” 

He pressed his lips to yours, that strange, floaty feeling he had felt downstairs washing over him. You held him close, fingers entangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck as you pulled him onto the bed. 

Lying on his back, he let you press your palms against his shoulders. He stared at the ceiling, feeling barely there, as if he could have just slipped away, your hands the only thing pinning him to earth. He felt it with every kiss you pressed to his lips, when your lips ghosted the line of his jaw, his neck. You were everywhere, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

“All better?” You said, voice barely audible over the roar of blood in his ears. 

“Yes.” 

“Y’know,” you whispered, tracing the line of his jaw with your lips, “I just realised something.“ You looked down at him, the smile that meant trouble returning to your face. “We have a really early morning tomorrow. Goodnight, Joel!”

Just like that, you had rolled off of him and turned off the light, plunging the both of you into darkness. He laid there, barely registering what had just happened, his body already missing your warmth. 

He turned to look at you, your face slackened with sleep as your breath evened out, completely calm in the embrace of sleep as his heart still pounded in his chest, giddy as he turned back to stare at the ceiling. 

He was definitely going crazy.

[astrcmoni]

⊹₊ ⋆ loved by you⋆ ₊⊹

MASTERLIST

synopsis: you come home after a long day out and noticed that your girlfriend seems a little stiff and frustrated, you take it upon yourself to bring her to relaxation…amongst other things.

genre: smut, fluff.

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 6.7k

warnings: cussing, reader!has some tattoos, belly piercing, and acrylics, soft top!reader & soft bottom!billie, fingering (billie receiving), scissoring, talk of cum, finger sucking, tender aftercare.

authors note: y’all i love me some tender aftercare, but let me know what you guys think, it’s my first time writing smut so i hope you enjoy💋

you wrap your fingers around the cool brass of the doorknob, pushing the door open with a gentle shove. bags in hand, you step inside, carrying the weight of a day spent pouring into yourself—a quiet symphony of self-love and solitude. the faint scent of vanilla and cashmere clings to your skin, trailing behind you like a whispered promise of peace. it mingles with the air as you move through the house, slipping off your shoes and setting your belongings carefully aside. a soft hum of satisfaction radiates from your chest, a quiet melody to the much-needed reset you’ve granted yourself.

the house greets you in half-light, bathed in the golden glow of scattered lamps that cast long shadows on the walls. it feels still—almost serene—until your eyes fall on billie, slouched on the couch like a storm waiting to break. her hoodie is tugged halfway over her head, dark fabric cloaking her features, while her fingers dig into her hair as if trying to pull thoughts free. her jaw is clenched, the sharp line of it catching the light, and her knee bounces in a restless rhythm, a tell of untamed energy searching for release.

the soft shuffle of your steps makes her glance up, her stormy gaze meeting yours. for a fleeting moment, the tension in her eyes eases, her guarded walls thinning as if your presence alone could calm the tempest. but just as quickly as it appears, the warmth fades. she exhales sharply, her lips pressed into a tight line, and turns her face away, retreating from the silent comfort you might offer.

“hey,” you call out softly, your voice a gentle ripple in the charged air. concern blooms in your chest, delicate but insistent, as you step further into her storm. “what’s going on?”

she glances up at you, her blue eyes clouded, the usual spark buried beneath layers of frustration and exhaustion. “nothing. it’s fine.” her words are clipped, brittle, a poor disguise for the weight pressing down on her. the sharpness in her tone, the tight set of her jaw, and the rigid line of her shoulders betray her. she’s unraveling, spiraling into the chaos of a day that’s clearly been too much.

you don’t press her. instead, you step quietly into her space, lowering yourself onto the couch beside her. the silence between you is thick but not unwelcome, a moment to let her gather herself. your hand moves instinctively, resting gently on her bouncing knee. the motion is small but deliberate, your thumb brushing slow, steady circles against her skin. her leg stills under your touch, but she doesn’t turn to look at you. her gaze remains fixed ahead, lost somewhere you can’t follow.

“billie,” you murmur, your voice soft and even, like a thread pulling her back to the present. “i need you to breathe.”

at first, she resists, the huff she lets out carrying a faint edge of defiance. but you don’t push. you stay where you are, leaning just close enough for her to feel the quiet, grounding weight of your presence. slowly, like the tide retreating, her breathing begins to shift. the jagged edges smooth out, each inhale and exhale growing steadier, softer. her shoulders, once drawn tight as a bowstring, begin to ease, the tension melting away bit by bit.

you don’t say anything else. you just stay there, your touch and the unspoken comfort you offer doing all the speaking for you.

once she’s calmer, you reach for her hand, the rough, calloused texture of her fingers grounding against the softness of your own. there’s something soothing in the contrast, a silent exchange of warmth and reassurance. you guide her toward your shared room with unhurried steps, the quiet between you filled only by the soft rustle of fabric and the faint rhythm of your breaths.

once inside, you ease her out of her hoodie, the heavy material slipping from her frame to reveal the tautness still lingering in her posture. replacing it with something softer, you move with care, your fingers brushing her skin in fleeting touches, each one meant to chip away at the tension clinging to her. her guard remains up, her body stiff under your hands, but you’re patient.

she sinks onto the bed with a quiet exhale, her movements deliberate and slow. sitting there, she looks up at you, her brown brows drawn together in confusion. the crease between them feels out of place on her face, a mark of the weight she carries, and that’s exactly where you begin.

your right thumb presses gently to the space between her brows, brushing slow circles there. “relax, baby,” you murmur, minding the delicate edge of your french tips as your left hand cups the side of her neck, your palm warm against her skin. her eyes flutter shut, and her brow smooths under your touch, the tension there melting as if coaxed away by your presence.

“you’re always frowning lately,” you whisper, your voice soft, a tender tease woven into your words. the corner of your lips lifts into a light laugh as your thumbs shift, tracing the sides of her temples with gentle precision. her sigh is barely audible, but it reaches you, a sign of the weight beginning to lift.

she lets her head fall forward, resting against the soft curve of your belly, her face buried in the quiet comfort you offer. your hands slide lower, fingertips grazing the base of her neck, exploring the edges of her tension with care. then, almost instinctively, your nails trace the faint, abstract lines of the tattoo peeking out from beneath her shirt. the designs feel alive beneath your touch, and though her body remains still, the small shift of her breathing tells you she’s beginning to let go.

her hands slide to your sides with unspoken intent, her fingers squeezing your skin gently, as if grounding herself in the moment. a soft moan escapes her lips when your fingers find the knot tucked beneath her skin, your touch firm but deliberate as you knead the tension away. her breath hitches, her body subtly leaning further into you.

"that feel better?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, warm and intimate. she nods slowly, her hair brushing against your shirt with each movement, leaving strands untamed and wild. her lips find your stomach in soft, fleeting kisses-her quiet way of saying thank you without words.

your hands find their way to her cheeks, cradling her face as you gently lift her head so her gaze meets yours once again. her eyelids are heavy, lashes fluttering as her hazy eyes lock onto you. her lips, slightly parted, curve into a small, sleepy smile that sends warmth cascading through you. a faint blush dusts her cheeks, soft pink against the cool tones of her skin, as her gaze turns warm and pleading—a silent invitation, a wordless request for more.

your thumbs move instinctively, stroking slow, rhythmic patterns along the base of her throat and the sides of her neck. her skin feels warm under your touch, and you savor the quiet hum she releases, a low sound of surrender. with another soft moan, she reaches for you, her hands finding their place at the back of your neck as she pulls you closer.

her lips meet yours in a tender collision, slightly chapped but desperate, the press of them catching you off guard enough to draw a quiet gasp from your own. the kiss deepens, her lips enveloping yours with a neediness that feels almost fragile. her tongue swipes along the curve of your lower lip, tasting the sticky sweetness of your gloss. a faint but familiar flavor of honey and vanilla lingers, and she lets out a contented sigh as the taste floods her senses. it's intoxicating—her favorite indulgence—and in typical fashion, she chases it, unable to get enough of you.

breaking the kiss, you pulled back slightly, both of you breathing heavily as you tried to catch your breath. a delicate string of mixed saliva lingered between your lips, glistening in the low light like an invisible thread, refusing to sever the connection between you. still slightly hunched over her, you gently guided her onto her back, her body sinking into the bed as you crawled over her, the soft weight of your presence making her exhale deeply.

you leaned down, pressing light, lingering kisses along the curve of her cheek, trailing them down to the delicate slope of her collarbone. the gold chain of your necklace swayed with your movements, the small diamond 'B' charm—her initial—dancing above her skin, catching the faint light in its tiny movements.

her hands reached up instinctively, fingers curling around your necklace as though grounding herself in its presence. the cool metal of her own chains slid across her collarbones, clinking softly as they shifted to the side. her grip tugged you closer, and she kissed you again—deeper, slower this time, the desperation tempered by a quiet intimacy.

she was the one to break the kiss this time, her lips parting from yours as she dipped her head into the curve of your neck. her kisses were deliberate but messy, open-mouthed and soft, scattering heat along your skin. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, delight unfurling in your chest.

but when her lips lingered too long, you gently cupped her jaw, easing her away from your neck with soft insistence. her gaze found yours, her spent, half-lidded eyes searching yours for clarity, a flicker of confusion flashing across her features. you silenced her silent question with a kiss—light and tender, a reassurance of your closeness. her shoulders relaxed beneath you as she melted further into the moment, trusting your pace completely.

"let me take care of you for once," you whisper, your voice a quiet blend of confidence and tenderness. she doesn't argue. instead, she sinks further into the bed, letting her body surrender to your featherlight kisses and gentle caresses, her breaths coming slow and steady beneath your touch.

you start at her stomach, planting soft kisses along her skin, your lips brushing over the smooth, warm surface as you slowly lift her shirt. the fabric gathers in your hands, revealing more of her as you work your way upward, your mouth leaving a trail of heat along her abdomen and up to her chest.

her hands find their way to you, slipping beneath your own shirt. the chill of her rings grazes your skin, stark against your warmth, sending shivers coursing down your spine. her fingers move deliberately, seeking out the band of your bra. when she finds it, she tugs on the strap with a low whine, her silent plea clear in the way she pulls, urging you to shed another layer.

you pause, meeting her gaze for a moment before sitting up to grant her request. your movements are slow, deliberate, as you pull your shirt over your head, letting the soft fabric fall to the side. you're left in your black bra, its cups dusted with subtle, shimmering gems that catch the faint light like tiny stars. the diamond—encrusted clasp at the front glints as it rests against your sternum, adding an almost regal touch to the simplicity of your look.

your golden necklace settles against your chest, the 'B' charm now still against your skin, a quiet symbol of the intimacy you share. the faint contrast between your bra and the black sweatpants you still wear from earlier makes you feel both casual and vulnerable, a quiet kind of beauty that seems to captivate her. her eyes trace over you with a mix of admiration and hunger, and though her lips remain parted in silence, her body speaks volumes in the way her hands move instinctively to pull you closer again.

her eyes flickered to the fresh ink adorning your right side, the design still vivid against your skin. curiosity flashed across her features, but before she could fully register the image, your lips were back on her stomach, trailing heat along her sternum. your fingers moved deftly, slipping up to cup her right breast through the fabric of her bra, your touch firm yet deliberate. the faint graze of your belly ring against hers drew a sharp intake of breath from her, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating between you.

her hands returned to your sides, her grip tightening as her fingers sank into your skin, eliciting a slight furrow of your brows at the intensity, still, you didn't pause. instead, your hands moved to the hem of her shirt, easing it up and over her head, the fabric sliding away to reveal her bare shoulders. her hair spilled messily onto the pillow beneath her as your fingers worked quickly at the clasp of her bra, the tension snapping free with a practiced ease.

with the last barrier gone, you leaned back into her, your lips finding hers in a kiss that was slower this time, more deliberate. her hand slid up to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, her fingers tugging just enough to send a pleasant shiver down your spine. her other hand rested on your hip, pulling you closer as though the space between you was unbearable.

your knees pressed into the bedding for balance, the soft mattress sinking under your weight as you tried not to topple onto her completely. the thought of it—of gracelessly falling and squishing her-flashed through your mind, and an involuntary giggle slipped past your lips. the sound broke the moment just enough to lighten the air, the vibration of your laugh brushing against her lips.

the corner of her mouth quirked up in response, and a faint moan escaped her, the sound low and rough as if pulled from the deepest part of her. her hands tightened their grip on you, her body arching slightly, and you could feel the soft hum of amusement mixing with the heat between you. it was intimate, raw, and completely her—a moment where even the smallest things felt like a quiet kind of magic.

you refocus, your gaze drifting to her chest before leaning down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses around her left areola. the heat of your breath lingers on her skin, and her body reacts with a subtle arch beneath you. finally, your lips close around her nipple, your tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles over the pink bud. her taste is faintly salty, her skin warm as it yields under your mouth.

your free hand moves to her right breast, fingers molding over the soft curve as you begin to gently roll her other nipple between your fingertips. the contrast of sensations—the warmth of your mouth and the coolness of your touch—draws a shaky sigh from her lips.

"mm-fuck," she breathes, her voice low and rough as her head falls back against the pillow. her neck stretches, exposing the delicate line of her throat, her body surrendering fully beneath you. the sound of her voice sends a rush of warmth through you, and you can't help but smile against her skin.

you switch sides, your lips finding her other nipple as you repeat your actions, tongue flicking and swirling with the same deliberate care. the soft, wet sounds of your movements fill the quiet, her breath hitching with each flick of your tongue.

when you finally let go, it's with a light, teasing pop, the faint suction leaving her skin glistening. your lips curve into a smile as you glance up at her, her chest heaving with each shallow breath, her lashes fluttering as she blinks hazily down at you. there's something intoxicating about seeing her like this— completely undone, her vulnerability offered to you with quiet trust.

lifting yourself up slightly, you shift your focus lower, your lips trailing a delicate path back down her stomach. your fingertips follow close behind, the tips of your nails ghosting over her skin as they trace lazy figure eights along her abdomen. her muscles tense and quiver under your touch, a subtle but telling reaction to the sensations you're leaving in your wake.

as you reach the waistband of her grey sweatpants, your hands settle on either side of her hips. your thumbs begin to draw slow, teasing circles on her pelvic bones, the pressure just light enough to make her body squirm. her breath hitches, and the quiet desperation in her movements only draws a soft smile from your lips.

"please," she whispers, the word so faint it's almost lost in the shallow rise and fall of her chest. but you catch it—her voice trembling with raw need, vulnerability spilling out in that single syllable.

"hm?" you hum softly, your tone low and teasing as your eyes flick upward to meet hers. your eyebrows arch in playful curiosity, your movements never faltering as your thumbs continue their lazy strokes. her blue eyes lock onto yours, heavy-lidded and pleading, the kind of gaze that could bring you to your knees if you weren't already so close.

you tilt your head slightly, your lips curling into a faint smirk as if to say, you're going to have to say that again. her chest rises sharply, her mouth opening, but no words come out-just another shaky exhale as her hands clutch the bedding beneath her. the tension in the air between you feels electric, her silent plea only making you take your time, savoring every second of her unraveling.

"please, please. i-i need you," she stammers, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush, her usual confidence completely stripped away. the rawness in her voice stirs something deep inside you, a thrill at the vulnerability she's offering. her cheeks are flushed, the soft pink hue spreading across her skin, and her eyes are wide, pupils blown with need, the blue of her irises almost swallowed by the intensity of her desire.

you know your teasing is torture for her, and the thought only excites you more. her body reacts instinctively, hips arching up into yours in a desperate attempt to create some friction. but you're prepared for it. without missing a beat, your palm moves to her hip bone, pushing her gently but firmly back down onto the bed, holding her in place. the contrast of her warm skin against your hand sends a thrill through you, the subtle pressure making her whimper beneath you.

her breath quickens, and for a moment, the air between you is thick with tension. she looks up at you, eyes heavy and pleading, her chest heaving with each shallow breath. you can see the fight in her—the way her body yearns for more, yet she remains completely at your mercy. And, for the moment, you intend to savor every second of it.

“my baby wants me here?” you taunt as you cup her cunt, rubbing her slightly through the material of her sweatpants.

“yes, please..." she breathes out with need, her voice trembling, chest rising and falling erratically under your touch. the sound of her desperation echoes in your ears, and it stirs something deep within you.

you can feel the intensity building between you, and as much as you've enjoyed the teasing, you decide it's time to stop. with a slow, deliberate motion, you untie the string of her sweatpants, fingers brushing the soft fabric as you slide them down her plush thighs, savoring the curve of her skin under your touch.

not bothering to remove her panties entirely, you simply shift them to the side, your fingers grazing over the delicate lace as you expose her. the soft warmth of her sex meets the cool air, a delicate shiver running through her body at the sudden change. she lets out a sharp gasp, her back arching slightly as the coolness of the air kisses her skin, her body reacting instantly to the touch.

"look at that," you coo softly, your voice a low hum of satisfaction as you slide your left middle finger down her slit, coating it with her essence. the warmth and wetness of her response leaves you feeling a rush of anticipation, each movement slow and deliberate, savoring every second.

"oh-god," she breathes, sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes flutter, hazy with desire. she watches you through half-lidded eyes, her gaze fixed on your every movement, her chest rising and falling with shallow, erratic breaths. the sight of you biting your lip, the concentration in your expression, seems to send a shiver down her spine.

your finger moves languidly, tracing her slit with unhurried precision, the subtle pressure and teasing rhythm making her hips twitch slightly in response. each brush against her sensitive skin is calculated, drawing out her reactions, leaving her a little more undone with every passing second.

"my baby's so wet for me." you whisper, your voice thick with desire. she nods in agreement, her breath shallow and quick.

"yes, so wet just for you. my god, please," she pleads, the words slipping from her lips with a sense of urgency.

and you obliged, slowly entering your index into her, being mindful to not poke her. you take a slow, deliberate moment, allowing her to adjust to your touch. the atmosphere between you crackles with tension as you fingered her while your thumb rubbed against her clit simultaneously. every movement measured, every breath shared. your fingers trace a gentle path, mindful and careful, as you draw closer to the feeling of complete connection.

"mmm-you're so sensitive, my love," you whisper softly, the words leaving your lips like a caress, your voice thick with satisfaction. her hands find their way back into the roots of your hair, fingers threading through the strands, pulling you closer as her grip tightens, a silent plea for more.

you quicken your movements in response, white rings of her cum forming around your fingers as you continue. your fingers pressing into her with a steadier rhythm, each stroke drawing a louder gasp from her lips. her breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, her voice a tangled mess of words and moans, a symphony of pleasure that mixes with the desperation in her tone. each sound she makes only drives you further, urging you to keep going, to bring her closer to the edge.

bucking her hips into your fingers, she lets out a soft whine, the sound trembling in the air as your movements begin to slow, the shift in rhythm intensifying her frustration. her body is aching, needy, and she craves more, her fingers still tangled in your hair as she pulls you closer, urging you to keep going.

"please, don't stop—please," she pleads, her voice breaking with desperation, the words escaping in a breathless rush. her eyes are wide and pleading, filled with a raw vulnerability that pulls at something deep inside you. she's unraveling beneath your touch, and she can't seem to hold herself together any longer.

"i'm not, baby, just wait," you console, your voice gentle but firm as you slowly withdraw your fingers from her.

she watches you with spent eyes, her chest rising and falling unevenly, her lips parted as she tries to catch her breath. you take a moment to untie the string of your sweatpants, the fabric slipping down your hips as you shimmy them off, leaving yourself in nothing but a pair of black panties. the movement gives her a better view of your new tattoo, a pair of delicate hummingbirds perched around a cherry blossom tree. the ink swirls across your skin, the rest disappearing into your back in an intricate design.

her fingers reach for the fresh ink, the cool touch of her rings against your skin sending a soft shiver through you. you gasp quietly as she traces the delicate lines of your tattoo, her touch both tender and reverent.

"pretty." she whispers, the word slipping from her lips like a quiet reverence, her gaze lingering on the fresh ink as if she were memorizing every detail.

you lean down to kiss her once more, her lips swollen and red, still slightly parted from the intensity of your previous kisses. the taste of her lingers on your tongue as you move, savoring the way her breath catches against your lips.

your fingers move with purpose, slipping under the waistband of her panties, the fabric soft against your fingertips as you slowly slide them off, exposing her to you fully. you do the same for yourself, sliding your own panties down, the fabric brushing against your skin before they're discarded onto the floor.

with a slow, deliberate movement, you align yourself with her, your body hovering just above hers, a breath away from the contact both of you are craving. the air between you is thick with anticipation, your heart pounding in your chest as you pause, just for a moment, to savor the closeness.

both of you breathed out a moan as you rubbed your pussy against hers, her cum sliding on your skin while you grinded on her slowly.

her hands rest on your waist, fingers digging lightly into your back as her hips buck up to meet yours, the throbbing pressure between you intensifying, desperate for more friction. the heat between your bodies is palpable, and her urgency makes your pulse race.

reaching down, your fingers gently grip the side of her neck, your thumb brushing lightly back and forth over her lip. she opens her mouth, eager, and latches onto your thumb, her movements slow at first, then gradually faster, bobbing her head up and down as she tastes you. her tongue swirls around your skin, the roughness of it contrasting sharply with the smooth glide of your acrylic nails, sending a shiver through you.

she lets go with a soft plop, her lips lingering against your thumb before it returns to rest against her lip, her eyes heavy with desire, a silent invitation for more.

you grazed your finger over her pink lips, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, before you gently turned her head to the right. the body mirror on the wall caught your eye, framed in sleek black, reflecting every intimate detail. you could see everything—the way her body reacted to your touch, the slight tremble in her breath, the hunger in her eyes.

"fuck—look at my pretty baby. you're so beautiful when you're not overthinking," you murmur, brushing your thumb tenderly over her jaw, your voice thick with admiration and desire.

sure, you'd fucked in front of mirrors before, the reflections always a part of the experience, but this time it was different. this time, she was beneath you, her body writhing with pleasure, and you couldn't help but drink in the sight of her. every movement, every subtle shift of her body, only made you love her more. you were lost in the moment, savoring every second of this connection, this intimacy, this power dynamic.

billie watched the both of you in the mirror, her hands resting on your thighs, both of your tattoos visible as you moved over her. your belly piercing swayed with each movement, the delicate clink of your bracelet, necklace, and anklets adding a soft rhythm to the moment. the sight of you above her, being so tender, so focused on her, was enough for billie to release the tension she'd been holding.

“ma, i’m gonna—” she hiccuped out as she orgasmed, her cum hot and warm as she released her built up pressure.

"i know, baby, i know." you coo softly, your voice low and soothing, as your hands find hers. the cool band of your promise ring clinks gently against her own, a quiet reminder of the bond between you. you keep your rhythm steady, guiding her through the waves of her release, feeling her pulse beneath your touch as you hover on the edge of your own. the tension in your body builds, the electric connection between you both drawing closer to its peak.

your movements come to a slow halt as you lean down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her head, before trailing light, almost reverent kisses along her flushed cheek. with a contented sigh, billie collapses fully into the sheets, her body surrendering to the moment as her eyes flutter closed, savoring the warmth of your presence, the lingering touch of you on her skin.

as billie's breathing evens out, soft and steady, you gently shift your weight, easing off of her. her hands fall limp at her sides, the faint tremor of the moment still lingering in her fingers. you take one of her hands in yours, brushing your lips softly over her palm, savoring the quiet intimacy between you. her eyes slowly flutter open, the exhaustion from her release softening her features. a slow, sleepy smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she gazes up at you, her expression a mix of peace and satisfaction, as if the world beyond the two of you has faded into a distant hum.

“don’t move,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm. she nods, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion as she watches you, too tired to protest. you lean over, gently tucking a blanket from behind her over her body, picking up her oversized t-shirt from earlier and tugging it onto your body—leaving her bare beneath the cool blanket, before slipping into the connecting bathroom.

the bathroom is dimly lit, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a calming ambiance as you move with quiet intention. you plug the bath drain, the gentle sound of water beginning to fill the basin, creating a peaceful rhythm in the otherwise still air.

reaching under the sink, your fingers brushed against the cool glass bottle of lavender epsom salt. with a soft sigh, you unscrew the cap and sprinkle it generously into the tub, watching as the grains dissolve, leaving a faint shimmer in the water, releasing their calming scent.

you then grab a handful of delicate lavender flower petals, their purple hue soft and delicate, letting them slip from your fingers as you scatter them over the surface of the water, the soft fragrance mixing with the warm steam in the air. next, you reach for a bottle of soap, squeezing a generous amount into the growing pool, and watch as the water turns a soft, inviting shade of milky white. you swirl your hand in the water, stirring it gently, creating soft bubbles that float lazily to the surface, the scent of lavender and vanilla hanging in the air, blending perfectly with the warmth that’s beginning to envelope the room.

reaching into a drawer, your fingers graze the familiar coolness of the lighter, the flickering flame catching the night’s stillness. you carefully light a few candles, setting them on the smooth, black marble base of the bathtub. their gentle glow dances in the dim room, casting soft shadows that seem to whisper secrets. the warm scent of vanilla rises in the air, mingling with the calming lavender, creating a quiet, tranquil atmosphere. with a contented breath, you turn back towards the door, ready to return to her.

when you return to the bedroom, she’s just where you left her—curled beneath the sheets, the rhythm of her breathing slow and steady, a soft lullaby that pulls at your heart. “billie…” you murmur, your voice a tender thread that weaves through the silence. your fingertips trace shapes across her cheek, the touch delicate, coaxing her from the realm of dreams.

“hmm?” her voice is soft, dreamy, as if the weight of sleep lingers in her words.

“come on, love, time to get cleaned up,” you whisper, your eyes finding hers. her blue gaze flickers open, the haze of sleep softening into a warm, sleepy smile at the sight of you. she meets your eyes with a quiet, trusting warmth, her features bathed in the soft glow of the candles.

she hums, barely audible, “okay,” her voice a sigh of surrender, her body pliant as you gently guide her up. there’s no resistance, only a quiet trust as you lead her towards the bathroom, her steps slow and uncertain, but still, she follows. the warmth you’ve prepared beckons, and she lets you carry her there, one step at a time, beneath the soft weight of the night.

“you didn’t have to do all this,” she whispers, her voice soft and hoarse, a trace of vulnerability lacing her words as you gently sit her in the tub, the warmth of the water surrounding her like a soft embrace.

you smile, the touch of your thumb against her cheek tender, as if trying to soothe away every ounce of weariness. “yes, i did. you deserve it,” you murmur, your words a quiet promise. reaching for a black hair tie, you gather her hair into a loose bun, fingers brushing the strands with care. you press a gentle kiss to her forehead before you step away.

you move quickly, the rhythm of the evening pulling you in its quiet flow. downstairs, you wash your hands, then start the water for pasta, the soft hiss of it filling the silence. you make your way to the linen closet, pulling out fresh sheets and a soft comforter, the fabric cool against your fingers. replacing the old with the new, the bed now seems like an invitation, waiting.

you dig through your drawers, gathering pajamas for both of you, and return to the bathroom, where she sits waiting for you. her eyes follow your movements, a small smile curving her lips as you shed your shirt, your skin exposed to the dim light. she shifts, making room for you behind her, her fingers absently playing with the delicate purple petals floating in the water.

the candlelight dances around her, casting a soft glow across her face, and for a moment, she looks like something from a dream—beautiful, ethereal, a goddess bathed in warmth. everything in this quiet moment feels like it has slowed to match the rhythm of your heart, and you’re grateful for the stillness, for her.

as you settle into the warmth of the bath, billie leans back, her head gently resting against your chest, the two of you melting together in the soft embrace of the water. your legs, tangled beneath the surface, form a quiet connection, grounded in the silence between you. for a while, neither of you speaks. the only sounds are the soft crackle of the candle flames, a steady whisper in the room, and the occasional ripple of water as your feet shift, the delicate sound of your anklets grazing against the porcelain tub.

you let your fingers wander, tracing light patterns along her arms, the movements slow and tender, as if giving her space to breathe, to gather her thoughts. patience is something you’ve always had for her—something she’s always admired. even in the tense, unspoken moments, you remain still, waiting for her to speak when she’s ready.

after some time, she sighs, a soft exhale of air that carries the weight of everything unspoken. her voice, when it comes, is quiet but steady, the vulnerability in it a tenderness that wraps around you. “it’s not just the project,” she confesses, her words fragile but honest. “i feel like i’m always trying to prove myself, like no matter what i do, it’s never enough. and then i think about what people expect from me, and it’s just… a lot.”

her voice fades softly, her heart laid bare, and in that silence, you hold her, letting her feel your steady presence as she breathes through the weight of her words.

you hum softly, the sound a gentle lullaby, and press a kiss to her temple, a moment of quiet connection between you both. with a tender motion, your left arm drapes over her, and she nestles into it, resting her head on your forearm. her fingers graze your skin, tracing the delicate cursive lines of the tattoo that wraps around it, each stroke of her touch like an intimate conversation between her and the ink.

“i get it,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing, a soft breath against the stillness of the room. “you’ve got so much on your shoulders, but you are enough. i don’t ever want you to think otherwise. but i need you to know—you don’t have to carry it all alone. i’m here, okay? whenever you need me, just let me know.”

she nods, a small, quiet movement, and her legs shift, resting gently over yours beneath the water. her fingers curl around yours, pulling them into her touch, tracing the new french tips on your nails with a delicate reverence. “i know. and i don’t say it enough, but… i’m really grateful for you. for this. i don’t think i could get through half of this without you.”

her words flutter around your heart, soft and tender, and something inside you swells—something warm and full, as though the weight of everything between you is lightened in that moment. you pull her closer, holding her a little tighter, as if to make sure she knows that, in this world, she is never alone.

as the water cools, you gently lift her from the tub, your hands moving with the same tenderness that has defined the night. wrapping her in a soft towel, you dry her skin, each motion slow, careful—treating her like something precious, like a secret only you know. the faint scent of lavender lingers on her skin as you moisturize her body, the warmth of your hands gliding over her, bringing her back to the moment.

with a soft hum, you dress her in the fresh pajamas you’d brought in earlier, each fabric fold smoothing over her skin like an act of quiet love. reaching for a brush, you run it through her damp hair, each stroke almost meditative, before weaving it into two neat french braids, the rhythm of your fingers threading through her hair like you’ve done this a thousand times before.

once you’ve dressed yourself, you lead her downstairs, her hand finding yours as you move. at the kitchen island, she sits, watching you with soft eyes as you finish preparing dinner. the soft clink of utensils and the rhythmic chop of vegetables fills the space, but the most prominent sound is the ease of your conversation, light and easy, as you tell her about your day—about the small moments, the little victories, and the quiet things that mattered. she listens, her gaze never leaving you, her hands folded in her lap, tracing the soft lines of your self-care routine with a quiet reverence.

when dinner is ready, you turn off the stove, and with a practiced hand, plate the pasta, the steam rising like a promise. you sprinkle it with cheese before presenting it to her with a quiet smile. you settle into the chair next to hers, a chuckle slipping from your lips as she pulls the leg of your chair closer to her own, the movement playful, the connection simple, but full of a thousand unspoken words. the evening, now wrapped in warmth, feels like the calm after a storm—everything settled, everything right.

billie curls into your side, her body fitting against yours like it was always meant to be this way. her head rests gently on your chest, the soft rhythm of your heartbeat the only sound that matters as she takes small bites of her food, the warmth of her breath mingling with the quiet hum of the evening. “you really take care of me,” she murmurs, her voice thick with drowsiness, each word a delicate confession.

you smile, a tender curve of your lips, and trace gentle lines up her side with your fingers, the motion almost hypnotic. “and i always will. you’ve got nothing to worry about tonight.”

a contented sigh escapes her, and she sinks even deeper into your embrace, the weight of her body relaxing against you, her warmth becoming a part of you. she feels the truth of your words settle within her, like a quiet promise. she loves you, and in loving you, she has found something so rare and precious—something she never wants to lose. being loved by you is the safest place she’s ever known.

in this moment, she understands something profound: that no matter the distance or the storm, you’ll always find your way back to each other. and just as surely, she knows she’ll always be there for you, too.

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[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.