#Just passing time cause I have read all of them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyuny-bunny · 3 days

Text

baby said | Y.J. + H. H.

genre: established relationship, rockstar bf x groupie gf x rockstar bff, smut, a touch of fluff, a sprinkle of angst, M X F X M,

wordcount: 6.2K

part I

MNDI (+18) CW: oral (both m and f receiving), unprotected p in v, afab reader, use of she/her/hers/girlfriend, pet names (baby, angel), slight degradation, hyunjin is a whore, voyeurism, riding, squirting, fingering, slight breeding, cumplay, spanking (slightly), teeny bit of angst w/ a splash of fluff, slight overstimulation, threesome, M X F X M, mxm smut

a/n: proof read ? god no. if i miss any warnings please do let me know. also took me several days to pump this out so if you hate it, don't tell me :') peep the nana reference mwahaha

summary: after concert celebration with hyunjin and jeongin takes a turn... for the bed

Since that night in the green room, Hyunjin seemed to have slightly reeled in his behavior. Emphasis on slightly. He remained the flirt he was but less… opportunistic in his advances physically, less pressing you into walls & corners, opting to redirect the energy to his flirty advances. Jeongin noticed his hyung had become more affectionate with him, doting on him like a child or making suggestive remarks. But, no one spoke of that night.

Jeongin had purposely left that door unlocked. While the target in mind had been Hyunjin, he was willing to expose any poor soul's eyes to the lewd state he had you in that night. Jeongin had lucked out on seeing the look of shock, and terror, mixed with pleasure that painted his face. Finally, he had shown Hyunjin that his attempts would remain futile as long as Jeongin had you wrapped around his finger… Or in this case his cock.

Tonight was a big night for the band, Minho had made some calls and was able to arrange for a talent scout to watch them play. He happened to be an old friend of Minho’s but the timing never worked out until now. It was a sold-out show in the city, it had left them antsy and anxious for days leading up to the show. Pressure to be perfect, to show this label what they were and could be. You had never seen Jeongin as stressed as he was, it was to the point that sex had been put on pause until after the show. It didn’t offend you but it was hurting to see Jeongin this way without being able just to take the weight off his shoulder for a moment. In consequence, it leaves you starved. You still cuddled every night and his kisses were endless but you missed him inside you. Needed him in you like you needed air to breathe.

You arrive at the venue, making your way toward the hall that leads backstage, you show your credentials to security before making your way to the green room. The door was closed, Minho leaning against the frame with his head pressed to the wall.

“Everything alright?” You ask, his head finally peaks up to look at you.

“What do you think?” He asks sheepishly, half laughing and shaking his head.

“That bad?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this quiet, not even when they’re sleeping” You sigh knowing exactly what he meant.

“Is it alright to go in?”

“Yeah, go for it. The talent scout is here so I’m gonna fetch him” Minho gently grabs your shoulder in passing “Do. Not… Tell them that I’m bringing the scout in. They’ll all just jump up to their feet and mob him like puppies to kibble.”

“Yes, sir” You laugh knowing he’s probably right.

You knock on the door before walking in. Chan is twirling a drumstick in his hand anxiously, Jisung is hunched over in a ball on the floor fidgeting with the scratch in the wood coffee table, and Jeongin is sat back on the couch with a shaky knee biting back his lip. He only ever bites his lip like this when he’s too lost in thought. Matter of fact, they’re all too consumed with their thoughts to have even noticed you’ve walked in. You sit next to Jeongin causing him to snap out of his dazed state.

“What if I suck?” he asks without looking at you

“You won’t” He’s fixated on something across from him.

“But what if i do?”

“You won’t”

“But-”

“No head. Ever.”

“... that’s a bit cruel don’t you think?”

“Jeongin, look at me” He finally tears his eyes to look at you. His posture softens a bit. You lean forward to kiss his cheek, bringing your lips to his ears.

“You will do amazing like you have always, and I will be there watching, screaming, and cheering you on like I’m the only person in that room tonight.”

His face turns to lean into the hand that caresses his face.

“And when it’s all over, you can have me anyway, anywhere, and however you want, okay?”

There’s a flush across the top of his cheeks with that last comment.

“You know I love you right?” He whispers just low enough for you to hear

“I know”

He looks gorgeous, the black smokey eyeshadow makes his eyes even more striking against the ginger color of his hair. A decision that was made on impulse this past week but has somehow made him look even hotter. You survey the room once more noticing someone was missing.

“Where’s Hyunjin?” You ask which now has Jisung looking up from the coffee table and has Chan dropping his drumstick.

“He’s in the bathroom probably trying to yank one out, he ran through his speed dial fucks, none could be at his beck and call this week so he’s been particularly moody” Chan says so casually it's almost typical. There’s a slam against the wall coming from the bathroom and a loud shout. “See.”

The door to the bathroom is suddenly yanked open and a very frustrated-looking Hyunjin is standing in the doorway. His chest heaving as he puffs out a breath shooting Chan a glare. He’s wearing a black jacket with a velvet finish, a white tank top that scoops a little too low, and black jeans with docs to finish the look. He doesn’t spare you a glance before walking over to the vanity to put his rings on. You look at Jisung who has also zoned out. You slip off the couch to kneel next to him, he looks at you now at eye level with him.

“ I don’t think I need to tell you that they all wouldn’t be here tonight without you Ji, right?” He silently nods. “Good then lets put on a show none of them will forget.”

You kiss the crown of his head before standing up and turning to Chan.

“And you… just be hot and play those drums”

“The ever-encouraging words of our lovely, Y/N, ladies and gentlemen,” Chan applauds you as you curtsey. Hyunjin is sitting on the vanity looking at you, there’s something about his eyes that sends a shiver straight down to where you’ve been aching all week. It’s the same look he had in his eyes that night he grabbed your hand to feel up his tattoos.

“You on the other hand,” You point a wavering finger to Hyunjin “You’ll find something to stick your dick in tonight, so for the love of god, try to be less pissy until it’s all over.”

“I’ll hold out hope, maybe if I’m lucky enough, it'll be you,” He rolls his eyes and lets the comment slip past his lips before he’s able to catch it. It leaves your face flushed and the rest of them shooting a look of bewilderment at him.

The tension is cut by Minho walking back into the room, indicating its almost time for them to go on. On cue, you blow Jeongin a kiss to which he obnoxiously catches and presses to his lips. Hyunjin’s comment rolls around in your head until you get to the bar to grab a drink. You know him enough to know when he’s joking but this didn’t sound like it. The look of shock on everyone's face was just confirmation. You see a seat and ask the guy sitting left of it if it’s taken, he sheepishly says it's all yours. You shed the coat you've been wearing, lined and trimmed in faux fur with intricate embroidery, revealing your long-sleeved mini-black dress. You took note of the way his eyes drank everything in, you smiled looking at him again.

“Are you a big fan of the band?” You ask trying to make small talk, intrigued by his presence. He wasn’t dressed like anyone else here, he wore a grey hoodie and jeans, and a mop of soft brown hair sat on his head matching the softness of his eyes.

“Can’t say that I am just yet. This is my first show, and you?”

“You’re in for a real treat. I’m a huge fan you could say. Been to almost every show.” His eyes widen a bit at this. “Oh really? Just here for the music?” He asks with raised brows.

Without another word, you wink as the lights dim and the crowd screams.

This had to be one of their best shows, the energy from the crowd only amplifying their stage presence. You had never seen them performing as passionately as they had tonight. They all moved and played so perfectly in sync, on top of nailing every drum solo, guitar solo, and long vocal note. The lights had come on and your drink was empty once again. The guy who had been next to you had stood up lingering inside taking a phone call. Minho was the first to come out, he walked to security first to let them know to usher the remainder people out as quickly as possible.

“They’ll be out soon, the talent scout wants to see them to discuss a deal. The venue said we could have it in the attached restaurant so can you please take these orders and grab us a booth?” Minho asks while frantically looking around.

“Boo if this is my reward for being Jeongins girlfriend, I’m expecting a cut of this deal too” You pout at Minho who is waving you off.

You give the waiter the order for the 7 of you before sitting in the booth. It's a rounded booth with an extra chair at the open part of the table. You had given the coat to the host at the entrance but your legs felt cold with the mini dress riding up your thighs in this booth. It isn’t long before you see Chan and Jisung, dressed more casually and strutting to the table. You step out the booth to hug them both and congratulate them on the show. Minho is making his way down soon with Jeongin and Hyunjin in toe. Jeongin is grabbing you by the face to give you a kiss leaving you giggling at his enthusiasm. He tries to kiss all over your face before Jisungs groans and interrupts. You end up sandwiched between Jeongin and Hyunjin, which unfortunately does nothing for the ache between your thighs, the smell of their cologne is all you can breathe in, and the roughness of their jeans brushing against your exposed legs. They were both notorious for manspreading, so any thought or notion you had about legroom was out the window.

Hyunjin seems to either not notice or care about the way your legs try to scoot further from his, you opt to cross your legs over each other, causing your boyfriend to notice and slide a hand onto the thigh that was buried under the other leg, his hand smushed between your thighs and so close to where your panties are dripping for him. Jeongin carries on with his convo with Chan who sits next to him. You take a shallow breath trying to focus on anything else, this piques Hyunjin’s interest.

“What’s got you so worked up?” He asks lowly into your ear while throwing an arm around the back of the booth seating that cages you in.

“I could ask you the same” You scoff when he reaches to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll share if you do? Here I’ll make it easy for you,” He riches for his drink tossing back the last of his drink, you watch a droplet slip down the side of his mouth just missing his lips. As he sets the drink down he’s leaning incredibly and his lips are practically pressed against the shell of your ear. “I would love nothing more than to rip that dress off your body, lay you out on this table, and fuck you while your boyfriend watches. And I know you haven't been fucked for days with how tense our Innie has been.”

You cough trying to suppress the moan you let slip, luckily it only has Jeongin turning to check on you with concern. You tell him you choked on air before he gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze and a kiss to your temple. He promised to make it up to you tonight for the dry spell he left you in this week. Hyunjin has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, his gaze fixed on the guy now walking to your table and waving to Minho. It’s the same guy from the bar.

“Ah finally. Everyone this is Seungmin, he works for Capitol Records.” Seungmin waves coyly until his eyes meet yours. Min goes around introducing you all.

“This is Jisung, our singer, Chan, our drummer, Jeongin, our lead guitarist, and Hyunjin, our bass player. This is Y/N, our unofficial assistant and resident groupie.” Minho laughs at that comment but earns him a shin kick from Hyunjin. You roll your eyes extending a handshake.

“I’m Jeongin’s girlfriend. I think it's fair to say that Assistants and Groupies have better benefits than I do but it’s nice to meet you. Formally, that is.” You smile coquettishly. You always knew better to play into the flirt act when it would benefit them.

“It’s nice to have a name to put to such a pretty face.” You blush but it's sincere. The rest are side-eyeing you suspiciously Jeongin only has a questionable look on his face, you mouth ‘tell you later’ to him which melts the furrowed brow expression on his face.

“Great news,” Seungmin says as he sits in the seat between “The company wants to sign you a two-record deal. Some terms are negotiable but I’ll need an answer tonight.”

“What are the terms?” Chan is the first to speak.

“55k sign-on bonus, 15% cut on ticket sales, 10% on album sales, and we keep the royalties.”

“No.” Jeongin says firmly. Seungmin has a shocked look on his face.

“We want our royalties, we write everything ourselves. We’ve produced everything ourselves up until now. Our royalties and right to the music is non-negotiable.” Jisung speaks up but there’s not a single thought of consideration for the offer on his face.

Seungmin looks to Minho for help, “I told you they weren’t gonna crack on that,” he says with a shrug.

“We’d be willing to give a portion of the royalties, but not all.” Hyunjin jumps in.

“20% for you and 80% for us” Chan says.

“You’re twisting my arm on this guys.” Seungmin looks at you all with pleading eyes, it’s so cute it almost works on you. You see why he’s the scout now. He stands up to pull his phone out “Let me make a call.”

He walks away leaving the 6 of you at the table quite, a bit jittery and anxious. Your mind brings you back to what Hyunjin said a few moments ago when you feel fingers brushing the side of your thigh where the hem of your dress rides up. You don’t have a chance to say something to him before Jeongin has a look of distress on his face, his grip on your thigh is getting a little tighter.

“I hate this. Everything about this makes me so anxious.’ He leans his head on your shoulder slumping back. You caress his face making him look at you.

“I can call Yasu, he might be a little helpful. Besides, unless he has some paperwork on him for you to sign at this very moment, which I highly doubt, nothing is final until you put pen to paper.” Yasu was a lawyer your friend of yours, very intimidating to look at with his dark sunglasses always on, the height, the piercings, and his bald head. He was a sweetheart but he had a cold look that always helped when you were going out.

“Please, could you?” He looks at you with his puppy eyes, you kiss his forehead before pulling your phone out to call him.

“Let me out, I gotta make a call.” You say to Hyunjin as your pulling up Yasu’s contact information. He doesn’t budge, “Hyun.”

“Gotta crawl across, baby, I don’t really feel like moving.” You wait a moment.

He can’t be serious. While you’d normally argue with him, you needed to call Yasu before Seungmin came back.

Fuck it.

Without a second thought, you put your legs over his lap before scooting yourself across his lap. That’s when you feel it, he’s hard. You're pulling your dress down again.

“You know you’re a real pain in my ass?” You huff

“I was hoping it would be a pleasure”

You look past him at Jeongin who’s still processing what he saw once again, he needs another moment.

You scurry off to a secluded corner to call Yasu.

It’s a brief conversation, he warns you of what to look out for and to call him first before signing anything.

“Hey, can I ask you something unrelated?”

“Of course.”

“If my boyfriend's band member who is also my long time friend, won’t stop flirting with me despite walking in on me and my very loving boyfriend having sex… what do i do to make him stop?”

He says nothing, you can hear him sigh deeply on the other end.

“Hyunjin.” It’s more of a statement then question, you hum in response. “Throw him a bone.”

“In what way?”

“That’s up to you. Goodnight.”

Your head spinning with ideas. You store it in the back of your mind for a moment before walking back seeing Minho waiving the waiter over to collect the bill.

“What happened?” You ask Jeongin who stands beside Jisung out of the booth.

“We’re renegotiating tomorrow afternoon, let Yasu know we’ll need him if they want to sign,” Jeongin says while wrapping an arm around you. You're texting your friend once more, giving him the details of when and where before he confirms he’ll be there first thing.

Jisung, Chan, and Minho had departed with their goodnights by the time you refocus on your surroundings. Hyunjin is still lingering, standing next to the both of you.

Throw him a bone.

“Hyun, you want to come out with us for a few drinks?” Jeongin asks. It seems someone has already beaten you to the question. Hyunjin is glancing at you once more before that stupid grin is back on his face.

“Sure. I got no one better to do. Sorry, I meant nothing better to do.”

You’re walking down to the speakeasy bar down the street a few blocks over, it was pretty hipster. Dark velvet walls, gold lighting fixtures, and indie shoegaze music. It looked like a burlesque hall but hipster men and women sprinkled everywhere. You often came here for a fun time after a show, it seemed as good of a time as any.

Hyunjin grabbed your drinks while you grabbed a table in the corner tucked from everyone else, your back to being sandwiched between the two of them. You take what was probably your third drink of the night, it’s liquid courage. Every time you felt a buzz like this, your actions were a bit unpredictable. You're swaying a bit, Hyunjin is staring at your lips. The entire time you’ve been sitting here, they were two chatterboxes not sparing an ounce of attention.

“Truth or dare?” You ask. Jeongin is leaning into your back with his head pressed to your shoulder.

“Truth,” Hyunjin answers without sparing a glance at Jeongin, he’s intrigued by the mischief in your eyes.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” Hyunjin’s brow raises.

“Yeah. I do. How does that make you feel?”

“Gotta play the game right, Hyunjinnie,” You say taunting a finger at him.

“Fine, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Jeongin is pressing his lips into your shoulder.

“Take your panties off.” Your chest is fluttering, your boyfriend groans a bit.

“How do you know I’m wearing any?”

“Prove it, then.” You shake your head while you lift off the seat to pull them down a bit before shimming them off. You pick them up tossing the black thong into Hyunjins lap.

“Good girl.” Jeogin nips at your ear, and you let a moan slip while his hands start to paw at the flesh of your thighs. “Truth or dare, Hyunjin?”

‘“Dare,” Hyunjin’s head tilts like a confused puppy as he speaks.

“Kiss me.” Your pussy is drolling with the way Hyunjin is looking at you. You feel yourself getting hotter under his gaze.

Without another second passing, Hyunjin’s lips are attacking your own. It was everything you imagined, his lips were soft and full against yours. His kisses are wet from the way his tongue is dancing with yours. He has a hand in your hair pulling ever so softly, yours tangling in his hair while your other grips at Jeongin who sits behind you. He pulls away to bring his free hand up to your boyfriend's face, he grabs him by the hair pulling him in for a kiss. There, smushed between the two of them, you have the perfect view of their lips and tongues fighting for dominance. The wet smacking and saliva connecting their mouths have you whimpering. It was so lewd to be pressed between the two of them while they moaned and gasped into each other's mouths. They both pull back looking at the flush across your face while panting for air. Jeongin is the first to attack your neck on the side closest to him, and Hyunjin follows suit. You let out a whiny gasp, rubbing their thighs up and down before moving to their crotches feeling the strained hard cock’s beneath their pants. Jeongin’s hand makes its way to your exposed cunt, this pulls you out of your lust-filled haze. You remember you're in public again. You’re pulling Jeongin off once more too.

“Hotel. Now. Not here.” His lips are tinted pink and glossy from hickeys he's just sucked into your skin.

He groans but silently agrees grabbing your purse, Hyunjin pulls away from your neck reluctantly. Pulling you with him out of the booth. Jeongin is leading you out of the now crowded bar, holding your hand while Hyunjin keeps a hand on your waist right beside you. Your heart is racing, pounding against your chest. The walk back to your hotel feels like an eternity, Jeongin is repeatedly slamming down the elevator button with impatience. Hyun is pressed firmly against your back, his arm wrapped around your waist and his hand splayed on your tummy. Never been more thankful to have him holding you so firmly in fear your legs would give out any moment. Hyunjin nips at your ear teasingly while you feel his growing erection poke into your back. The elevator dings, Jeongin dragging the two of you inside. Once the doors shut on you three, Jeongin kisses you once more, his hand rests on your throat holding you in place. Hyunjin is groaning at the sight feeling himself harden even more at the sight of his friend dominating you, his hands are feeling your chest. Hyunjin slips a hand underneath your dress from behind, feeling the way the lack of panties has only made your pussy droll with excitement for him.

You're pulled off the elevator in a swift motion by the two of them, being straight into the room and onto the bed. You're ripping your clothes off while the other two ogle at the scene in front of them, you fully naked in front of them.

"Who's first?" You ask smirking, trail hand between your thighs, turned on by the sight of the two of them staring at you with hunger in their eyes. They turn to look at each other but Jeongin does the unexpected. He's grabbing a fistful of Hyunjin's hair leaning into his ear.

"I want to watch you eat her out first. You can manage that can't you?" Hyunjin is wincing in pain and pleasure before muttering out a yes. "Good, strip your clothes then."

Hyunjin is throwing his clothes off haphazardly around the room, Jeongin sheds the last of his clothes before he settles down on the bed sitting behind you. Hyunjin is down to his boxers, staring at the both of you before sliding them down revealing his cock. He's big like Jeongin, he's not as long but he's just as girthy if not more. You haven't stopped playing with the slick between your thighs, having enjoyed every moment of the strip show, you glance back to see Jeongin, stroking himself looking between you two. Hyunjin is pulling your hands away from yourself pining them above your head. He's laid atop of you, the feeling of his tip so close to your entrance has you whimpering and wiggling under to get some friction.

"Not so fast. I've waited so long for this." He mumbles with his lips just brushing your own, he goes in for a kiss. It's short but filthy with the way his tongue slips. He pulls away, he holds your wrists in one hand to bring his hand down to your face and squeeze your cheeks.

"Open." You open your mouth only for him to spit right onto your tongue. "Swallow."

You do as he says.

"Fuck, I'm gonna ruin you, such a good girl." He glances at Jeongin while moving his way down your body with teasing kisses. Jeongin gets the hint and leans forward to take hold of your wrists.

When he finally gets to your thighs, you're already whining for him to do anything. He takes his time watching you through lidded eyes, kissing the inside of your thighs until he's faced with your cunt. He licks a strong stripe up flicking your clit leaving you gasping for more, pushing a thigh up and over his shoulder, he starts with slow but firm licks your clit. One arm stretched across your hips to hold you in place while his free hand repeatedly slaps to the outside of your thigh. After enough teasing, his mouth is fully latched to your cunt, messily slurping up every drop of you. You’re screaming out at his torment, looking up at Jeongin who has let up on his grip on your wrist. He's enticed by the way Hyunjin's face is buried in between your legs. He uses his free hand to grope your tit, massaging the boob in his hand and leaning down to kiss you. You're moaning into his mouth when you feel Hyunjin's finger now brushing your g spot. You feel your eyes rolling back and the knot in your stomach about to burst, the feeling of his lips sucking at your clit, and your back arching off the bed begging to feel relief. You can feel Hyunjin’s fingers pick up pace and his tongue flicking repeatedly as you feel your orgasm approaching, and then the rubber band inside you snaps. Legs shaking, body twitching, and cries pouring from your throat as your release drips down Hyunjin’s face.

With every touch, your skin feels like fire as you lay there trying to come back to the present. You almost missed the way Jeongin pulled Hyunjin from between your thighs, attacking his face with hot, sloppy kisses, desperate to know what he tasted like with your release coating his lips. When you regain consciousness, Hyunjin is flipping you over onto your stomach, lifting your hips in the air.

“Are you okay? Do you want to keep going?” Jeongin is leaned down by your face. You nod and whisper yes, throat tired from the screams you let out moments ago. He kisses your forehead before maneuvering to sit in front of you, his legs spread while his cock leaks with precum. His tip is angry red, begging to be touched. You’re reminded that Hyunjin is behind you when you feel a harsh smack on your ass, fingers playing between your folds. He gripped his cock with one hand, stroking himself a few while aligning your hips into place. You feel the way he rubs his tip against your dripping cunt, you wiggle your hips begging him to just put in.

“Please... Hyun please just fuck me please,” You plead while gripping the bed, nails digging into the comforter.

“Anything for you, my angel. Such a dirty girl crying out for my cock arent you?”

He’s slamming his hips into you giving you little time to adjust to feeling, his cock brushes against your cervix. He’s thicker then Jeongin, you can feel every ridge of him inside you. You yelp clenching down on him which causes Hyunjin to groan loudly, digging his fingertips into your hips. He moves slowly pulling himself out before bottoming out inside you again. Your whimpers only egg him on, Jeongin is fisting himself, all thoughts consumed by your moans and the way Hyunjin is slamming himself in and out.

“Gonna fill you up so good. Watch me empty my load into your angel girlfriend, Jeongin.”

Hyunjin picks his pace up, the sound of skin slapping echoes in the room while he pounds into you from behind. You attempt to bury your face in the blanket you lay on top but Hyunjin is drunk on the way you cry out in pleasure, he wants you crying out his name while Jeongin watches. He pulls you up by your hair, lifting you to hold yourself up on your hands, he wraps an arm around your throat, leaning over your body to chokehold you. He continues his merciless thrusting and looks up to Jeongin while he grunts burying himself inside you to the hilt. He has a catlike smirk on his face while you cry out again feeling his tip brushing that spot inside you again. Jeongin is rapidly unfolding at the sight, but he can’t bring himself to release yet. Hyunjin lets you go before pulling out of you leaving you crying out at the empty feeling. He flips you onto your back, you roll over like a ragdoll now that every muscle in your body is worn. He settles on his lifting your hips into his lap before beginning to pound into your cunt. He holds your hips in the air while your back is arching once again, he’s so close and this new angel is bring him close to his own climax. Your whole body shakes and pussy clenches down on him, trying to milk every last drop of cum out of him. With a few sloppy thrusts, he climaxes inside you, painting your insides white with his cum. Your 2nd orgasm falters off as you aren’t as close, when you feel him pull out, your legs shake, needing him to finish what he started. You pant in place aching to feel your release. You look up at Jeongin, your boyfriend who watched his best friend just dump his load into you.

“Sit on my face.” It’s all he says, it's all Jeongin needs to say. He couldn’t cum, not when your pussy was dripping with Hyunjin’s cum. He needed to taste. When he finally scoots down the bed low enough for you to straddle his face and hold the headboard for support. He gives your ass a hard slap, gripping your hips down to smother his face, he was going to eat you out like you were his last meal. Without another second to spare, his tongue is dipping in and out between your folds, Hyunjin’s cum pouring onto his tongue. Lapping every drop into his mouth like you were spring water in the desert.

Hyunjin had been watching this play out. Trying to catch his breath but he’s hard again, he can’t ignore the burning desire in his stomach to suck Jeongin off right now, when would he ever get another opportunity like this again? He makes his way back onto the bed push Jeongins legs apart, before settling down right between them just like he had done to you earlier. You look over your shoulder catching a glance before Hyunjin is spitting on your boyfriend’s cock to start stroking him. You had a burning feeling in your stomach recalling back to that night Innie fucked you on the couch remembering the fever flush that came over you seeing the way Hyunjin drank the image up. You brought back to reality when Jeongin groans into your pussy, overwhelmed by the feeling of Hyunjin taking him all the way down his throat. Jeongin snaps his hips up causing Hyunjin to gag and tighten his throat around him, you grind your hips into his mouth looking down at him while leaving another harsh smack across your ass.

You’re close to cumming again, your hand fisted in Innie’s hair while he moans into your pussy. He picks up the speed rapidly flicking his tongue on your clit, your thighs hurting from both the approaching orgasm and keeping yourself up from suffocating your boyfriend. Hyunjin is sloppily sucking your boyfriend off, pulling off for a moment to lick at his balls before flattening his tongue, and licking a long stripe from his balls to his tip. You once again feel your orgasm washing over you and cum shakily down on Jeongins face, he gleefully takes your hips in his hand helping you ride out his orgasm. You pull yourself shortly after to keep yourself from falling into full overstimulation, Hyunjin still lies between your boyfriend's legs, bringing Jeongin close to his own orgasm. Jeongin lifts his head up just enough to watch him shove Hyunjin’s head further down on his cock once more, holding him in place while he empties himself into his mouth. Out of breath, Innie lays there while Hyunjin slowly pulls his mouth off, letting Jeongins cum drip down out of his mouth back into his cock.

Panting, out of breath laying next to Jeongin, you hug his arm leaning your head on his shoulder. He smooths your hair down kissing your forehead muttering an ‘I love you’. The bed shifts when you feel Hyunjin lie next to you, you're all worn out, tired, and sore. Jeongin is the first to move with shaky legs, he makes his way to the bathroom to run a bath for you. Hyunjin is holding you in his arms, his head is pressed into your shoulder.

“I love you… I love you both so much… this won’t ruin us right?”

You roll over in his arms to look at him, Hyunjin had tears welling in his eyes. You knew him better than anyone else, his efforts to find a home in someone else’s body were all efforts made in a vain mindset, that sex could somehow fix the hole he had in his heart. He was always going to be in love with you, in love with you both. His heart held as much love for you as it did for Jeongin, someone he was never quite sure would ever reciprocate the love in the same way.

“No, this changes some things but it’ll never ruin us. Come on, let's shower, we can talk things over in the morning. For now, we can hold on to this moment.”

A tear slips past, you wipe the tear away from his cheek rubbing a soothing thumb over his face. Hyunjin walks to the bathroom first, Jeongin comes back out for a moment.

“Baby, I think you’re gonna have to help me to the bathroom. My legs feel like jello.” You tell Jeongin as laughs, he’s still hard so his erection still stands tall when he stands in front of you.

“I got you,” He picks you up bridal style, you wrap your arms around his neck. He stops for a moment with you like this. You cup his face and kiss him, a sweet one, a reassurance that you love him. He presses his forehead to yours, “I have so many mixed emotions right now… but I know… I need you both… more then ever.”

“I’m right there with you. Now, let's shower please, I’m begging you.”

After having both of them hold you up in the shower to wash, a cooperative effort to clean up the mess you left behind in the bed, you finally settle under the new sheets and comforter after having to ask the hotel housekeeping for shamefully. You wore one of the many band t-shirts Jeongin had, it was just the right amount of worn to feel soft against hot skin. Hyunjin grabbed spare clothes from his room before returning to the shared room for some much-needed cuddling and aftercare. You’d fall asleep sandwiched between the two of them, Hyunjin pressed to your back and your head on Jeongins chest.

You wake up the next morning to your phone blowing up, Hyunjin and Jeongin both passed out in a comatose sleep. You scramble across the bed to reach the dresser.

"Hello?" You ask groggily.

"Where are you and where is the other half of this band? I'm with the rest at the record companies office and the meeting is in 20 minutes." Yasu's voice is like a splash cold water to your face.

"Oh FUCk-" Your shoving the other two awake, shouting something about meeting and company. They both drop to the floor scrambling to find clothes.

"They'll be there soon maybe 10 minutes, 15 at most." You say as you watch the flee out the door.

"I'll try to stall till they get here... you said "they"... did you?..."

"I took your advice... and that's all I'll say."

152 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 11 hours

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (31)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She couldn't believe it, but the measter left her with no illusions − after weeks filled with fear and prayers, a miracle had happened and she was expecting a child.

She knew it was a blessing from the heavens, that some women waited months or even years for their offspring.

She thought with joy that it was a sign that the gods were supporting them and their cause.

That they also did not desire war.

It seemed to her that, despite everything that had happened, her mother was also reassured and pleased by this information − by the thought that perhaps she would give birth to a son who could be declared heir to the throne and bring a solution that would at least partially satisfy all sides.

The only person who was not pleased by this news was Jace. He was the only one not to congratulate her, and at the common table he pretended not to see her, speaking only to his betrothed.

She realised that their mother, while protecting him all her life, had at the same time weakened him, allowing him to remain immature deep inside while maintaining a semblance of masculinity.

She decided, however, that it no longer mattered.

She eagerly awaited her husband's return, wanting to convey this wonderful news to him in person − she wished to see his reaction and enjoy the moment with him. She gushed with delight when one morning her servant announced that a message had arrived from Harrenhal, hoping that she would read in it when she would see him again.

Her anger at him was now completely passed, replaced by longing and desire to be reunited.

She unrolled the parchment, chewing on the piece of bread she had just had in her mouth, and began to read.

I reached Harrenhal however, unfortunately, I found the fortress empty. Lord Strong escaped with several spies − we are still searching for them. In accordance with your will, I have spared Alys Rivers' life and locked her in her chamber. I cannot predict when I will be able to return to Dragonstone. I ask your forgiveness for not fulfilling my duty as your husband and not being by your side. Aemond

She swallowed hard, feeling a twinge of discomfort and grief in her guts at the thought that the matter was not yet closed and there was no way of knowing when it would be.

The thought of further separation devastated her.

This made her come up with an idea that her mother did not approve of.

"No. You are carrying your child inside you, I will not let you fly to Harrenhal. It's too dangerous." She communicated to her clearly, shaking her head.

She pressed her lips together at her words, feeling her heart pounding fast.

"The journey to Harrenhal is not long. Who would attack me in the sky? My husband has informed me that the fortress is empty. I will be safe there. He is there to prove his loyalty to me and you."

Daemon chuckled at her words, shifting from foot to foot, amused.

"He's fixing something he destroyed himself. If he had said what he knows instead of playing with us, I would have taken care of the matter myself, and Larys Strong's head would have greeted visitors to Harrenhal on a spike." He said coldly, staring at her expectantly. She looked at him in disbelief, wondering if this was what they were discussing then, on the seashore.

Daemon knew of what was about to happen to them and Aemond had thwarted his plans.

She swallowed hard at the thought.

"I…−"

"− I'll fly with you −" She heard Baela's voice and raised her gaze to her, surprised. Jace moved beside her uneasily.

"− what are you doing? −"

"− I've never seen Harrenhal − I'll make sure my cousin got there safely, rest a day or two in the fortress and return to Dragonstone −" Baela said without heeding her betrothed's impatient, furtive gaze.

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, turning her head away, clearly frustrated that her daughter wanted to leave her family home, which she felt was the safest place possible for her.

"− if you lose this child −"

"− I won't lose it − I'll look out for myself − it'll be easier for me to calm down when I'm by his side knowing what's happening −" She explained, looking at her with a certainty from which her mother sighed heavily.

She and Baela set off before dawn the next day. Her mother hugged her tightly, tears in her eyes at the thought that her child was leaving her again.

"− watch out for yourself − you are my only daughter −" She muttered with regret and pulled away, placing a lingering, warm, tender motherly kiss on her forehead.

She glanced at Daemon, who stood in the distance − he was looking at her with his chin raised high, as proud and filled with mockery as always. He nodded as if he accepted her choice, the fact that she had done what he demanded.

She had made a manly decision with all its consequences.

She was her husband's wife.

Flying in the skies alongside Baela and Moondancer, she wondered why she had never done this before; her cousin's dragoness was as beautiful and agile as Larax, her scales shining wonderfully in the light of the rising sun.

She was grateful to Baela for offering to fly with her − her company calmed her and gave her strength, a sense that she wasn't treating her like a traitor, that she was trying to understand her and help her as much as she could.

She thought with pain that if she had opened her heart to her earlier, they would have been close friends for years.

She hoped in her mind that they would make up for lost time when at last the succession issue would be finally resolved.

When peace would reign.

The journey to Harrenhal on the dragon's back proved to be quick and pleasant − they landed just outside the fortress when the sun was already lazily rising in the sky.

She couldn't stop the wide smile that appeared on her face, the rapid pounding of her heart or the trembling of her hands as she slid from her saddle and saw her husband step out of the stronghold gates to meet them, looking at her from afar.

She felt what she had experienced when she saw him for the first time after eight years then, in the courtyard of the Red Keep, when he was duelling with Criston Cole.

She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms and whisper how much she missed him.

This time he didn't turn away, and she didn't hold back.

She laughed as she felt her legs begin to carry her forward on their own, her body filled with warm affection and emotion at the sight of his pain-filled disbelief.

As she fell into his arms, as she smelled his familiar scent again, she felt his hands catch her under her hips and lift her high. She threw her arms around his neck, her legs entwined around his waist as their lips came out to meet each other, locking in a sticky, messy, hot kiss from which they both sighed quietly.

She squirmed when she felt his tongue slide deep into her mouth, rubbing her palate, her walls clenched greedily as his throbbing manhood slapped against her lower abdomen, betraying how great his longing actually was.

She pulled away from him, breathing loudly as he did, wanting to look at him and noticed his hazy, dark gaze filled with desire, his lips, puffy from their caresses parted.

She sighed when his broad hand stroked her head and pressed her forehead against his, only to have their lips join again a moment later in a soft, warm kiss with a loud click of their saliva.

Only after a moment did she remember that she had not come alone.

She grunted quietly, pulling away from him − her husband glanced sideways and furrowed his brow, setting her back down on the ground, clearly unhappy with what he saw before him.

Their cousin stood a few steps behind her, smiling at her uncle with feigned affection and mockery, from which his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Baela accompanied me on the journey for my safety. Mother did not want me to fly to Harrenhal alone." She said quickly, wanting to calm the situation and what was surely just going on inside his head.

She saw him glance at her quickly at her words, as if surprised. He hummed under his breath and nodded − his expression softened, as if he recognised that this was indeed the right decision.

"I am grateful to you for your sacrifice, cousin. I will order a chamber to be prepared for you." He announced coolly and matter-of-factly − their cousin nodded, still smiling.

She knew she was trying to bring him out of balance, but there was nothing she could do with it.

As one of the servants took Baela to her quarters, her husband looked at her and licked his lower lip with his tongue, as if he was thinking deeply about something.

"− I must speak to you in private −"

"− I need to speak to you too −" She said cheerfully.

She was so eager to share this joyful news with him.

She closed the door behind her as soon as they crossed the threshold of his chamber, ready to tell him, but he grabbed her violently by the shoulder and turned her towards him, slamming her back against the wall.

She squealed when his lips pressed against hers as if he wanted to devour her, his tongue invading deep into her throat with his loud sigh on the edge of pain and relief.

"− w-wait − uncle − I must −" She mumbled as his hand clamped down impatiently on her breasts and his hips began to rub against her stomach − his manhood was all hard and swollen beneath his breeches, and the very thought made her feel the wonderful, familiar wetness between her thighs.

"− were you touching yourself? −" He breathed out into her mouth, as if he was in amok and hadn't heard her words, his hands trailing from her hair, down her neck, to her breasts and buttocks, as if he couldn't decide what he wanted to feel more, what he longed for so much.

"− I − y-yes − gods, Aemond −" She gasped in pleasure as one of his hands slid deep between her thighs − his fingers dug into her womanhood hidden beneath the fabric of her breeches, teasing and squeezing it, making her nipples harden all over with desire.

Only a sigh escaped her lips as he turned her with her face against the wall, his moist tongue running over her thrill-warmed neck, his twitching cock pressed against the place between her buttocks.

"− me too − every day −" He hummed into her ear, untying her breeches with his long, nimble fingers − she involuntarily pressed her cheek against the wall understanding and desiring whatever was about to happen, her fleshy insides clenching desperately around nothing.

"− morning and evening − thinking of this tight little cunt −" He gasped with delight, running his fingertips over her soft, plushy folds as he spoke the words, satisfied apparently that she was completely ready for him.

"− as always sticky and warm for her husband − hm? −" He hummed, sliding her breeches down with a single, sure flick of his hand.

She swallowed hard, feeling her thighs and what was between them being enveloped by the cool air of the room, her heart thumping like mad as she heard him try to deal with the material of his garment behind her back, his hot breath teasing her neck again and again.

"− yes − ah −" She mumbled when she felt him grab her with his arm around her waist and pull her hips closer, forcing her to buck her buttocks and bend over.

Pathetic, helpless moan broke from her throat when she felt how swollen the head of his cock was, with what difficulty he tried to force it between her slick, hot, puffy walls.

"− fuck − fuck −" He exhaled, with impatient thrusts of his hips invading deeper and deeper into her warm core, spreading her open on his fat erection.

She gasped, clenching her eyes shut, trying to keep her balance by leaning against the wall in front of her and fit what he was trying to force into her − she thought in disbelief that it seemed more swollen to her than usual, she could feel exactly every vein of it rubbing again and again the wonderful spot inside her.

"− why is it − so big − o-oh, gods −" She mewled, moaning like a mere whore as he began to pound into her without any warning, opening her wide again and again on his throbbing cock with loud splats of his thighs against her buttocks.

She felt her wetness run down her thighs − she knew he had seen it because she heard his low groan of pleasure.

"− and what do you think − fuck, Rhaenys, I'm not going to pull it out of you tonight −" He breathed out, leaning forward, slamming into her again and again as brutally and quickly as if he'd lost his mind − he leaned one of his hands against the wall just above her head, the other clenching at the same time on her hip, forcing her to take what he was giving her.

She clenched her hands into fists, feeling the tickling, hot sensation building up in her lower abdomen at a startlingly rapid pace, her hips involuntarily beginning to respond to his thrusts, meeting him halfway, clenching around his manhood, refusing to let him go.

Her nipples swelled wonderfully as she felt him press his face against her hair, as if he was drawn to her scent, groaning and panting along with her, thrusting into her so fast and deep that he was hardly sliding out of her.

"− let me, Rhaenys − let me, let me, let me −" He uttered with a heavy breath, and she felt that it was over for her − her body shook with a wonderful, tickling shudder that she felt in her mouth, in her fingertips, in her nipples and in her weeping cunt, which began to suck him inside her in an fulfilment so strong that for a moment she saw darkness before her eyes. She heard his surprised gasp of pleasure, followed by his loud sigh of relief.

She felt his hot seed fill her womb again, his hips rocking inside her for a moment longer, his face pressed into her neck, as if he wanted to prolong this wonderful moment.

They both couldn't catch their breath, panting and quivering, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, keeping her from slipping to the stone floor.

"− Rhaenys −" He whispered, and she sighed quietly, smiling involuntarily, tired and fulfilled.

"− hm? −"

"− stay wtih me −"

She swallowed hard and pressed her lips together into a thin line, for some reason feeling a squeeze in her throat, a wonderful elation at the thought that he craved her presence so much, that he missed her as much as she missed him.

"− I will, my love −" She hummed and heard him sigh in relief, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her neck.

"− what did you want to convey to me? − your mother has another condition? −" He asked reluctantly, as if he didn't want to bother himself with this topic, having her at his fingertips again. She smiled at his question, placing her hand on his arm, with which he embraced her at the waist.

Her heart sang with joy.

"− I'm carrying your child −"

She felt him freeze behind her, his breath caught in his throat.

"− what? −" He muttered, as if he thought he had overheard himself and needed her to say those wonderful words again.

She smiled under her breath feeling that, for the first time in months, happiness and hope filled her. With a soft movement, she grabbed his wrist and gently placed his hand on her lower abdomen, pressing it against her bare skin. She heard him swallow loudly, taken aback in disbelief.

"− you're going to be a father, uncle −" She hummed, turning to face him over her shoulder − her breath caught in her throat when she heard him laugh.

It was not a mocking or cold sound, more an expression of joyful disbelief, there was a warmth and happiness in his gaze from which she felt moved.

She felt the tips of his fingertips dig into the soft skin of her stomach, his lips found hers in a greedy, wet, deep kiss, his half-soft manhood pulsed deep inside her again.

"− Rheanys − oh gods − this must be a dream −" He breathed out into her mouth, slipping his slick tongue deep into her throat, panting with delight − her walls squeezed him tight with pleasure as she felt him involuntarily begin to root into her again with the tentative, soft thrusts of his hips.

"− then it is a good dream −" She whispered tenderly into his mouth and he murmured loudly, saying no more.

This time, knowing she was expecting his child, he took her to his bed, wanting to look at her face and what he was doing to her, panting into her mouth at how much she pleased him, how well she did, already carrying his offspring in her womb.

He pulled their garments off of them, ripping his eye patch from his face, wanting to be vulnerable with her, wanting to be exposed with her.

She knew what she was to him at that moment.

A dragon egg that had cracked.

As his swollen manhood pushed against her moist slit again, he slid into her with ease, slowly and unhurriedly this time, merely rocking his hips back and forth inside her, making her lips part in delight at how gentle and tender the experience was.

His cheek snuggled into her hair and his face sank into the pillow under her head as if he didn't want her to see the expression on his face, how much pleasure he was getting from this soft intimacy.

They both moaned shyly as he slowly began to accelerate his pace, each time slapping his bare skin against her buttocks − her lips placed soft, butterfly kisses on his bare shoulder and neck, her hands ran down his back and buttocks making his soaked cock pulsate impatiently deep inside her.

"− I've missed you −" She whispered, answered by his low sigh, his hand blindly finding her breast and squeezing it lightly, as if the sensation of that plump, soft structure under his fingers gave him a sense of security and reassured him.

"− me too −" He muttered so quietly that she barely heard him, a lazy smile filled with happiness spread across her face as she closed her eyes and let herself drift off.

When it was all over, her husband, all breathless and sweaty, laid his head on her womb, facing her, looking down at her belly, running the tips of his fingers over it as if he was thinking about what was hiding under her skin.

"− how did you find out? − are you absolutely sure? −" He whispered, as if doubts were beginning to invade him, as if he feared it was too beautiful to be true. She sighed quietly at his words, the smile never leaving her face.

"− I fainted and was examined by the maester − I am sure −"

At her words her uncle furrowed his brow, raising the gaze of his healthy eye at her, his sapphire shone dangerously in the sunlight.

"− you fainted? −"

"− yes − I despaired because I didn't know when or if I would see you again −" She mumbled in embarrassment, combing his long, snow-white hair with her fingers. He closed his eye and murmured contentedly, opening his eyelid again after a moment.

"− if you had only written to me − I would have flown to Dragonstone immediately −"

"− I was afraid my message would fall into the wrong hands − I didn't want to take the risk −"

Her husband hummed at her words.

"− wise girl −"

She smiled, letting him place a warm, moist kiss on the skin of her lower abdomen.

"− I have a gift for you −" He murmured, running his fingers over the hot skin of her stomach. She looked at him, surprised, her heart beating harder in excitement.

"What's it?" She asked, curious.

"I give Harrenhal into your possession. I hand it over to you in my letter, which I have already sent to King's Landing. The fortress is your property until your death. It will then fall as a inheritance to our offspring."

She blinked, twisting in her place, looking at him in disbelief. Seeing that he grinned, she covered her mouth and giggled like a little girl, unable to contain the joy and warmth that spread through her body.

"Do you mean it?" She mumbled, unable to believe that he could do such a thing without consulting his brother and mother.

That he had made this decision alone.

Her husband hummed under his breath, trailing his fingers from her lower abdomen to her chest making goosebumps appear in the places he ran over her bare skin.

"You are your father's daughter. This is your legacy." He replied, his wide hand stroking her belly with a tenderness from which shivers ran through her.

"And my brothers?" She muttered, reminding herself that, after all, her father, although she didn't know him very well, had sons too. Her uncle smirked at her in a way that was disturbing, to say the least.

"I don't give a shit about your brothers." He sneered, making her swallow hard, wrinkling her eyebrows but unable to hide the smile of amusement from which his face lit up.

"You're cruel." She mumbled, stroking his hand lying on her womb with her fingers, softening her words and their overtones in the process. Her husband snorted at her words.

"I am. I am a walking cruelty." He whispered maliciously before he lifted himself on his hands, moving towards her, leaning over her face − his tongue invaded deep between her lips with his hum as his mouth pressed against hers in a loud, sticky, messy kiss.

She squirmed as his fingers slid from her womb between her thighs, warningly beginning to tease and squeeze her sore bud, puffy from earlier caresses and fulfillments.

"− uncle −" She mewled weakly into his mouth, feeling the wonderful tickle in her lower abdomen again, tentatively parting her thighs apart, his half-hard erection slapping impatiently against her belly, demanding her attention.

"− I warned you −" He exhaled, shifting the weight of his body to his elbow, spreading her legs apart with his knee. "− open −"

She obeyed his command obediently and whimpered loudly with exertion as she felt him try to force his long, throbbing manhood into her again with the impatient thrust of his hips.

She threw her head back as he finally broke between her oversensitive, swollen walls, pulsing around him in panic, her short nails digging into the sweaty skin of his back as he began to sink into her again, panting with pleasure.

She felt her moisture mingled with his seed ran down her buttocks.

"− too much −" She mumbled out, moaning each time he teased the sore, swollen spot deep inside her again, trying to pull out of him at the same time and bucking her hips in response to his thrusts, feeling both the discomfort and the wonderful, tickling pleasure shaking her body.

"− shhh − I know − we'll take it slow − there's no reason to rush −" He whispered tenderly, placing comforting, soft, warm kisses on her face, leaning on one forearm, his other hand stroking her effort-warmed cheek, as if trying to give her reassurance.

"− I warned you − I warned you that I wouldn't pull it out of you today − didn't I? − is your husband lying? −" He cooed, as if he were speaking to a small, frightened child. She shook her head, struggling to fit him deep inside her again and again, feeling his thighs hit her buttocks with loud splats of their shared wetness.

"− n-no − no, husband −" She mumbled, looking up at him pleadingly, running her hand over his scarred cheek, her puffy lips parted in heavy breaths. He gasped with satisfaction at her words, pressing his forehead against hers, with slow, deep thrusts making his way to his next fulfilment.

"− just like that − let me do my duty to my wife − as many times − ah − as necessary −" He exhaled, quickening his pace, swollen and already completely hard deep inside her, slamming into her with greedy, sure thrusts from which she felt like she was losing touch with reality, the chamber around them, the bed she lay on seemed blurred to her, she could only smell his scent, only feel the strong grip of his hands.

"− g-gods, Aemond −’" She mumbled out, feeling the way his bare chest pressed against hers with his low groan of satisfaction, her nipples rubbing against his exposed skin with his every push making his cock pulsate aggressively inside her with pleasure, intensifying her sensation.

She gasped when she felt him grab her thigh and lift her leg higher, putting her knee on his shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

"− uncle, what are you − o-oh, fuck, uncle, uncle, uncle, uncle −" She whined out, tilting her head back with her lips parted in disbelief, her eyes closed with her loud, shameless moans as she felt him like never before, his entire length pressing wonderfully against a place inside her with each of his thrusts, from which her body quivered all over with pleasure, writhing before him.

Nothing more than a babble and a plea left her lips as he watched her in awe, not slowing his pace, placing hot, sticky kisses on her knee, stroking her thigh with his wide hand, panting loudly along with her.

Something like a smirk of satisfaction flashed across his face as she threw her other leg over his shoulder on the other side of his head, his body leaning over her in such a way that she could in no way escape his brutal thrusts, which again and again teased the intensely oversensitive spot inside her.

"− I can't − I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, p-please −" She cried out, but her husband didn't stop, bringing her to a state where pleasure different than usual took her speechless − she felt a sudden, wonderful relief, her walls began to squeeze and suck him inside her, she heard him hiss quietly, clearly feeling what she was feeling.

He groaned low as he came a moment later, clenching his eye, panting hard and swallowing loudly as he looked down at the sheets beneath them, under which a huge wet spot had formed.

"− did I hurt you? or the baby? −" He exhaled horrified, thinking that perhaps she had miscarried due to his brutal treatment, however there was no blood after all. She shook her head, rising on her elbow, struggling to collect her thoughts, panting loudly, her body quivering all over.

"− no − b-but − this time − it was different − I mean − my fulfilment was different − and then I felt...this −" She muttered in shame, feeling that her whole buttocks were wet. Her uncle swallowed hard at her words, embarrassed, his lips tightened into a thin line as he looked at their sticky bodies.

"− I − I think I read about it − in one of the books −" He said uncertainly and grunted softly, sliding out of her gently with a click of their shared wetness. She hissed quietly, pulling away and noticed a large, colourless stain under her buttocks, as if someone had poured water there.

"− the maester wrote in it that a woman is also able to − well − come as well as a man if she is properly… teased inside −" He hummed, licking his lower lip involuntarily, looking at the stain beneath them as if he was proud of his achievement.

She raised her eyebrows in amusement and giggled involuntarily, feeling some kind of relief.

"− what kind of books do you read, uncle? − what would your mother and Ser Criston say? −" She sneered, smiling broadly. Her husband threw her a frustrated look, which however softened after a moment, his grimace turning into a mischievous smirk.

"− in the same book I also read about this position − after I became your husband I began to delve into the mysteries of these…sensations − what else can I do with you −" He murmured, running his index finger along her thigh, a glint of satisfaction and contentment in his eye from which she sighed heavily.

She leaned back and made herself comfortable on the bedding, shifting her body closer to him so that she wasn't lying on a wet spot. Her uncle leaned on his elbow, watching her intently in silence − they stared at each other for a moment, with only the rustle of leaves and birdsong outside the open window around them.

"− I'd like to rest now −" She muttered, running her knuckles over his bare chest. Her husband hummed quietly under his breath and nodded, his broad hand stroking her head.

"− sleep − rest after the journey −" He murmured, combing his fingers through her hair the way he had when they were children. She closed her eyes and purred softly when she felt him lay his head beside her, his gaze on her face, his warm breath enveloping her cheek as his free hand covered their naked bodies with warm furs.

"− do not fret − your husband is by your side now −"

_____

Author note: Those who were to know know. I promised you, didn't I? Hehehe. 👀👀👀👀👀

119 notes · View notes

shesjustanothergeek · 2 days

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-Four

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Apologies for the wait. Life hasn't slowed down for me at all. As soon as I was finally in a good place physically and mentally, I got into a car accident. I'm okay. I didn't get hurt, and neither did the other person, but my car was totaled. I've been dealing with the insurance, and the head of household on the insurance could have been better in assisting me. It has not been fun. As always, thank you for your patience, and happy reading!

Chapter Warnings: drugging, mentions of miscarriage, Ser Criston Cole, we have an unhealthy relationship w/ our father.

The world around you was peaceful as you sank further into the throes of poppy milk. Candles softly hummed with the drafts that swept through the Keep, wood settled, and the fire within the hearth cracked. You did not have to think or feel anything other than the tincture slowly seeping into your marrow. Everything was calm and serene as your eyelids hung low, the orange glow of the flames blurry in your eyesight.

Jeyne sat on one of the lavish armchairs, a needle, and thread in her fist as she hemmed one of the summer dresses she had been putting off. You watched as her wrinkled hands worked, following the pattern of a blind hem stitch as she pulled the thread up and down in a hypnotic, steady rhythm. The shadows danced across her fingers with each tug, pulling you further and further into a deep trance.

Your cramps became a dull thudding in your back due to the milk, but the bleeding hadn't stopped, soaking through layers of fabric and onto your fresh bed sheets. Maester Orwyle warned that you would continue passing clots in the coming days and recommended that, along with wearing thicker, small clothes, you apply heat to your back and abdomen until the pain is gone. You chuckled at the thought, finding it ironic that the only remedies a man of medicine had were things your mother taught you, but followed them nevertheless.

Hours passed into the night, the wolf's hour gradually approaching, yet you never slept a wink. It was as if you were in a realm between the unconscious and conscious mind, awake yet unaware simultaneously. Jeyne had fallen victim to her body despite being ordered to keep watch. Her head hung low, and her chin tucked into her rising chest as she snored.

It was uncertain when your body came back to life. Your eyes opened as you scanned the dim room around you. The wind whistled into the night as you gazed out an iron-paned window, mouth thick. It felt like a thousand tiny insects crawled within your skin, tickling your muscles and sending shivers up your spine. The sensation is unwelcomed but not unpleasant, causing you to rise from your warm blankets and pace across your chambers.

You stumbled at first, knees crashing into the stone floor with a dull thud. Quickly, your head snapped to Jeyne, ears rushing with blood at the abrupt movement. Thank the Seven, the maid was still fast asleep, undisturbed by your grunts and hisses as you rose to unsteady feet again.

The floor ebbed and waved in your vision, your bones feeling like marble, vibrating with every step you took as you searched the plethora of the Maester's supplies for water, downing it in one greedy gulp. The world around you was still calm, a hue of yellow blanketing across your chambers as you listened to your audible breaths.

Longing pulled at your soul as your eyes fell upon your rumpled sheets. It reminded you of times not so long ago when you shared unbridled intimacy with the one you loved, a wistful smile on your chapped lips as you replayed the moments in your mind's eye. You couldn't understand why Alicent chose now to tear Aegon away from you. Could she not see the good you brought with him? Why did she not stop it sooner if she did not want you to grow as close to him as you had? Was the Queen indeed so cruel that she would tear away her son's only source of happiness simply because it no longer benefited her?

Alicent had created an impenetrable bond between two souls and now sought to destroy it, but oaths made of loyalty and love were hard to sever.

You were sure guards were posted outside your doors to stop you or Aegon from seeking one another, and the thought caused you to grimace. There were other ways to see each other, and you prayed that the Queen had not been wise enough to bar both. You did not desire to cause fuss or quarrels.

You needed to see him. That's all it was.

Gradually, you made your way to one of the numerous secret passages in the Keep, unbothered with the state of your being. No shoes nor gown covering was worn as your bare feet pattered over the dank passages. Though you did not emit your goal aloud, your muscles understood where to go as if the string of fate connecting two lovers' souls, bound together like the hands of marriage, pulled you toward one another. Shuffling your naked soles across the dirt-ridden path, you knew the way to Aegon's wing like the skills of the sword, not requiring a light as you advanced.

There was not a pathway directly to his chamber, or at least not one he or you had found, but thankfully, a small portion of the trek was a less traveled corridor until you reached Aegon's room.

Your sanity retreated, imagining joyful days filled with the sun's blinding rays atop Cannibal, the wind caressing your cheeks. The sticky, viscous sensation of blood running down your thighs was not a thought as those memories replayed, your limbs moving on their own.

The tender, yellow glow of torchlight came into view, reeling your body back into consciousness as the silhouette of a guard appeared. Ser Erryk caught you before you did him, rooted into his post, as he observed your shuffled gait with a curious expression. The smeared blood trail behind you caused his brows to arch in concern as you approached, the scent of smoke and something floral wafting in the air around you.

"Princess," Ser Erryk exclaimed, allowing himself to move a few paces forward. "You mustn't be here. The Queen said you were abed."

Giggling, you stopped before him, amused at the notion that the same person who forced milk of the poppy down your throat was concerned for your health. "Is that what she said?" you jeered halfheartedly. "I am confident that is not the only thing she expressed, as you are not immediately allowing me past those doors."

Your tongue felt like lead as you spoke, forcing your clouded mind to think twice as hard to get the words out.

Erryk stiffened, armor clanking in anxiety as he threw swift glances to the sides. His lips scrunched with indecision, battling an internal war with duty and compassion as you sway to the rhythm of your slowly beating heart.

"You are not permitted to see Prince Aegon, by her majesty's order, and he you," he admitted with a noiseless sigh as if this was as difficult for him as it was for you. You flashed the knight a countenance of pity, understanding the humanity within him conflicted with the soldier, fighting to be free.

"Did she tell you what happened, Ser Erryk?" you questioned airily, your eyelids suddenly becoming increasingly heavy. With all your might, you hoped that your words would sway him, quickly sparing a glance down the path of your essence.

"His Highness explained to me the attack on your life and that my brother was sent to the Black Cells for failure of duty," he admitted. You could feel the pointed way his words meant, angered at what he felt was an injustice for Ser Arryk.

"He's imprisoned?" you asked, face wrinkled with worry. "I will see at once that he is back in his bed. Your brother was upset with me, but he did nothing wrong."

You could not feel the concern that you indeed should in a situation like this—an innocent man punished for someone else's sins. You could not feel anything except for the serenity that blanketed your being. You wished you could always be like this. Eternally calm, incapable of anxiety, anger, or sadness, and in the back of your mind, it worried you.

"Thank you, Princess," Erryk bowed, his back ramrod straight. "Prince Aegon confided the attempt on your life and the consequences of it. The death of a child is something more profound than any knight could endure. You have my condolences."

Your breath hitched, lashes fluttering. The memory of your agony, the cramping, the blood, the screams of a babe torn from their mother's womb echoed in your skull like an agonizing symphony. You focused on your steady pulse, pulling yourself back under the comforting spell of the poppy.

For just a while longer, you did not want to feel.

"Then you understand why I must see Aegon." Your declarations were too sober for one under the influence, and your nose began to itch, disarming Erryk as his internal war raged. "I have yet to experience the comfort of grief in the company of a loved one, Ser. The Queen took that from me," you voiced, your words becoming unsteady and rambled. "I am alone in this place. I do not have a mother or father from whom I can seek guidance. I have no true friends. Only political allies surround themselves with me because of obligation. I have Aegon, and that is it."

The confession slipped past your lips before you realized your voice was speaking, mouth thick with unobstructed emotion. "So, please, Ser. I pray you. Allow me to see him."

The battle between warrior and compassion ended, the goodness within Ser Erryk prevailing over duty as he pursed his lips, a sheen in his eye. You realized that was the difference between the two brothers, and perhaps you aligned yourself with the wrong choice. One was bound to serve the realm with a blind eye, not questioning commands no matter their inhumane contents under the guise of duty. The other was as much a devout servant to those he followed, yet he allowed his conscience to guide him in his actions instead of unseeing obedience.

You could feel the blood collecting at your feet, seeping into the cracks of the flagstone floor and staining the hem of your nightdress. It was as if Erryk could sense it too, blue orbs flicking down to the small crimson puddle on the ground, swallowing audibly as the groaning walls creaked in the silence. He opened the stalwart oak doors to Aegon's chamber, wordlessly bidding you in. You sent him a grateful look as you entered, promising to yourself that you would not let the milk of the poppy make you forget his kindness.

Aegon's bed chamber was unlit except for a handful of half-melted candles scattered haphazardly about the area, emitting a subtle yellow glow to the miscellaneous items discarded on the floor. Your lover was not in his usual spot, draped lazily on his sheets like a stretched cat, nor was he at the lavish furniture in front of the crackling fire. It wasn't until you heard the telltale sounds of hiccuping breath, a loud sniff, and a bone-shuddering sob that you turned.

Aegon stood in the same attire you recalled at the farthest corner of his room on the full-length windowsill. His back faced you, still unaware of another person in his chambers. A decorative glass wine decanter was within his grasp, taking large swigs of the reddish liquid as his body swayed on the ledge.

Though your reason clouded with a thick mist, muscles heavy with each movement, a rush of panic went through you as a harsh draft of the frigid night air nearly threw Aegon off balance before he righted himself.

"Raqnon?" (love), you called out into the darkness, toes catching on a rumpled pile of clothes as you stumbled towards him.

Aegon's cropped hair spun with him as he fell to his knees on the stone floor with a yelp, the glass decanter shattering. He mumbled something you couldn't decipher as you approached him with tentative movements, careful not to pierce yourself on any scattered pieces. You attempted to kneel before Aegon, but he stopped you with the wave of his hand.

"You-" he stuttered breathlessly, attempting to stand on drunk legs, "you should be resting. Get on the bed."

You could not deny the rush his command inspired and did not protest as you went, sitting on the edge and observing how Aegon stumbled over pieces of crystal with a concern scrunch to your brow. "You've been drinking," you stated rather than asked. You knew the answer, the clues evident that even the most inept of individuals could see. You wanted to hear him admit it aloud. "I thought you were limiting your consumption?"

Aegon's eyes met yours, a shimmering pool of amethyst within exhausted, sunken holes of indigo. You were sure you looked no better with a sallow hue due to the blood loss. They were both mirror reflections of each other's internal emotions.

"I think," he began, limbs tangled and gait like a newborn colt, "this situation allows me to have a little drink."

Your nose itched. A pesky little sign that tears were about to flow as you lowered your gaze to the small crimson stain on your nightdress. There was no reply to the prince, no words that would convince Aegon to take this situation more seriously than his mind would allow, and so you let the briny rivers flow, timidly nodding in acquiescence.

The profound feeling of failure mixed with dread crept its claws up your back, its fingers like knives as an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and lassitude tugged at your heart until it could no longer beat.

All that work and what did it get you... All the sacrifices you made, prioritizing the future of a realm that will not remember you two hundred years from now when the Targaryen legacy no longer has its hold over the land. What have you done but give your life— your body in service of your House? And what did you have to show for it? An immature prince who does not know how to cope without the aid of firewater. The overwhelming fear of the hereafter pulled you into an abyss you could not escape.

How would your father react to this? Your mother? Both would be distraught beyond comprehension, each showing it in varying ways. Daemon was always quick to anger and thirsted for bloodshed, acting with sharp words and swift blows with the sword rather than Rhaenyra, who had a matching fury but whose wrath and memory knew no bounds. You fretted for those who would fall victim.

Abruptly, Aegon's moonlight hair came into view. His arms trapped your lower legs in an iron embrace, and his forehead burrowed between your thighs.

"This is my doing. I left you alone after I vowed never to leave your side... to protect you," Aegon sobbed, tears staining the white fabric of your skirt.

"Do not be foolish," you retorted more harshly than intended as your hand instinctively went to his crown. "You seek to make it your fault within the confines of your own mind because you cannot fathom anything bad would happen unless it was influenced by you–because you think so lowly of yourself–because you have been told every waking moment of your life that something was not good enough because of you."

You could no longer retain your inner thoughts of Aegon's psyche and who helped influence him to be in such a way. You almost died, and you did not want to spend another moment keeping them within.

"The figures in your life that were supposed to guide you, shape you, nurture you failed tremendously, and yet they blame you for their shortcomings." You took Aegon by the sides of his head, forcing his bleary eyes to meet your focused ones, trying to impress the seriousness of your words. "It is not your fault."

The prince choked, mouth thick with excess saliva and mucus as he tried to speak. "I know it's not."

He did not know what you meant. Was it for something specific? Was it your poisoning and losing your child? Was it because of the heartache and shame he caused people? His actions and coping mechanisms? Or was it for anything and everything he forced himself to bear the conscience of?

You did not believe him, and the confession came too quickly to have entirely made an impact. "No, Aegon. It is not your fault."

"I know." He stared, lips tucked into a stiff pout, and attempted to pull away and gaze anywhere but you.

"Look at me, issa raqnon," (my love) you softly commanded, your voice tender and kinder than he had ever heard. His mouth twitched, glassy, and ametrine slowly dragged up your arm, chest, shoulder, neck, and face. "It is not your fault."

Aegon balked, light-colored lashes blinking as your words finally struck through the two decades of mental fortresses created by harsh words, unrealistic expectations, and emotionless love like a battering ram to the sturdy oak doors of the mud gate.

"Please," he whispered, for what he did not know. Perhaps a last-moment plea to halt the forthcoming emotions and memories he kept numbed and buried deep within wine, women, and gambling.

Nevertheless, Aegon's effort proved fruitless as a cry akin to a howl tore through his vocal cords, ripping his marred soul bare for you to finally see. He pressed his cheek into your stomach, ignoring the pang of discomfort that rolled through you as he wept as if he were a babe. You cradled him to you, stroking his matted silver strands as you rocked him with the other, your self-gratifying way to help ease your nerves.

It reminded you of your time in the Godswood underneath the heart tree, where Aegon laid his soul unyielding to allow you both to become one finally. Those stolen moments seemed like a lifetime ago, but much happened between then and now to lead you to this moment.

You were grateful that your love was finally actualized and did not regret a single moment spent together from when Ser Arryk discovered your affair to the present attempt on your life and the successful one of another. You had no choice but to feel again, despite your best efforts, nails scraping Aegon's scalp as the milk of the poppy waned, replacing the hollow loss with unfelt grief.

It was almost as if the pregnancy did not exist, and to those not within your chambers at that time, it didn't. There were no signs, cravings, missed moon blood, or weight gain in areas typical to term. To all who did not see you pass the blood clots with their own eyes, you had no reason to mourn. You could not get the image of your child torn from your womb, your skin, muscle, and innards tossed aside in search of something you did not know you carried out of your head, the screams of you and your child melding into one.

"Here I am, crying in a puddle of my own self pity when you are bleeding from your womb," Aegon sniveled, pulling away and rising onto one knee.

He placed a sticky palm over the affected area, your face crumpling with emotion. "That is not you speaking, dōnus taobus," (sweet boy). "We both hurt immeasurably today and in the past. We must mourn for what happened and what could have been," you replied, placing your hand over his.

Aegon's fingers dragged from your stomach, over your breasts, and onto your jaw, gingerly stroking your lower lip, brows scrunched in thought. He did not speak, letting an already wandering mind fester as his gaze studied the moist area.

"Do you believe in the tales of Old Valyria?" Aegon asked unprompted. "About the dragon gods bestowing dreams on people they deemed worthy?"

You nodded noiselessly, confused yet eager to know what he had to say as Aegon kept his gaze fixed on your mouth, slowly stroking the area. "I believe all cultures have their own belief systems, and one can be as valid as any. After all, it was Daenys the Dreamer who allowed us to live here today."

"Always the diplomat," the prince chortled, eyes crinkling with bittersweet mirth. "I believe Helaena is one of them," he said thoughtfully. "She has always said peculiar things–things I never paid much attention to until now."

You stared at Aegon in befuddlement, raising a brow as he continued his thoughts. "She said that you will grow old in love with me, that our union will be of love, and that the children will adore you as if you are their mother. That the dragon has three heads and that Aegon spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every one he spent with Visenya, but I will spend every night with you," he rambled, desperate to get the sentences plaguing his mind out.

It was a pleasant idea that sent heat to your ears to imagine that one day you would wed Aegon and no longer have to hide your love, but you knew it to be untrue. You were a bastard, and he was a married, true-born son of the king. Not only would it be against the law, but sin in the eyes of the Faith for one man to take two wives. It could fracture the relationship between the crown and the Citadel, and you did not wish for history to repeat itself.

Suddenly, a distant memory, one you had not thought of since it happened, appeared in your mind's eye. The confession took you back in time to the moment of Aegon's nameday feast, where you recalled bathed in glittering gold, loud, upbeat orchestral music, and the words, a sacrifice of her blood, peace reborn, chanting over and over in your head.

Aegon could see your thoughts etched into the worried wrinkles of your face, standing to his full height as he gave one final swipe across your moist lip. He ordered you wordlessly with the brush of your loose strands of hair out of your face to lay back onto his mountain of throw pillows. Swallowing tears, you turned onto your side with a groan, sudden lower body movements still debilitating as Aegon dutifully assisted you under the blankets.

The prince crawled beside you, placing one arm securely around your waist, careful not to cause any pressure, and the other underneath your body. He nuzzled his nose into your neck, releasing a sigh that held all his worries. He kissed your sweat-dampened skin, relieved to be within your comforting warmth. Your muscles relaxed your mind at ease and protected within the embrace of your fair-haired boy. Silence sat until your mind could finally form a response to his prior confession.

"I desire for her words to be true," you expressed, a longing for a life free of secrets and anxiety causing more tears to spring. A life you feared was not your future.

A screech broke throughout the orange and gray sky of King's Landing, rumbling the sleeping inhabitants' thatched roofs and glass windows. It was not unusual to hear the roars of dragons in the skies, and most paid no mind, simply falling back into slumber to hopefully catch what little bit of rest they had before the day.

The wings of Caraxes sliced through the late winter air as his rider descended at the mouth of the Dragonpit. Keepers scrambled on the packed dirt like disturbed ants from their hill, abruptly stolen from sleep. They could sense that much like his rider, the Blood Wyrm was in a state, snorting, stomping, and snapping at each of the Dragonkeepers as they attempted with difficulty to leash the winged beast.

Daemon did not wait until the handlers could properly restrain Caraxes as he dismounted from his ornate leather saddle. Jumping down the ropes on the side of his crimson scales, the Rogue Prince landed with dust under his feet, adjusting Dark Sister at his waist.

"Your Highness, we were not anticipating your arrival. Please forgive us," the headkeeper bowed, struggling to hold the agitated Caraxes at bay.

Daemon sniffed at the man and fixed his riding tunic unbothered. He had no time for people's false pleasantries and proper arrivals, nor did he want to.

"I need a horse," he cooly commanded, disregarding the Keepers' shouts in High Valyrian.

He paced along the edge of the Dragonpit like one of the beasts held within the cave, aching to fly, aching to be free. Gods knew if you were alive or not, whether those Green cunts had done away with you and framed it as a simple accident. The only thing that kept Daemon at bay was the letter. Though that piece of parchment was a harbinger of agony and worry, it meant that there was someone within those pale red stone walls who was an ally.

Daemon would tear those fucking vipers piece by piece until all that left of them were ash and bone. You were his daughter. An attempt on your life was just as good as his.

At times, he felt you were the only one within his family who understood him, the only one with whom he could fully be his true self. With his wife and other children, it was not to say that Daemon could not act honestly; he knew they loved him for who he was, yet the Rogue Prince did not want to scare them with things he felt inside. With you, his eldest daughter, he felt free. Your father could confide all his darkest thoughts, the anxieties that kept him awake at night that would send Rhaenyra into a panic. It was why he chose you to be the one who ensured a future with him beside the Iron Throne.

You were the only one who could tolerate his antics and give as good as you could receive. You knew when to put Daemon in his place and when to allow him to reign free. While Rhaenyra made him a good man, you made him a better one.

People saw that, and it was no doubt one of the reasons you were in this situation. The Rogue Prince was weak with his favorite daughter out of the way. He would not allow them to feel accomplished. If you died, House Hightower and all who swore to protect you would be eradicated by the morrow.

The whiny of a horse stole Daemon from his trance, halting his prowling as an unnamed knight strode on his steed.

"Your Highness," the Gold Cloak called, halting the chestnut horse with a pull of the reins. "Her Majesty, the Queen was not expecting you. Please forgive us for the lack of preparation. A wheelhouse is being prepared to take you to the castle."

The knight seemed out of breath as if he was the one who ran from the Red Keep to the Dragonpit as Daemon approached him. He was calm with his strides, leather boots thumping on packed dirt as he peered up at the man, the orange hue of the sunrise burning his eyes. He did not speak at first, seeming to size up the man before he lunged, grabbing the Gold Cloak by his weighted breastplate and throwing him off the startled horse. Daemon did not look to see if the aghast soldier was unharmed, clicking with the side of his cheek as he turned the animal toward Aegon's Hill.

"Where is she?" Alicent shouted at your eldest maid, tears of frustration and fear welling in her round brown eyes.

The screech of Caraxes woke every inhabitant of the palace, a sound the Queen believed to be in her nightmares until it boomed again. She understood it was only a matter of time until Daemon or Rhaenyra discovered what happened to their daughter, and now, it was about controlling the damage that would be left in the Rogue Prince's wake.

"I am not sure, your Majesty," Jeyne answered with a lowered head. She honestly did not know. Sleep had overcome her no matter how hard she tried to fight it.

"I entrusted you with the Princess's protection, and you failed. Now, for all we know, the assassin could have completed his mission. It will be your fault if that is the case," Alicent scolded the older maid, speaking down to the woman as if she were merely a child.

It angered Jeyne beyond measure. She had grown too comfortable with the respect you gave her and Fiora. Before she realized it, she was biting back, barely containing ire that would ruin her chances at a smooth life in the Keep.

"It will not be on my conscience if that is the case, my Queen."

Alicent balked. Plush lips agape with shock, digits twitching as if she wished to strike the insolent servant for her remark. Inhaling a calming breath, the Queen folded her hand across her abdomen, shoulders upright and chin held high as she spoke.

"You are dismissed from your duties henceforth," she declared with a furled lip as if the mere presence of someone close to you nauseated her.

Alicent could not hurt you in a way that would not arouse suspicion; she had tried that once before and failed, so she believed the next best thing would be to hurt those dear in your presence.

A woman from her station could not speak as freely as you did to Alicent. Her father was not the Rogue Prince, nor was she the lover of a crowned prince. The eldest maid was comforted that once you got wind of her reassignment, you would no doubt rain fire from the Seven Hells to get her back. Jeyne bowed humbly before the Queen, her chin held too high for the Queen's liking, and said nothing more as she exited the room toward the servant quarters, passing the guard stationed at your door.

The Queen sighed deeply, releasing tension she had not realized the conversation had created. She put her nimble fingers to the bridge of her nose. Her ramrod-straight posture slouched in her typical forest green dress, the ever-looming presence of the future shadowing her mind.

"My Queen!" An unknown guard barreled into your greeting room, his armor clanking and causing his limbs to throw all his weight. "Prince Daemon was spotted flying atop Caraxes over King's Landing," he breathlessly declared as if he had run across the castle.

"I know. I came to inform the Princess that her father had come to pay her a visit, but she is not here. Have the guards search for her in my son's quarters. Discretion is of utmost importance," Alicent commanded, her voice rich like velvet. She knew where you would go. You were still a girl in her eyes, desperate for a morsel of companionship in times of need. Alicent understood the feeling and recalled many times in her past when she had no one but herself.

She had not felt nor sounded like the Queen she claimed to be within your presence until now. Her posture returned to its regal stiffness, her shoulders rolled back, and her scowl pulled her plump lips. How Daemon got word of your well-being was unknown, but she knew there was a traitor in the Red Keep. Someone or possibly more had deliberately gone against the orders of the Hand and Queen Consort. There was no telling what they would do should the untimely death of the King strike.

Paranoia wound into Alicent's gut, tying her insides into knots as the unnamed knight bowed to fulfill his duty.

The control the Queen grappled with her entire service was falling from her grasp like sand between one's fingers. Everything had gotten out of hand so quickly that she could not comprehend what to do next. The most heinous scenarios ran through her head at what Daemon would do with no one to steady the reigns. She recalled the stories of the Rogue Prince in the Stepstones—the betrayal, the horror, the bloodshed of returning to court with a crown made of his enemy's bones. He was an army of his own, and the death of one of his soldiers would not deter him from his purpose; it would only further his wrath.

Alicent could no longer be complacent in her terror. Her legs carried a twitching and trembling form across the silent halls of the Keep until she saw a streak of red. It appeared out of nowhere, trailing behind the culprit's path like footprints in freshly fallen snow. She knew it could only belong to one person, and a shuddering breath racked her at the realization.

Your dreams were pleasant, though you could not recall them, only the feeling they gave. The laughter of those you sensed were your loved ones, their smiles, the warmth of the sun, basking in its eternal yellow warmth, and the sturdy touch of what you believed was the ground beneath you. You longed to stay in this moment forever, realizing in your mind that it was a dream, but you didn't care. You just wanted to feel the joy that always seemed a finger-width away, even if it was under the falsehood of sleep.

Your dreams did not last long enough, suddenly ripped away from your blissful world to a searing pain to your scalp. Your eyes shot open as you released a scream, your sore body dragging across the Myrish rug on Aegon's floor, the fibers burning your flesh raw. You struggled within your assailant's vice-like grip to no avail, your prince startling awake as he tried to see through the eyes of sleep.

Fear gripped your heart, thoughts racing as to who would do this to you, your previous assailant coming to mind. You felt the slice of skin before you saw it, hissing in hurt as the shattered pieces of the wine decanter appeared next to you, a trail of blood leading from your foot. Without hesitation, you snatched the nearest piece, slashing the skin of your abductor's hand. They released you with a wince, your head thumping against the floor as you scrambled away.

The armor of a kingsguard glinted in the candlelight as a grunting Ser Criston cradled his bleeding hand. Fearful confusion etched your features as Aegon came rushing to your side, throwing himself between you and the enraged knight.

"You cunt!" Ser Criston cursed, clutching his fist to his breastplate.

"Criston!" Aegon shouted, running a soothing hand through your hair. "I'll cut your fucking tongue out for that! How dare you put your hands on her?"

Tears welled in your eyes, and an overwhelming sensation of helplessness that was akin to your childhood overcame you as you hid your face within Aegon's soft torso. You could not care about the shameless way you cried, sniffling and hiccuping as you did in your girlhood in your lover's embrace.

"Her father is on his way here as we speak. Do you want to be discovered with her in your bed?" Criston admonished, his words filled with an ire you always knew simmered below the surface.

Aegon growled an animalistic noise that rattled you to your core as he stood, your arms reaching out in search of his comfort. "You will leave us and never put your hands on her again or I shall tell the King of what you have done here."

Criston knew it was not an empty threat. He did not doubt the prince would run to his half-dead father about what he did. While the knight didn't have faith that Viserys would be lucid enough to enact anything, the memory of his frail body walking across the Great Hall during the hearing of Driftmark made him hesitant. But it did not matter. The Queen and the Hand ruled the kingdom in Viserys' sickness. To Criston, he was only king in name.

"I am on orders of your Queen Mother to bring the Princess back to her chambers. She was not supposed to leave on the Maester's command," he declared confidently, the pain from his cut dwindling as the blood began to clot.

"The Maester's command," you repeated with a sneer as you stood. Anger replaced any fear that made its home in your chest, coming to be beside Aegon. "You were not there as I was forced to drink milk of the poppy despite Maester Orwyle's protests. It was your Queen who wishes to keep us separated."

The revelation did not phase Ser Cole. He had no conscience when it came to the likes of a bastard whore. His dark brow was stern as he disregarded you. "Move, my prince, or you will be moved."

Rage burned hot in your bones, roaring into a flaming inferno that felt like it would scorch your insides if you did not let it out. Ser Criston had no right to the aggression he displayed with you. You had not done anything to him. You had barely spoken except for brief conversations of forced politeness when given no other choice, yet he still held hatred for you that you could never understand.

"You fucking celibate, craven, son of a-"

An abrupt smack across your temple cut off your words, ringing your ears momentarily as your vision swiftly faded.

"Criston!" a new voice shouted as your unconscious body toppled to the floor, a weeping Aegon following soon after. "What have you done?"

Alicent stood in the doorway, a shocked Erryk Cargyll standing stock-still beside her. Criston heaved, his shoulders rapidly falling up and down as his brown eyes drifted to your listless expression. He thought he preferred you that way, briefly imagining someone else in your place.

"Apologies, your majesty," he bowed modestly, returning to the humble White Cloak everyone knew him as. "In my efforts to return her highness to her rooms, I struck her in anger. Please, forgive me."

The Queen balked, doe eyes nearly bulging out of her skull as she saw the whisper of blood trickle from your scalp onto your cheek. She swallowed, head reeling with the thought of another consequence she would face when you came to.

Suddenly, an idea came to mind, something so conniving and wicked that it reminded her of her father. It sent a chill down Alicent's spine, sending a brief prayer of forgiveness to the Seven before clearing her throat as she spoke. "All is forgiven, Ser Cole. You've served my House steadfastly all these years, and for that you have my many thanks. Please, take her to her quarters and summon the Maester."

Her sworn shield bowed, ordering a silently begrudging Ser Erryk to restrain Aegon as he threw you over his shoulder with a grunt as if you were no more than a grain sack. Aegon shrieked in response, attempting to chase after you, but ran into the wall of Ser Erryk. He tried to push past, but it was no use. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and no longer had the facilities to thrash against others.

"Please, my prince," Erryk pleaded, a sturdy fist placed against Aegon's chest. "You will see her again."

Her solution was temporary, that much Alicent knew, and would require the fear your father instilled in others to work. However, if she were as intelligent and cunning as her father, time and patience would be on her side. She just hoped that the Gods were, too.

Alicent understood you would only listen with great struggle. Now that you knew your father was here, you had another soul to cling to—one she could not control or manipulate. Those who served you would be tested on how much their loyalties ran when met with the highest order of the kingdom, and the Queen prayed fear flowed deeper than any bond did as she ordered the Maester for another tincture.

Leather footfalls echoed throughout the red rock walls of the Keep, intimidating those who were unsuspecting in the Rogue Prince's path. Stunned maids and manservants gasped and bowed in Daemon's presence as he passed. Each whispered words to one another behind glancing eyes and covered mouths. It should not be unusual for the king's brother to arrive unannounced, yet the years of tense relations with the Queen Consort and the Heir made his entrance something to gossip about.

He paid no mind to the common folk chatter. He was the victim of it all of Daemon's life. First with the uncertainty of Viserys' heir, then with his concubine Lady Misery when he gifted her and their unborn child a dragon egg, the next with rumors of him and Rhaenyra's uncouth relationship of uncle and niece, the suspicious death of his first wife, Rhea Royce, his marriage to his niece, and the legitimization of a bastard.

No amount of courtly yapping would affect Daemon. Not anymore. Especially not now when said daughter's life was in the grasp of those who openly despised his family.

He did not know where those traitors held you, how the Greens treated you, or if you were still alive, and that uncertainty shook Daemon to his core, though you could not see it. He was confident of one thing: where to find Otto. High atop the tower of the Hand would be where the snake resided, no doubt thinking of more ways to scheme himself into positions he was undeserving of.

Surprisingly, no guards stopped the Rogue Prince as he ascended the winding steps to the tower. Perhaps they knew not to mess with a sleeping dragon, ready to spit flames at anyone who dared wake it. Damon entered the Hand's chambers, giving no opportunity to properly announce a guest's arrival.

Ser Otto Hightower raised a wirey, unamused brow at the prince, unbothered by his lack of manners. He knew that Daemon was on his way and had prepared everything and everyone accordingly. He ordered your maids and Maester Orwyle into silence, and should they speak, incomprehensible outcomes would befall them. Alicent, Otto's ever-dutiful daughter, his favorite daughter,and his only daughter took care of her son's and your matters.

"Prince Daemon," the hand greeted him, yet he did not stand. "It is an unexpected pleasure to have you return home unannounced."

The prince ignored the covert jab at his lack of manners, his lips twitching into a scowl as his palm rested on the hilt of Dark Sister. "I do not share the same sentiment," he sneered. "I know what you have done to my daughter and it is treason. I demand to see her at once."

"It is unfortunate what has befallen you, daughter, but you must understand my discretion. She has had an attempt on her life, and we certainly do not need other members of the royal family fearing for theirs." Otto sighed, seeming like the conversation was with a petulant child, not a war-hardened machine.

"That is what you call ceasing communications with Dragonstone?" Daemon shook his head, rolling his violet eyes with a scoff. "It seems to everyone but you what exactly you were trying to do. A guilty conscience I presume?"

Otto paused, his dark orbs sizing up the enraged prince in his usual fashion. He was a man of patience and perseverance, proven over the decades. The Hand was indeed capable of action but not overtly like the Rogue Prince. He took time to understand his allies and even more so with his enemies, ensuring he knew things they did not know themselves. Inhaling a sharp breath, Ser Otto returned his gaze to the uninvited guest and spoke barbs disguised as silk.

"I understand your feelings on the matter, but you must understand that it is not only her that is in danger. If one member of the court were to catch wind of an attempted assassination on someone of her stature chaos would erupt," Otto expressed pragmatically. Daemon scoffed, intertwining his hands over his waist as he leaned a foot out in exasperation. "People would feel unsafe and have doubts in the king's capabilities to ensure his subjects are safe, let alone his kin. There would be a mass exodus within the Keep, notable Houses would pull their investments. It would tear the establishment down simply because of one girl's mistake."

Anger lit inside Daemon's chest at his words, spine straightening to his full height as he strode to the Hand's desk with menacing strides. How dare he speak about you as if you were just an animal? That you were nothing but one of the many pieces of parchment sat upon the wood for him to briefly read and discard. Dark Sister swung at the prince's waist, beating to his movements, the coattails of his riding gear flowing behind as he stood tall over the Lord's Hand.

Before Daemon could think better of it, rearing his arm back and connected his fist into the scruff of Otto's nearly trimmed beard, knocking the pompous man from his seat. The prince had longed to do this for decades, and now, with no one to rein him in, he could. It was a cathartic feeling filled with pent-up rage and jealousy for all the years Otto filled the seat he desired, whispering in his brother's ear to influence decisions in ways that benefited the Hightowers.

This was personal.

Daemon circled the spruce davenport and kneeled. The prince gripped his midnight-colored tunic, readying his dominant hand to bash the Hand's face as the door to the office opened. The Queen stood in the entryway, a horrified look on her visage as she screeched for the guards to separate them.

"No need," Daemon answered coolly as the Gold Cloaks entered, righting himself. He rolled his shoulders unbothered as if he were caught wrestling with a sibling rather than one of the highest Lords of Westeros.

Alicent swiftly went to her father, kneeling beside him as tears glimmered in her wide amber eyes. Otto gently brushed her dotting efforts away, refusing his fragile masculine pride to be further insulted with the aid of a woman. She opened her plump lips to order the guards to escort Daemon away, but he held his palm, halting the frightened Queen with what he might intend to do next.

"Where is my daughter?" he questioned, the smooth timbre of his domineering tone replaced with something almost... soft.

Alicent swallowed the excess saliva that accumulated inside her mouth with the threat of tears. Her gaze returned to her father, noticing the trickle of blood on his lip, no doubt split from the force of Daemon's strike. She waited for her father to speak, still thrown to the ground as he said to her in expressions only she could comprehend. When he assured her and himself that everything was in place without words, he nodded, Daemon's suspicious gaze examining them.

"She is in Maegor's Holdfast. I am sure you know how to conduct yourself in those halls," Alicent snipped, her voice velvety and moist, as she helped her pride-wounded father stand.

The prince gave her no more words, no looks that said he heard her before he was off, leaving a trail of destruction behind him, gait determined with only one goal in mind, and Seven help any poor, unfortunate soul who stood in his path.

Prickling anxiety stirred within Daemon's gut as he followed a young servant with bright, fiery hair. The nervous thing rang her hands together until her knuckles cracked, sparing fleeting glances behind her to ensure he had not abruptly decided to live up to his name.

Daemon imagined your fear and knew you must have felt betrayed, terrified, and distraught. He thought about how you needed him in your most vulnerable moment, only to find that there was no one. He was the one who set the foundations for your assault. He should have never forced you into this position. Your father should have kept you close and tucked away in his heart as he did everything dear to him.

Now, he would never let you go for as long as the blood of the dragon flowed through his veins.

Each realization strung him up further into his anxiety, feeling his heart beating at every point of his body. The moment's walk felt like decades of agony to him, as if Daemon was forced to fight a legion of soldiers alone with an arm tied behind his back. The servant, whom he did not care to know, stopped at a great wooden door, curtsying to him with her chin tucked into her chest and gaze lowered. Daemon stared at her dully, waiting for any further response or courtesy, but gave none, answering his question wordlessly as he opened the portal.

A thick blanket of invisible smoke covered your chambers, stinging his pale, violet eyes as he struggled to breathe. It blinded his senses, unable to think of anything other than the overpowering scent of incense. His vision did not immediately travel to you but to a dark-skinned man with modest gray robes. The Maester's back was turned to Daemon as he hunched over a table with supplies, mixing dried herbs to make what he assumed was a pot of medicinal tea.

He left the man at work, looking around the heavy room until he saw you. Daemon stared at you in disbelief at the heart-wrenching sight before him, feeling only the frantic pounding of his unsteady pulse.

His daughter lay under thick sheets of Hightower green, your face sallow and sunken rings of indigo under your eyes.

"They told me they found her within a puddle of gore. No attacker in sight," Orwyle said in a trembling voice, clearly afraid of his wrath. Daemon didn't listen to him, staring blankly at your listless expression.

He approached you slowly on trembling legs, feeling complete emptiness in his head. He breathed heavily through his mouth as Daemon kneeled beside a bed that did not belong to you, gently grasping your cheeks in his fingers and turning your face towards him. Your body was limp, your mouth slightly parted, your eyelids half open, and your gaze distant and misty. It was as if you were not here, not in spirit, wetting your lips as he heard your labored breathing.

"What happened?" your father asked in a whisper, terrified of how his voice and body were shaking. His heart threatened to burst from his ribs, his throat and stomach squeezed so tightly that he had trouble filling his lungs with air.

He heard your quiet sigh as you struggled to train your gaze on him, looking at your father as if you were thinking about something and unsure if what was happening was a dream or true. It has been so long since you last saw him that you wondered if you had truly gone mad after everything.

Relief did not flood Daemon at discovering you were alive, and it was when he looked at you closely that he noticed your right temple was swollen, a tiny sliver of broken pink flesh decorating the top. The wound was fresh, blood still glistening, and he understood it must have happened within the last few hours. He felt tears of shame under his eyelids and overwhelming rage at the thought that someone had dared to hit you.

His daughter—his flesh.

"Father," you whispered so quietly that he barely heard you, stroking the soft skin of your face. Daemon felt an unbearable squeeze in his throat at your voice, his eyebrows arched in pain, eyes burning from the tears that wanted so desperately to run down his visage.

"I am here." The Rogue Prince whimpered with difficulty in a tone breaking with pain and grief, pressing his nose against your hair. He cried out loudly, never feeling so helpless before in his life, for his dearest daughter, his favorite daughter, was dying in his arms because of him, betrayed and abandoned.

"Who did this to you?" he questioned thickly, words echoing in the cavernous expanse of your guest chambers. This place has been your home for two years.

You spent two years with only written correspondence. A father's duty was to protect his kin and make the proper decisions that ensured their success and safety in life, but he was ill-fated. Daemon was your guardian, the only person in this forsaken world in whom you should place your unwavering trust, and he failed—not only as a father but also as a man.

"The Stranger," you muttered in response with great effort, eyes rolling back into your head and lids closing as you released a profound sigh.

He knew that your mind was not in its proper place, nor did he expect it to be. You escaped the clutches of death within a house that prayed at every chance for your downfall. Your father put you in a cage inhabited by rabid wolves seeking to devour every morsel of prey that walked within the halls of the Red Keep, but you were not an easy meal. You were lined with scars and teeth marks of the past, hardening your hide from each predator who attempted to sink their claws into you.

Daemon turned a young lamb into a dragon, and they would soon feel your fire's scorching heat.

"Talus mandus ñuhus. Jorilagon sesīr," (My gentle daughter. Rest now.) he muttered, feeling the warm tears run down his cheeks. He looked only at you, stroking your crown as if you were a small child.

Daemon considered the Hightowers, Alicent, and Otto conniving snakes in the grass bound by piousness, servitude, and duty for their wealth. This was what upholding the realm was—death and destruction for their betterment.

He stroked your cold skin with his thumb, confident that no force would tear him away from his child. No force would make him leave you, and if anyone tried to do so, he would kill every fucking one of them.

Masterlist of Series

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , @legolas017 , @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan

How did you all like the reunion, even though it wasn't much of one? I'm glad we got more of a look into Daemon and the reader's very unhealthy relationship. Don't we all want a daddy like him, though?

I always like to remind people that Alicent's relationship with the reader is a mirror reflecting on her. This raises the philosophical question: If you were faced with your actions of the past and present, would you like them? Would you still support and commit to them again? Or would you hate them, hate what you've done, hate that it's you that you're seeing, and refuse to accept it?

Well, anyway, thank you for reading and your unwavering devotion. I hope you will stick with me through my literary journey, even when I finish this story and move on to the next.

55 notes · View notes

dinogoofymutated · 16 hours

Note

THAT POST ABOUT CLEANING IN THE FLOWY DRESS? THINKIN ABOUT HANK? HNNNGGG PLEASE I BEG OF YOU

NSFW!Beast/AFAB!reader. - NSFW HCs! I was already on it when I got this ask heehee. These hcs were originally suppost to be part of another NSFW request I got for him but I was thinking about this too hard and comepletely forgot the actual theme of the req! So I decided to save it for later and just post it under your ask lol Anyway I need him my god. I was writing this while picturing watxm Hank but I'm pretty sure it works for any version. TWS: MDNI!!! smut under the cut. PNV smut. Eating out/head. Cum descriptions. Reader written with Fem in mind and also wearing a dress is mentioned, but overall no pronouns used. Creampie. Getting caught after the fact but not during the deed.

Okay, We all know that Logan has incredible stamina, and there's quite a few mutants that you would just expect that from anyway, but I'm 100% sure the one person that a good bit of people would NEVER expect to have insane stamina in bed is Hank. Like yeah he's nerdy, but dude straight up went to college on a SPORTS scholarship on top of his academic ones.

There is no fucking way this man has anything other than the most insane stamina. Dude is the perfect package of nerdy genius and athletic perfection. Can you imagine how long he could go on for in bed?? While you're sweaty and absolutely exhausted he's having the time of his life. Sure he's sweaty to but he's still. fucking. going?? It's like you'd been having sex for three minutes instead of four hours. He obviously gives you breaks and takes care of you, keeping you hydrated and such- but every time he begs you for "just one more". He's so gentle when he's gathering up your limp body and he's kissing your temples and forehead and massaging your tender spots, but he's a scientist at heart. He wants to know how far the two of you can really go, and he wants to know BAD.

I saw in a post somewhere on tumblr that he mentions that the one thing he doesn't have control of is his libido or something like that? It was from a comic snapshot so obviously this isn't even a hc it's fully cannon I don't make the rules.

THE FUCKING PHEROMONE THING!! For those of you who don't know, Hank was confirmed to have some minor Pheromone manipulation abilities. Like oh my god?? I definitely think that he will use it in sweet ways where he just wants some cuddles without asking you for them, but I feel like when he's hot and heated he just subtly does it without even knowing. Like he's super pent up one way and for some reason every time you greet him or pass him by you just start having more and more inappropriate thoughts about him. He'd feel so guilty if he catches himself doing it but at the end of the day, you don't really mind. Don't think too hard you beautiful big guy, can we just fuck already??

He will absolutely use his strength to hold you in any position possible. As long as you're both comfortable with it no position or hold is off the table for him. I don't think he'd be into BDSM or anything that has to do with hurting you, but I do think he's the type to read through the kamasutra and want to try all the positions to find the one you both enjoy the most.

He will fuck in the lab. He might do a whole "Oh my! Not in here, dear ;)" But most of the time he's instigating it! Sure he makes sure to lock the doors and everything but he's not shy when he has you splayed across his work tables, bent over you as he gently kisses and brushes his fangs over your skin. He likes how flustered it makes you.

He also cums A LOT. Like a lot a lot. He's most certainly got the heaviest balls you've ever seen, and they're not just for show. Every time he cums inside he causes you to practically overflow, and he's usually still cumming when he finally pulls out of you as well. He's a little embarrassed about it, and will clean you up very well because of that. He doesn't want you to deal with the sticky feeling of it drying on your skin, especially not if you have sensitive skin/texture issues. He is defiantly down to eat his one cum out of you though ;)

also, I think that he has a thing for long flowy dresses. I know there's a ton of dudes who say they like them bc of "easy access", and I know for a fact that Hank would find that sort of mindset disgusting. He just loves how beautiful and feminine you look in them, and also just happens to really enjoy the feeling of the fabric against his arms as he hitches up your skirt, his hands trailing up your thighs. As depraved as it might be, he also likes giving you head underneath your long skirts. He'd be apologising for being so ravenous and thanking you for letting him have you in such in intimate manner, all while giving you the most earth-shattering head. He's just so sweet about everything in the bedroom I swear.

You swear you didn’t fully expect to be in this exact situation when you were getting dressed this morning. Sure, you knew exactly how much Hank loved to see you in sundresses and were definitely going for a certain reaction out of him, but you never would have expected to be pinned against the wall of his lab, his large hands cupping your ass and thighs as he holds you suspended whilst using the wall as leverage. His thick cock is pumping in and out of you at a quick, needy pace. He goes back and forth from biting his lips and letting his moans and groans ring out and echo in the cluttered space. You’d never done this position before, although you certainly knew that Hank had more than enough strength to pull it off. Still, you were sure that the image of him fucking you, hands beneath your long skirt as it bunches at your hips and drapes down below you, was certainly a sight to behold.

“Ah- Please, let me know if this is uncomfortable in any way- nhg… I’m sure your anatomy is taking me quite… deeply, in this position.” Hank grunts, his thrusts deep and steadily paced in a manner in which he knows you like best. You smile at him, desperately trying to keep your eyes open as your hands clench and unclench on his shoulders every time his thrusts catch you Just right.

“Is that what you’re calling it now? “Studying” my anatomy?” You muse. You wonder if he had noticed you catching on to the glances and stares he does when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You purposely poke your chest out as you mention it, and Hank huffs in amusement before he buries his face into your semi-exposed cleavage, licking and sucking as he shifts your weight onto one hand as the other takes hold of your cheek. He puckers your lips, nipping at the top of your breast before he pries himself away, sending you a smug smile as he leans in teasingly close.

“You know, I really think we could be using that quick tongue of yours for something a little more useful than backtalk.” Hank chuckles. He kisses you in a way that leaves you breathless, still holding you effortlessly even with a single hand as he keeps up his thrusts. His free hand drifts down to your clit as your walls begin to flutter and clench around him, a sign that he knows means you’re approaching your peak and fast. His kisses match the intensity of his hips as he closes in on his own pleasure. You cum barely a second before he does, his cum warming your insides as he cums, and cums and cums. He overflows your cunt quickly, and it drips down your legs when he pulls out. Hank makes sure to help you keep your balance when he sets you down, your legs shaking from your orgasm but also a bit numb from the position he had you in. He kisses you gently as you recover from your high, doing so over and over again all across your skin. The gentle touches make you giggle a bit.

“Had a feeling that we would end up like this today. Maybe I should wear dresses like this more often.” You hum. Hank chuckles deeply before drawing you into another sensual kiss, his hands stroking up and down your now-clothed body in a loving way.

“I wouldn’t mind testing that theory.” He says when he separates from the kiss. You shake your head at him, laughing a bit more as you cup his face with love.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” You say sweetly. Hank is smiling at you, his hands beginning to wander again right before the two of you hear a mortifying swish of the doors. Hank quickly tucks himself back inside his pants before the two of you instinctively turn to face the door where Logan is standing with a bit of a confused look on his face.

“Logan! We were just-”

“Hey, Logan! Nothing to see here!” Both of you are scrambling to fix the situation, utterly and spectacularly failing as Logan takes one sniff of the air and then smirks.

“I’m all for a bit of risk, but at least lock the door, lovebirds.” Logan gives the two of you a sardonic wave before marching straight back out the door. Leaving both you and Hank more than a little mortified. As embarrassing as it was, you can’t help but begin to laugh, Hank joining you as you shake off the adrenaline of technically being caught red-handed.

“Let’s go wash off before we have any other unexpected visitors,” Hank suggests. You agree wholeheartedly, your laughter picking up once again as he lifts you off the ground in a bridal hold to head to the showers.

#I do have to say he was definitely about to lift reader back up and eat them out till the cows came home before Logan interrupted #x men comics #x men #x men headcannons #x men 97 x reader #x men 97 #beast #beast x men #x men beast x reader #x men beast #x men beast headcannons #x men beast smut #hank mccoy #x men hank mccoy #hank mccoy x reader #hank mccoy headcannons #hank mccoy smut #wolverine and the x men

51 notes · View notes

amourtoken · 2 days

Text

someone requested some iv content so here's some lil blurby stuff cause I cannot create a full length fic for the life of me lol I'm sorry bb. This isn't structured rlly it's just a collection of my random thoughts off the dome while thinking abt him so lmk if you want me to elaborate on anything.

*nsfw below the cut, MDNI*

cw: petplay, sex toys, raw sex (pls wrap that shit), mentions of choking, breeding, subspace, phone sex, mirror sex, threesomes, DP, oral

◇ he's so-

◇ when you first got together, iv was much more reserved but as the group gained some traction and more opportunities presented themselves the the boys, he can't help himself he let the fame get a *little* to his head. He's become much more outgoing in many ways and he knowssss he's fine at this point. He will use this fact against you cause he knows how easy it is to melt you from the inside out so you're a pliant little toy in his hands.

◇ he's always been so sweet to you. Constantly bringing you flowers with sweet notes or forcefully making time in his schedule so he can see his sweet girl and give her the attention she deserves. He knows it could be tough being with someone who has to keep their personal life on the low but he makes up for it 100%.

◇ he swears up and down he's not *trying* to come off this way but he's tiptoeing the line of being your sugar daddy lol. If you so much as even mention something you want in passing, it's in your hands within the next day at most. After a little, this extended from things *you* said you wanted, to things *he* wants to give you. This includes the sluttiest lingerie you've ever laid eyes on, jewelry with his name on it, and countless sex toys he pleads for you to use on camera so he can rewatch while he's out on tour.

◇ he's head over heels for you, and absolutely *cannot* get enough. Your smell, your taste, your touch, all of it. He'd inject you into his veins if possible. Even while fucking you, one angle isn't enough. iv has strategically aligned a couple mirrors so he gets all the best views of you no matter what position he's manipulated you into and ugh it makes his head spin sometimes. You deserve to be in a museum but he can't help himself but to be a lil rough with you on occasion.

◇ knows how to get into your head and all up under your skin, on multiple occasions he's slid behind you while you're getting ready in the mirror and rested his head on your shoulder just to whisper the filthiest things imaginable in your ear. He'll wrap his arms around your waist or run his hands up and down your torso, sliding down to your thighs and tugging the hem of your dress up little by little while detailing just how pretty he think you are in it in a low voice. Sometimes he'll slide one hand up and gently squeeze your throat, leaning your head back onto his shoulder while he's touching you. He makes a whole ordeal of it and most often, you end up right back in bed.

◇ he's got lots of sweet little pet names for you. Love is absolutely his favorite but sweet girl, pretty thing, sweetheart, all perfect. He's not big on degradation *however*, he did get you the prettiest engraved collar with a cute little tag reading "slut" in his handwriting.

◇ bouncing directly off that, man's into some petplay. Loves knowing you're all his and wrapped right around his finger. The physical manifestation of this is him wrapping your leash around his hand and tugging when you break eye contact while he's fucking you like he hates you (he doesn't but the way he bullies your poor insides, it sure feels like it.) He's got you a collection of pretty collars with his name on them, and adores having you sat at his feet at any given chance. He'll also literally pet you, fingers lovingly brushing your skin or running through your hair absent-mindedly but ugh it feels so fucking good, what's not to enjoy about having his hands on you? Throws you right into a comfy subspace.

◇ I think all of the ST Boys are in this boat but God if he doesn't get lightheaded at the thought of breeding you. He'll grab your hips and pull you to meet his deep thrusts while your head hangs over the edge of the bed, watching the scene from the full length mirror beside you. He gets off on the fact not only is it the *ultimate* claim on you, but thanks to his mirror fixation, he gets to watch the whole thing and know it's the exact moment he knocked you up. You're already perfect in his eyes but once you're all round and pretty, he *really* won't be able to keep his hands off of you. It'll only serve to make him more possessive as well, that's his baby carrying his actual baby, he'll be damned if anything happens to you or you're not treated like a piece of fine china.

◇ he's very possessive of you like I said, *but* if one of the other boys wanna join...he'll consider. By consider I mean he'll hold you on his lap, arms hooked under your legs and holding them open while iii eats you out like he's starved. Your head is leaned back on his shoulder and he's praising you for being so good for both of them, he'll also direct some praise to iii for treating you so well. As long as he's ultimately the one pulling the strings and directing the scene, he's in his element. Fucking you from behind while Vessel's down your throat or leaving countless dark hickeys and love bites all over your neck and chest while he and ii fill both of your holes. You're his, doesn't matter if they get a taste cause he's the one you belong to.

#iv #iv sleep token #Sleep token smut #Sleep token #Listen #I can't write for the life of me but these are just my thoughts

39 notes · View notes

penvisions · 2 days

Text

the melting point {chapter 19}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: Time passes and heals a lot of things, while others are discussed as the wedding gets closer. Frankie sees the stress weighing down on you amid it all and plans something special…

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: hurt and comfort, fluff, light angst, reader has trauma similar to the triple frontier guys, reader is described as having tattoos for plot points, reader is partially handicapped, reader has mobility issues, adult content, adult content, smut, p in v smut, oral (m recieving), the whole gang is here, plus oc inserts, serious conversations, alcohol consumption, alcohol, mentions of past trauma, ptsd, nightmares. that seems to be it, but let me know if i've missed anything!

A/N: as we see this penultimate chapter, i just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who read, liked, commented, and shared this fic that holds a special place in my heart ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“We’re going on a trip. Cleared it with your doctors and ensured them we would keep up with your stretches and daily mobility exercises. Does…does that sound okay?” Frankie is making dinner, busy at the stove as he stirs the contents of one pot and keeps an eye on the other. Simple, today, after you had gone to work a shift at the bakery, and he had been in the air since before the sun rose. Lex was in the living room doing her homework, the tv on but muted to allow her to work easier.

You were at the table, having set it up for the meal and now on your laptop answering emails. You look at him over the top of the screen, about to question him when Lex trots in and all but shoves herself into your lap and puts a piece of paper down across your keyboard.

“Mama Pastel, I don’t understand this.”

“Is this your way of asking for help?”

“Alexia, manners, please. Did you ask Pastel if you could sit in her lap, her legs are still very tender sometimes.”

“Yes, papa.” She barely resists the urge to roll the very same eyes peering over at her. She turns to you with a smile so sweet your heart melts. You wrap an arm around her, holding her in place as you shift your legs to hold her weight more evenly. “Mama Pastel, can you please help me with this, it’s fractions. Also, your legs can hold me, right? I…I feel like I need to be close to someone right now.”

“Of course, mija, my legs are always strong enough to hold you. Fractions are no fun, huh?” You smile over at her father, something he catches before he turns back to finish dinner as you lean down to rest your chin over her little shoulder. The soft murmuring of you helping her with the page fills the room, and it’s enough to make you yearn for everyday to be this easy.

But just last week, Frankie had had a rather alarming nightmare, his mind replaying the events of his hearing. He had woken up in a sweat, frantically wiping at his face to rid himself of the white powder he had been indulging in right in front of the judge. You hadn’t been in bed, which further spiked his overwhelming panic. Searching through the whole house to find you sat behind the wheel of your truck, hands tight on the steering wheel as you bowed you head and sobbed. You had a nightmare of your own, dreaming of driving and loosing the feeling in your legs and crashing. You hadn’t said anything other than that, but Frankie read between the lines. You were afraid of hurting them, of causing them injury with the potential for your limbs to suddenly be numb to your control.

“What are we having for desert?” Lex asks as Frankie announces dinner is ready, turning off the stove tops.

“Little Pastel, that’s what you’re turning into.” Frankie pins her with a raised eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours behind her as he settles the pots in the middle of the table on trivets.

His lips are twitching as he tries to tame a fond smile in order to chastely parent. Though you can see right through him, worry and love for his daughter outshining the reminder to be kind and respectful because he knows it’s a reminder that she’s comfortable around you enough to push into your space and seek you out in the ways that she has been. It’s been a little better since she returned to school, feeling more like herself and doing better in crowds. She had even asked to go on the winter fieldtrip, a weeklong thing at a conservation center down South toward the coastline. You had both agreed it would be good for her, even more so since she seemed so excited. But needed her therapist to sign off in the idea before a decision was made.

“Better than little Catfish!” She fired back loudly with giggles that only increased in volume as you tickled her sides and asked her what was so wrong with being like her daddy.

“He’s so good to us, we should both wanna be more like him, I think.” She squeals as she fidgets in your hold, trying not to lose her balance still in your lap. But you don’t let her fall, you wouldn’t dare. You look up at him and offer him a bright smile he can’t help but reflect back before he says to dig in before the food gets cold.

“Thank you,” You wound your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him as his hands helped to guide you into a comfortable position against him. Nestled in between his outstretched legs, you pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. You moved to do so to the other side, but he dipped down and captured your lips fully with his own. You had been doting over wedding plans when he had found you in bed, papers and brochures and an open laptop scattered all around you.

“No need to thank me, sweet girl. Want you to be comfortable. You okay with this, not too much pressure on your hips?” His hands were light on you, helping to support you as you stood on your knees over him. But you didn’t answer him with words, instead you planted yourself right over his lap, grinding down on him. The deep groan he graced you with was swallowed by your willing mouth, tongue lapping at his lips to catch the lingering taste of something sweet he had eaten.

“Q-querida, we- you sure this is okay?” Despite his cock stirring in his boxer briefs, his worry for you softened your heart further and you felt adoration for the man beneath you fill your chest with a jittery feeling. You had been lingering, staying up late to greet him after his double, triple flight tour day. It had been marked on the communal whiteboard in the kitchen for weeks now, a reminder that he was still the only one working.

“Frankie, I need you. It’s been so long.” You’re suddenly desperate, having been alone all day. Caring for and totting Lex to and from school, making dinner with her, getting her bathed and settled into bed with a fluffy blanket fresh from the dryer and a bedtime story. You longed for the days to feel just like that, the shadow of Frankie all around the house, in her smile, her laugh, her sparkling brown eyes. Her love for you as strong as the love you had for him and for her in return. The ease of domesticity stirring something in you, making you feel like your skin was too tight and Frankie was the only one who could help abate it.

“I-I want to…”

“Just, let me sit on it. Please, carino, I need to feel you inside me.” You can’t help the whine of your voice, the scent of him fresh from the shower and dressed only in his underwear laid across the bed too much of a temptation.

“Fuck, you can have anything you want, just want you to be comfortable.”

“I will be, once your cock is nestled as deep as it can go, filling me up, stretching me. God, Fransisco, your cock is so beautiful, so thick and hard, and perfect. You’re perfect to me, for me. I love you, mi amor. I love you so much.” You panted against his lips, kisses smothering the words into his skin, his lips, his scruff, the column of his neck. Hands trailing down and releasing him from the fabric.

“Dios mio, mija, you’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

“Let me show you what kinda mouth I’ve got.” You push down further to rest over his shins, hips hinged as you lean down and press an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his weeping head. His hips stutter up, chasing the feeling of your warm breath as you pull back to relieve yourself of his large shirt you had stolen before settling in bed to wait for him.

It’s slow, despite your desperation for the man you loved, the way you take him fully into your mouth and lave at the velvet hardness of his cock with your tongue. Taking him as deep as you could before bobbing your head at a savoring pace. His thick fingers tangle into your hair, gathering it into a mockery of a ponytail to better see your face.

Hallowing your cheeks, you look up at him through your lashes and groan around him at the wreckage you’ve caused. His mouth is hanging open, plush lips wetted by his tongue and puffy from your barrage of kisses. Beautiful eyes blown wide as he takes in the image you create between his legs, blush high on his cheeks as he feels the slight scrape of your teeth along his length. He’s still so warm from his shower, smelling of his woodsy and homey soap. But he chokes on his next breath as you dive down, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and you close your eyes to revel in the feeling of him thick and hard in your mouth.

“Get up here,” He moans out, hands letting your hair fall from its loose hold. You readily pull your mouth from him, making sure to lick a firm strike up from his heavy balls to the sensitive tip before moving up to straddle his waist. He shimmies from his underwear completely, shucking them to crumple at the end of the bed along with all the paperwork you had hastily piled together.

His cock nudges against your inner thighs and you take him in a gentle hand to line him up properly while he latches a mouth around your breasts, free from the flimsy camisole you had on just seconds ago. He bites down on the hardened peak as you sink down, slick arousal making it easy for him to stretch you. A wonton moan at the feel of him after so long catches as he grazes that soft, spongy spot at the perfect angle and your hips rock forward suddenly. His hands wrap around your ribs, grounding you, keeping you upright even as you arch at finally sitting flush, hips to hips after what had been nearly six months of being cautious and careful. Nearly six months of waiting and pleasuring each other in other ways.

“I’ve got ya, sweet girl. Just take your time, we’ve got all the time in the world for you to feel good.” He rumbles, voice gravel as he presses kisses all along your neck and chest, nipping at the soft weight of your chest, your lips, your cheeks. Everywhere he could to sooth you while you adjusted to feeling so full once again. “Gonna make you feel good for the rest of our lives, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.” You stutter out, lifting up slightly before sliding back down his length with an obscenely wet sound. His lips capture yours and you hook your arms around his neck, beginning to move against him to spark pleasure across both your bodies.

It was winter, the new year just having passed, Alexia sent off on her fieldtrip, leaving you and Frankie to each other for the entire week.

Open road is stretched in front of you, the tires below you moving quickly and devouring it as quickly as Frankie would allow. You were busy in the passenger seat, one of his hands on firmly on the wheel while the other moved the piece of paper in your hand to get a better glimpse at it over his dark aviators.

“I think we should keep it small, even if the city has rallied to help us.”

“Yeah, I don’t want a huge thing, its already going to be in the paper. An article in the magazine.”

“We can ask them to not do that, if you really want.” He smoothly drifts into the fast lane to pass a slower work truck laden down with a trailer full of yard work machinery, shifting back into the slow lane as soon as he’s passed them and had enough room to safely do so before he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. The flowers, the venue, the caterers, the photographer, everyone one of the local businesses had offered to either donate their services or severely discount you for the event. Wanting to make sure you both had everything you needed or wanted for the momentous day.

It had honestly shocked you, when you discovered just how much the people around the city appreciated your efforts during that fateful last day of the farmer’s market. Offering your shop to those seeking shelter in the chaos, the people you had stopped to help if they were bleeding or limping from the rushing crowds as you searched for your own people amidst it all.

“No, I think…I think it’s nice to have some good publicity for the bakery.”

“Did…did you pick out a date you wanted?” You paused, looking out the window as you felt your heartrate pick up and your nerves spark to life. It was beyond sappy, you realized, but the particular date you had in mind seemed to work out perfectly with all the vendors, with family needing to fly in or travel, with a break for there to be coverage at the bakery and Lex’s school out for the summer…

“I wanted to pick one that meant something to both of us so…I was wondering if the date we first met was okay with you?”

“Sweet girl, that’s…that’s perfect. I was thinking it but didn’t want to influence the decision if you already had your heart set on something.” His hand curled tighter over your thigh, dull fingernails making light marks in your skin.

He helps you out of the truck at the next gas stop. His hands strong around your waist as he makes sure you have both feet on the ground and your cane in hand before he dips to kiss you cheek and lets you loose to make your way into the building. The giggle bursting from your lips and the slight float to the skirt of your dress has him feeling warmth bloom in his chest as he makes sure you have no trouble along the small distance. Someone is exiting just as you approach the door and they do a double take at the sight of your tattoos on display and the flattering form of the dress over your skin, holding the door open for you and saying something you seem to reciprocate.

Frankie busies himself with hooking the gas pump into the tank’s opening and looks up to watch you amble through the store through the wide windows, the guy who held the door open doing on the other side of the pump. You’re slow in your movements around the few aisles, taking in all of the sweet and savory options. But you make sure to grab a dr. pepper and a cherry coke. Mini powdered donuts make their way into your hand holding the drinks to your chest before you approach the checkout.

“She’s a looker, man, good on you.” Comes from the other side of the pump before a vehicle takes off.

“Frankie! I got snackies!” You hold up a plastic bag the second you’re back out the door, shaking it slightly before grimacing and halting the movement, realizing it would make the drinks fizz up. “Oops, my bad.”

“Sweet girl, what did you get us to munch on? We’re only about half an hour out at this point.”

“And where is it we’re going again?”

“Nice try, querida, but it’s a secret. I think you’ll really like it.” He pressed the tip of his index finger to your nose as you enter his orbit. Hand moving to take the cane from you and place it in the truck exactly where you preferred it. It was a beautiful thing, sleek carved wood stained a dark, espresso brown. The hand coated in silver cast to look like blooming flowers to ensure your grip is secure and travel down a few inches. The tip of it capped with rigged silver as well to help with steadying your uneven right side.

He takes the bag from you next, setting it down in the middle of the bench seat, the center console pushed up to create more room for you to cross your legs while you went over stuff. It wasn’t the best position for you to be sitting in for long hours, but you argued it was one of the few ways that brought relief sometimes so he let you do what you thought was best. He had put his foot down and gotten stern with you though, saying that if he noticed it was doing more harm than good that he was going to ask you to try and sit another way.

Truth be told, Frankie would carry you for the rest of your live if you would allow him to. Should you need to be off your feet altogether. A custom wheelchair having been ordered to replace the generic one the insurance company had covered for immediate use after your surgeries. It had been a long conversation, one in which both of you had shed tears during. But the agreement was that it would be stored in the downstairs closet and brought out for longer trips, hospital visits that would take more than a quick pop in and out to ensure no uncomfortable and hard waiting room chairs caused harm, and days where the errands piled up.

While you were recovered from the surgeries and dealing with the trauma of what happened, your legs worked as well as they could. Though the already replaced right one tended to go numb at random intervals the doctors could only explain as part of a degenerative disease that had probably been undiagnosed before the first shooting. The left often got a tingling sensation, sciatic nerve sensitive on both sides making it hard for you to get out and about some days.

Working full time had been another conversation, safety rails installed with the help of the guys all around the house should you be home alone. The showers in the two bathrooms you used were set to be remodeled with ledges for you to set on should you want to, the tubs to be replaced with shower stalls and a fancy tub of your choosing to be put in the master one attached to yours and Frankie’s room.

He worried about the stairs, something that took a longer conversation in which you admitted to feeling like you were flipping his whole life upside down and ruining the home he had carefully curated for him and his daughter. His solution had been as simple as breathing, as loving you: turn the guest room and laundry room into a new downstairs master, expand the kitchen to accommodate the laundry room equipment. The money it would take had caused you to break down, even if Frankie hadn’t batted an eye at the arguably large sum it would require.

Will and Benny had argued that two cousins of theirs that resided in Texas was more than willing to make the trip to oversee the project. They had readily agreed to absolve the labor and graciously discount the materials as long as their flights were covered, and they had a place to stay as for the duration.

You had briefly talked with Joel about it, equal parts meek and steadfast on certain aspects of the project. Insistent that they would be able to stay in the apartment above the bakery. You had promised you didn’t want to be difficult, but the man’s deep twangy voice had assured you that you had every right to be since it was for your comfort.

Trees got thicker on either side of the winding road as the elevation hiked up. Deep in a forest of some part of the northern portion of the state. Somewhere you had no idea of, the GPS on the truck shut off and Frankie leading the vehicle with just the inner workings of his mind. The truck was moved into second gear and the engine rumbled loudly as Frankie continued to drive. He had shut off the radio to concentrate, something you did often as you drove to new places for the first time. A pleased smile pulling at your lips as you discovered things about him that you shared.

Turning off the paved road, the tires crunched over a gravel one as he continued on. You were leaning out of your seat to try and better see the glimpse of bright blue off aways between the trees.

“Almost there, sweet girl.”

“Frankie, what in the world did you plan?”

He just chuckled, jostling your thigh in his grip before removing it. You were about to turn to him when you heard the hum of conversation and laughter through the open window. The gentle splash of water trickling in the background as he rounded one last curve and began to pull up the drive of an impressive looking cabin. It was all dark tones with neutral accents in the form of a large patio that shifted into a deck, stretching out onto a decent sized lake. The water sparkling in the sunshine and temporarily stunning you.

“About time, Fish! Mante, watch this!” Benny hollered as he ran down the length of the deck that jutted out into the water and leapt from the edge of it. Balling up, he made a spectacular splash into the pristine water, causing it to splatter all over the girls lounging on the bank. Morgan and Luciana only laughed as Benny bobbed up to the surface, wiping the water from their skin and turning to wave at you from their spots. Will and Santiago were over by the grill, trading laden down plates with of cooked and raw items from a long wooden picnic table set up right in the middle of the covered part of the deck that doubled as a large patio off the side of the cabin.

“Figured the water would feel good on your hip. Got you a set of trekking poles if you want to hike, but there’s also plenty for us to do around the cabin if you don’t feel like it. Whatever you wanna do, sweet girl.”

“Don’t be hoggin’ the woman, primo.” Santiago sidles up to the passenger door, leaving Will to handle the grill on his own. His sunglasses pushed up into his hair as he reached through the open window to brush an errant wave of hair away from your face and behind your ear. You feel warmth blossom in your chest at the endearing move, grateful for the man that he was and the part he had become in your life even if it had been more than bumpy since meeting him. “Let’s get the week started! C’mon, Fish can unload the truck. I’ve got your favorite beer in the cooler waiting for you, hermosa.”

Before you move through the door Santiago opens for you, you lean over and take Frankie’s face in both your hands to kiss him deeply. Your hands trail down the thickness of his neck to rest atop his shoulders as you scoot across the long bench of the front seat, the center console pushed up. You hook your arms around them to scoot closer to him, pressed your chest flush with his. Tongue licking into his mouth, you sneak your hands into the back of his shirt dip them below his belt and grope at skin beneath. Hoots and hollers rang around the open space hidden in the trees, making your heart soar to be around so many friends, around Frankie.

He seems a little star stuck as you scoot out and walk arm in arm with his best friend toward the hub and bub of the deck, taking a moment before he pushes himself from his won seat behind the wheel and follows suit with a shining grin.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @jessthebaker @peppermintfury @for-a-longlongtime @peppermintfury @tuquoquebrute @readingiskeepingmegoing @christinamadsen @heareball @soft-persephone @vivian-pascal @undercoverpena @undercoverpena-fics

46 notes · View notes

justalittlesolarpunk · 1 day

Note

I've been feeling climate anxiety lately. I think it's really necessary to change everything and progress towards a postcapitalist future that doesn't endanger our planet, our Pachamama. But I don't see how that will be possible. What do you think about this?

Hiya, thanks for getting in touch and sorry it’s taken me so long to reply. I get a lot of asks like this so I think I might make this another masterpost. Here’s climate anxiety solutions according to me:

1) Accept your feelings. Recognise that fear, grief, rage and despair are all normal, healthy, human reactions to paying actual attention to what is being done to our planet right now. You aren’t wrong or sick or overreacting by feeling them. Sit with the emotions, allow them to wash over you, cry, smash plates, punch a pillow, journal, write poetry, yell at the news, scream in the woods! Trying to repress these feelings will just make them harder to deal with.

2) Recognise that the paralysis of climate anxiety is not a good place from which to make a difference. Try to let horror, guilt and self-blame go, and lean into the love for people and planet that motivates all eco-anxiety. Start consuming good news stories and keying into activist spaces so that you can learn how others are claiming agency to fight this problem, and how you can emulate that. Remember that despair absolves you of responsibility and that true solidarity with the most affected means letting your emotions drive you towards action.

4) Educate yourself through reading, listening to podcasts, attending talks, seeking advice from elders, and more - whatever works for your particular life and circumstances. The more informed you are about these issues the more you’ll feel able to address them.

3) Make as many changes as you can in your personal life. Are you eating a high-carbon diet? Try to reduce that. Are you consuming a lot of water or energy resources? Look for green and low-intensity alternatives. Examine your transport habits and prioritise walking, cycling, trains, low or zero emission buses, sailing, and replacing longer-haul journeys with remote options. If you live in a throwaway culture, try to prioritise reuse and repair over consumption. Consider how your livelihood impacts the planet, and if it’s negatively and making change is possible for you, start the process of moving towards an occupation that lets you make a more positive difference.

4) Fight! Join a campaign group, write to your elected officials, attend a protest, donate money to causes if you can, commit civil disobedience if you feel willing and able. Put pressure on governments, businesses and the public to change their ways.

5) Prioritise joy and connection. Spend time in nature, watching animals or foraging for plants or swimming or walking or just letting it all wash over you. Link up with other people to talk through your worries, go hiking, lobby for climate justice, safeguard ecosystems and pass down your local heritage. Sometimes, take a day or two to check out of all these issues and problems and just spend time drawing, cooking, playing games with loved ones, or whatever it is that relaxes you. There are enough of us that you can take the time to avoid burnout.

I hope some of this was helpful, and do please get back in touch if you have any other questions or queries. You’re part of a huge global community of people who love and revere the earth and want to build a better future for all life upon her. Hold onto that.

#solarpunk #hopepunk #cottagepunk #environmentalism #social justice #community #optimism #bright future #climate justice #tidalpunk #ask #answer #climate anxiety

33 notes · View notes

bensonoliviasstuff · 16 hours

Text

“Turning Page”

Chapter four! “We're gonna be Timeless”

Masterlist for Turning Page

Bucky Barnes x fem! reader

Summary: Once Bucky regained consciousness and was no longer the Winter Soldier, all he missed from the 40s was his wife. But maybe she's closer than he thought.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry if there are too many errors. A little bit of angst, Rape, memory loss, betrayal, trauma, Insecurities. And the best part: Thanos doesn't exist here

Taglist: @capswife @mostlymarvelgirl @scott-loki-barnes @bxckybxrnes24

“Even if we'd met on a crowded street

in 1944

And you were headed off to fight in

the war

You still would've been mine, we would

have been timeless

I would've read your love letters every

single night

And prayed to God you'd be coming home

all right

And you would've been fine, we would

have been timeless.

‘Cause I believe that we were supposed

to find this”

~ Timeless (Taylor's Version)

You and Natasha arrived at the medical wing, the last time you had been here was when you woke up to the doctors and Tony doing tests.

You hadn't been able to pay that much attention to your surroundings, but now you were hiding behind Natasha as she walked towards the room.

She went in first, talking to Bucky and asking details about the mission and how they got hurt, you continued behind her until she took two steps to the side, finally allowing Bucky to see you.

He seemed very surprised to see you there, opening his mouth to say something but not being able to produce a sound.

“Hi” you said shyly, thinking it would be up to you to break the silence.

“Hi” He said with a smile “What are you doing here?”

“She wanted to see you” Natasha said, hiding her smirk from you.

“Well I..." you stuttered nervously, Bucky smiled at how cute you looked nervous "I... It's not... I just... I was worried" you pointed to his human arm, which was where, you noticed, he got hurt.

“Were you worried about me?” he said pretentious “No need to stutter, thank you, doll”

You froze at the nickname, realizing no one had ever called you that before but with Bucky it felt so right.

He noticed how disconcerted you were and only then did he understand what he said.

He panicked, it was so natural to call you like that, he didn't realize that it wasn't anymore.

“I meant... I...” He stuttered, having no idea what to do to fix the situation, and what if you got scared and moved away from him.

“Who’s stuttering now, huh?” You joked, looking away and biting your bottom lip to hide your rosy cheeks.

He looked at you confused, weren't you surprised? You wouldn't be scared by the nickname and move away?

It seemed not.

Then he smiled at you, still a little embarrassed, but hope seemed to shine in his heart in a way it hadn't in a long time.

Natasha had a hand over her mouth almost in shock at the way Bucky seemed to have suddenly become a teenager, stuttering and flirting, that was definitely not the Bucky she knew.

That made her smile, it wasn't the Bucky she met at the compound, but it was the Bucky you met back in the 40s.

A week passed after Bucky was injured on the mission, and Steve and Natasha were currently sitting at the breakfast table, watching Bucky eating with a smile on his face, wishing good morning to anyone who passed him.

“I think he’s sick” Steve whispered to the redhead

“Lovesick” Natasha whispered back, which made them both contain a laugh.

“Oh my God” Steve put a hand over his mouth in shock. “In 90 years I have never seen Bucky Barnes wake up in a good mood.”

“90?” Natasha said with doubt “He looks like he just turned 15 and is having his first girlfriend”

Tony arrived in the kitchen passing Bucky who happily looked at him and said “Good morning, Tony!”

Tony looked at Bucky with an expression of true fear, quickly moving away and heading towards Steve and Natasha.

"He is sick?" Tony said with a terrified expression.

Steve and Natasha looked at each other before turning to Tony and saying together:

“Love Sick”

It's been like this for the last week, Bucky started spending more time with you, and consequently Bucky seemed to be constantly in his own pink world, no one had seen him this happy in a while.

Despite that, what was still killing him inside was the fact that even after a week here you still didn't remember anything.

He was losing hope that you would remember, but he didn't care about winning you over again, he didn't care about marrying you again, he would do all this dozens of times if it meant he would have you.

He was spending the rest of his hopes on the plans he had set up for today.

“Good morning” you said as you arrived in the kitchen and sat down next to Steve, extending your hand to take a toast that was on the plate when Tony patted your hand.

“This is mine, Little Princess” He said, taking the toast and putting it in his mouth.

You smiled with furrowed eyebrows. “What’s the difference between this one and all the others?”

“I wanted this one, so I got this one” Natasha and Steve laughed. “Earn your seat before choosing the toast”

You laughed, crossing your arms.

“Since you are the voice of wisdom in the kitchen, reveal to me what toast I can get with my insignificance”

He looked at you surprised by your answer, you knew how to suck up, he was starting to like you.

“Y/n don’t do this, If there's anyone sucking up to Tony he's going to get even more arrogant” Natasha said taking your hand.

“I’m just earning my place”

Bucky joined everyone who was laughing at the situation, sitting next to you.

“Good morning” he said, looking at you with affection.

It was still weird to you the way it felt like you had known each other your whole life even after just 8 days together.

But what could you do? You've never felt so comfortable with someone before.

“Good morning, Buck” You felt it was unnatural the way the compound made you feel at home.

“I have a surprise for you” He said, finishing eating and guiding you to your room. “There’s a dress in the wardrobe, I’m going to take you somewhere”

Here begin their last attempts to make you remember.

You went to the wardrobe finding a very beautiful dress, simple and beautiful, you seemed to have seen it somewhere before, but you didn't really know where.

You dressed feeling weird, in the week you were here you only wore hoodies similar to the ones you wore on the first day.

You put it on and decided that you would look better with your hair up, after taking a look in the bathroom mirror, you spent a moment trying to memorize how you looked, it was such a weird sensation that it felt like you were a spectator looking at you in the third person.

Weird, Weird, Weird, it was all Weird, you were tired of using that word for everything this last week.

It was weird having lunch with Bucky, it was weird watching movies with Steve, it was weird going to sleep with music.

You needed to find another word, "weird" was already losing its meaning in your mind.

It was like... It was like...

You sighed, giving up for now, but you would find a word.

You left the room going to the living room that faced the kitchen, Steve, Natasha and Bruce were sitting there.

As soon as Steve laid eyes on you he choked on his own saliva, Natasha patting him as she looked at you with a surprised look.

“Look at her so pretty, where are you going?”

You opened your mouth to respond and then you realized: you didn't know, Bucky hadn't told you anything.

“It’s a surprise, I’m going to take her somewhere” Bucky appeared in the room, placing a hand on your shoulder.“Have a nice ride” Bruce said friendly.

"Yeah, enjoy” Natasha said, patting Steve more.

“Thank you” Bucky said leading you out of the compound, only when you left Steve took a breath.

“What was that, captain?” Natasha said “I thought your hundred years were beginning to take you to the higher plane.

“That dress” Steve said, still a little breathless “It was the dress she wore when Bucky proposed to her”

Natasha opened her mouth in shock. “How did he get a similar dress?”

“Persistence” Bruce said, getting both of their attention “He’s determined to make her remember”

You smiled as the air hit your face and messed up your ponytail, it was the first time you had seen the city in a long time, And it was the first time you had ever been to a city without any mission to kill someone.

Bucky looked at you smiling, You were so beautiful that he fought every instinct to put a hand on your cheek.

"Where are we going?" you turned to him “I think we’ve been in the car for more than twenty minutes”

“I told you it’s a surprise” He said, after a few minutes you noticed a sign approaching.

‘Welcome to Brooklyn’

“Brooklyn?” You said with a smile “It’s my first time in Brooklyn”

Weird, that sentence didn't seem right.

“Weird” again???? What was the other word you were going to use anyway?

Bucky's smile faltered for a moment after you said that, it was quick, if you had blinked you wouldn't have seen it, but you did.

“Yeah, well... I like it here” He said looking into your eyes “It reminds me of home”

Weird, it felt like home to you too.

Agh, someone remove weird from your vocabulary.

When you noticed you were in front of a hospital. Wait, a hospital? Was this Bucky’s idea of “Surprise”?

"A... hospital?" You said, watching the nurses for too long.

It felt right, but you refused to say the word “Weird” again.

“The best place to park is out front” Bucky lied, he wanted to start where you started. "Let's walk"

The two of you walked for a short time, but everything seemed to be hitting you in the gut, the buildings, the streets, even the stores.

Bucky stopped when you arrived at a square, it wasn't that busy but there were still a lot of children and their parents.

Bucky looked at you, searching for any trace of memory on your face, you guys used to come here sometimes on Fridays before lunch, where you would look at the children playing after they got out of school and planned the future, planned children, you would have three children, two boys and a girl because you always dreamed of brothers Michael and Steve protecting the little Olivia.

You looked at the children, smiling with the desperate parents with the naughty children.

“Ah, I always wanted to have children” You said looking around. “Thanks to Hydra this is no longer biologically possible” You saddened, Bucky broke down.

“They… They…” Bucky couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I was kind of a toy, they took out my uterus for safety” You said, looking at Bucky with a smile to prevent him from falling to the ground right then and there “But I'm fine, thanks to you, You are my “Avengers” heroes, thank you for getting me out of there”

He still looked inconsolable, looking at you as if his puppy had died. You didn't want to ruin your day.

“Come on, what do you have planned?” You shook him, trying to make him forget.

He shook his head, seeming to remember his intentions from earlier in the day.

“That one there is the best ice cream ever” He said, pointing to an ice cream cart in the square.

“I can’t wait to try it”

Bucky smiled weakly, you used to prefer desserts before lunch, he always thought that was strange, but according to you it was the fun of being able to be a happy adult.

You went to the old man who was taking care of the ice cream cart.

You stared at the yellow car trying to remember where you recognized it from, but you were unsuccessful despite it sticking in your head.

“A cone of chocolate ice cream, please” Bucky asked, handing the money to the man.

The little old man handed you the cone, looking into your eyes as if he were an old friend, you smiled back, feeling something in your stomach twist.

Bucky guided you to another place, but you continued to stare at the old man, the weirdest thing was that he also kept looking at you and smiling as if he knew exactly what was happening.

You and Bucky sat on a bench near the toys and the noise of the children made you pay attention to the present again.

You tasted the ice cream, feeling astonished when the taste seemed so familiar to you.

You stopped, looking at the ice cream as if trying to figure out if there was some kind of pixie dust in it.

You looked at Bucky

“In fact, it’s the best ice cream I’ve ever had”

He smiled at you, waiting for something more, something like “Oh my God, I remembered all the times we ate ice cream before lunch because I looked like a spoiled child!”

But nothing like that came out of your mouth.

“What do you say we have lunch now?” He asked, the idea seemed quite pleasant to you, so he took you to a nearby restaurant.

As soon as you entered, you felt the atmosphere change, the restaurant smelled like home on Sundays with the family, homemade food, barbecue, children running around the house.

You never had any of this, no family on Sunday, so why did it all feel so strangely right?

Bucky seemed to notice that you felt the atmosphere of the place intensely. “It’s a good place, right?”

You looked around, your eyes seemed to shine and you felt like crying, stupid, why would you cry?

You placed a hand on your chest, walking through the restaurant and watching the customers sitting there with their families, children laughing, the sound of forks meeting plates, and a little melody in the background, God it made you want to cry like a child, And you couldn't find any plausible reason to be so emotional about a normal everyday scene.

Bucky walked behind you hopefully, his eyes almost begging you to remember all the moments you built here.

“How does it feel knowing this is your last day as a single woman?” Bucky held his hand, with a huge smile on his face.

You smiled, looking around the restaurant. “tomorrow I’ll be a married woman” You sighed at the title “Who knew, when I saw you the first time I was sure you weren’t a man who would marry one day”

“And I wasn’t” He laughed “I never was, until I met you” He observed every detail of your face. “I still don't know if I'm going to do this right, but it's not about being a man to marry, it's about knowing that I'll never be able to spend a moment of my life away from you"

He meant every one of those words, It hurt like hell every second he spent away from you after he had redoubled old Bucky's consciousness.

As soon as he left Wakanda, he and Steve went in search of any trace of you, Hydra had taken everything, even photos of your funeral, he spent a long time believing that you had died of cancer many years ago, never having married after him.

This left him inconsolable many times a day, you never having married again, never having had children, never having sought happiness after him.

And now he was here, willing to wait for your love regardless of how long it took for you to love him again.

“Lets sit?" He asked, and you seemed to snap out of your trance, looking at him and nodding.

You sat at a beautiful table that overlooked the entire square you were in before.

Bucky asked if you wanted to choose, but you didn't know exactly what to order so you left it up to him to choose.

You smiled in surprise when a combo with a burger and fries arrived at your table.

You grabbed a fry, putting it in your mouth and letting out a sigh at how good it was.

“This is really good, I don’t think I’ve ever had something this delicious before.” So you picked up the burger to take a bite and as soon as the flavor hit your mouth, your brain felt like a building on fire.

You let go of the burger, pressing your temple as it hurt more, the more it hurt, the more laughter you heard.

That's when you realized the laughter wasn't coming from the people in the restaurant, it was coming from your head.

“I’m always head over heels for you, Doll.”

“Are you okay, Y/n?”

You no longer knew what was really happening and what were voices in your head.

Then, just as it started, it suddenly dissipated.

“Y/n what is wrong?” Bucky asked once again, you looked at him and saw concern in his eyes.

“My head... It started to hurt like my brain was being roasted.” You placed your hand over your forehead “I started hearing things”

"What kind of things?" He asked, still worried, what if it was some side effect of something Hydra did to you?

You looked at him, how would you explain that you suddenly remembered hearing his voice somewhere?

“Things” you said bluntly, removing your hand from your forehead, Suddenly Bucky was laughing. “What's the fun?" You asked confused.

“You just got sauce on your forehead” he took a napkin and wiped your face, you laughed weakly, going back to eating your burger. “When you're done eating, let's go back to the compound, okay? I’m worried about your headache.”

You nodded and took another bite of the burger, this time the taste didn't hurt your brain, The taste was comforting, the way it seemed so familiar was weird.

Not weird, but... Ah, you haven't decided on a word yet.

You finished eating and Bucky left to pay the bill, so you were left wondering what could explain why you heard Bucky's voice in the middle of that chaos, what if Natasha was right? Did you know each other?

"Let's go?" Bucky's voice broke you out of your thoughts.

You walked calmly to the car, Bucky made a funny comment every now and then, and then you fell into a comfortable silence.

When you were near the hospital, Bucky took his keys out of his pocket and with them his wallet fell out.

He didn’t seem to notice so you bent down to pick it up “Buc...” the name died in your mouth when you took a look.

Your knees weakened and everything inside you felt like it was burning now.

There was a photo, a beautiful couple, it didn't seem so shocking until you realized it was Bucky

And you.

The breath left you when you took a look at the image, you were wearing a wedding dress and holding a bouquet of lilies, Bucky was in his suit and kept his eyes on you the whole time.

You stood up, feeling dizzy from the impact that photo had on you, were you married? No, it's impossible, you met 7 days ago, how could you be married?

Bucky turned back only to see your indignant face holding his wallet, he panicked very quickly.

“Y/n... Listen...” He tried to get closer but you took two steps back, dropping your wallet as everything in your body burned just like in the restaurant

"Who are you?" You almost screamed, but your voice didn't come out, tears falling from your face as you felt more headache.

“Come on, doll...” He said, and you remembered his voice that you heard from the restaurant, calling you doll.

“I’m always head over heels for you, doll.”

“Stop!" You placed your hand over your temples in an attempt to calm it all.

“What’s going on, Y/n? What’s wrong? let me help you please!” He begged, but his mind felt like it was starting to go blank, as if several light bulbs were flickering on and off.

“I promise to be true to you, in joy and in sadness, in sickness and in health; I will love you and honour you all the days of my life"

You smiled with tears in your eyes.

"You can kiss the bride"

You looked at Bucky as the memories made you more confused, God! it was driving you crazy, you had two people in conflict inside your head fighting for position.

That's when Bucky approached, holding you by the elbows, As soon as he touched you a key seemed to turn in your head.

It felt like someone had taken glass from your eyes.

Everything seemed to make sense.

Your heart seemed to make sense.

“Bucky” you whispered, tears streaming down your eyes, you raised your hands to touch his face, gently running your fingertips over the marks on his face.

He smiled “Yes, doll, Bucky” then he spent more time watching your face, he started to get rigid as soon as he noticed your gaze changed.

It wasn't Y/n from Hydra

It was his y/n.

His wife.

As soon as he realized this, he desperately placed a hand on your cheek, feeling you, feeling the heat of your skin, feeling your labored breathing.

“You’re alive” You said weakly, but before you could hear his response the headache overcame you, your vision became blurred.

Strong arms held you and you knew you were home.

It wasn't weird, it was... it was...

It was Timeless

#bucky barnes x reader #imagine #bucky barnes #steve rogers #winter soldier #writing #captain america #fanfic #natasha romanoff #tony stark #bruce banner

32 notes · View notes

whispering-depths · 3 days

Text

Feast and Folly || Chapter 1

Pairing: Gale x Tav/Reader Rating: M (to be safe–it's fairly tame, just a little bit of spice in a future chapter!) Tags/warnings: Gale's Netherese orb, chronic pain, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are a wild magic sorcerer, gifted with an innate connection to the Weave, yet it has caused you nothing but immense strife all your life. Gale is a wizard, plagued by a Netherese orb that must feed on shreds of the Weave, lest the worst come to pass. Is there anything you can do to help ease his pain?

Slow burn, Act I pre-relationship, Gale x f!Tav/Reader. This is intended to be 3 chapters.

Read on Ao3

NOTE: This is written in 2nd person, but reader/Tav is my tiefling wild magic sorcerer, Tiresia. Her story is integral to the fic, so this is not really a true blank slate “reader insert,” but I don’t describe her physical appearance much beyond race-specific details (having a tail and horns and claws), story-relevant details (burn scarring, blindness in one eye), and being shorter than Karlach (as most everyone is). But there are lots of bits of backstory peppered throughout. (my drawing of the Tav in question, if you are interested!)

Chapter 1: Arcane Hunger

“So, remind me again, who are these ‘paladins' and, why are they riding your tail?” you ask, a little bit out of breath.

Your newest—and tallest—companion, Karlach, leads your small scouting party up the dusty, bush-lined path where you first met her just days ago. You try to keep up while you chat, but she has a good foot and a half on you so what amounts to a brisk walk for her is nearing a jog for you, your tail bouncing rhythmically behind you with each step. The vampire and the wizard have both fallen several strides behind now, long since having given up on keeping the larger tiefling’s pace.

You slow to a stop as the rundown toll house comes into view up on the hill, allowing a moment for your other companions to catch up.

“Zariel’s bootlickers,” she spats. “Trying to drag me back to the hells. They’re not particularly bright, but those fuckers are relentless, I’ll give them that. But between us, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

You hum in acknowledgement, deferring to Karlach for the plan of attack. “What d’you think’s the best way for us to approach this, then?”

Karlach pauses for a moment, hellfire in her eyes, before launching into an enthusiastic pitch for how to banish the ‘paladins’ back to Avernus. You watch her animated hand-talking with bemused reverence, until her monologue is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Then—

An agonized groan,

followed by a heavy thump—

Something— someone— hits the ground, hard.

Time seems to slow as you spin around on your boot heel, your ears suddenly perked and alert. When you turn, you are half expecting to find yourself in the middle of an ambush—either the paladins had got the jump on you, or a roving band of goblins and Absolute cultists did.

But as the scene before you comes into focus, your eye is drawn to Gale’s cloaked form, doubled over in the dirt—his sweat-covered brow twisted up in pain, one hand clutching at the fabric of his collar, the tightness of his grip blanching the usually tanned skin of his knuckles.

Oh gods. What happened? Has he been shot?

Your mind reels, heart plummeting into your stomach at the thought.

Not him.

Something had drawn you to Gale nearly from the moment you pulled him from the portal he’d found himself stuck in. The wizard had landed right on top of you, knocking you into the dirt, his mortified blush and spluttering apology instantly endearing him to you. You found him handsome and charming, if a bit pompous, but still, Archmage Gale of Waterdeep felt deeply out of your league as an avoidant sorcerer with barely any mastery over her wild magic. There’s no way that he would be interested in you once he learned who you are, you reasoned. So you resigned yourself to admiring from afar.

But as the days went on, he started to seek you out in the evenings as a fellow magic user, expressing a keen interest in your innate abilities and connection to the Weave. You shared a few lighthearted stories of magical mishaps—like the time that a sneeze caused your skin to turn bright blue for a week, or when you accidentally flooded a small section of the Lower City because your mother refused to take you swimming—of course leaving out the more traumatic experiences. He offered up his own stories of mishaps and mischief in kind.

He was so genuine in his curiosity that you thought maybe you had misjudged him at first. But still, you felt guilty for the selective truths and the lies of omission. Even after he had partially revealed his own magical affliction, you still hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to share your own rather strained relationship with magic openly, nor the fact that you hadn’t intentionally cast a spell in nigh on a decade. This illithid nightmare you’d been thrust into left you with little choice but to rely on your magic again, so you made the decision to grin and bear it on your own.

Then, just a few evenings ago, one of these late night conversations bled into a more intimate moment, a warm embrace entangled in the very threads of the Weave as he told you of Mystra, his goddess and mother of all magic. A strange jealousy twinged in your gut at the reverent way he spoke of her, and your thoughts had wandered to your own longing, the shared connection laying bare your every repressed desire. You imagined what it would be like if you just pressed your lips to his, the soft scratch of his beard against your cheek, your tongue tracing the rampart of his teeth. His fingers trailing the seams of your robe, hooking under your belt, eagerly pulling you in closer—

“Soldier, get down !” Karlach hisses, snapping you back to the reality before you, shaking off your moment of reverie. You can’t afford any distraction if his life is in danger.

In your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of Karlach as she yanks the greataxe from her back and braces herself, eyes scanning wildly for assailants hidden in the brush. To your left, you hear Astarion let out a low growl, his lithe form swallowed up by your blindspot.

Without another thought, you rush to the wizard’s side and drop to your knees beside him. You take him firmly but gently by the shoulders and guide him into a seated position, allowing you to examine him closer.

Your eyes flit over his chest, scanning for any wounds, but you see no errant arrows, no bloom of blood staining his purple robe, nothing that would suggest grave physical injury. Your chest swells in relief, but it’s ever so brief. Something is still very wrong.

Gale lifts his head gingerly, and his wet, brown eyes flicker to yours. There’s an intensity to his gaze, an immense anguish that makes your breath hitch, and your world narrows until it is just you and the man sitting before you. You hold his gaze, searching for an answer. As your thoughts race, you try to suppress your rising panic so you can pinpoint the source of his pain.

“Please—,” his strangled voice dies in his throat, barely a hiss escaping through gritted teeth. He reaches up again and shakily pulls on his collar so that it dips just below the bruised purple outline etched into his chest.

Oh.

The hunger.

It isn’t the first time this arcane hunger has overtaken him since you began traveling together. You may not yet be privy to all the details of the wizard’s strange, magical affliction, but he’s told you enough for you to know more or less what is happening: his condition is worsening, yet again. The demon inside, as he had described it, had awoken to ravage him—clawing, tearing, teething from within.

He needs another magical artifact, immediately.

You start rifling through your pack, desperate to find anything you can part with—an enchanted amulet, a spare pair of boots, anything. Another pained whimper escapes Gale’s throat, and a knife twists in your own chest in sympathetic response.

You are no stranger to pain. The burn scars that pucker the left side of your face, neck, arms, and chest have caused you chronic, lingering pain for as long as you remember, ever since the day your magic ignited a fireball and set your childhood home ablaze. Though the burns have long since healed, the phantom prickles and incessant itching spells persist, and the restrictive tightness of the scar tissue itself causes you discomfort with even the simplest of movements.

Each time you laugh at a companion’s joke, each time you lift your arms to take off your tunic at the end of the day… hells, each time you look into a mirror, you are reminded of your stinging guilt, your hollow loss, the worst day of your life.

But among your companions, you keep that pain close to your chest. It is still difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them when you already feel like a liability because of your unpredictable magic. Some days are worse than others, but even on the bad days you find yourself pushing too far in order to prove yourself useful. You wonder idly if Gale has been doing the same this whole time, too.

“Come on, come on, come on, there’s got to be something in here,” you chastise yourself for hoarding so many useless baubles as your fingers graze past one too many pieces of pilfered silverware. You start tossing them on the ground next to you and they land with a metallic clatter. You make a mental note to clean out your pack later at camp—this level of clutter is clearly becoming a problem.

After another moment of digging, you produce the small golden locket that the little tiefling girl’s mother had given you after saving her from that wretched snake. You picture the looks of pure love and relief on her mother and father’s faces after being reunited with their daughter. You try to picture your own parents’ faces in your mind’s eye too, though with the passage of time, your visual memories of them have become less precise. The illuminating spell the locket is imbued with is not particularly useful to you, but still, it had been an incomprehensibly kind gesture to gift you with such an heirloom—especially when you know those tieflings had so little to their names. Their kindness will not be in vain.

You hold the locket out to Gale. He reaches for it, but recoils as another shudder wracks his body.

“Do you—” you pause, unsure of what it is you even want to ask. “Do you want me to do it?”

He nods.

The last time that Gale had to treat his worsening condition, you’d curiously observed how he held the artifact to his chest, touching it to bare skin so that the shred of Weave within could be absorbed into his body. It seemed simple enough.

You clutch the locket tight inside your palm and lean in to press it lightly to the bruised skin above Gale’s heart. Eyes closed, his hand settles on top of yours, thumb slowly rubbing back and forth across the back of your hand.

After a moment, a cool glow emanates from beneath your clawed fingertips, the outline of the strange orb on his chest now pulsing with magic. Bolts of indigo Weave crackle in the air around you and caress your entangled hands, the hairs on your arm standing on end, magic flowing from the locket and into Gale’s chest—through you.

The sensation is an altogether odd one, though certainly not unpleasant or unwelcome; it feels markedly different from the way that your wild magic usually does. You’ve tried so hard to keep the tides of chaos within you from spilling over for as long as you can remember, but it has always felt more like of a cycle of ever-building pressure, a mounting tension, rather than a pleasant ebb and flow of energy—rather like a bowstring being stretched ever more taut, yet never released, until finally it just snaps.

But this, this is something wholly different. This magic feels electric —a soft, buzzing energy, starting as a faint tingle in the tips of your fingers but radiating outward, to the crown of your head and the tip of your tail. Your nerves sing, a cold adrenaline flooding through you, and the frenetic vibrations that echo through your body push a nearly inaudible sound from your lips. You shiver. Has magic ever felt this good before?

Almost as quickly as it started, the tendrils of shimmering magic melt into the air.

The wizard groans, and you realize for the first time that your eyes had fluttered closed at some point, your lips still slightly parted. You open your eyes to find Gale gazing back at you from beneath hooded lids, closer than you remember him being—an unreadable emotion flickering across them for a fraction of a second. Your palm lingers on his chest as you relish in the soft electricity humming in your veins, his hand still resting atop yours.

Karlach’s soft cough from behind you snaps you out of it.

Suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment you have just shared and your companions’ stares boring a hole into your back, you are the first to move away. Your cheeks grow hot, flushing a deep red.

Your hands drop to your lap, opening your fist to observe the empty space where the little golden locket had been moments ago. You absent-mindedly fiddle with your mother’s tarnished ring on your middle finger, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what else to do with your hands.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” he whispers. Your eyes rise to meet his again. “It is a strange experience each time anew—like a lost soul is spelunking through the darkness that is me, only to be sacrificed on the dread altar of the heart.” You smile wide at the return of his usual grandiloquence—a sure sign that he’s feeling more himself again.

But the relief is gone in a moment. When Gale moves to stand, he winces, another deep pang ripping through his chest. You catch his elbow to steady him. His expression grows serious again, eyes darkening.

“Good gods, it’s hardly had any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all. Listen, I need to talk to you, all of you,” he finally looks past you to acknowledge Astarion and Karlach’s presence for the first time. Their expressions flicker between bewilderment and concern at what they had just witnessed.

“Tonight. I will make us supper, and we will speak then. You deserve to know the truth of who I was. Who I really am.”

You can’t imagine that anything he could say would change the way you feel about him. Not when you have your own secrets you’ve been keeping.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, Gale?” you implore him, voice barely above a whisper.

Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you do plenty for me already. More than you realize,” he pauses. “But this… this cannot be remedied. Please, I need some time to think. We will speak more tonight.”

You nod your head solemnly. “Do you want me to walk you back to camp? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince Lae’zel to take your place if you need a rest.”

“Oh, I assure you, that will not be necessary, but I am grateful for your endless thoughtfulness. Let us carry on, I do believe we were about to parley with some paladins.”

#gale x tav #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x f!tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my fanfic #my writing #my ocs #oc: tiresia allseer #wild magic sorcerer #gale fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #gale bg3

29 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 21 hours

Note

Could I request Tengen and Rengoku with an s/o who's a descendant of a famous swordsman?

S/O's A Descendant of a Swordsman

Characters: Tengen Uzui and Kyojuro Rengoku (separate) Requester: ⚔Anon A/N: I now dub thee ⚔Anon because of the two characters and the swordsman prompt. Idk it was the first thing that came to mind. Anyways, this is mainly themed around them finding out their spouse is the descendant of a demon slayer. Just noting!

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»———————————-　Tengen Uzui　———————————-««

🔊 During his time at the Demon Slayer Corps, Tengen has heard about many slayers. But there was always one that stayed in his mind and never seemed to go away: Kenji Sureiyaa. Who was the Thunder Hashira all the way back in the Sengoku Era

🔊 Tengen loved to read all kinds of stuff on the way he produced the style with his four spouses. He would literally just lay a book on a slightly higher-up pedestal next to your large futon bed that you all shared and whenever he couldn't sleep, he'd grab it and read it till god knows what hour

🔊 One morning, you found him sitting in front of the small training area you had installed in the backyard for your wives and husband. And normally whenever he was outside, he'd be using it. Not now evidently

" What are you reading, love? " You asked.

🔊 Tengen looked back at you and smiled before standing up and closing the book, but not before marking his page. He was almost finished, it seemed.

" Just this book on the first ever Thunder Hashira, Kenji Sureiyaa. "

" Kenji Sureiyaa? That sounds familiar. " This caused your husband to snap his head to look at you. His eyebrows cocked in confusion.

🔊 You laid the laundry basket down and began to hang it all up to dry while Tengen just stared at you in curiosity. Silently pondering on how you have heard this man's name before. He knew you were friends with other slayers such as Mitsuri, but not even she knew of the guy

" Oh! Now I remember. My grandfather's grandfather was named that. How ironic, right? "

🔊 Okay... WHAT?!

🔊 Tengen practically dropped his book on the wooden flooring before he spun you around and asked how old you were, causing you to chuckle before patting his arms as he stared into your eyes. Damn, is this what demon's saw when fighting against the ex-shinobi?

" I'm 20, Tengen. Come on, you have to remember this. Did some demon hit you with some weird kind of memory-blood demon art or something? "

" So you're the... HOLY SHIT! You're the descendant of Kenji Sureiyaa! This is so cool! I married one of the first Hashira's grand-kid's grand-kid's kid! "

🔊 Huh?

🔊 As Tengen rambled, you picked up the book to take a glimpse at the detailed drawing of the man. He did look an awful lot like you great-great-grandfather's drawing you had in your room...

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»——————————-　Kyojuro Rengoku　——————————-««

❤️‍🔥 Rengoku was far from a silent man when he was off of his missions. And right now this was being proved to be true just as much as your honeymoon

❤️‍🔥 Your husband had heard about a book of old slayers from times long past the current one. And he had gotten quite interested into one that was supposedly the tsuguko of the first Stone Hashira: Kei Ishi

❤️‍🔥 Much like with Tengen, Rengoku would ramble about the long-deceased woman as if she was the second most important thing in the world, behind his oh-so-dear spouse, of course!

❤️‍🔥 Today just so happened to be quite the odd one, though.

❤️‍🔥 You had spent most of the day helping Aoi, your dear friend Shinobu's assistant at her mansion, out with healing hurt slayers while your husband was set to return from a nearly three-month long mission up in the northern-area of Japan

❤️‍🔥 Due to this, you were tired and needed a good, long nap. So, you grabbed one of the nearest books and began to read. And as you read, you passed almost four slayers before catching a familiar name written in ink. Kei Ishi?

" Why do they sound so familiar... " you wondered.

" Hello there, my blaze! "

❤️‍🔥 Practically throwing the book at the suspected startler, you noticed that it was knocked into the air before falling right onto the palm of the flame-haired male that you got to call your's

❤️‍🔥 Rengoku laughed as your cheeks flushed and you hid your face behind one of his haori's, which you loved to cuddle with whenever he was absent for whatever reason. And as you began to cool yourself down from the initial scare, Rengoku looked at the page you were reading

" Ah, Kei Ishi! Her story is quite interesting, is it not? "

❤️‍🔥 You just smiled and agreed as he laid the book down on a small bookshelf before adjusting the nemaki he wore to be lighter around his neck, making it appear like a yukata

❤️‍🔥 As he laid down, he noticed that you were looking at another book which was situated just underneath his. It seemed to be the book full of drawings of your ancestors, like your grandparents and aunts, uncles, cousins alike

" Why are you looking at the book of your ancestors, my love? "

" Oh it's nothing, Kyojuro. It's just- the name of Kei Ishi's, it just sounds familiar is all. "

" Do you wonder if she is perhaps an ancestor of yours as well? "

" I suppose so. "

" Then we shall check to make yourself sure! "

❤️‍🔥 Rengoku quickly nabbed the book and set it down on your lap before sitting back down with his outside, seemingly turning to a specific page while you looked for your family tree's page. A tradition for many years was to add on with each generation that held the book in their custody, and maybe you and Rengoku's child will do the same one day

" The final instance of a descendant of Ishi's is with her great-grandson named Takeshi Inoue. "

" Mine starts with Takeshi Inoue... "

" Oh my Gods! Y/N, you're the current descendant of Kei Ishi's! This is beyond unexpected! "

❤️‍🔥 Yeah, it was definitely unexpected alright

#Demon Slayer #Kimetsu no Yaiba #KnY #The Demon Slayer Corps #Hashira #Demon Slayer x Reader #Kimetsu no Yaiba x Reader #KnY x Reader #The Demon Slayer Corps x Reader #Hashira x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Human! Reader #Tengen Uzui #Tengen Uzui x Reader #Kyojuro Rengoku #Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader

29 notes · View notes

ramshacklerumble · 2 days

Note

💬🩵

“Oh, Gia.”

The voice flicked Gia’s attention from the rows of beakers they’d been sorting over their table to Riddle, mild surprise raising his eyebrows. Gia had come to class early in order to score a table and wasn’t expecting anyone to come by for at least another five minutes— though if there were anyone else who would want to be in the first class of the first semester earlier than they had to, it would be Riddle.

“This is the junior class.” He said, “Did you misread your schedule?”

Gia gave the barest shake of their head and as they did so, pulled the paper from their bag and passed it over to Riddle’s already waiting hand. “I’m taking this class.”

They watched his face pinch as he skimmed across it and watched the lines deepen when he read it again. “This…must be a mistake on part of the school. You should go to the Headmage to have this fixed and get you to your proper lessons...”

Had this been anyone else…Gia would’ve been offended. Knowing Riddle didn’t mean anything by it and was just trying to get things moving like they were supposed to helped with that.

Sorta.

“…I asked to be here.”

“Pardon?”

“This is my class.”

Riddle blinked as if Gia had sneezed in his face. “You…You asked to be here?”

Gia nodded, took their schedule back and went on setting up their table.

“Wha—?“ Riddle stood there, totally stunned. “How is that possible? You jumped classes? I’ve never heard of that. Where is that written?”

Gia shrugged then asked, “Wanna sit with me?”

Riddle made a sputtering noise— which Gia guessed was at their initial response and not their question because he moved around the table to plop onto the other seat. “I wasn’t aware you could skip like that. I wasn’t told. Why…I could’ve been taking this very class as a freshman had I known!”

“You never asked.”

Riddle was pouting, staring off at nothing in particular until the statement replaced the look with an expression of realization. “No, I…I didn’t. I’d taken the title as housewarden because the rules said it was possible, but it never occurred to me to…simply ask if I could take higher classes.”

He turned to Gia, “What made you question that?”

Another shrug, “I could.”

“The audacity.” The words came out with a soft huff of amusement, “…Or the imagination, perhaps?”

Riddle sighed, “Maybe it was for the best on my part. If the basic act of asking for other options was beyond my reach, then perhaps I wasn’t the right fit just yet.”

“Mm…It worked out.”

“How do you figure?”

One last shrug, “We’re both here.”

The vague regret that’d settled over Riddle’s features lifted as he chuckled, “Oh…yes. Yes, you have a point there.”

He adjusted himself in his seat— straight, poised and nothing like the half-hunched pillbug imitation Gia favored— and clasped his hands over the table, “Class hasn’t even started and already I’ve learned something new. I’d say that’s a favorable start to the semester.”

The first bell chimed throughout the school. Though nothing in the room changed, there was a shift in the air probably caused by a unanimous groan from the rest of the student body.

“Now, Gia.” Riddle smiled at them, “Let’s see what else you have for us this year.”

—

(technically cheating i guess since i’ve actually had this squirreled away in my docs for months, but i figured why not. this takes place in the beginning of sophomore year. i liked the idea of gia asking to be put in the junior alchemy classes because they’re ambitious as all hell and they DO get in because they prove they’re able to.

i’d also been thinking about their friendship with riddle a lot at the time. i’ll get into it in another ask, but while gia has a friendly acquaintanceship with riddle throughout freshman year following the events of book 1, they become solid friends in the following year after trey and cater leave for their senior internship. this leaves riddle on the lonely side until he ends up being absorbed into the original heartshackle crew.

it’s also worth noting that the last person to walk through those classroom doors is none other than floyd leech. godspeed my friends.)

tag list: @cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @blithesharem @thehollowwriter

@jovieinramshackle @theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch (lmk if you wanna be added)

#twst oc #yuusona #twisted wonderland oc #riddle rosehearts #gia yugo #gar’s writing

22 notes · View notes

fleetingcalypso · 1 day

Note

I absolutely love how you write Henry Winter! Perhaps you could write something more angsty. For example, Henry and the reader could get into a fight over Bunny going to Rome instead of the reader. Just an idea but I would love anything you do xx

≋ Love isn't love without some disagreements. I took the liberty of developing this prompt into something slightly different, it is a fight nonetheless.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 3277 words.

≋ TW: Possible manipulation/gaslighting, argument, consumption of alcohol, small moment of hallucination/dissociation, mentions of blood, mentions of planning someone's death, possible angst.

My arms are elbow deep in my sink, scrubbing the plates that barely minutes ago had my food resting on them. The only noises keeping me company are the quiet buzzing of the fridge, the splashing of water and porcelain hitting more porcelain. Three well assessed bangs coming from outside my apartment cause me to almost jump out of my skin and dry my hands in anticipation of opening the door, one glimpse at the clock mounted to the wall tells me it’s around nine. I’m not expecting anyone.

Most of all, I’m not expecting Henry to be the one pounding his fist against my door, a white knuckle grip on his suitcase’s handle, his chest rising in what look like panicked gasps for air. “Let me in.” He commands me.

It takes me a moment to realize this is the real thing and not a hallucination. “My God, Henry…” I don’t recognize the narrowed eyes that stare at me, “What’s happened to you? What are you doing here?” His shoulder bumps into mine as he makes his way into my home, without waiting for me to move out of the way.

“I had to leave. I had to.” He goes straight to my living room, all but throwing his coat onto my couch and ungracefully flopping beside it, I’ve rarely seen him act this way. A muscle in his clenched jaw twitches as he raises his fist, pressing it to his lips, the ever present frown on his face looks impossibly deeper than usual, he’s thinking about something and it vexes me that I can't read his mind like a poetry verse.

“Henry-” One glacial look from him shuts me up. He stares at me through his eyebrows, as if I’m everything wrong in the world, as if I was the serpent guiding humanity to an eternity of being exiled from Eden.

After he’s done petrifying me with his gaze he lets out an exhale of frustration lowering his head into his hands, his elbows sitting on his knees. Once the spell he had on my body evaporates I test my luck with just a couple steps in his direction. He doesn’t move. I’m gambling with his mood when I sit on the arm of my couch, lift his coat into my arms to fold it and set it aside.

He abruptly stands and storms into my bathroom, slamming the door behind him; the muffled water sounds make it clear that he’s taken ownership over my shower. It leaves me enough time to fish some clean clothes out of his suitcase and set them in my bedroom’s bed where I know he will retire once he steps out, dripping wet and barely dressed.

Time barely moves while I step back into the living room and take a seat on the soft pillow he used earlier. I have no idea how much time has passed when he emerges from a cloud of steam, robe wrapped around his body. He spares me no glances while I rise to my feet. This time the door doesn’t slam after he steps into the bedroom and gets dressed. I still wait for him. It’s best to let him come to me, rather than pry. It’s like a toothache: the more the tongue smoothes over an aching tooth, the more it’s going to hurt.

After what feels like forever he trudges into the living room for what is the second time now, looking exhausted, his hand rests against the wall keeping him upright. Henry walks past me, pulling me into a kiss that lasts less than the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

The couch dips with his weight and suddenly we are back at square one.

“Are you going to tell me what you are doing here, or am I going to pry the words out of you?” My words come out harsher than expected. Nothing makes sense. He’s supposed to be in Rome, keeping a strict eye on Bunny, making sure that idiot won’t do anything he might regret. I know for a fact our friend is still in Italy, he would have called and asked to meet up otherwise, surely to boast about all the things he’s admired and all to flaunt all the useless garbage he bought using Henry’s money.

Finally, he deems me worthy of an explanation, “Cuniculus molestus,” he says and it only adds fuel to my puzzlement. I repeat his words, he could only be talking about one thing, the one situation I hoped would never emerge. One blink, two words, three breaths and four shaky words: “What do you mean?...” It was all it took for Henry to rip apart at the seams.

“Bunny knows. He knows everything. The damned idiot found my diary.” He tries to contain the growl in his voice while rummaging through the clutter on my coffee table, searching for cigarettes I assume. And my suspicion is confirmed hearing his groan of annoyance, finding the almost empty packet of Lucky Strikes: only four cigarettes, one is flipped upside-down.

“It was a living nightmare. Bun acted as his usual aggravating self, perhaps even more so than usual, but nonetheless he wasn’t causing any actual harm. He complained about the rooms not being up to his standards, hell we were staying in some of the most picturesque rooms I had ever seen. He could have only dreamed of standing in that room, were I not there. Then he began feigning asthma attacks, nagging me about every small thing he could think of.” Henry’s words stop only when at last he lights the first cigarette.

“My God. He lamented being left alone just for a couple of minutes, but those times where I solicited him in coming with me, to a church, an art gallery, a restaurant- I don’t understand if he was faking, but he was insufferably bored, pestering me to leave. And it only got worse after a few weeks. Like salt sprinkled on a bleeding wound, I fell ill. A migraine, quite a painful one too. There was not much I could do, I realized. When after days of pure, unfiltered agony I finally mustered up enough strength to stand and search for a glass of water, that’s the moment it happened. I saw Bunny, because of the morning light shining into my eyes he simply looked like a blurry figure. When I greeted him, it took me a while to grasp the reality of what was happening.”

By now he’s a quarter in his second cigarette and I’m fully ready to cash a punch I know his words are leading the way for. He keeps talking.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Henry asks, the pictures hung on my wall suddenly being the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, he stares at them almost unblinking. “I hit him. Hard. He retaliated, making me his punching bag until the chambermaid broke us apart. Since that day I tried to be as compliant as I could with him, I’d written quite a lot of harsh things about him after all, the best thing I could do was try to show him that- I don't know- that I didn’t mean them? Or that he wasn’t as estranged from our friend group as he thought?-” This time it’s my turn to interrupt him, this rambling has gone on for far too long.

“Henry, get to the point. My patience is wearing quite thin, while I appreciate you going through what very well sounds like your own personal circle of hell to keep an eye on that menace of a man, I would very much like to know if we are all going to get caught because of that fool’s inability to keep his mouth shut in a foreign country or not.”

“I’m getting there.” He snaps. The third cigarette meets the previous’ fate, being lit and sitting between his lips. I try my best not to panic as he recounts about a German overhearing Bunny talk about what happened then following them, waiting for them by the fountain near their hotel. Anxiety nestles in me with each word that flies out of his lips, it doesn’t abandon me for a moment while he confesses that now he’s left Bunny alone in Italy without a note.

With the way my head spins I’m unable to reach the couch and I just sit on the floor.

Henry knows Bunny better than anyone else, and he’s assured me countless times that he’d never go to the police, but I can’t help but wonder: if that German man found his way to Bunny, perhaps while he’s drunk in some italian bar, what are the chances that the truth would be out and we behind bars before we can plead ‘not guilty’?

“You think you could fix this?” My voice is barely above a whisper, I don’t think I even hear it over the sound of my blood thumping in my ears. When his head moves in a nod, mine mirrors it. “It all depends on waiting for the right opportunity.” For the first time in my life, his words sound completely disconnected from reality after he adds, “It depends on how far we’re willing to go, as well.”

I can’t bring myself to glance at his eyes, if at first I delighted myself in being the one to willingly drown into the depth of his focus, meeting his divine stare feels borderline blasphemous now. Is the way my blood is freezing in my veins because my mind is spiraling into madness, or have I passed on as well? If I turn my head to the side and lower my gaze will I find a mauled farmer welcoming into the world of the dead? For a split second, when my hands come into view, I’m sure they’re stained red up to the end of my forearm; the water I used to wash my dishes did nothing to wash away the guilt that apparently only I, in my friend group, feel. Invisible, imperceptible droplets of what I know is blood, stains my carpet. There’s no washing it off. I could bathe in the holiest of waters, scrub my skin until it turned the very same color of what I want to rinse off of me and it still would be for naught.

Lucky for me, my holy salvation undoes the curse I’ve cast upon myself with just a call of my name. “I said I could fix it. Do not doubt me.” My hands clench, I feel my muscles tense as soon as I realize that what he accuses me is indeed true, I am doubting him.

No words are able to make it through the lump in my throat. With what little strength I can gather I force my legs to stand straight after I lift myself off the ground. “I’m not doubting you,” I lie, “I just think this entire ordeal has developed into something way bigger than us all.”

“So you don’t understand, then.” He shakes his head, strands of hair the color of raven wings fall onto his forehead, his glasses sit precariously low on the bridge of his nose. “I don't, Henry. I really don’t,” My panic is slowly shaping itself into something else, something I am familiar with and that I had stored away as soon as Henry’s healing salve was rubbed on my sinful body, “There’s a lot I don’t understand at this exact time.”

He doesn’reply. He silently lights up the last cigarette, the upside down one, the one I was saving for last and after a couple of clouds of smoke are created into existence he extends his hand to me: offering me my own lucky cigarette. I accept it. Smoke fills my lungs and burns my throat while I pace back and forth, letting ash fall to my feet.

It’s not enough, just one isn’t enough to calm the nerves that threaten to take over me. Inadvertently stubbing my smoke in my hardwood coffee table instead then into the ashtray an unstable exhale escapes me.

Henry doesn’t move, not one of his muscles has even remotely twitched in the time I took smoking.

It is impossible to think in this scenario and in what feels like the blink of an eye, there’s a cold bottle in my hand, burgundy wine flows into a clean glass, it doesn’t settle into it for a second before it makes its way down my throat, the fruitiness and sweetness of it tickles me. In my rush, it spills down my lips and leaves a maroon spot, as small as a cherry, on my shirt.

“I want my life back,” I pathetically confide in him, this time taking a seat next to him, “I am sick and tired of living in fear of the authorities showing up at my doorstep.” A miniscule yet expanding part of me outright believes the murder we committed is a sin not even Henry can absolve.

“You think I don’t feel guilty, also?” He began, taking the empty glass out of my hands and pouring himself a drink before pointing his finger at me, “We are human. Of course I feel bad for eradicating a man’s life, but certainly not enough to be distraught over it like you are.” It makes me feel wrong, being so agitated over something he swears he can fix.

“It’s not guilt that I feel, it’s fear. I am terrified every morning when I wake up that I am going to be in handcuffs in a prison cell by the end of the day.”

“You do not know Bunny as well as I do. He won’t say anything.”

“You say that, but you’re just a man. You’re not an all-seeing creature. You don’t know every small variable that could cause him to out us all.” I’d never thought I’d say it out loud. ‘You’re just a man’. It felt like blasphemy to even think of Henry as anything but a deity, jabbing his mortality right in his face was something that I had never even imagined doing. I didn’t think it would come to this.

“I see what this is.” The way he said that, it resembled a lighting flung from Olympus, ready to strike an unaware, disrespectful follower of the gods. “You’re not guilty and you’re not scared of Bun telling anyone. What you’re scared of is repercussions.”

"That's not-"

"Not true? Is that what you're going to say? Because it sure sounds like it is. You don't believe I could find a solution." Never has a voice so calm yet so deadly existed.

"I'm just saying, what if you can't? What if none of us can?" I keep seeing it like I'm reading from a book set in the future, like the Oracle of Delphi is miraculously inhabiting my body. "Henry, I don't think there's time to wait for 'the right opportunity'. Bunny is a ticking bomb as is it."

"So what?" He spits, "Should we just kill him, as soon as we see him, without a proper plan? That would ensure his silence, wouldn't it?"

The temperature in the room drops.

"Kill him?..." Never in my life had I imagined entertaining the idea of putting an end to one of my friend's life. I might lie, in truth, if I said it didn't sound like a plausible solution. "We can't."

"Why not?”

Good question. While it sounded absurd, it was truly the only way this nightmare would come to an end. I thought of Mrs.Corcoran, Mr.Corcoran, all of Bun’s siblings and Marion.

“It’s insanity.” I stood, backing away from him. “We are not killing Bunny. That’s final.” No matter how much it would help us, no matter how much that would ease my anxiety in the moment, I couldn’t. It is likely that my expression betrayed my words, for Henry’s next words shot a spear through me. Being in his presence was insufferable, now.

He hissed as he spoke, “Oh, would you quit the wounded bird act, for just a moment of your life?” He lifted himself off the couch, following me as I evaded his gaze by walking away into my kitchen. “What are you trying to prove? Your acting like this won’t bring back that man in the countryside, nothing will ever bring him back.”

“I don’t want to bring him back! You’re so deep into your own view of life that you're refusing to see my side!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” I hadn’t even noticed my loud volume, “Nothing can please you, I swear. You’re in no way the single victim of what transpired in that field. Yes, your hands were stained red that night, but you’re not the only one: Camilla still has nightmares about it, Francis as well and Charles, he will never forget that bloody bite on his arm. You’re not a saint, you were there with us drenched in blood, no matter how much you’d like to imagine the contrary. ”

My clenched fists trembled at my sides, with my back metaphorically against a wall of needles there was not a single thing I could do. My time was slipping away from under my fingers, crumbling into sand and being carried into a faraway land, never to be seen again. “But killing our friend is… it feels so wrong.”

“Try not to see it as murder.” To my surprise his steady hands held mine until they stopped shaking, “Look at me, look me in the eyes,” he held my face with one of his hands, slightly squeezing both my cheeks to stop me from looking away, “It’s not murder,” His whisper was slow and soft, deep down it sounded as if he was trying to convince an invisible audience and not me, "Think of it as a redistribution of matter, alright? You’re calling him friend, but was he behaving like one when he would throw out references to our misdeed? Was he a friend when he would pick up the phone and pretend to call the tips number on the daily paper?”

“You’re going mental Henry. There is not a single way in hell you’re seriously saying these words. If in the right situation I were in Bunny’s place, would you conspire against me, too?” I asked, knowing what he would say, “You wouldn’t be half as troubling as Bun is.” That was confirmation enough.

That night in the country, the only thing that was somewhat planned was the bacchanal, being drowned in what can only be described as the epitome of blissful, dionysian madness. Mauling an innocent man wasn’t planned, it was a tragedy. This, on the other hand, is a plan to get rid of Bunny. The one man that could be described as Henry’s best friend, there was a time where one would not ever be seen in public without the other.

“I don’t recognize you.”

“You don’t need to. You just follow my lead and it will all be okay. I promise you, we’ll fix it. I’ll fix it. Don’t stray away from me, don’t make us fight over something like this, alright?”

Hours after this conversation, when he’s fast asleep in my bed and I’m staring at his eyelashes, I want nothing more than for this torment to reach an end. “Does it all mean anything to you? Or is it all momentary until divine punishment wipes all off the face of the Earth?” My whisper is met with no answer on his end, his soft breathing for the time being placates my doubts. This is enough.

#fleetingcalypso #calypsodaydreams #henry winter x reader #the secret history x reader #the secret history #henry winter #angst #reader insert #dark academia #tsh donna tartt

17 notes · View notes