#edited it because i forgot to add the word 'to' to what he was saying LOL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryredstars · 6 months

Note

Not sure if I’m doing this right since I’m new to tumbler :D but hi love ur writing followed you in an instant!

I was wondering if you could write something for a very low self esteem, inexperienced reader who goes to uni so is like 21 or something and is Miguel’s neighbor. They live in this building and their other neighbor is a rude lady who complains at the slightest Noise basically. she doesn’t dare bother Miguel but is always bothering the reader since reader can’t tell her to f off. Reader is just such sweet chubby lil cinnamon roll :(

Idk if I should have been less descriptive or more TvT; ?

Anyway hope you’re doing great :D don’t forget to hydrate ♥️

1K Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Age Gap, Sexual Touching (With Clothes on), Slight Fluff

Summary: He helps you, you help him.

A/N: This is perfect, don’t worry, love!!!

Word Count: 2.4K (Not Edited)

This is most definitely going to leave you a crying wreck in your bathroom later.

Your nerves were already on high alert with finally becoming independent and moving out of the college dorms, that pesky exam and assignment you procrastinated on working on, and your job has been firing and hiring people left and right. The last thing you needed was your cranky old neighbor, (it is crazy to think that you once thought she was going to be a kind old woman who would give you cookies when she was lonely), to come banging on your door with a list of complaints and reasons why she could get you evicted. You do not know what to do, never being in this type of situation before. Honestly, you do not even know about half the things this woman is accusing you of.

You can only stand there, hand tightly holding the door open as you try not to cry from stress. In your head, you are counting in an effort to make sure your breaths are coming out evenly. The last thing you want is to have a panic attack and have your neighbor add the threat of a mental hospital to the list. You nod along weakly to what she says, letting out whispered apologies that only seem to make her angrier.

“You useless teenagers and your need to ruin good things, don’t think I forgot when you tr-”

“Is there a problem here?”

His voice is deep and smooth, causing the both of you to jolt. You visibly relax when you turn your head to find Miguel standing outside his apartment door. He has just gotten back from work and running errands, his lab coat draped over his arm as he holds paper bags in his arms. His hair is slightly tousled from the autumn breeze, and a few strands of his black hair are scattered with grey. His sweater hugs his arms and torso in a way that is mouthwatering, and you quickly look away when his eyes meet yours.

Miguel is the only neighbor you really know. He had helped you the first time you moved in, hearing the way you struggled to bring some things up to your apartment. He offered to help, carrying in boxes faster than you could into your apartment. When you had gotten furniture, he was happy to come over and assemble it for you. He is so kind to you, offering to help with a leaking pipe or to answer any of your questions about how to do something. You might have grown a slight crush on your neighbor, something that slightly freaked you out when you realized because of the obvious age gap the two of you have. You have not even finished college yet and he is in his mid-thirties working in a big corporate lab.

Miguel clears his throat and you look back at him. He stares at you expectantly, totally ignoring the stuttering woman who tries to answer his question. He is only ever interested in what you have to say. You flush under his intent gaze, quickly shaking your head. You do not want to cause more problems, and you definitely do not want to have your cranky neighbor form a bigger vendetta against you.

Miguel’s eyebrow raises, definitely catching the anxious expression on your face. He hums dismissively after a minute, eyes lazily trailing back to the older woman. His nose scrunches up slightly at the sight of her and he looks away again as the woman stops trying to defend herself. Miguel shrugs, the paper bags rustling with their contents. He turns to face you, once again ignoring the older woman.

“Then you wouldn’t mind helping me put away my groceries, right? Can’t get my keys with my hands full,” Miguel speaks in a lazy drawl.

You are quick to nod your head in agreement, stepping out of your doorway and closing the door. The woman steps back, a displeased look on her face as she watches you walk over to Miguel. Miguel keeps his eyes trained on you, watching everything you do. You are shy when you smile up at him. With your back turned towards the old woman, you mouth a ‘thank you’ to him. His eyes instantly snap to your lips, intently studying your exaggerated words. His eyes seem to darken for a second before he blinks and it is gone. His eyes trail back up to your eyes and he tilts his head slightly down.

“Keys are in my pants pocket.”

You quickly nod, whispering out an ‘okay’. Your face burns as you have to get closer to him to not knock into his arms. The angle is slightly awkward, your hands slip into his pants pocket and your face burns from having your hand so close to his…thing. As you try to find his keys, Miguel looks down at you with a heated look. He watches silently for a few minutes before looking back up and over your shoulder to the older woman. His face is masked in indifference, maintaining eye contact with her until she fidgets and turns away without saying a word.

At the same time she walks into her own apartment, you make a sound of victory as you finally retrieve his keys. You dangle them in his face with a proud smile, and he gives you an amused smirk. He steps away from his apartment door, giving you room to step in front of him and unlock his door. As you insert the key, you feel Miguel press up against your back. His warmth seeps into your spine and you are quick to bite your tongue so you do not let out a squeal.

His breath tickles your neck and ear, warm and slightly minty. “What did I tell you about standing up for yourself, hmm cariño?”

The question rumbles with his voice and you have to hold your breath in order to not make an embarrassing sound. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and instantly regret it. He has not moved his face yet, and you are a breath away from him. If you leaned forward the slightest bit, your noses would be touching. You gulp nervously, and Miguel’s eyes trail down to your lips once again. He lets out a deep hum as you lick them nervously.

“I- she’s not that mean to me.” You whisper out in the older woman’s defense. You cannot help the way your lashes flutter as you try to meet his eyes.

Miguel scoffs at your defense, finally backing away from you. He shifts his hold on the bags, freeing his hand to turn the doorknob. Your hand is still there, and your breath hitches when his large hand encompasses yours. His hand moves both yours and the doorknob, making a combined effort to open the door. You are still watching him from over your shoulder, mouth slightly opened in awe. Miguel looks down at you, something playful in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side.

“You’re blocking the doorway, cariño. The ice cream I got you is going to melt.”

Your blush returns from the pet name and you stutter out an apology as you rush inside his apartment. It’s warm, and you’re hit with the smell of him. You find the light switch and turn on the lights, flooding the whole place with a warm glow. Miguel follows you into the kitchen, placing the paper bags on the dining room table. He rummages through them, glaring at you when you try to grab one to start helping. His hands connect with something cold, and he pulls out a personal pint of ice cream. He hands it over to you and you turn it around to see the label. Your eyes instantly light up when you read the brand and flavor. Last week you had ranted to Miguel about how the grocery store did not have your favorite ice cream in stock as he was fixing a problem with your internet. The whole time he just hummed along, you did not actually think he was listening.

He smiles softly at you as you beam up at him. He turns back to the groceries, sighing when he sees your hand reaching for the bags again. He turns to you with a bored expression. He gently removes your hands from the bag, telling you to go eat your ice cream before it melts. You grumble playfully under your breath, complaining about how you were supposed to be helping. He chuckles as he follows after you, getting a spoon out for you.

“I thought the whole point was that I was supposed to help you put the groceries away, not eat them.”

Your complaining is cut off by a yelp when Miguel grabs your waist. He lifts you up, putting you on top of the counter. Your eyes are wide as you look at him and his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You squirm slightly from his proximity.

“You can help me by sitting prettily and keeping me company. Tell me about your day.”

He pulls away then, returning to the dining room table and carrying a bag to the counter next to you. Your eyes are still bashful as you watch him, quietly opening your ice cream and beginning to eat it. Miguel starts to pull contents from the bag and looks over at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you begin to go through your day, easing into it the more you talk. You speak between bites of ice cream, half paying attention to Miguel as he walks around the kitchen to place things in their proper places. Occasionally, he looks over at you as you speak, his eyes trained on the way you place the spoon in your mouth and lick at the delicious treat.

You are almost done when he puts the last thing away. He walks over to you as you continue talking absentmindedly, just finished slipping the spoon out of your mouth again. You stop talking when Miguel’s eyes drop to your mouth, his thumb coming up the swipe at your lower lip. When he pulls it away, a bit of melted ice cream is stuck to his skin. His eyes meet yours again when he brings it to his mouth, licking it away. He hums in appreciation for the taste.

Your mouth drops open with a gasp as you watch, eyes trained on the pink muscle. You watch as his lips form a sly smile, and you blush as you look back into his eyes. But his eyes are still trained on your parted mouth, eyes dilated and hungry. He leans forward slightly, hand returning to rub at your bottom lip before he replaces it with his lips. He is not kissing you exactly, only sucking on your lip until it is swollen and red. He gives it a small nip before he pulls away, his hands falling to rub your thighs. It causes a small whimper to escape your mouth and Miguel basks in the noise.

His hand seeps closer and closer to the area between your thighs, grabbing the carton of ice cream and moving it to the side. His hands hastily return to the area between your thighs, fingers brushing against your center. Your breath hitches and you look down to where his hands are. Your attention is snapped away when his gravelly voice meets your ears.

“Continue with the story, querida. You don’t sound like you finished.”

You stutter over your words, the topic of conversation blanking from your mind. Miguel chuckles knowingly, his fingers continuing to brush up and down until they land on your clothed bud. He presses into it hard enough so you can feel it through the fabric of your pants and panties, gently reminding you where you left off. You nod nervously, hands snapping up to meet his shoulders as you feel wetness rushing into your panties. You stutter and choke on your words, eyes shutting as you rotate your hips sloppily into his hand. The movement is jerky, and you feel slightly embarrassed at how painfully obvious it is that no one has ever touched you like this before. But Miguel seems to like it, likes the idea that you’re untouched and he is the only person who has seen you like this.

It gets even better when you make those soft noises, cutting yourself off and having to be reminded about what you were saying. Miguel continues his hand movements, pressing into you and rubbing and stroking. Your wetness has seeped through your panties, dampening the material of your leggings. If you were not lost in how good it feels, you would have been grossed out and uncomfortable. A weak call of his name escapes you and Miguel looks up from your cunt to look at your face. He hums in acknowledgement, watching as you try to pull his face closer to yours in a kiss.

He swiftly avoids it, and you would have curled into yourself at the blunt rejection if you did not become distracted by his mouth suck and licking along your neck and jaw. Your mouth falls open with a moan, head leaning back to give him more room. He groans against your skin, fingers pressing tight circles to your clit. With a few hard circles, your back arches and your hold on him tightens. Gasping moans leave you and you feel the band in you snap, releasing more wetness into your panties as you finish. Miguel pulls his head away from your neck, keeping his fingers to your bud as you ride out the orgasm. Once you slump back down, he pulls his hands away. As you catch your breath, Miguel cleans up the mess on the counter. He reaches over, closing your melted ice cream and putting the spoon in the sink.

You are still in a daze when he pushes the warm container in your hands, his own hands gentle as he lifts you off the counter. Your eyes are glossy in after-lust as he gently guides you out of his apartment and into yours. His warm hand leaves the small of your back, massaging your sides before he whispers a thank you into your ear for your help. You are only pulled completely out of your daze when you hear your door lock and close as Miguel leaves. You turn to look at the door, cheeks blazing as you clutch tightly onto your ice cream.

You are totally getting a noise complaint for that old woman tomorrow.

Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

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clairdelunelove · 3 months

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What Pining!Yuuji Would Do For You

itadori yuuji x reader

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort

warnings: slightly suggestive

synopsis: you're in for a crazy ride! pining!yuuji means having this loverboy absolutely head-over-heels for you. told in headcanons!

a.n. I can't stop writing about this beautiful boy. I'm so sorry but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

gives you random compliments

it could be a regular, mundane day where you’re carrying out your normal routine while yuuji accompanies you

just doing some grocery shopping before the week starts,, attempting to get ahead before you’re inevitably caught up in work/school

and spending some time with him was, without exception, bliss

yuuji has this magnetic force that pulls everyone in– you included– and it’s no different when the two of you are strolling through the aisles

he’s sociable, easygoing, and friendly; so of course he’s going to catch bystanders’ attention

especially with how sincere his words are to you

“oh,” he hums and points to a brightly colored package, “didn’t you say you wanted to try these last time?”

and before you can persuade him that you don’t actually need it,, they’re just some silly limited-edition snack you wanted to try,, the blushy haired male places it into the shopping basket

“I’ll pay! don’t you worry about it!” he’ll mention while placing a gentle hand on your head

he walks off while whistling like it’s nothing,, like it’s normal for friends to pay for each other’s groceries (which was an entire week’s worth)

and oh boy, you should expect yuuji to carry the basket/push the store cart for you

it’s basically his job whenever he goes shopping with you

takes it on with such seriousness that it’s almost concerning

“oi! you’ll hurt your hands,” he lightheartedly clicks his tongue before taking ahold of the basket in your hands, “it’s heavy. I’ll carry it!”

and he's so adamant about how 'heavy' it is but uses a couple of his fingers to effortlessly swing it around

follows you through every aisle (even ambles back when you meekly tell him that you forgot an ingredient you wanted) without a complaint,, basically has the patience of a saint

and each shopping run isn’t complete without yuuji secretly picking out a gift for you

it could be anything: candied snacks, yummy dessert, a sugary drink,, he’ll just add it onto the conveyor belt before the cashier can finish scanning all the items

this time though, he’s picked out a small bouquet of flowers for you

“yuu,” you bashfully tug the bottom of his shirt to convey your appreciation, “you didn’t have to.”

because they’re beautiful– a handful of radiant flowers that are bunched together in glimmering wrapping paper

“hm?”

he seems genuinely confused, an emotion that you’re not used to identifying on his sharp features

brows furrowing, he finally adds, “oh, you meant the flowers? why not? they’re pretty like you.”

his words seem straightforward, direct but they’re wholly genuine since it’s coming from him

yuuji wouldn’t say anything he didn’t truly believe

the cashier casts a knowing glance to you when yuuji’s turned away, digging in his pocket for his wallet to pay, and sends you a badgering wink

you, on the other hand, are a flustered mess

finds any excuse to get closer to you

was yuuji particularly concerned in the ill-kept secret you weren’t willing to tell him?

not necessarily

did that stop him from pestering you about it?

nope

if anything, he’s revitalized when you peer up at him through your lashes and murmur, “I guess I can tell you now.”

and you’re so close to him,, he never even realized you obligingly closed the distance by scooting beside him

“but yuu,” you pause so your lower lip juts out into a pleading pout, “you can’t tell anyone else because this is just between the two of us.”

there's not a thought in his mind except the fact that he’s so screwed

because at this angle you’re even more stunning; wide, imploring eyes that are solely focused on him

and he inwardly melts when he manages to catch a whiff of your sweet perfume,, it never even dawned on him that a person could be the literal embodiment of his desire

his tongue feels like sandpaper, he’s tumbling over his words but reassures, “you can tell me anything! my lips are sealed.”

“you sure?”

to respond, he gestures toward his mouth, zips it close, and metaphorically throws it behind his shoulder

“good,” you’re obviously pleased at his obedience before you’re waving him closer, “come here then, I’ll tell you.”

you should’ve been puzzled about his unusual speechlessness but you’re buzzing from the excitement of the secret

and there’s no one else around,, in fact, the spot that the both of you are situated in is surprisingly empty

the top of the school building is typically bustling with students attempting to get a breath of fresh air before trudging back to class

yet, yuuji’s alone with you now,, and he’s not about to waste his chance

it’s almost pitiful how quickly he scurries to heed your every word

he ends up softly knocking knees with you in his haste, mutters a hurried apology, but it doesn’t seem like you mind

no, you just twist closer to him, invading his personal space, and he’s holding in his breath

because if he concentrates hard enough he’s able to feel your warmth on the crook of his neck

you raise a hand near your lips before your secret easily spills out, “I bought us tickets to the horror movie you were talking about a couple months ago!”

and it’s silent

you're beaming at him

yuuji’s speechless because he’s too preoccupied with, well– you

and he’s consumed with the thought of how sweet you are to him, how your every interaction with him is genuinely wholesome, or how you’re completely oblivious to the effect you have on him

“I know tickets were sold out in the first week but I pulled some strings,” you explain with a delighted smile, “and managed to snag two for us!”

immediately, his lips crack into the widest grin you’ve ever seen

in true yuuji fashion, he throws his arms around you to encase you in a warm hug and your giggles are smothered by his chest

and as he snuggles closer, he breathes you in and tenderly murmurs, “what did I ever do to deserve you?”

answers your 2 a.m. phone calls when you can't sleep

“look who’s calling.”

you recognize the lighthearted jest in his voice as it crackles through the phone’s speaker and immediately you’re put at ease

it had taken yuuji two rings before he picked up,, he’s never failed to answer your calls whenever you needed him

although he couldn’t see it, you playfully rolled your eyes at his comment and explained, “just wanted to talk and ask what you’re up to.”

he presses the ‘speaker’ icon on his phone, props it on his pillow, and shifts so his hands are folded beneath his neck

honeyed eyes staring at the ceiling, he figures losing a bit of his sleep was worth it if it was for you

“at this hour?”

he chokes out a laugh, voice a tad bit rough as he jokes,, the sound is a kind of gravelly that would’ve caused you to swoon if it wasn’t for your inkling suspicion that he was fast asleep before you called

instantly, your heart drops

“yuu,” you hesitated with a hushed apology, “sorry for waking you up. I just couldn’t sleep so–”

there’s a rustle on the other end of the phone

he must’ve tripped on something because there’s a loud clang followed by a string of curses from his mouth

“I wasn’t sleeping! I was still gaming when you called! I have my headphones on and everything. I’m on, like, level 29 now! so,” he clears his throat, “don’t be sorry that you called.”

you felt the tips of your ears burning– his reassurance was too sweet,, yet you couldn’t help but shyly prod, “you sure?”

“totally, I’ll even send a picture if you don’t believe me.”

after the words leave his lips, your phone dings with a notification and truth be told, yuuji’s contact indicated that he had attached a file

your fingers click on it, curiosity drawing you in, and you’re greeted with a picture of him; perched at his desk with his dark gaming headphones draped over his head

he’s featured with a lazy grin and has three fingers thrown up in a laid-back pose

you’re not focused on that, though

no, you’re instinctively pinching at the screen to zoom in at the enticing dip of his collarbones that peek underneath his nightshirt and how tousled his blushy hair is since it’s so late at night– a different side of yuuji that you’re rarely graced with

you save the picture to your camera roll

caught in a flustered daze, you barely hear him call your name over your ogling, “(y/n)?”

“yup! I see the picture,” you quickly chirp before smoothly changing the topic, “I like the headphones, by the way.”

he chuckles but softens his voice, almost bashful, “well, you are the one that got them for me for my birthday.”

“oh my gosh, you’re right! that was so long ago!”

“it’s only been a month!”

and when the two of you are enraptured in a fit of laughter, he pauses,, lets your gleeful giggle flow through his phone’s speaker and knows that you’re worth every second of his time

“fair point,” you gasp for air as your lips curl into a smile, “what do you want for your next birthday, then?”

yuuji manages to brush aside your inquiry, mentioning that he didn’t need anything, and the two of you chat until the sun slowly rises over the horizon

his eyes lowly droop, threatening to close, but he speaks with the same enthusiasm as when the call begun

you talk about anything and everything

hobbies, worries, the future– the whole lot

yet, you manage to include him in each and every topic

“the beach would be nice in this weather,” you sleepily suggest and hum, “I feel like you’d really like swimming there. lots of fish and seashells to collect. we should go together sometime. maybe for your birthday.”

when he hears your soft breathing over the line, indicating that you’d fallen asleep over the call, yuuji quietly chuckles

“‘for my birthday’ huh? for my birthday, I just,” he repeats your words and confesses with a hushed, “want you to notice me, dummy.”

#jujutsu itadori #jujutsu kaisen #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori x reader #yuuji fluff #itadori x y/n #itadori yuuji x you #jjk x reader #itadori fluff

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doctorbitchcrxft · 1 month

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Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace.

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully.

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed.

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house.

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being.

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service.

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.”

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him.

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.”

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours.

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.”

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in.

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing.

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?”

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked.

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it.

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff.

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him.

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam.

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house.

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested.

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor.

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook.

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?”

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper.

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?”

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.”

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him.

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly.

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully.

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it.

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones.

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted.

“Um, weird question,” you started.

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk.

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun.

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats.

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.”

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?”

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said.

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him.

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled.

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room.

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said.

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver.

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition.

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing.

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up.

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car.

“We could stay,” Dean suggested.

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernaturals series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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kisses4lao · 5 months

Note

Just read some of your stuff, absolutely BEAUTIFUL I might add. Can you sfw/nsfw headcanons do the Lin Kuei boys with a super social gal? Like she’s all energetic and is HUGE on the PDA? Can she also have big titties? (Totally not self projecting or anything)

Tumblr is still being mean and not letting me edit drafts ugh so this is probably gonna be really bad srry

Tw/cw: afab reader, jealous bi han, toxic bi han? he's his own warning guys, kind of just scenarios and not hcs, still hcs tho I cannot deny you all of that, WRITING THIS AFTER I WROTE EVERYTHING AND I FORGOT THE PDA PART IN BI HANS FORGIVE ME ANON, boobs galore, Kuai being a tit guy, I literally hate this so fucking much

Not proofread fuck you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bi han

Sfw

Wouldn't admit it, but he finds you adorable.

The way you're the complete opposite of him makes his heart melt.

You practically do all the talking in your relationship while Bi Han silently observes and listens.

When you're out together, he mainly stays beside you as you lead him everywhere.

He finds your ability to quickly make friends amazing, considering he was never able to do that(skill issue).

He can't help but smile when he sees you talk so kindly to everyone, whether you know them or not.

He usually wears his mask when you two are together because of this.

You'd most definitely be the person in the relationship to say "excuse me, he asked for no pickles", mainly because he'd refuse to send his food back because a meal is a meal.

Nsfw

Cool, calm, collected. That's what Bi Han likes to describe himself as. But it's much different when it comes to you.

My god, does this man love tight shirts. It doesn't matter what color, what time of the day, if youre wearing one, he's in the mood.

And he hates how much power you have over him.

He hates when you wear tight clothes in public, too. Mainly because it's extremely hard for him to control himself.

He sees how well you get along with others, how people stare at you with nothing but admiration, and he can't help but feel jealous.

More jealous than he'd like to admit.

Bi Han thinks that he should only be the one staring at you, that he's the only person who can give you the love you deserve.

He'd occasionally see other men staring, looking at your curves and the smile that Bi Han loves so dearly.

He hates the amount of jealousy that pulses through him, clenching his fists tightly as he tries his hardest to keep his composure.

When you get home however, he's showing you just how much he loves you, deserves you, needs you.

He can't help his hands from wandering your body, taking in every curve and relishing in just how beautiful you are.

He'd whisper praise as he kisses and nibbles lightly on your neck, cupping your breasts as a gasp escapes your lips.

You could feel the tent in his pants as he began grinding against your inner thighs, desperately calling out your name as he continues.

His breathing is heavy, fanning your neck as his teeth sank into your shoulder.

A surprised yelp escapes your breath as you can now feel his breath hitting your ear.

"Look what you do to me, you'll have to help me with this, you know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kuai Liang

Sfw

He'd absolutely love seeing you socialize with others.

He'd love the way you can strike up a conversation with anyone and just turn such a bad mood into a light hearted one.

He completely commends your social skills and practically can't go anywhere without you.

Kuai Liang himself would most likely indulge in PDA on his own, so if you initiate, he isn't going to stop you.

He loves holding your hand in public, he loves making people know that he's with you.

He'll also kiss you in public, but not often. Like, at all. He prefers to keep something like that private.

But if you insist, he can't really deny you.

Nsfw

Two words: staring problem.

This man can NOT keep his eyes off you.

Seriously, who decided you can be THAT fine? He genuinely can't stand it.

He's in love with all of your curves, and he LOVES your breasts.

He genuinely can't help wanting to nap on them. Theyre big and soft, can you really blame him?

Kuai Liang would just, touch them. All the time. No warning, he'd walk up to you and just palm them.

Oftentimes, this leads into other things. Kuai is generally just a big fan of titties. Any size, any shape, any color, if you have them, he loves them.

So, he's a professional titty sucker. Willingly.

Kuai genuinely does feel comfort in bringing you pleasure, and if you both get pleasure from doing something, he's all for it.

But if you want to make a night all about him? He's more than excited.

He'd absolutely have you tit fuck him.

He kind of doesn't even get pleasure from the actual feeling, he mainly gets off to how you look during it.

If he was going to be completely honest, seeing you topless and pressing your breasts around his cock is so much more pleasurable than most things.

He'd be a complete mess while watching you, he'd grip the sheets in his hands tightly as he watches his cock disappear and come back through your breasts.

He whimpers as you begin to place kitten licks on his tip, hissing as his grip on the sheets tighten.

Seeing you like this never fails to turn him on quickly, anything that involves you turns him on, but that's not something he'd admit.

"Y/n- please,, let me cum already~"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomas

Sfw

Oh my god.

This man would be OBSESSED with you.

You're pretty AND social? He might as well propose immediately.

He's constantly around you, literally never leaving you alone, especially not in public.

If Tomas has to go into a public setting and he can't bring you, he isn't coming.

To him, you're like an emotional support person. You're usually the person who starts conversations for him, and he genuinely doesn't know what he'd do without you.

He loves how kind and naturally nurturing you are, the smiles he sees on other peoples faces simply because of you is something that has made him more happy than he's willing to admit.

Nsfw

STARING PROBLEM but worse.

Tomas is genuinely insufferable when it comes to your body.

Since he practically worships the ground you walk on, he worships your body even more.

If you were to ask him for literally anything, no matter what it is, he'd do it for you, but he has weaknesses.

If you were to ask him for something while batting your eyelashes, he'd simply stop working.

Because of this, sex with him usually results in him being a bottom.

Yeah, I know, it's practically cliche at this point to make Tomas a bottom, but have you SEEN him?

That man is on his knees day and night trying to please you.

He'd usually have you ride him as one hand would be on your waist while the other is firmly holding one of your breasts.

Sometimes he gets too in the moment and holds both of them, but can you really blame him?

Hes entranced to say the least. They're big, soft, warm, how could he not want to hold them constantly?

Even just touching them is enough to get him off.

His head would be thrown back is pleasure as his grip on you tightens, moaning out your name as he bucks his hips upward.

"Shit- hah,, y/n~ I'm so- ngh, close~"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Might disappear and never post again wouldn't that be fucking funny

#mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x reader smut #bi han x reader #bi han smut #bi han x reader smut #kuai liang x reader smut #kuai liang smut #kuai liang x reader #tomas vrbada x reader smut #tomas vrbada smut #tomas vrbada x reader

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ezelium · 1 month

Text

I'LL BE ON MY BEST BEHAVIOUR : Boothill

CONTENT : realizing boothill can't feel on his metal plates.

WARNINGS : gn!reader, fluff, written before boothills release idk, reader is in a 😒 mood

WORD COUNT : 0.6k !

A / N : i read somewhere boothill doesn't feel anything on anywhere else except his face because he doesn't have skin to sense things there and this makes great fluff sauce so i couldn't resist.. "But don't you only write for bsd?" shhSHUSH SHUSH!!

Boothill, a mechanical robot.

One that drifts among the stars. One that you held close to your heart. You didn't meet him long ago, in fact, it was only a while ago. He was unhinged and "weird", sure.. but who could deny such a silly man from being their friend?

As far as you knew, he wasn't doing anything wrong. Nor that he thought he did. Him being impertinent wasn't bothering you, not at all. Everybody had flaws, imperfections, problems. Did that stop people from loving them? No, absolutely not. Why should he be treated differently? In fact — He should be treated specially to learn how to act more "human".

Or maybe that's just how you thought, you had hopes for him, hoped he would somewhat grow human-like feelings.

You knew he doesn't exactly 'feel", but physical touch could help him. You knew that, because whenever you caressed his cheek, he would laugh and process it. That or he'd smile and be softer for a brief minute. It was an amazing sight, really, perhaps that was one step closer him being "more human" emotion-wise.

Laying by your side was something he'd do occasionally, out of boredom or when he had nothing else to do. Getting new plates, new wires weren't exciting at all. He'd prefer to stay by your side, thank you very much. You slowly kicked your feet in the air while laying on your stomach, reading a book that you've already read a billion times. But what could you do? The plot was interesting, and you were a big fan of the author.

And now, you finished it for the zillionth time. Closing the book, you got up from the couch lazily, blinking a few times after that reading session to come to your senses. A soft sigh left your lips as you stretched for good - it was amazing, it almost felt like your brain just reset.

One thing you didn't expect though, was to find Boothill seated across the same couch with his back turned to you. He wasn't moving or anything. Eh, oh well, why not talk to him.. But you didn't want to say anything just yet. Your almost feet started moving on their own, approaching the cyborg without much care.

You didn't make any sounds whatsoever. Odd, that he didn't notice you getting up. With shallow breaths, you snaked your arm around his torso, still not saying anything while you silently hugged him from behind.

You sat there for like 3 minutes, but then you called out:

"Boothill?" you rasped out, tightening your hug even further, as much as you could. The metal was kind of hard to wrap your arms around, but you didn't bother letting go.

"[Name], ha?!" He exclaimed, looking very startled now. He even flinched, what a goofy man. "You got up, sweetums!" He added, a grin creeping up on his face, making his fangs and sharp teeth glow like a fresh pearl.

"I got up a few minutes ago. And hugged you." You replied, blinking with a slightly cocked eyebrow, looking sleepy. Speaking of sleep, it seemed that you had a fatigue today but that was off-topic..

"I- Didn't notice it. How senseless and idiotic of me. But— That just makes me cuter, doesn't it?! Ha?" He turned around off-puttingly, and that did NOT go well with your current judgy attitude. Giving him a stink eye, you pulled away.

"So you don't have sensors on these bad boys?" You asked, hand going over the silver lining on his body. He didn't even react to it, and gave a loopy chuckle, before nodding. "Should I get some sensors on them?"

"Wouldn't that make it hurt more when you get injured though?"

"True.."

edit : i noticed far too late that i forgot to add the end notes GOODNIGHT.. but anyway sorry if this is inaccurate in the future idk!

#⟡ ☕ ─ archive #boothill #boothill hsr #hsr fanfic #hsr #honkai star rail #boothill x reader #boothill x gn reader #x reader #x gender neutral reader #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #boothill fluff #what is this #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x gn reader

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pleasingforharry · 1 year

Text

Agree to Disagree

actress!yn

Y/N L/N and Harry Styles Argue Over The Internets Biggest Debates | Agree to Disagree | LaDbible TV

(Playing Leah and Matthew Hampton in the new movie, The Good and Bad Days)

“I honestly think my amazing singing abilities shouldn’t go unnoticed. I’m going to have my breakthrough one day,” You shrugged, speaking more to the crew behind the camera. Chuckles passed around, and Harry joined them.

“Yeah, what’s the name of your single going to be?” He asked, genuinely interested in your idea.

“I’ll probably name it after a vegetable because you apparently love singing about fruits and naming your songs after them.” Both you and Harry shared sneaky smirks, before glancing at the camera. “Think I just gave away a secret. Sorry not sorry.” Harry’s new album, Fine Line, hadn’t come out yet, nor did people know the names of the songs, so your comment exploded on stan Twitter.

Harry sighed, “Trying to expose me now, competitor?”

You pointed at the camera and exclaimed, “I’m coming for all those Grammys.”

“I thought you were rooting for me to get one?”

“I can’t root for the competition anymore, sorry,” You frowned, reaching a hand out across the table. Harry instantly took it, even though he was supposed to pretend he was offended, but he wouldn’t pass an opportunity to touch you. “I’ll add your name under mine in Sharpie so we can share it.”

[Agree To Disagree]

You and Harry looked at the table that had ‘Strongly Agree, Agree, Disagree, and Strongly Disagree written down in a line.

“I thought we were going to be working together,” Harry cocked a brow up, noticing two cups filled with water in front of each of you.

“Honey, it’s called Agree to Disagree,” you snorted, “we’re supposed to debate.” The producers had explained the simple concept to the both of you earlier, and Harry was there nodding at their words, but for some reason forgot everything that was said.

You slapped your hand on your forehead while Harry huffed, “This isn’t going to go well at all.”

“Why so?” You asked, feeling for his feet under the table. There was no cloth covering the sides, so the camera captured Harry tangling his legs with yours. The fans were already in the mist of making edits with that clip.

“Because the nights when we’re up talking, and supposedly “debating” about stuff, I always end up agreeing with you in the end.”

You looked at the camera and smirked. “All true. I’m one persuasive gal.” Instead of verbally agreeing, Harry pushed his glass over to Strongly Agree, and a chorus of laughter strung around the room.

“I think that’s why we’re working out just peachy.”

“Did you just label our relationship peachy?” You squinted your eyes at him.

Harry only shrugged. “I like fruits, what can I say?”

Y/N L/N Leah Hampton

“Alright I’m ready,” you rubbed your hands together and wiggled your brows at your boyfriend across from you.

Harry Styles Matthew Hampton

“Are they easy questions?” Harry asked to the crew behind the camera.

HARRY’S ACCENT SOUNDS BETTER THAN Y/N’S

Both you and Harry darted your eyes to your glasses then to each other. You were the first to break out into loud laughter, throwing your head back. Harry rolled his lips inwards and sighed.

“Okay wait, let’s choose then talk about this,” You put one hand up while the other moved your glass to Strongly Agree. Harry paused, thinking about it, before sliding his glass to Disagree. “Oh? You don’t agree?”

He shook his head and leaned back into his chair. “I think yours is beautiful.”

“Oh, what a suck-up,” You laughed, kicking him softly. He blushed slightly and adjusted in his seat. “I know for a fact, Mr. Narcissist, that you think your accent is ten times better than mine.”

“No,” He frowned. You turned to face the camera and gave it a bored look. “Y/N, I always compliment your accent. I think it suits you very well.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t absolutely adore the power your accent has over the world,” You smirked. Harry stayed silent, and you flipped your hair behind your shoulder dramatically. “Would you like me to move your glass?” You asked him.

He shook his head and wrapped his hand around it to push it farther, landing on Strongly Disagree. Instead of acknowledging your scoff, he turned to the crew and camera.

“Y/N has a lovely accent and I think it’s better than mine. Signed Harry E. Styles,” Harry announced, before using the tip of his finger to scribble on the table.

“Well, there you have it folks,” You laughed.

“Next.”

DOGS ARE BETTER COMPANIONS THAN CATS

You both didn’t hesitate to drag your glasses to Strongly Agree, before leaning forward to high five each other.

“No need to bother debating about that,” Y/N rested her chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

Harry said, “I think cats are great, but dogs are just better. Nothing against them,” he then motioned to you, “and Y/N said her spirit animal is an Australian Shepherd, so I think that just enhances my love for dogs even more.”

You giggled and scrunched your nose at him. “Thank you, honey.” Then you pointed at him. “But you know, people started comparing you to cats, so that might be your spirit animal.”

“Do they now?” Harry smiled.

“Yeah, but I agree with them. Especially cuddling-wise. You snuggle up on me just like a cat would, which I love very much.”

The crew behind the camera awed and laughed as Harry blushed at his girlfriend. “I will neither confirm nor deny that.”

“You’re never beating those cat allegations, kid.”

The producer suddenly spoke up. “So, if we were to bring out a litter of puppies and kittens, which would you want to—”

“Wait, that’s unfair. Both puppies and kittens are adorable. I love them both,” You groaned.

“You immediately moved your glass to Strongly Agree, Y/N,” They laughed.

Harry chipped in, “No, I get it. Dogs and cats are different from puppies and kittens.”

You crossed your arms over each other. “Even though it would be difficult, I’d still choose the puppies. But I would, like, sneak a hand over to pet some kittens,” You said, slowly reaching over for Harry’s hand and brushing the back of it.

“Oh, am I said kitten?” He questioned with a chuckle.

“It’s the snuggling. You can’t convince me otherwise that you aren’t spiritually a cat.”

Y/N IS A BETTER SINGER THAN HARRY

Harry glared at the crew with a smirk, knowing they were just trying to get him in trouble. Y/N only shrugged and moved her glass to Strongly Agree.

“I’ve asked him multiple times if I could be featured in one of his songs, but he said my singing f[bleep]king sucks,” Y/N said. Harry immediately slammed a hand on the table and scoffed loudly.

“I never said that!”

Y/N gave him a bored look. “Did you not?”

“I would never, I think your voice is amazing,” He started, nudging his leg against hers, “but what I did say was: I wasn’t doing any collaborations on the album. It has nothing to do with you, babe.”

Y/N stared at him blankly, before turning to the camera. “Did he not just say the same damn thing I just did?”

Everyone laughed.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Harry sighed.

“I honestly think my amazing singing abilities shouldn’t go unnoticed. I’m going to have my break through one day,” You shrugged. Chuckles passed around, and Harry joined them.

“Yeah, what’s the name of your single going to be?” He asked.

Harry sighed, “Trying to expose me now, competitor?”

You pointed at the camera and exclaimed, “I’m coming for all those Grammys.”

“I thought you were rooting for me to get one?”

WINTER IS BETTER THAN SUMMER

Both you and Harry had to think about it. You tapped your nails against the glass.

“I’m torn because I like both,” You said to Harry. He nodded, before looking back down at the table. “We go to the beach and stuff during the summer, but I really like traveling with you during winter. Especially during the holidays and New Years, ya know?”

“Is it because you get to kiss me, Ms. L/N?” Harry wiggled his brows. You blinked at him, before looking at the camera.

“Maybe summer isn’t so bad after all.”

“Hey!”

You finally decided to move your glass to Agree, then Harry followed. “Why so, Mr. Harold?” Your chin found your palm again.

He shrugged, “You like winter better, and I like you, so that’s enough convincing I need.” Yeah, the fandom was going crazy over the video, and you were scared to open any social media platforms the next day.

“See, I’m very persuasive without even needing to try.”

“But actually, I do enjoy winter activities more, like the outdoor ice skating and the cliché hot chocolate while laying together near a fire. I’m a real romantic,” Harry said.

“You should be in a rom-com. I’d kill to see you in one,” You exclaimed. “But I think I’d get jealous of the female lead, so probably not.”

Harry smirked, “Who said you wouldn’t be the female lead?” Both of you winked at the camera. “Besides, I do all the rom-com stuff from the movies with you in real life.”

“That is true.” You turned to the crew to tell a quick story. “Last year, the week before Christmas, we went to New York and did all the most cheesy ‘couples during the holiday’ things ever. Remember?” Harry nodded. “Then went to his hometown to do it all over again. And come Christmas Eve—”

“Stayed up with hot chocolate, cookies, Christmas karaoke and movies, and watched Santa on a tracker to see when he’d stop by. It was great,” Harry finished, sighing while he reminisced.

You did too. “New Years was fun, as well.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll do everything again this year,” Harry held your hand.

“I’m counting on it.”

HARRY SHOULD BE CONSIDERED IN THE RUNNING FOR THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE MAGAZINE

Harry waited for your decision first with a smirk. You only furrowed your brows in thought. “What?” Harry asked you.

“I mean, I don’t really need a magazine to remind me that you’re the sexiest man alive. I always know that,” You shrugged. Harry covered his eyes in embarrassment. He was horrible with compliments, especially from people who’s opinion mattered a lot to him.

The producer said, “Can I add a glass so I can put it on Strongly Agree because I definitely agree with your statement.”

“He’s not going to say what he thinks, so you can use his,” You said, moving Harry’s glass to Strongly Agree. You pushed your own next to his, before turning in your chair to the producer. “People magazine should start a yearly ‘Funniest Dad Joker Man Alive’ then Harry would love to be considered in the running. Can you reach out to them and ask?”

The producer gave you a thumbs up. Harry giggled, keeping his hand over his eyes, but his dimpled smile was a dead giveaway that he was enjoying this.

“I’d like him to run for ‘Most Beautiful Man Alive’ because then that should make me the most beautiful woman by association, right?” You suggested.

“Not exactly, but we do think you’d win,” The producer said.

“Also, there should be a couples version,” You shook your finger.

“For sexiest or most beautiful?” Harry chipped in to ask. His hand moved from his eyes so you could look at him.

You shrugged nonchalantly, “Either or, we’d win anyways.” Harry threw his head back to laugh. “What other category would we dominate for a couple’s version?”

Harry bit his lip to think about it. You could tell he was coming up with a Harry joke simply from his slow smile.

“Oh no,” You chuckled.

“Best Accents, specifically Y/N,” He looked at the camera.

You shook your head at him. “Please tell me you weren't still thinking about that, honey. We moved on.”

“I could’ve brought up the collaboration—”

“Okay, next one!”

THE GOOD AND BAD DAYS NEEDS A SEQUEL

You thought that was actually a great question because you weren’t sure.

“I mean,” You slurred, slowly moving your glass to Agree. Harry kept a short smile on his lips as he stared at you, rather than your glass. You suddenly grew shy. “What?”

“You’re very pretty. I like looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes and placed your hand between your face and Harry’s line of vision. Harry’s legs played with yours, but you upright ignored him.

“I think there should be a sequel, because even though I think it ended perfectly, people would probably want more of Leah and Matthew’s story. They’d want to know what they’re doing after the circumstances of the ending—can’t say much until it’s out—but I’d like another movie.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “I think whether there’s a sequel or not, Leah and Matthew got what they really needed. They are happy, which calls for a happy ending. And more conflicts will definitely show up in their long run, so if another movie wants to touch on that, I’d love to see it,” he said.

“I think you guys are going to like the movie as it is and don’t even need a sequel because you’ll be satisfied. But we’ll see,” You shrugged.

“Thank you so much for having us,” Harry spoke first.

“Go check out The Good and Bad Days when it comes out in theaters,” You added. “Have a great day, sincerely, from your favorite peachy couple.”

Harry laughed and raised a thumbs up. “Bye.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles x yn #harry styles imagine #harrystyles #harry styles blurb #actress!yn

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scorpionrising · 5 months

Text

there's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me (pt. 1: the road not taken looks real good now)

pairing: aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc word count: 8971 content warnings: explicit sexual content, major character death, cheating/infidelity (not really, but also kind of – it'll make sense when you read it), will add to this list as needed read part 2 here

notes: this is also cross-posted to ao3, as that is my primary place for posting, if you would prefer to read there. this author is fully team black, so proceed with caution. background relationships include cregan/jace/baela and luke/rhaena. feel free to read heavily into daena and rhaenyra's interactions too if you so choose

before reading, please be aware that this is an AU of a completed fanfiction i have written called fireplace ashes. you really don't need to have read it though to read this, as it's pretty self contained. all you need to know at the start:

daena velaryon is the youngest daughter of rhaenys targaryen and corlys velaryon; the same age as aegon. she claimed vermithor when she was eight and laenor was her favorite person in the world growing up, so she loves her nephews very much. she is betrothed to jace and neither of them are happy about it. when rhaenyra sent luke to storm's end, daena went with him. when he chased after luke, she stopped him, and this is where we leave off...

edit, 12/18/2023: because i forgot to mention this before posting — re: any references made to sarya. sarya is an oc from the fic i wrote that this is based on. she is daena’s handmaiden with whom daena has had a clandestine relationship that is so doomed by the narrative that they are both entirely aware of it

Daena and Aemond spoke more and more with each passing day. Mariyah was still sick, confined to her bed and face growing paler as the storms raged outside. Aemond had grown surprisingly competent in dealing with the barn animals, so she spent a majority of her days attending to Mariyah.

“Perhaps it was a miracle,” Mariyah said in a croaking voice as Daena wrung out a cloth to lay atop her forehead.

“What was?” Daena asked.

“Stumbling upon you,” Mariyah said, closing her eyes as Daena laid the cloth down. “The gods knew.”

“What did they know?”

“That I would die, and they ensured I would not die alone.”

There was a faint smile on her deeply lined face, as though she were at peace.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Daena said, taking care to smooth down Mariyah’s gray hair.

“Ever since my Royce passed three years ago, I’ve been waiting for the gods to take me. We never had children, you know.” Mariyah’s muddy green eyes sprung open and she reached out a wrinkled hand to touch Daena’s face. Tears began brimming as she spoke once more. “I’ve been alone for so long. It’s been wonderful, having you and your husband here.”

Daena partly hated herself for lying to Mariyah, but if it gave the old woman comfort in her last days to think she was providing aid to a happy couple in love, she would continue the charade until the moment the storms broke.

“I’d like you and Jack to keep the house,” Mariyah whispered. “Let it be your shelter. Go to Essos if you wish, but let the house remain standing, I beg. Let it still be filled with love even once I’m gone.”

Feeling tears in her own eyes begin to well, Daena nodded. If this was a way to settle her debt with Mariyah, she would declare this house as royal property. It would be a hunting getaway for her ancestors for years to come. It would never crumble as a way to pay thanks to the woman who saved her.

“Of course,” Daena said finally. “We’ll take care of your home.”

“Make it your home,” Mariyah begged. “Make it yours.”

“We will,” Daena promised. “We will.”

Mariyah nodded, contended by Daena’s words, and her eyes fluttered close once more. Her chest stuttered, but then began to rise and fall in time. Pursing her lips, Daena pulled the covers up the Mariyah’s chin and removed the damp cloth from her forehead. She let the water pitcher rest on the bedside table and filled a glass with water in case Mariyah woke up thirsty.

When she went down the stairs, Aemond was sitting by the fire in the main room of the house reading. The candles were dim, burnt down to the wicks around him. They would have to replace them on the morrow with the new ones.

“What are you reading?” she asked him.

He glanced up from his book and pressed his lips together. “A book of Lysene poetry. The old woman is more learned than I thought.”

“Her name is Mariyah,” Daena said, scowling and taking a seat in the chair across from him. She pointed her feet out and let the flames warm her bare ankles. “You ought to have some respect, you know.”

He scoffed at her but did not look back down at his book. Instead, he met her eyes brazenly. Despite herself, she delighted in the way the flames licked at the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. The question was on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked, but she could not find the words in actuality.

“Our families think us dead,” Daena whispered instead, staring into the flames.

“And whose fault is that?” he retorted.

She flexed her fingers and clenched her jaw, wondering what it might be like to fling her fist into his jaw.

“What if we stay dead?” she asked him.

“If you’d like me to kill you, just give the word,” he said through his teeth.

“Not like that,” she snapped. “I just— Mariyah told me when she dies she wants us— or Alyse and Jack, rather— to keep the house… and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to stay here and live a simple life.”

“You wouldn’t like that,” Aemond said. He closed his book and set it aside on the floor by his feet. “It would bore you senseless.”

“You said the same thing about my marriage to Jace,” Daena pointed out. She flexed her feet and tilted her head back to stare at the dark ceiling. “It would seem I am destined for a life of dreadful boredom.”

She sighed loudly and pushed her braids off her shoulder to fall over the back of the chair. Aemond’s eye was trained directly on her face, seeming to see through her to her very soul.

“Would it not be better to be bored on my own terms, living my own life rather than forced into a loveless marriage?”

“That would mean abandoning your family,” he pointed out, “which you would never do.”

She huffed and dropped her hands onto her lap. “You’re right. But it’s nice to pretend, I suppose.”

“What’s the point in pretending?” he asked her. “We are not children.”

“You’re infuriating,” she snapped. “We’ve been stuck here for days on end with nothing to do, knowing our families are preparing for war! What’s the point of any of it? Why shouldn’t I imagine an easier life?”

“Because it makes you a coward,” he told her as though it were the simplest thing in the world, voice too placid for her liking. “You cannot run from your destiny, Daena, no matter how hard you might try.”

“I’ve never run from my destiny,” she said defensively, remembering the way Helaena looked at her and whispered ‘Dragonslayer’ all those years ago.

He hummed and turned to the flames, barring the sapphire in his eye from view. All she could see was the unmarred half of his face, and she could see the strange little boy in his bones. She had quite liked that boy, but she thought he might be long dead by now.

“I hope they betrothed Jace to Baela in my absence,” she confessed in a small voice. “She could love him in a manner I could never bear to, I think.”

He slid his feet forward. The house shoes Mariyah had provided for him were neatly placed at one of the chair legs, but he wore thick woolen socks all the same. The heal of one of the socks was fraying and the other was drooping so low that she could see his bony ankle poking out from beneath the pants that were too short for him. It made him look disgustingly human.

“Which Baratheon girl were you going to marry?”

“I do not know,” he said. “Whichever one I found the most tolerable, I suppose.”

“How romantic.” She smirked a bit to herself and adjusted her weight in the seat for a more comfortable position. “I envy the smallfolk in this. They are allowed to fall in love before they marry. We must make an attempt at love only after the wedding, if at all.”

“I’d take a castle and not having to cook my own meals and slaughter my own animals over love any day,” Aemond said.

She frowned, pitying him not for the first time and likely not for the last.

“That’s terribly sad, Aemond.”

When he did not respond, she sighed and stood up.

“I will be going to bed now, I think…” She made her way across the room and faltered, turning back to look at him. He was staring into the empty seat. “Goodnight, Aemond.”

He turned. “Goodnight, Daena.”

With a strange, heavy feeling in her chest, she settled into the bed she made for herself on the floor and laid her head down. Tonight, sleep would not come, no matter how strongly she yearned for it. She tossed and turned, trying to find an acceptable position. Sometime later, Aemond entered and blew out the candles. She listened to him shuffle around and settle down. Once he laid down, he was still. She heard his breaths turn deep as sleep took him over. Irritated by that, she groaned into her pillow and flipped to attempt to sleep on her back.

“Just come up here.”

Her eyes sprung open despite the total darkness. She had thought him fast asleep by now.

“What?” she asked. “Don’t be absurd, Aemond. That would be—”

“I do believe we are far past what is and is not proper at this point,” he told her. “The bed is plenty large enough for two.”

She thought of what her mother and father might say, of what Sarya would believe, of what Jace and Luke might think of her. To share a bed with the enemy was bordering on treason, but was Aemond truly an enemy? Not to her, she thought a bit shamefully.

“You are just saying that to lure me in with false pretenses so that you might sully my name and reputation later on,” she accused, though she knew it was rather halfhearted.

“Gods be good,” he grunted. “Daena, just come up here and sleep.”

“Fine,” she muttered, hating herself for being so weak.

It was merely because her back was beginning to ache all through the day from sleeping on the floor for the last two weeks. That was all. Nothing more.

Pillows in hand, she climbed up and made herself comfortable on the bed. She was deeply conscious of Aemond laying stock still beside her, pale skin exposed. Heat from his body radiated towards her and she was mindful not to curl into it, instead turning her back to him and squeezing her eyes shut. She prayed for the storms to end early and for Vermithor to finish healing soon to take her away from this place.

Forgetting she had not gone to sleep on the floor, she was confused when she woke up to warmth and soft cushions and a weight thrown across her middle. She opened her eyes to find Aemond’s head tucked into her shoulder, hand splayed over her stomach. Instantly, she stiffened. This was an intimacy she had only known with Sarya. A traitorous part of herself was glad for it, having missed the feeling of falling asleep wrapped up in another. She quickly murdered that thought and turned onto her side to attempt to slip out of Aemond’s grip. Thankfully, he was a deep sleeper and did not awaken from her efforts. If it were up to her, he would never learn of this.

Mariyah passed four days later in her sleep, and Daena found that her heart was broken. Mariyah, who had been so deeply kind and had taken in two strangers without a thought, was dead and the world was worse off for it.

“We have to bury her,” she insisted.

“Look outside,” Aemond said, gesturing to the raging rain and wind. “You want to dig a grave?”

“It’s either that or we let her rot in here,” Daena argued. “Don’t be so cold hearted, Aemond.”

“Fine,” Aemond hissed. “You can dig the grave yourself. I want no part in it.”

And so she did. Wrapped in the cloak Mariyah wore the night she took them in, Daena marched outside with a shovel and began digging. The grave was shallow, but it would have to do. With all the rain, wind, and mud splattering up onto her face, it was nearly impossible to see what she was doing. Lightning cracked through the sky and a branch snapped off the tree just to her left.

When she turned to go back to the house, Aemond was already walking out with Mariyah’s body wrapped neatly in one of the blankets from her bed. Clearly, he had changed his mind. She was sure she was crying, but she was thankful to the rain for obscuring it from Aemond. Her throat closed as he gently laid Mariyah into the grave she dug. She had never seen him capable of such gentleness before.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

If he heard her, he offered no response. Instead, he took the shovel from her hands and began to cover Mariyah’s body. He moved quickly and methodically and did not even spare her a glance. With every day they spent together, she realized that she understood very little about the prince. He kept his motivations so close to his chest that she was constantly, utterly befuddled by him. Once he was done covering the grave, he stood at Daena’s side—as though waiting for her to move.

“I wrote to you,” she heard herself say, voice hushed in confession. “After that day on the rocky island, I wrote to you.”

“Yes,” he said.

Something within her shattered. She had hoped ceaselessly that the raven had been lost, or that someone else had gotten the letter and kept it from him. That day on the rocky island with him had been one of the best she ever had since Laena’s death, and now they would never ride dragons together again. Her eyes burned.

“Why did you never write back?”

“It seemed pointless,” he said, very pointedly not looking at her.

“I must confess,” she said, “I do not understand your reasoning.”

He flexed his hand, splaying his fingers out. He rounded on her, shoulders set back. The cloak’s hood was low on his forehead, but she could see the deep indigo of his eye clear as day. There was confliction written in his iris, and then determination as a muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Three years ago,” he said, voice hard and cold as sharp steel, “I had intended to ask for your hand.”

It should not have surprised her, with everyone around her back then telling her that he was attempting to court her, and yet it did. The dragon brooch he had gifted her was proof enough of that, but she still had been so blind to it. She had thought it a friendship, and him no more than a boy with a crush. She had no idea that his feelings had ran so deep.

“After that day on the island, I went to my mother and told her my plans. She forbade it and told me I was not to see you again, on account of your allegiances.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “Aemond, I—”

“It matters not,” he said.

“Of course it matters,” she said.

A great gust of wind hit her directly in the face and blew the hood of her cloak off, but she made no move to fix it or run for shelter. This seemed too important.

“No,” he snapped, “it does not. Why bother fixating on the past and things that will never be?”

“Tell me something, then,” she said, pushing her shoulders back. “That stone in your eye. Is it not the sapphire I gave you?”

“It serves as a reminder.”

“What could it possibly remind you of?”

He stepped closer to her. “The things I will never have.”

“Why would you want constant reminders of that?” she asked him.

“Because so long as I am reminded of what I cannot have, I will not be so foolish as to think of what could have been.”

Again, she found him terribly sad. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his arm.

“You must allow yourself to want things,” she insisted. “Constant restraint is no way to live. Take what you want, Aemond, and let yourself feel.”

Unable to bear it any longer, she backed away from him and reentered the house. She ripped the cloak off and left it to rot on the floor. She was covered in mud and soaked to the bone. It was terrible, disgusting, infuriating. She was not entirely sure what it was, but it was just as likely to be the muddy clothes as it was Aemond’s attitude. She could not fathom how he could possibly be so cold about matters that deserved only warmth. He was sharp, cutting and slicing with his words, as he spoke about wanting to marry her. In this moment, she would have liked nothing more than to skewer him.

Pulling at the strings on her dress, she began the process of disrobing for a bath. She wanted to be rid of him. She wanted to be clean.

She relaxed in the tub until her fingers shriveled and the water turned cold. She dunked her head one last time and stood to leave, but then realized the flaw in her plan. In her haste to take a bath, she had neglected to collect a towel to dry off with or fresh clothes.

“Shit,” she muttered, knowing she would have no choice but to call for Aemond’s aid.

Surely, he would never let her forget this. Especially not after what he just admitted to her. Would he think she was trying to seduce him? Grimacing to herself, she drew her knees to her chest and called his name until she heard his footsteps approach the door.

“What is it?” he asked, sounding just as irritated as she had expected.

“I—” It was already humiliating. “Could you please bring me a towel and chemise? I forgot.”

He made a noise that could have been mistaken for a snort behind the door. Without voicing his assent or denial, he walked away. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek and absentmindedly scratching at her clavicle, Daena debated her options. She glanced a bit disparagingly at her discarded gown from before. She could put that back on, but the thought of it was entirely unappealing.

Then, without warning, the door flew open. Jolting in surprise, Daena quickly drew her knees even closer to her chest to attempt to save her from even more indignity.

“Here.” He held out a bundle of fabrics. “Where do you want them?”

“Um, just… The floor is fine. Thank you.”

He nodded and she watched as his eye flickered from her face to the harsh scar on her shoulder, visible no doubt from the manner in which she was hunched over to prevent him from seeing her more intimate areas. Having let him see the scar, now, she perhaps would have rathered him see the other parts of her. Somehow, the scar felt leagues more intimate than her breasts.

“It happened in the Stepstones,” she said, unsure why she kept him in here.

She really ought to have sent him away, and perhaps in every other life she did. But, in this one, she did not.

Aemond’s cheeks darkened in a flush.

“How?” he asked.

His eye was trained so singularly on her face that she knew he was making a concerted effort not to look elsewhere.

“I was fighting on the ground,” Daena explained. “Turned my back on an opponent I thought was dead.”

Could he hear the undercutting questions in her words? Can I turn my back to you, Aemond? Can I trust you? Once, she might have said yes easily.

“I hope you gave the craven the death he deserved,” Aemond said, nodding sharply. “There is no honor in that.”

She looked at him, and he her. Slowly, she felt the barest of smiles tug at her lips. Each and every day, he surprised her. Whether it was good or bad, she did not know, and she suspected she would not know until it was far too late.

Without another word, he left the room. Left alone, she dressed herself slowly.

Three years ago, I intended to ask for your hand. If he had done it, she would not have wanted it—and yet, she could not help but think about how different things would be if he had. Would things be better? Perhaps so; she could have bridged the gap between Luke and Aemond. That alone would have certainly changed a great many things.

Perhaps the time on the island had driven her mad, but she felt her bare feet pad along the floor until she found Aemond in the bedroom. Again, he looked achingly human. His bony ankles were visible beneath of cuff of his breeches, and his soft tunic was bunched up at the elbows. She stood in the doorway, merely watching. If he was aware of her presence, he gave no indication, and even if he was; he was surely unaware of how entranced she was by the way his hair fell in silken sheets around his shoulders. He was as severe as he was beautiful.

“Answer me this,” she said, breaking the silence.

His shoulders drew taut as he slowly turned to face her.

“What makes you believe you could never have me?”

He scoffed. “Our families are at war. Even before, it would have never been possible.”

She would have agreed to it, had the matter been raised. Seeing him in such mundanity, tending to animals and reading under the low light of the candles, made it impossible to hate him. He was no enemy. He was merely a man led astray, but his heart was good and his soul nowhere near as black as he would like her to believe.

“Do not think of our families,” Daena said. “Think only of yourself and how you feel. That is how you take care of yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed.”

Fingers curling into the material of the chemise at her thighs, Daena pushed past him and began to pull at the bed covers. Whatever she had been thinking before, it was a spark of delusion and madness. Clearly he could not see past his inflated sense of self, and he never would. And she was merely entertaining it because she was bored. Grimacing, she fluffed violently at her pillow.

His long and slender fingers wrapped around the crook of her elbow, and he pulled her towards him without any sense of warning. She was not proud of the gasp she let out in response; sharp and high-pitched. The sapphire embedded in his eye socket—the sapphire she had given him—glinted in the candlelight. He was so close.

“Could I have had you?” he asked, voice low and rushed.

“I would not have minded if you asked,” she answered.

Aemond’s grip on her tightened, and if he clenched any harder she was sure bruises would begin to take form. She considered, briefly, smacking him away, but she did not mind the weight of his grip in all truth. She and Sarya often gripped one another in far greater passions. Besides, she liked seeing Aemond unfurled.

“I have always known what you are, Aemond,” Daena whispered.

“And what am I, my lady?”

“A strange boy with a crush,” she said, tilting her head back. “But I have always been more than fond of strange things.”

She really ought to have expected it after goading him, but his kiss shocked her all the same. His lips landed on the corner of her mouth, sideways down her chin, as though he were unused to the act. Adjusting, she tilted her head to the side to turn the kiss into a proper one. His hands, clutching her hips in a vice, burned at her skin through her chemise. Enthralled by the feeling, she curled her fingers around the sides of his neck, bringing one hand up into the roots of his hair.

However inexperienced he was, he made up for it in enthusiasm. Aemond grasped at her, trailing all across her body as though he were attempting to create a map of her bones. She pushed up onto her toes, tightening her grip on his hair, and gnashed her teeth into his mouth. She took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down just beyond gently. When his mouth fell open, she slipped her tongue against the roof of his mouth. His hips jolted against hers as a sharp gasp tumbled from his lips.

“Are you going to take me or not?” she mumbled against his neck.

“Please,” he gasped out as she scraped her teeth against his skin.

“Do you want me, Aemond?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” she whispered, tugging on his hair. “How do you want me?”

He groaned, low and guttural; rigid against her. His grip only tightened.

“I want—” His head fell forward, atop hers. “I want to taste you.”

Daena pulled away from Aemond, a wicked grin spreading across her full and swollen lips. Holding eye contact, she stepped backwards until she was sat upon the edge of the bed. Then, with Aemond’s attention captured entirely, she spread her legs and pulled the hem of her chemise up slowly, tantalizingly.

“Get on your knees, then,” she said.

Aemond fell without a blink. His fingertips traced along her ankles and then slowly crept up her leg, flexing his entire palm against her skin once he reached her thighs. She could feel his breath against her, his mouth open but still so terribly far from latching onto her as she wanted him to.

“My prince,” she groaned, reaching for the top of his head. “Please.”

He complied, pressing his tongue flat to her. There was no hesitation in his actions; he licked with confidence and precision, shocking her because she struggled to imagine him experienced. He groaned against her, hooking his arms beneath her thighs and pulling her as close to his face as possible. She was unable to keep the shrill moan from escaping her throat.

“Aemond,” she gasped. It was a breathy sort of thing, pulled in a wisp from her lungs. “Use… fingers!”

Ever the apt listener, he dipped a single finger into her. The moan she let out then was a pitched and trilling squeal. His single finger was the size of two of Sarya’s and reached to far deeper places than Sarya’s petite hands had been able to reach. He pumped the finger in and out, slowly and surely, and grinned against her. Two more fingers then, shoved inside her at once. She collapsed backwards onto the bed with a loud moan. He was relentless in his ministrations, going at a rapid pace until she was writhing and squirming and gasping for air. Swiping her arm over her forehead, she pushed herself up to look down at him.

His face was covered in her, glistening in the flickering, dying light. She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip. She grabbed a fistful of his tunic and yanked at it to get it off him. Catching on, he moved to help her. There was a heavy silence between them, but he moved onto the bed—hovering over her—without her even needing to tell him what she wanted.

She stared up at him, lips parted ever so slightly. His hair hung down in a silky curtain, framing his face. Palms shaking, she reached up and pressed her hand to his face. She arched her neck up and brushed her lips softly, gently, tenderly over his scarred forehead. The sapphire buried within his eye socket seemed to glow, keeping her attention rapt. Her thumb trailed along the underside of his eye, brushing against his long lower lashes. He was silent in her arms, stoic above her.

Afraid to speak, lest she say something too intimate, too weak, too revealing, she pulled his face down and licked herself from his lips. His teeth gnashed against her lip as though he wanted to swallow her whole. Briefly, as she fumbled with the buttons on his breeches, she thought she might let him. They did not speak, not even as she pushed him up against the headboard and sat herself on his lap. He was hard against her inner thigh, but she ignored it for the time being. Instead, she tugged his mouth down to her neck. He licked, bit, and sucked at the flesh, drawing heavy gasps for air from her lungs.

Chemise sticking to her with sweat, Daena pushed him back to begin ripping at the strings to get it off her. Aemond picked up on it and yanked the shift roughly over her head. His eye flickered down to her heaving breasts and a spike of confidence shot through her when she noticed how his cheeks flushed a darker shade at the sight.

“Daena,” he gasped out, voice heady and broken. “I… want—”

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” she promised, moving her hands to cradle his face.

Pulling him in for another angry kiss, she shifted her hips so that she could sink herself down onto him. It was a sensation she had never felt before, reaching places she had never known existed. Tears she did not quite understand burned in her eyes, but she continued to sink down until there was nowhere else for her to go. A groan that sounded more animal than human burst from her as she collapsed against his chest. His hands were hot as coals against her thighs, fingers sure to leave burnt impressions.

Delirious, she dropped her forehead against his and began to move her hips in slow, rocking circles. He swore quietly, tightening his grip on her legs.

“Seven… hells,” he grunted.

She continued until she found a pace that cut her breath off at the base of her throat, where the tip of him hit a place deep within her that caused her vision to go black and her jaw to go slack.

“Aemond.” She exhaled his name, unable to think of anything else but the man beneath her. She wanted to burrow herself within him and find a home within his bones, tucked into his ribs. Every bit of him had invaded her, and she was loath to let it end. This bubble they had created; she wanted it to exist for as long as she could sustain it. Here, they were leagues away from the people they had been and the circumstances that brought them to this island. Here, they were just Alyse and Jack. Here, they were free.

She let him spill within her after she reached her peak, and then collapsed once more against him. It was easy to fall asleep, exhausted and spent, within his arms.

Daena awoke with the first light of morning, as she always did. Naked and sticky with the dried sweat of the night before, she and Aemond were still tangled together; his face pressed into the crook of her neck. She was flooded with a wretched sort of feeling, unable to bear being within his grasp. As gently as she could, she removed herself from his arms and reached down to the floor for her chemise. She dressed quickly and sprinted away from the room.

Unsure if it was more shame or guilt that was flooding through her, she tucked herself into one of the armchairs by the unlit fire and stared into the blackened hearth. If she ever got away from here—if they ever got away from here—how could she possibly hope to look her family in the eye? How could she face Luke, knowing she had sworn to give the uncle who tormented him anything he wanted whilst in the thralls of passion.

A mistake, she decided. That is all it was. A mistake driven from flaring tempers and boredom. That was all it could be; nothing more.

Even so, she could not help but wish in the deepest and darkest depths of her soul for the opportunity to make the mistake again.

A noise from the bedroom informed her that Aemond had woken up. When he came into the main room of the house, their eyes met. After perhaps a moment too long, he tore his gaze away from hers and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and stalked back into the bedroom with that infuriating slow strut of his.

They did not speak that day, nor the next. Daena resigned herself to sleeping curled up in the armchair, drawing idly on loose slips of parchment she found around the house until she fell asleep. She mourned the tenuous friendship they had begun to restore in the days past as she did her best to ignore the growing knot in her neck from sleeping in the chair. It truly felt as though they were destined to be on opposing sides, never to truly know each other. She wished he never told her he wanted to marry her. Now, her mind was consumed by thoughts of what could have been and what could still be. It was also how she knew him a liar; if he did not dwell on the past, then he would have forgotten the matter entirely. But he had not, and so she knew he did care.

She would have agreed, she thought to herself as she drew Vermithor’s scales. If he had asked her, she would have married him. It was a terrifying, fleeting thought— and perhaps it was a betrayal of Luke, of Sarya, and, now, of Jace. Still, she could not deny that she liked Aemond well enough. She had been fond of him even when they were children and he smashed her head with a rock. She enjoyed his presence, despite his generally unpleasant demeanor. He was a friend, and she would have liked to marry a friend. She could have been happy in a marriage of friendship. If he had been allowed, she would have accepted.

But perhaps he was correct, and there was no use on dwelling on these things. What did it lead to but unhappiness?

She was curled up in a chair by the fire while Aemond tended to the barn animals, proving once more that he cared far more deeply for things than he liked to pretend. She flipped the page of the parchment back to the portrait she had drawn of Aemond while he slept. In the sketched plains of his face, she could see the strange and innocent boy beneath the cruel man. Pursing her lips, she tore the page and crumpled it. Just as he said, no use in dwelling on things she could not change.

He entered in with a wet gust of wind behind him. He made a grumbling noise as he kicked off his boots and undid the cloak, which really only served to make her laugh. He glared in her direction and stalked off, likely to wash up from being in the barn. Heaving a great sigh, Daena got out of the chair to scrounge together a meal for them. They ate like the smallfolk in Flea Bottom, and Daena was miserable for it. Their lack of communication made the bland food all the worse.

She brought the pot of stew to the hearth and let it come to a boil. Mariyah, in all her elderly wisdom, had planned on a long hurricane season and had gathered enough produce to last them the entirety of it. Aemond emerged from the washroom just as she was removing the pot from the fire. She offered him a tight smile and averted her eyes to began spooning stew into bowls for them to eat.

They sat silently on opposite sides of the table, pointedly not looking at each other. It made her want to scream and cry and rip her hair from its roots and throw the bowl at him. It was suffocating, and she just wanted to be done with it.

It was he, who broke their days-long silence, pushing his bowl away from him and leaning back against the chair. “I apologize,” he said stiffly, “for taking advantage the other night. It was… unworthy of me.”

Daena stared at him blankly, astounded. Then, a laugh that could be classified as nothing other than a cackle burst from her lips. His lips pursed at the sound, clearly displeased by her reaction.

“That is what you apologize for?” she asked, gasping for breath between words. “Oh, Aemond… I am hardly a blushing maiden.”

At that, a flush crept up his cheeks.

“The other night might have been a moment of weakness that can and will never happen again, but you did not take advantage.”

“Well, I apologize nonetheless.” His cheeks were flushed with blood. “And, yes. Never again.”

She bit the inside of her cheeks as her mind cycled through all the motions of their mistake. As far as mistakes go, it had been her most enjoyable one.

“You ought to sleep in the bed again,” Aemond said after another long silence as they cleaned up the kitchen. “I can tell your neck is bothering you.”

Her hand flew to the crook of her neck on instinct. She ripped it away just as quickly.

“I’m quite fine.”

“Then allow me to take the chair or floor.”

“No, that is not necessary,” she insisted, turning away from him to stare out the window. The rain beat mercilessly on the glass. Like it was trying to bring not just the home, but the entire island down. “You sustained more injuries than I did in the fall, and the fault for that lies in my hands.”

She chose to leave out the fact that it was his actions that forced her hand, because at this point that was neither here nor there.

“Then perhaps I sleep in the other room—”

“Mariyah just died on that bed!” Daena exclaimed, half scandalized. She was tired of this conversation. “We will continue as we have.”

“Daena, you cannot—”

“And yet, I will!” she shrieked. Instantly embarrassed, she sucked in a long, slow breath and turned back around to face him. “It is different for me.”

He said nothing, merely staring at her. Gods, how he infuriated her, how he wiggled beneath her skin and stuck there, how he could see right through her.

“If anyone were to discover we were here alone, you would be perfectly fine. I would be…” She thought back to what he hissed at her when he woke. “Ruined.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she pushed on.

“Our mistake, for you, is a story to tell someday. For me, it is nothing less than betrayal.”

“Betrayal.” He scoffed, a sudden glint of venom in his iris. “And what do you call my part, then? Do I not betray my family every moment you remain breathing?”

“Kill me, then, and be done with it!” Daena threw her hands up. “Please, I beg you. Do it, because I will never be able to kill you as I know I ought to.”

He blinked at her, stunned into silence by her manic plea. Frustrated tears brimming in her eyes, Daena stomped away from him and into the washroom. She sank to her knees and remained there until she heard no sounds of movement. Praying that it meant Aemond was asleep, Daena crept out and back into the main room.

She was stopped in her tracks, however, by the sight of Aemond fast asleep on the very armchair she had made her bed the last few nights. One leg was propped up on the cushioned footrest while the other was sprawled onto the floor. Even in her hatred of him— if she could call it that— she was touched by the display. There was hope for him yet, goodness that bubbled beneath the surface. In an effort to repay the kindness, she grabbed a quilt from the chest by the fireplace and laid it over his lap.

They had perhaps left things worse than they ever were before between them, but Daena would deal with those consequences once morning came. Now, she was bone weary and just wanted to sleep. She slept like the dead once her head hit the pillows, though in her dreams Aemond’s face taunted her. In the morning, she woke with a deep, aching need between her legs. Disgusted with herself, Daena kept herself confined within the walls of the bedchamber until she thought she might collapse from hunger. When she pulled the door open, however, she found herself face-to-face with Aemond—a plate of food and mug of mead in hand. His mouth fell open just a bit as she tripped herself to avoid walking right into him.

“You have not eaten,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It is getting late… I thought you might like some food.”

“Thank you,” she said, unable to do much anything else than focus on his lavender iris boring into her. “How very thoughtful, my prince.”

“Aemond,” he said suddenly. “Just— Call me Aemond.”

Oh.

“Very well,” she said. “Aemond.”

“I wanted to thank you… for the blanket last night.” He shuffled closer infinitesimally. The mug was shaking ever so slightly in his clenched fist. “And, I was thinking… here, we can just be…”

She pulled the plate and mug from his hands and dropped them onto the small table in the room, discarded to be forgotten. Sighing, she pushed her braids over her shoulder and turned back to him. Did she haunt his dreams as he did hers?

“We can just be… what, Aemond?”

“I—” He opened his mouth and closed it thrice. “You said to take what I want.”

A whirling thrill spiked in her blood, the ache inside of her leading her straight to him.

“A mistake it might be, but what does it matter?” he asked. “We are alone.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” she admitted.

Taking him to her bed once, twice, or however many times mattered not so long as it ceased once they returned to where they belonged. She just liked to see him finally breaking free of that hardened shell he encased himself in. He kissed her, then, and she forgot all about her hunger for food. All she hungered for was him. His fingers yanked at the curls at the base of her skull, forcing her head back so that he could kiss down her jaw and neck.

There were no words shared between them. Perhaps that would be too personal, too indicative of their wrongdoing. Neither took the time to undress, merely hiking up her chemise and shoving down his breeches. They fell backwards onto the bed just as he pushed himself inside her. She gasped into his mouth, digging her nails into his cheekbones and looping her legs around his waist to pull him close.

They continued at that pace until they were fully spent; collapsed upon one another. Daena yawned loudly, reaching her hand out to grab hold of the apple Aemond put on the plate for her. The generosity of it did not escape her; those apples seemed to be the only thing that made him even a shade of content. She took several bites of it before offering it out to Aemond. As though it were a natural sort of thing to do. And he took a bite from her hand, half convincing her this were a dream. When the apple was nothing but a discarded core and the bread nothing but crumbs, it was Daena who pounced on Aemond. Now that she had been given a taste, she was insatiable. And it seemed, so was he.

But, it was more languid this time. He did not hurry himself as he mouthed at her neck and began to pull at the strings on her chemise. She wanted to touch him, but quickly lost all means to do so when he pulled her chemise off and began to kiss down her torso. Her breath hitched at the base of her throat and delirium flooded her veins as she became enthralled in the pleasure she wrought from him.

“Seven Hells,” she groaned out, tossing her head back against the pillows.

She could feel Aemond’s lips curl upwards into a smile as he traced his tongue along her hip bone in response.

Much later, when they had tired themselves out entirely, he laid himself down beside her, resting his head on her bare chest. It was strange, how easy it was to simply be with him— and it terrified her as much as it befuddled her. But, then, it had always been easy with Aemond. They fell asleep like that, tangled together, pressed closer than close. Daena had never slept better in her life.

“I would never ruin you,” he spoke quietly against her collarbone one night some weeks later. She had long since stopped keeping track of the days as they passed, dreary and thunderous as they were.

Daena stilled beneath him. “What?”

“Your reputation,” he said, “I would never allow it to fall to ruin.”

For some reason, she believed him and kissed him hard on the mouth for the first time outside the thralls of passion. He returned the kiss with vigor and they fell asleep in the middle of it, which she had also never done before.

When morning came, she awoke to a thunderous roar outside her window. Gasping, she shot up and looked around, scrambling to pull her chemise over her head. She knew that roar. Barefoot and without any protection from the weather, she sprinted outside, past Aemond who was slowly blinking his eyes and sitting up from the commotion she caused. Toes digging into the mud, Daena ran from the house to Vermithor.

His bronze scales were like the rays of the sun amidst all the rain. Grinning, she flung herself forward.

“My brave boy,” she wept, pressing her forehead to his snout.

He snuffed and knocked his snout against her head. Laughing, she kissed one of his horns and stepped back to examine him.

“How is your wing, hm?” she asked, walking around to take in his form.

He flared his wings out as though to prove he was in perfect condition. She reached her hand out to stroke the wing that had been injured when they took down Vhagar. She could see the scar tissue, but the tendons were healed and strong. She could go home. As though sensing her realization, he tilted his head back, opened his jaws wide, and screeched so loud that the trees shook. His hind legs stomped the ground, as though he were preparing for takeoff. It was everything she wanted to hear.

“What are you doing?” Aemond shouted, standing in the threshold of the doorway.

Vermithor’s neck snaked around and he positioned himself firmly between Daena and Aemond. He remembered Aemond from the attack, and he did not trust the prince. Laughing at her dragon’s protection, she stepped forward and placed her hand on the underside of Vermithor’s jaw. He grumbled quietly and settled.

“Umbagon,” she ordered before walking back to the house.

Aemond was staring at her like he found her mad. At least that had not changed. She pushed her wet braids from her face.

“Vermithor is healed,” she said.

“I can see that,” he said. He held out a large blanket for her. “Come inside.”

Feeling the chill suddenly, she stepped in and allowed him to pull the blanket over her shoulders. His hands stayed on her shoulders, rubbing over her upper arms to help warm her. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared up at him. His face was pulled taut and there was concern evident, his lips pursed as he took care to help her dry off.

“What?” he asked, seeing that she was staring.

She cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “It’s nothing.” She smiled to herself and tilted her head to the side. “Well, it is nice to see you care.”

He frowned. “When have I ever given you the impression I do not care for you?”

That response took her by surprise. It was shockingly earnest, coming from him— but that had been a running theme with him in the last few days.

“Aemond,” she whispered, lifting a hand to his scarred cheek.

It was absurd and utterly mad of her, but a sudden shot struck her like lightning. It would be so very easy to love him. Her love for Sarya had not lessened in her time on the island, but there was merely more space in her heart than she once thought. She would never be able to pursue it, of course. She was betrothed and he… Aemond was a traitor and an attempted kinslayer. And all that to say, she still wanted him. Something sinister had overtaken her in the last three moons, sunken its claws into her skin and dripped its poison onto her tongue.

She was fond of him, desired him, enjoyed him, but she had a duty now that Vermithor was in flying condition. Aemond was a traitor and an attempted kinslayer, and she needed to bring him to justice.

“I will come quietly,” he said softly, reaching out and gingerly curling the loose end of one of her braids around his finger. She had a keen memory of her own fingers wrapped in his hair. “I will surrender and bend the knee if that is what you wish.”

“What I wish?” she echoed. “And what of your wishes?”

It was as though the island emboldened him, pulled apart his strong defenses and left him bare but more confident than she had ever seen him.

“I wish for whatever will keep me in your life, my lady.”

“You can’t mean that,” she whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

She was not immune to the effects of dashing confessions made, easily swept up in the romance of it all. It was her most foolish trait, but being aware of it did not subdue it. It only made her aware of the breadth of stupidity she was capable of.

“You took my eye. You took my dragon. Take my heart as well; it is yours.”

Her cheeks burned under the weight of his gaze and words. Mouth dry, she crafted the most intelligent response she could muster.

“I did not take your eye.”

He shrugged, as though his reasoning were the only sort that made sense. Perhaps he would have preferred it to have been her. Their injuries were settled like scores, canceling the other out— even if he had gotten off far worse than she had. In his mind, it should have been her, and so it was it seemed. Or that he held her in just as much blame as he did Luke.

“And as for Vhagar—” Her own voice betrayed her, choking off in an unbecoming squeal. “I wish I could have stopped you without killing her.”

Aemond looked away from her then, finally pulling his face from her palm. She tucked her hand back under the blanket he provided her as quickly as she could so as though it were never there in the first place. Then, he surprised her yet again.

“I know.” It was a simple thing. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

She furrowed her brow, a million and one questions racing about her mind, but she kept them to herself.

“You will come without fight or argument?” she asked slowly.

“I will,” he confirmed.

Bewildered and pleased alike, Daena observed him for a moment before ultimately deciding he seemed honest.

“Then we must dress. It is at least a half day’s flight from here to Dragonstone.”

They did not speak again as they readied themselves for departure. What was there to say, really? They had, for better or worse, betrayed their families and themselves by falling into bed with one another, and now fate had come knocking. They both knew that on Dragonstone he would likely face imprisonment at best. There was always the threat of execution, but Daena was not sure Rhaenyra, even at her most bloodthirsty and vicious, had it in her to be a kinslayer. No, Rhaenyra would not take her brother’s head, but she might strip him of all titles and inheritance and send him to the Wall where he could never be a threat to her again. And rather stupidly, Daena did not wish for that. Perhaps this was what Aemond wanted all along; for her to trust him, to vouch for him, to be more than fond of him.

That decided it for her. Upon arriving to Dragonstone, what happened here on the island would fade into the past. She would dedicate herself to whatever war effort there was and accept her fate as Queen after Rhaenyra. “Whatever claim to the throne I have left, you are it’s heir now. Both of you.” Daena would never be able to forget the sheen of sweat covering the older woman’s body, the way her face was scrunched up in pain and her voice quivered as she laid out commands for her oldest son and Daena.

There was a truth about Daena Velaryon that Sarya had always seen: For her family, Daena would sacrifice anyone and anything, including herself, and let the entire world burn to ashes. And as Aemond perched himself behind her on Vermithor’s saddle without complaint, she wondered if he saw it too. An unstoppable force meets and immovable object, and whatever happens in the aftermath is only nature. And yet, Daena did not think she would go so quietly if the roles were reversed.

“Sōves, Vermithor!” Daena yelled as loud as she could over the violent winds and rain, already soaked through to the bone.

Without complaint or hesitance, Vermithor roared and took to the skies.

Aemond and her did not speak for entire flight, and Daena was glad for the silence as the black sand beaches of Dragonstone grew ever nearer. It had been a year’s quarter since she left Dragonstone for Storm’s End, and war had been brewing when she did. There was no telling what they would find when they landed.

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x reader #team black #hotd au #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #cregan stark #jace x cregan #jacegan #jacaela #fic: fireplace ashes

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xxavengingangelxx · 6 months

Text

Somewhere Only We Know 3/?

Part threeeee! I feel kind iffy about this one. Smurt starts so MDNI! 18+ I feel like the smut is not my best work but there will definitely be more smut in the future chapters :)

Taglist! @bellgraves, @unicorngirly1, @josieguts, @lily-lily131313, @shepgurl - if you'd like to be added, lemme know! ;)

Val feels like she has no choice but to return to Shadow Company for numerous reasons.

EDIT: Forgot to add! Q and A. Will Graves get more affectionate? I've gotten that question a LOOOT. Yes. But like all men he just found out and is a little overwhelmed 😉

You didn’t know how much time had passed when Price excused himself to take a phone call. Someone had called him three times back-to-back.

You knew who it was didn’t you?

Price wasn’t allowed to wander off very far. That small wing of the hospital you were in had been sealed off. No one enters or exits except for the police and the military.

Your suspicion was confirmed so were you really surprised when you heard Graves’s voice on the other end of that phone? Years of explosions and gunfire didn’t allow Price to turn the volume low enough that your younger, less exposed ears couldn’t pick it up. And because of how close the perimeter of that hospital wing was you heard every…word.

“Price,” Graves’s voice was tight, on-edge, dangerous and you wondered if someone had pissed him off right before.

“Graves,” Price spat back. “Was beginnin’ ta think Laswell had finally approved that airstrike you were nothin’ but ashes.”

“Haha,”

“Sorry,” Price added, “but I constant’ly fantasize about ya dying.”

“Knock this shit off,” Graves warned. “You have two people I’m interested in.” Graves paused before adding, “One I haven’t quite met yet.”

Price’s silence told you he was in shock.

Why did Graves sound so fucking terrifying today?

“Bloody ‘ell,” Price gasped. “How’d you—”

“I have eyes everywhere,” Graves said darkly. “A thing you might not know about southern culture, ya Brit. We like to keep our families together.”

“And you see Val as family? She’s not your wife ya fuckin’ psycho’.”

“No, she is. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

And you don’t know why that line made your breath catch in your throat. You knew Graves was obsessed with you but what exactly did he mean by that?

“You’re such a sick fuck,”

“Get her back to me.”

“I can’t override an arrest warrant,” Price shot back.

“Figure it out,” Graves snapped. “Or Makarov wins and World War III starts. I have the money and the connections to hide me and my family. Do you?”

You didn’t know you were still crying until the tears rolled down your face as a female soldier (no, not a police officer but a soldier) patted you down. The UK military was pissed enough to detain you because you’d released the codes to 141’s homing beacons. You had denied torture and refused to say anything against Graves or Shepherd. So they saw it as you betrayed 141 and willingly gave them up. You and Graves had worked together that night, hadn’t you? At least that’s what it looked like on the outside looking in. All the digging they’d done had revealed hushed secrets of how you two had been inappropriately involved with each other pretty much since you’d met.

You had mugshots taken for the first time in your life. They took pictures of every visible scar. You wondered why this wasn’t done at the detention facility and you were told it was in case you or someone who fancied you just happened to bust you out from the facility or even got to you before you even got there. So they’d have pictures of you to show the world and help re-capture you.

You were given a bulletproof vest because you’d made the news and had been labeled a traitor. You were loathed. There had been threats on your life. The news loves making people look horrible don’t they? You wondered if the news knew about your situation. Graves knew. And you really didn’t know how to feel about that. You couldn’t even get away from him by being arrested and detained.

You were never going to get away from Graves were you? You didn’t exactly hate it, though. But it also scared you, didn’t it?

You were chained like you were some outlaw (you kinda were though, weren’t you?). The fact that you could pick handcuffs and liked swing at authority figures had gotten around and so your cuffs were anchored to a chain around your waist. Not too tight. They didn’t want you, a sue-happy American, to sue them if you just so happened to lose that pregnancy.

“You’re really gonna let yourself get locked up instead of sayin’ somethin’, anythin’ against that son of a bitch?” Price asked.

“Just watch out for Graves and Shepherd, Captain,” you stated. “He might like me. But he won’t think twice about killing you. Make sure you and your boys stay safe.”

“You make it sound like you’re sacrificin’ yaself.”

“I can keep him distracted just enough.”

The sunlight was bright and it reminded you of how much you hated sunny days. The noise was overwhelming. News crews, people shouting at you, calling you a traitor. So you just glanced down, using your hair to hide your face. 141, for all you had done against them in the last 3 months, shielded you as best as they could.

Soap even pulled your hood over your head and you almost cried at the kindness of it. Also, pregnancy hormones.

It was cold.

You were about to be put into a military vehicle when a familiar voice, a demanding voice, told them to stop and turn around.

It was impossible to understand what was being said outside with all the noise. So you all went back inside, into the warmth of the hospital.

Granted you couldn’t move much. Cuffs anchored to your waist and leg irons. That thin bulletproof vest was tight on you, straps drawn snug. Graves indeed hadn’t been lying that they were going to treat you like a fucking prisoner, a good for nothing. And that was one of the reasons you kept your faith in Graves. You were weirdly bonded to him. You didn’t love him and you were sure he didn’t love you. But it seemed like you both were stuck together for the time being.

Maybe forever. You were obsessed. Maybe just as much as he was. Maybe a little less, though.

But the man here in person? General Shepherd.

“Graves told me what happened,” Shepherd stated. He removed his sunglasses.

“It’s none of yer business,” Price snapped.

“No, it is because she’s mine.”

“No, your Shadow piece o’ shit kidnapped ‘er. And now he’s fuckin’ stalkin’ her.”

“We had reason to believe she was collaborating with Hassan as she was the only one we found. Wandering all alone.” Shepherd paused before adding, “Like an abandoned puppy. That’s the term Graves used. And abandoned puppies need new homes, don’t they?”

Price full on growled. “Thas’ some bullshit excuse ya have. It won’t make sense on paper.”

“But it will,” Shepherd grinned that shit-eating grin he had. It was the same grin you imagined him having when Graves took that initial hostage video all those months ago. “And it did,”

Price was handed papers. What they said you couldn’t read. The print was too small.

“Val here was abandoned by her task force. We took her in, interrogated her, revealed she had nothin’ to hide.” Price signaled at the documents in Price’s hands, shaking with anger. “We did not, under any condition torture her.”

Shepherd looked at you, smirking before adding, “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

“They didn’t hurt me,” you confirmed. You lied. You lied to protect Shepherd, Shadow Company, and most importantly, Graves. Something deep inside told you this would not be the last time lying for them. If this shit was brought to court or congress, you’d keep lying to protect Graves without a second thought.

“Val, ser’ously?” Price glared and if looks could kill, Shepherd would’ve died on the spot.

“She’s been with Shadows for 3 months. She’s mine now.” Shepherd demanded. “Hand ‘er over,”

“She’s not goin’ with ya,” Soap snapped. “Ya’ll done enough.”

“Don’t make me get my boys. You sure as fuck don’t want me getting Graves. He’s pissed. Has been. And when he’s mad he gets trigger happy.” Shepherd smirked. “Now go on ahead and get Graves’s little miss outta those cuffs. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Don’t why ya’ll would treat a lady like that.”

“You’ve lost your mind…again, Gen’ral,” Price snapped. “She’s lookin’ at a court martial. US and UK want her here.”

“Let me put it in simpler terms for you,” That smirk never left Shepherd’s face. “Give me the girl. Give me my soldier or we all lose.”

“You don’t have to go with him,” Price muttered from next to you. “We can get a court to look at this,” He signaled at the pages which you still hadn’t bothered to try reading. “You have a choice,”

“I want Graves,” you said confidently.

The police officer, a new one, looked at Price, his gaze asking what he should do. Release, not release? Detain?

“You’re gonna go back to the company that fucked you up so bad you tried to kill ya’self?” Price paused before adding, “Is’ not jus’ about jus’ you anymore, Val. You have someone else to think about. Don’t do this.”

You shrugged. Because it really was. The bond you had with Graves was intense. Plus, you’d stay out of prison. You did have a child to think about. And the last fucking thing you wanted was you in prison in the UK, Graves in prison in the US, and your child in that horrible foster care system. You’d run before you let that happen.

“We’ll get them after all this, Val,” Price muttered so only you could hear. “They’ll rot in prison.”

“Release her. Now.” Shepherd demanded of the officer. “They’ve removed her AWOL status and transferred her to Shadow.”

“You better sleep with one eye open, mate,” were the last words Price said to Shepherd before you walked out of that hospital with said general free of restraints.

Shepherd didn’t say much in the truck. At least not at first. You rubbed your wrists because they cuffs on your wrists had been on too damn tight.

It was you and Shepherd. That was it. You wondered where Graves was. “You’ve done good work, soldier. Graves asked for you by name. Pulled a few strings and got this done because Graves is my best.”

You didn’t say a word. You’d thanked him earlier anyway. Well, that is except to ask, “Where’s Graves?”

“A safehouse,” Shepherd responded. “What’d you tell ‘em, soldier?”

“Nothing, sir.” You responded. “They threatened me with prison but I didn’t say shit. Respectfully.”

“We’ll pull the hospital records,”

“I’ve nothing to hide, sir.”

Shepherd paused before adding, “Don’t disappoint my top man,” Shepherd warned. “He’s gonna be your Shadow for the rest of your life. Told me he’s not letting you go.”

“No, sir. I won’t, sir.”

“He asks you to get on your knees, your response is how low, understand?”

“Yessir,” you felt like he was selling you to Graves.

“Ya ever thought about letting him fuck a kid into ya?”

Your head snapped to look in his direction next to you. Did he know?

“Would be nice to leave all this to family,” Shepherd stated simply. He saw you as something to be used. Was that why he’d said all those months ago he wanted you specifically working for them? A female? A female Shepherd knew Graves had a thing for?

Shepherd chuckled that cold laugh before adding, “I know ya’ll been fuckin’ since you met pretty much. He’s been obsessed with you.”

Was he kidding? And at that second something deep inside you told you Graves might like that you’re carrying his kid. There was no getting away from him now, was there? Even if you wanted to. Where the hell did you think you were going to hide with his kid?

“No offense, sir,” you replied after catching your breath, “That’s not why we—”

“That’s it’s God-given purpose,” he interrupted. “He’d be perfect.”

Who--? Hell, Shepherd was already obsessed with the kid and Shepherd didn’t even know the kid existed. Right? And you didn’t like that, not one bit.

“Product of two of my best soldiers, raised by Shadows, in the field.”

You weren’t sure if Shepherd took your ensuing silence as a form of defiance or as a form of acceptance.

You wished it was just you. Just you going back to Graves, no kid. But you were stuck now, weren’t you? You didn’t think your IUD would fail. But it did. You had less than a one percent chance of getting pregnant but here you were. And that was why you’d made that decision, amongst other reasons, sure. The decision to keep him. Him because you felt it was a boy.

Because maybe while you distracting Graves wasn’t enough, maybe you and his kid would distract Graves enough for him to leave 141 alone.

You just hated an innocent life was involved.

“Did you really raise that much hell?” Graves’s voice from behind you light a fire under your heart. He must’ve noticed your brief injuries.

“You told me to raise hell so I did,”

“Atta girl,” Graves smirked.

You couldn’t help it. You reached out and hugged him, gear and all.

And surprisingly?

He hugged back.

“Good ‘ta have you back,” Graves said, his voice tickling your hair as he rested his chin on your head.

You hoped into a hot shower the second you could. You scratched your skin raw trying to get those tape marks off your arms from when the hospital had started an IV sedated you that one day. You had tape marks all up and down your arms from all the times they’d drawn blood, marks around your wrists from the handcuffs and restraints.

“Don’t make yourself bleed, darlin,’” Graves chided. He’d been watching you through the clear glass shower door.

“I want it off,” you almost pouted.

He was naked when he joined you and you couldn’t help but eye him up and down shamelessly. He did the same to you. His eyes stopped on your breasts and on his favorite spot between your legs.

“They hurt you, didn’t they?”

His eyes lingered on the tape burn on your face from the duct tape pulled off your mouth three days ago. On the scrape your cheek showed after being yanked onto the ground face first when you hit a police officer in the face. And finally, to those scratch marks on your arms from trying to take the medical tape residue off.

You had indeed made yourself bleed.

“Only a little,” you contested.

“They’ll never have ya’ll again,” Graves promised.

And that confirmed he knew. He knew it wasn’t just you anymore.

You got on your toes. The hot water had you both sweating. Your hair was in loose curls over your shoulders and his blonde hair falling over his forehead. His hair almost looked light brown when it was wet and hanging on his forehead. Your lips met his briefly before he pressed his lips onto yours, his tongue sweeping your mouth possessively. You raised your hands to his shoulders, to the nape of his neck, the strong stinging pain of scratch mark wounds forgotten.

He placed two strong hands on your hips before gripping your ass and effortlessly lifting you. You, out of habit, wrapped your legs around his waist. He pressed you onto the cold tile behind you, making you gasp and hiss and arch your back.

When you arched your back, you felt him, hot and thick and hard, at your entrance.

“That desperate are we?”

You gave him a lustful glare and an exasperated huff while he scoffed in response.

Graves ran his teeth just along your jawline, making you moan. You caught yourself and reminded yourself to be quiet. This was a safehouse, not a black site. It meant noise traveled through the walls like they weren’t there. It wasn’t like back on base where the walls were concrete. And absorbed all the sound.

“We’re alone,”

You moaned more at his words.

“Lick my fingers,” Graves commanded. He had you pinned against the wall, his hot, thick cock just touching your entrance. You mewled, trying to get him inside you.

So you obeyed. You ran your hot tongue over his fingers as he held them in front of your face.

“Show me how you’re gonna take me,” Graves added in a low growl.

Graves suddenly released you and your knees almost gave out.

You wanted him. You needed him.

“On your knees,”

You obeyed instantly. You fucking loved that despite your delicate situation he was still willing to insert at least a little dominance in the bedroom.

Without him asking you to, you took his hard length into your mouth.

Graves gasped and moaned, throwing his head back and catching his hair in the hot spray of the shower.

It wasn’t long before Graves was on top of you, in bed. You were both still drenched from the shower but it wasn’t like either of you cared. You’d started sucking him off and after pulling you off of him he’d started to work his fingers inside of you before he’d abruptly cut off the water.

Now here you were, drenched hair sprawled out behind you while Graves had bruising grips on your thighs as you felt him mercilessly use his lips, teeth, and tongue to taste you.

You felt like you needed him to totally own you. To take your mind off that burning pain from where you’d scratched yourself so hard you’d cut yourself open earlier, from what you’d learned from your hospital stay, from all the shit you’d been through. So you said those key words…the key words that let him know you wanted him to fuck you almost into unconsciousness, that gave him permission to leave marks on you.

“Graves, show me who I belong to,”

But to your surprise?

“No,” came the growled reply from between your legs.

“What?” you glanced down and the sight that met you almost made you gasp. Graves, his hands still grasping your thighs, his pupils wide with lust, his chin damp from your arousal, his hair sticking to his damp forehead.

You wondered if maybe you tasted differently. Could he taste that he completely owned you, marked you forever? You were carrying his child. How much more could he own you?

“No, Val,” Graves repeated, his gaze not leaving yours. “Tonight I’m just gonna relearn every fucking inch of your body.”

So after he’d edged you twice and finally let you cum on his lips, he was finally inside you.

And that’s when time seemed to slow down. It felt like you had been apart from Graves your months when in reality it had been a few days. You wondered if this is what addiction felt like. Every time he moved inside you it was like you both moaned in unison. You heard him say something but you couldn’t quite decipher it. Your brain was jelly.

You could feel yourself getting close and he would stop. You whined at the feeling. You wanted to beg him to continue, to fuck you until you couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk.

But every time you’d open your mouth to beg, he’d seal it with his own. And you’d feel him smile, chuckle. The bastard knew what he was doing. So instead of getting rough, he was edging you. He was relearning you and ensuring himself he still knew every inch of you by making sure his cock reached so deep inside you until it could go no further.

“Say my name,” finally came the command. Apparently your ears had stopped working because you knew that tone of voice. Graves had had to repeat this command more than once.

“Fuck me, Graves,” you gasped as his hips stuttered, making your insides flutter.

Graves talked again, but you had trouble hearing him over your own moans and filthy words begging him

Fuck you harder.

Graves grabbed your shoulders and shook you hard enough to get your attention. Not nearly as hard as when he’d fucked you before you were ‘rescued’ by 141. There was a gentleness to his motions that he’d never shown before and you wondered why. Before reminding yourself: you’re pregnant. He was still buried inside you and you arched your back, trying to get him deeper into you.

“Say my full name,”

So that’s exactly what you did.

You said his full name, Phillip Graves, as you came a second time, this time around his cock and felt as his thrusts got sloppy and rough and hard while he came undone inside of you.

End notes: This is gonna get soooo complicated! :o

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #john soap mactavish #mw2 141 #ghost cod #cod mw3 #cod makarov #longwayfromhome #somewhere only we know

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altheasmeadow · 1 year

Text

Prove It Nishimura

Word Count: 797

Warnings: Sassy/mad Sunoo, None other than that

Summary: In which Ni-Ki was dared to confess his feelings for his friend, and nobody really takes the news well

Pairing: Ni-Ki x reader romantically, Sunoo X reader Platonically.

“A Dare?” Jungwon asked increduously as he looked at Ni-Ki in shock, Ni-Ki sat on the couch beyond embarrassed as his hyungs look at him in shock, “With who?”

“Some of the other maknaes, they came across edits of her and I and dared me to confess so I did, but she overheard the conversation and took it the wrong way.” He explained looking sad.

“Is there a right way to take it?” Sunoo wondered, eyeing Ni-Ki sassily, she had become Sunoo’s bestfriend within the year or so Ni-Ki had been friends with her, and they got closer when she told him about her feelings for Ni-Ki.

“Look, I know I messed up. I don’t need you rubbing it in.”

“No, I think that is exactly what you need. Because this affects not only you, she thinks I outed her feelings to you, she’s refusing to talk to me. So Yes I need to rub it in, and yes I’m going to tell you exactly what you did wrong. She didn’t misinterpret anything Ni-Ki, she heard the truth. You needed a dare to confess your feelings for her. That’s why she’s hurt. If you weren’t pressured into confessing she doubts you ever would have.”

“Okay how’d you get that without speaking to her?” Sunghoon asked looking at Sunoo strangely but he only received a deadpan look in response.

“The same way you know whenever Jake is even the slightest bit upset, or how Hee knows when Ni-Ki is getting antsy, or how Jungwon knows whenever Jay is feeling unwell. I’m her bestfriend, we know each other better than we know ourselves.” Sunoo frowned, before turning back to Ni-Ki, “Get it together, because she isn’t going to be around forever unless you try, the idol life is hard to keep up with and she is willing to put up with all of it for you, you won’t find that around every corner.”

Add with that Ni-Ki took off, running faster than he ever had before, he ran through the street, dodging people left and right, even ignoring fans but honestly he couldn’t be bothered. And as he was doubled over panting in front of her dorm he took in the fact that he had no idea what to say.

“No Soobin, it's fine. Tell Yeonjun to keep his damn bat to himself.” he heard through the door and waited a few minutes to hear a response only for her to talk again so he assumed they weren’t physically there. “No Kai can keep his plushies, and if Beomgyu shows up with food and his energy right now I make no promises I won’t kill him.” He almost wondered why Tae hadn’t offered to come first when he heard thudding footsteps behind him, he turned coming facce to face with the pink haired man who was glaring at him.

“Nishimura.” He greeted curtly before knocking on the door. The door opened quickly with a very unimpressed woman on the other side as she took in the two before her with her phone still to her ear.

“Taehyung, you were in the middle of practice.” She scolded not acknowledging Ni-Ki yet which he didn’t know how to feel about yet.

“And you were sad so I came. Soobin was too busy keeping the other three wrangled. I slipped out undetected.” He grinned sweetly, rushing to pull her into a hug

“What’re you doing here Ni-Ki?” She asked after sending Taehyung into her house with her phone to get a scolding from his leader.

“Okay I know how it sounded, but I swear I’ve had feelings for you for so long, they were just giving me the encouragement to confess.”

“I didn’t doubt you had feelings Ni-Ki, you wouldn’t have lied about that, you’re not an idiot.”

“Then why’re you upset?” He wondered, obviously having forgot Sunoo’s advice, or just deciding he knew her better than him.

“Because you needed a dare to ask me out, you had to be pressured to try to be with me. I deserve a lot better than that and I’m not going to lower myself to that.” He could hear Taehyung give an encouraging whoop after she said that making her lips quirk up the slightest.

“It wasn’t pressuring me! It was a joke! They never fully dared me, they were just trying to get me to act on my feelings. I promise there is nothing in this world I’d rather do than confess to you, you’ve stood by me and supported me for so long, I’d like to do the same for you just in a different aspect. Also don’t blame Sunoo, he didn’t tell me anything, the whole thing came about when they came across a ship edit of us.”

“Prove it Nishimura.”

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mellonyheart · 5 months

Text

This is the most self projecting thing I've ever written because guess what my body gave me for Christmas? Yaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy. Fuck my life. I still had to cook Christmas dinner too.

Mammon x Reader, first person pov, sfw, swearing because fuck is my favorite word today, slight angst, probably poorly edited. Edit: forgot to add 'reader is fem bodied. Whoops. Edit2: Actually gender is meaningless here and Reader could just as easily be suffering from menstrual cramps or a chronic disease/condition. So gn? The point is Reader has cramps. It's not specified what kind. Only that they hurt bad enough to not be able to enjoy going out.

Fuck.

This wasn't how I wanted to spend my Christmas.

I was supposed to greet the boys at breakfast. We'd eat and hold back our excitement (some better than others) about the coming festivities. I was going to help with Christmas dinner. I was going to bake a truckload of Christmas cookies! We were going to decorate them together. It was going to be a chaotic blast! It wasn't supposed to end up like this....

Owww....

My body seemed to have other ideas as I was now confined to my room by cramps. It's not fair! As if it wasn't bad enough I can't be in my (real) room but the boys were out spreading Christmas cheer for the rest of Devildom without me. And I was really looking forward to it!

It was hard to fight the tears as I remembered how Solomon left early to help out in my stead. I hope they can keep him away from the kitchen. That would be a disaster. Were the brothers missing me? They were right?

I missed them. I missed the present. I missed being a part of their wild world. I miss Mammon.

And now I really am crying. In no small part from the pain in my belly as much as my heart. My phone was suspiciously quiet too. Were they busy? Did something happen? Crap... you never know in the Devildom. Something is always coming up. I wanted to be a part of it. Why was fate so cruel?

I rolled over, still dwelling on my miserable thoughts. The pain killer was barely working. If I ever find this Nightbringer person (demon? Angel? Whatever...) I'm going to give them an earful. Not that my current situation was their fault but it makes me feel (infinitesimally) better to blame the entity that put me here.

Knock knock

Nope. Don't even think about it Solo. I'm asleep and I'm not eating your "soup".

Knock knock

I'm sleeping. Go away.

I could have sworn I heard a curse on the other side of my door but it was too quiet to make out. Weird. Solomon didn't usually curse.

Bzzt

I got a text message.

Hey.

You awake?

It's cool if you're not.

The Great Mammon just thought it'd be a good idea to check in on ya. You should be grateful I'm such a nice guy.

Fuck!

Anyway...

Just thought I'd say Merry Christmas.

"Wait!" I shouted as I threw open my door and there was Mammon halfway down the hall looking back at me with a startled expression.

...Just in time for another cramp. Ow.

"So ya were awake! Hang on... are ya okay?!" Mammon rushed to back to me, likely noticing my distress. He helped me back to bed and as he tried to take a step back I held his sleeve. Such soft fabric... if I wasn't miserable right now I would complement his santa outfit. It was perfectly... him.

"Thanks Mammon. But uh... what are you doing here?" I had to know. Why couldn't I let myself just be happy that he was here?

"Is that any way to greet someone who came all the way here to see ya?! And look at ya... fallin' over and stuff. Wait. Does that make me a hero?"

"Sure. My Christmas hero. Doesn't answer my question though." How is it that he can make me smile so easily? That has to be a super power. Maybe he is a hero.

"Do I really need a reason to see ya?! Gimme a break would ya?!" He huffed. I could guess what he was really doing here. His golden heart was always clear to me.

"I'm glad you came. Thank you. I was actually getting pretty lonely." Honesty was easy with Mammon. Even if he couldn't be honest himself. He was blushing and looking away from me. Damn he was cute.

"Y-yeah... well I figured you'd be lonely without me. I mean... well it just sucks ya got sick on Christmas. It ain't right." And by all things holy and unholy he looked at me like he meant it. He did mean it. Mammon really could be ridiculously sweet. Maybe too sweet because I can feel the tears coming back.

"H-hey! I didn't mean to... I wasn't tryin' to..." Poor Mammon. He was panicking. I really did try to explain that it wasn't that he said something wrong. It was just hormones going a bit overboard. But talking is hard when you're trying not to sob because the demon you love is too sweet for his own good. So I just hugged him. Hard. If he wasn't a demon, probably too hard but how else can I express that I love him so much I want us to meld into one person? I'm emotional. Don't hold it against me.

Mammon tried to calm me down. He hugged me back and kept saying anything he thought would be soothing in his own Mammon way.

"Hey. Ya good?" He asked as I finally calmed. My eyes hurt.

"Yeah. I'm sorry Mammon. This probably wasn't what you had in mind when you came over." My face felt puffy and I could really use a snack and some hydration.

"Don't worry about it. Are ya sure you're okay?" Anyone who says Mammon only cares about himself is an idiot.

"Yes. You're the best Mammon. I really need you to know that." I wiped my face and attempted a normal, definitely not wet, smile.

"Come on... don't get all sweet on me. Oh! I almost forgot!" Mammon suddenly dashed back into the hallway. After a moment he came back with a small festively colored bag and a thermos. "Here. I got this for ya. I uh... wanted to give it to ya before the others got here."

"Hold on... the others?" I asked, bewildered.

"Aw crap... that was supposed to be a surprise! Ya gotta pretend to be surprised when the others call ya down. I was supposed to check how ya were feeling so we can throw ya a party downstairs. Ya know, because you probably don't feel like walkin' to the House of Lamentation or the castle. And then Solomon said you didn't want to teleport so..."

I should have known. I love them. All of them. And they love me. Of course they would try to plan a surprise party so that I didn't feel left out. I feel like the luckiest human of all time. Dumb hormones can't stop me from having a good Christmas.

"Mammon?" I interrupted him from his rambling.

"Huh? What is it?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"H-huh?! H-hold on! You haven't even opened your present yet!" Fuck he's cute when he blushes.

"Can I kiss you after I open my present?"

"S-sure, whatever you want! Just open it already!" Mammon pressed the bag in my direction as to put as much distance between it and himself. He looked at me expectantly.

Inside the bag was... cookies. Clearly handmade. They certainly weren't made or decorated by Luke or Barbatos. One was a touch burned.

"You made me cookies?" I asked.

"Tis' the season right? Look! That one is you and that one is me. I threw in a couple Christmasy shapes too. Ya gotta try 'em though!" He looked nervous despite sounding so excited. I bet he brought these privately because his brothers made fun of his amateur baking skills. And he made mini us!

I took a bite of a Christmas tree.

"It's good."

"Yeah?! I mean I tried extra hard to get the shapes right and Luke had to help me with the decoratin' but they look good right?!" He smiled like the first sunrise in Devildom. So I kissed him.

Then as he got flustered and admonished me for the surprise attack I made cookie us kiss too.

Marry Christmas.

#Bonus: the cookies were too sweet and swimming in dried frosting but the taste didn't matter #Kissing Mammon is sweeter anyway #Also the others got impatient and crashed their private party #obey me #obey me nightbringer #mammon supremacy #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me mammon x reader

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penig · 1 year

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Concerning Pink Lemonade

So, in the wake of yesterday’s brief lemonade discourse with @prismatic-bell, I started wondering. I began my researches at home, by consulting my late-70s edition of the Betty Crocker Cookbook. Yes, Betty Crocker is a corporate invention and shill, but her cookbook (at least for that edition ) is very handy for a lot basic things. If a dish is frequently found on American tables, odds are good it’ll have some sort recipe for it, even if it isn’t your favorite version of the dish. And sure enough, “pink” was down as a variation on lemonade, and the lemonade recipe itself is an acceptable one. Alas, to make pink lemonade the instructions are to make basic lemonade and add two tablespoons of grenadine syrup and a drop or two of food coloring! Which is about what you’d expect from commercial lemonade but I think we can all probably agree that it’s a cheat in a private kitchen and not worthy of the name “home cooking.”

So I started considering what I knew, or thought I knew, about pink lemonade, and why I thought so. That it was made from grapefruit I had no doubt - I distinctly remember my mom’s voice telling me that when I hesitated to drink it the first time. But I think the rest of the idea I had about it, though logical and experience-based, is not something anyone ever told me. (I have never actually made the stuff myself; never had that much grapefruit juice on hand.) Because, pink lemonade excepted, if a drink is made from a fruit, water, and sugar, it is fruitade - lemonade, limeade, orangeade. But grapefruitade is not a word and you only have to see or say it to know why. So grapefruitade became pink lemonade - essentially the same recipe, with an appropriate amount of grapefruit juice in place of the lemon juice. If a fruit is added to lemonade it becomes fruit lemonade - strawberry lemonade, raspberry lemonade, etc. Add one more fruit and you’ve got yourself a fruit punch.

This all seems tolerably obvious to me. But prismatic-bell’s evidence demonstrates that, to some people, strawberry lemonade is an alternate term for pink lemonade, not a separate thing.

So I asked my husband what was in pink lemonade and he said: “Well, if it’s real pink lemonade, grapefruit.” Which was highly gratifying but not definitive. He’s from Georgia and my family is all midwestern (though I”m an Air Force Brat and my cuisine, like my accent, is a kind of American Fusion). We are, however, the same age, and I thought it entirely possible that the original pink lemonade had fallen out of fashion and that Kids Today had never known The Real Stuff. So I cranked up the old search engine and went looking for pink lemonade recipes and culinary histories.

Well! Imagine my consternation when I turned up not one single pure grapefruitade recipe, only a lot of variations on fruit lemonade. Cranberry is apparently far the most common, but prismatic-bell’s strawberries, raspberries, pomegranates, and even watermelon appeared. Even more shockingly, one of the legends of its invention (which are lost in the mists of the 19th century circus) is that it was created when a refreshment stand worker threw cinnamon candies into the lemonade. I can believe a lot of things, but I do not believe that.

So now I’m curious. I have no particular hope of a poll made on my blog getting any traction, but I’m going to turn the Shiny New Post Editor back on and make a poll, and plead for it to be reblogged around. I’m typing this in Legacy because I forgot and anyway who’s going to read all this before voting in a poll?

#food #lemonade #pink lemonade #burning questions of our time

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heartnagi · 1 year

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LOVE AT FIRST... ORDER?

ᥫ᭡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ ꒰ thoma x fem!reader ꒱ ♡ sfw, however the reader is written as someone in college so this is at most 17+. 0.7k words. barista!thoma, headcanon format-ish, lots of fluff, this might just be a little cliche. i will make a part 2. i wrote this in one go in the tumblr drafts sigma moment. this will be edited soon! please only follow me if you are an adult thanks! reblogs & comments are appreciated! ꒰ゝ˕ σ̴̶̷̤ˋ꒱

thinking about part-time barista thoma who’s got his eyes set on a certain regular customer that comes by every lunchtime to study. is absolutely smitten by your smile and will make sure that he takes and makes your orders each time (begged the manager for it).

barista thoma, who memorizes your drink from the third time you’ve ordered, so each time he sees you walk inside the cafe, he brews it up and hands it over when you come up to the cashier. thinks he’s not obvious at all—no, ‘of course not.’ but you thought it was just an extra made drink that happened to be the same as your order.

barista thoma who adds a little bit more whipped cream to your order. and a little smiley face written with a marker on the cup—that soon turned into little hearts, then little notes that says hoped you ‘have a great day’ or ‘goodluck with your studies.'

barista thoma cleaning the tables around you and trying his best to start a conversation with you when he gets closer. thought you were ignoring his advances but he just didn’t realize you were wearing earphones while studying your material.

barista thoma with his heart pounding when you were the only one in the cafe. thinks his heart is about the burst when you’ve called him over to sit with you. finally having his first conversation with you that wasn’t taking your order.

barista thoma who’s fallen so hard for you because your little conversations the following days have gotten him to get to know you a little better. barista thoma getting an ego boost whenever you giggle at his crappy jokes.

barista thoma who’s been pining for you for so long, you’ve become a crucial part of his day. when you’re not able to visit the cafe he’s certainly worried. it was one day, and then a few days, and then a week. he was hoping that you hadn’t found a better cafe. or perhaps, was he being stupid for liking you without knowing if you were single or not.

barista thoma who was sad and gloomy as he missed you. noticing that the cafe was suddenly so bland and dark without you.

and after a few more days without your appearance, the humble barista just thinks that maybe you wouldn't be coming to the cafe ever again. though his manager tells him he's so in love to the point that he's overthinking—to the point that he's breaking his heart over nothing.

barista thoma finally accepting the fact that you wouldn't be coming anymore. and yet, the bells chime as the glass door opens—he’s finally been gifted the sight of an angel.

you come in with the same book bag and a smile on your face. as much as he wanted to say he missed you, he almost forgot that you're just a customer, "hiya cutie! the usual as always?" though a little flirting shouldn't be so bad.

you chuckle, "hi, i'd love to but i'm not here to drink. i'm here to give you something." you give him the little folded note. "my exams are over tomorrow. let me know when your shift ends."

barista thoma who was so confused, "my shift ends by-" you cut him off as you lean on the counter, "read the note first, okay?"

barista thoma who still doesn't know what you mean, getting flustered from how near you were to him. his mouth opens to ask a question, till he freezes up entirely. eyes widened as he feels your lips on his cheek. bashfully, you pull away to wave at him, before walking outside the cafe and back to your campus.

barista thoma in a daze. watching your through the windows of the cafe as you walked away with a smile on your face. his cheeks warming up as he quickly unfolds the note that says,

'to the cute barista, let's go on a date when my exams are over. here's my number, text me!'

he chuckles at the little smiley faces at the corners of the paper, and yet, it finally hits him. trying to keep calm before screaming, internally cheering as he shuts his eyes closed, thinking it was all like a dream. however, his pink-tinted cheeks (and from the scene that just unfolded) had customers already looking at him. don't worry, he'll still text you, just give him a little more time to process it.

tags (those bolded cannot be tagged): @manjiroscum @shoyoist @yuujispinkhair @aqricus @wxnderernara @brokeartskid @pivkplear @kiatheinsomniac @seph-rae @kaeyatic @ipetnero @ajaxlovr @r-oronoa @kuujo @rosalzs @sunnybel3ved @kodemzx @fancysportsbearcookie

#thoma x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin hcs #thoma hcs #thoma headcanons #genshin headcanons #thoma x you #thoma imagines #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #love lulu ૮꒰ྀིゝ˕ σ̴̶̷̤ˋ♡꒱ྀིა #barista thoma #˗ˏˋᦾ thoma

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saikokirakira · 2 years

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Just a Ransom Fic for now

[edit 17/09: idiot me forgot to add a plot summary. this is what happens when you thirst too much. 🤡]

summary: After being released from prison, Ransom hides away in a bar at the lesser end of town. He finds you, a pecular little thing, and wonders how much he can screw you over. Literally and figuratively.

or...

Ransom is adult-grounded and decides to cause chaos, starting with you. Luckily, you're down to fuck.

a/n: choosing to post this first because it has been collecting dust since – checks version history – march. might need feedback if the rest of my draft is worth adding parts. this is also the filthiest thing i posted (but not wrote) so far.

also... my personal author's note from february for myself was pretty funny.

[Note: The power went out while I was writing the snu-snu. It was God telling me to go do my bedtime routine, and as punishment, I am gonna have to take a fucking cold shower without the heater.]

word count: 4.9k (60 words away from 5k of pure thirst, good lawd)

warning/tags: MINORS DNI, 18+ only, Ransom 'Sweater Daddy' Drysdale (walking red flag), reader is kinda dumb, p in v sex, no mentions of y/n, dumbification, size difference/size kink, oral (both receiving/giving), mentions of drug use, alcohol, language/cursing, non-canon to the film (Harlan lives), not proofread (i'm literally dozing off while doing final checks), self-indulgent fic

When Ransom first met you, you were almost a breath of fresh air. Given that he was in prison for a couple of months, being in that seedy little bar was literally fresh air to him. He almost thought that your voice was wasted on the piss-drunk people who weren’t even paying attention.

In fact, Ransom was surprised people were even listening when they booed after you mentioned that you were taking a fifteen-minute break after your first set. You seemed to take it as a compliment when you blew a kiss to the person who booed the loudest, which Ransom figured out as a plea for one more song. You hopped off the small platform and skipped over to the bar right beside to the man who couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“Enjoying the show?” you asked, your voice still holding that sweet melodic tone even when you weren’t singing.

Ransom was about to snide at your comment, until he caught himself, realising that you were asking him a genuine question about your performance. “I’ve heard better,” he said nonchalantly.

Like earlier, you didn’t take it to heart. You took the small virgin cocktail you got from the bartender, who gave Ransom a nasty look behind your back. You took a long sip before sucking on the orange wedge. “Sure, you have,” you replied, turning to the bartender and giving him a childish orange wedge smile.

Ransom narrowed his eyes before coming to the conclusion that you speak in the literal sense. Two months in prison, and he was still hyper-aware of the constant snarky and snide conversations from his family. Like he said, breath of fresh air.

“You don’t look like you’re from around these parts,” you noted, making Ransom raise a brow at you. “The clothes, the way you present yourself,” you shrugged. “Also, most of the regulars here know each other.”

“Let’s just say it’s the only bar in town where I won’t run into people who know me,” Ransom said, swallowing what’s left of his drink in one shot.

Especially those fuckers from the country club who bailed on him as soon as those cops arrested him.

You hummed in thought before going back to nursing your own drink. You didn’t look like you cared to know more or even ponder further on the mystery of his identity. Ransom liked that you minded your own business, but maybe too much. Your disinterest might not make you want to end up in his bed at the end of the night.

A man walked up to you and whispered something in your ear. You smiled and nodded before passing back your cocktail glass across the bar. “Thanks for the drink, Mel,” you said. Then you glanced to Ransom. “Back to work. Enjoy the rest of the performance, new guy.” You hopped off your stool and skipped back to the platform.

“Good luck, pal.”

Ransom turned to Mel, the elderly bartender that shot him the dirty look earlier. He immediately got on Ransom’s nerves for not being able to mind his own business and eavesdropping. “Two more beers might improve my chances then,” he ordered with a plastic smile but not an ounce of emotion behind his eyes.

Mel was not discreet in hiding his disgust as he handed Ransom two bottles. “Look, rich guy,” he began, “they’re a good kid. I can serve you all the alcohol you want, but you best find your conquest someplace else.”

This old man is really getting on his nerves. Ransom unconsciously zoned him out as his attention was pulled in by your voice. You were right how most people in the bar knew each other. You were singing a song in a foreign language that had everyone cheering and clapping along. They were entranced by you.

… and so was Ransom.

The rest of your final set went with songs that anyone else can zone out to focus on their drinks or company. At one moment, Ransom’s focus shifted to a leggy brunette that insisted he buy her two drinks. Seems like he had his company for the night sorted out.

Except that she asked too many questions.

Ransom was not unfamiliar with female company that constantly questioned him about his background. Like you said, the way he dressed, the way he presented himself, even the way he talked, displayed how high up he was in social standings. Now, it just was nothing more than an inconvenience.

With Ransom’s face plastered on every celebrity – and often, business news section for his third DUI — was it even his third? Maybe fourth? — Harlan and Linda finally cut him loose for another bad rep he caused on the family business. Well, maybe as loose as they can take without the press making more of an issue out of it. He served his couple of months since none of his shit family would pay his bail, and he didn’t even have enough on his account because Harlan insisted that Ransom pay the fines and his car repairs by himself.

To make things worse, Ransom had to earn his allowance again by working as Harlan’s research assistant for a few months. Like some fucking child. Which meant he has to stay in town and couldn’t go back to Boston.

Now, he was sitting in a seedy bar to avoid people who know him and still expected to hang around his family until his goddamn parole ended. His self-seething boiled an angry burn in the pit of his stomach, so he began ordering in the shots. If he gets another DUI, so be it. By his fifth shot, the brunette was getting upset at the lack of attention that she turned her attention to the gentleman across the bar.

Ransom didn’t care one bit.

“I know I’m no professional, but you don’t need to get wasted after hearing me sing, dude.”

Ransom turned to the source of melodic giggles and saw you back in the stool you occupied an hour ago. Wait. Did she – or they, whatever that old fart said – just call me dude?

“Definitely not interested in me,” Ransom unconsciously muttered to himself out loud before clearing his last shot glass.

“On the contrary, I find you very interesting,” you chimed, nursing another orange-y mocktail. “I don’t get new faces among my audience, and you look like you know how to have a good time.”

Ransom raised his brow, his interest now spiked. Reads people well, but shit at judging character. He took a glance at Mel, who was busy making drinks for a group of people across the bar. Eat shit, Mel. He smirked as he leaned forward to you. “Are you open to all kinds of fun?”

You tilted your head to the side, looking charming as ever. “What kind of fun are we talking about specifically?”

If Ransom wasn’t the asshole he was, he would be scared over how this person managed to be so openly trusting with that innocent aura they carried. It was almost as if they were hiding something. Then again, so was he.

Maybe Ransom wasn’t going to get another DUI after all. All he needed was a “your place or mine” question, and she – they, damn it – offered to drive at their apartment, mentioning that they had somewhere to be in the morning. By the time they got to their place, he was almost surprised at how the building looked.

It wasn’t a place Ransom would choose to live, but it was definitely around the upper middle-class area of the town, which was something that a bar singer could never afford. Definitely hiding something, he mused. At least he wasn’t going to regret not insisting they go to his place.

“Let’s go? Or are you too drunk? I can drive you home and call a cab from there,” you offered, worry flashing in those innocent eyes.

Ransom scoffed. He was never too drunk for sex. He was never too drunk to drive himself home either. To prove his own point, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in for a searing hot kiss, not caring that the gear lever was probably digging into your abdomen somewhere.

You smiled against Ransom’s lips before pulling away, tasting a mix of alcohol on your lips. You rubbed at your waist, where the lever lodged itself while Ransom took your breath away, and said, “Okay, dude, you proved your point.” After a pause, you snickered, “Well, not really.”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Jesus, call me Ransom, enough with ‘dude,’” he said, getting off his Beamer.

You did the same and locked the doors before tossing the keys over to Ransom. His inebriated state had him fumbling over them in his fingers but catching them ultimately. You giggled at the sight, which Ransom thought sounded almost like tinkling bells as he followed you up the steps to the building entrance.

Once both of you were shut inside the elevator, Ransom caged you into a corner and bent down to capture your lips. He didn’t acknowledge how tiny you were in stature until now. The top of your head barely reached his shoulder that, after a while, Ransom decided to lift you by the waist and hook your legs around his waist.

Everything your legs felt was pure hard muscle, all concealed by his thick cable-knit sweater. You didn’t even expect how tiny his waist was until he kept your thighs firmly around it. With your thighs secured, Ransom’s hands slithered up your skirt, grabbing a good handful of your ass that had you whimpering against his lips.

You opened your eyes and glanced at the elevator screen. One floor left. You pecked Ransom’s lips one more time before hopping off the open elevator. At the end of the hall, you grabbed your keys from your purse and unlocked your apartment with Ransom following behind you.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ransom was on you like a starved man. He lifted you on his shoulder, making you screech and giggle uncontrollably, something that only made the heat in Ransom’s belly bubble further. “Bedroom?” he grunted.

“Open door on the left,” you said, your hands sneaking up his thighs. “Wow,” was all you can muster when you stuffed your hands in the back pocket of his pants. Even his ass was pure muscle.

Without any form of gentleness or grace, Ransom dumped you on the bed and began stripping off his clothes, which prompted you to do the same. However, once you got to your stockings, Ransom wagged a finger at you to stop. As you looked at him in question, he finished pulling off his pants, leaving him in his tented boxers.

Clad with only your bra and stockings with your skirt bunched up by your ribcage, you whistled at the sight of Ransom’s sculpted body. “Can I just...?” you trailed off before reaching up to touch his pec, then his broad shoulder before feeling down the very biceps that flexed under his sweater when he manhandled you. “Dude, you’re crazy ripped.”

Ransom flashed you an unamused look from the name before pushing you on your back to the mattress. Your surprised gasp was music to his ears. The second one when he ripped your stockings right at the middle was far sweeter than the first.

“Ransom!” you finally cried out, pouting at your abused clothing.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be crying out my name for better reasons in just a second,” Ransom teased, unhooking your bra with experienced ease before tossing it to the side. He leaned back to admire what he was about to ruin and was pleased to see how you were already so worked up by him simply undressing you.

“I’m mostly crying for my stockings though.”

Ignoring you, Ransom grabbed the thin strip of your thong and dragged it to the side, exposing your slick folds to him. “All this for me? We barely even started yet,” he chuckled, running the pad of his index finger along your slit.

Your hips jumped off the mattress, and you let out a needy moan. Jesus, they should sing those moans at the bar instead, Ransom thought. More...

“Take them off,” you gasped, pulling at the elastic of your stockings. “Ransom, take them off.”

“No.” Ransom slapped your thigh as a warning. “You behave and keep these on. Maybe I’ll reward you if you stay good and keep calling me by my name.”

“Ransom,” you moaned, pushing your hips up as a means to find some sort of friction. “Ransom...”

“So needy, so obedient,” Ransom hummed, finally slipping a finger into your warmth. He appreciated how you eagerly took him in and was ready for more. His biceps were already stinging from your nails digging down as you begged for more.

Yet throughout all that desperation, those eyes looked up at Ransom with the same innocence out on the stage. It filled him with an overwhelming urge to just ruin you but also keep that innocence just for him. Only him.

And he has the entire night taking it all.

Ransom pulled you to the edge of your bed then dangled your legs over his massive shoulders. He heard your breath hitch at the first contact of his lips on the exposed skin of your inner thigh. His amusement extended when you whined out his name again as your hips strained against the firm grip he had on them.

A pinch on your thigh had you yelp when Ransom gave you another warning of behaving. Clenching your toes and fisting your sheets, you relaxed and spread your legs wider, but not before shooting him an impatient glare. That look resulted to a full bite on the opposite thigh, making you cry out.

“Please,” you moaned, panting in anticipation. “I’ve been good so far.” At this stage, you couldn’t even rub your legs together with Ransom settled between them. Your pleasure and relief all relied on him giving you what you needed.

Ransom seemed to take so much pleasure seeing you at his mercy, squirming and crying out for him. He flattened the pad of his tongue and licked a rough trail on your pulsing nub.

“Holy shit,” you hissed, wanting to run your hands all over his hair but chose to dig your nails into the mattress. You didn’t want to seem forward or too personal with the gesture. You were also pretty sure that he took his time styling it. He looks real pretty.

Annoyed that your mind was drifting someplace else, Ransom worked his mouth with an unrelenting pace that had you coming back and moaning without any regard of your neighbours. The walls weren’t paper thin at all, but the volume of the noises Ransom was pulling out of your lips from every suck and lick wasn’t something to underestimate. Heaven forbid you would start screaming by the end of the night, and damn, you were that close when he added his fingers to the mix.

You were quickly losing your breath from the overwhelming pleasure that was running through your veins. Your hyper-fixation on Ransom’s mouth working his magic didn’t even make you notice that your fingers had been pulling at his scalp, just as you wanted earlier. With his own hands busy, you managed to sit up and curl down over his head, scrambling for some sense of control, but Ransom wouldn’t have it.

“Ransom,” you gasped, feeling the coil tighten in your belly.

Ransom pulled his mouth away from your pearl and replaced it with his thumb, wanting to look at your face as you fell apart. Your hair, cropped short, was sticking to all sorts of direction. Seeing your head titled back and eyes squeezed shut, he usually didn’t care, but this time, he wanted to see this girl — fuck, person, whatever — come by his hand.

“No! Why?” you cried out, sitting up and whining as he abruptly stopped altogether. You growled, the adorable sound reminding Ransom of Harlan’s dogs when they were puppies, before they became total nightmares whenever he stopped by. He thought it was cute how you growled and thought you actually had a chance as you struggled by moving your hips with his fingers still inside you.

“That’s right,” Ransom smirked, curling his fingers inside your warmth, causing you to shudder but not enough to come. “Keep your eyes on me, pixie.”

In the midst of your lust-filled haze, you managed to raise a brow at the odd nickname. You heard babe, baby, doll, even the occasional love, but this one... you liked. You allowed it with a bite of your lip as his thumb roughly rubbed at your clit, your eyes fluttering shut again.

“Now, are you gonna be a good g– be good for me?” Ransom caught himself, and he almost hated himself for caring so much about how you identified yourself. I just don’t want to put them out of the mood now that I’m knuckles deep in their pussy, he reasoned with himself.

“Why are you being mean? I’ve been good for you the entire time,” you cried out, falling back on the bed. You could feel your orgasm slipping further and further away, frustration taking its place. You closed your thighs in a desperate attempt to move Ransom’s hand by your control.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Ransom drawled, moving his fingers at an impossibly slow pace from the confined space you created for yourself. “I gave you orders to look at me—”

“I’m looking at you now!”

Ransom glared at you before moving his index finger to pinch at your swollen nub, squeezing a surprised squeal out of you. “Forgetting your manners, pixie,” he spat out.

You opened your mouth, readying for a retort, when the haughty look on Ransom’s face made you rethink on pulling a bratty one on him. With a pout, you spread your legs and sat up, your hands gripping at Ransom’s shoulders. “I need it Ransom, please,” you sweetly begged, your tongue darting out to run against the smirk on his lips.

It must have worked because Ransom lightly pushed you back on the bed and began pumping his fingers at a satisfying pace but still controlled as a warning to keep you aware of him. This time, he also kept his free hand on your knee to keep your legs open. With the pressure building back in your core, you were almost in tears to have Ransom get you there faster. Your head began to turn into mush as you babbled out a mix of his name and pleases.

“Ransom, I’m close,” you panted, your half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open.

Aside from the flush on his neck and chest, Ransom kept his arrogant, self-assured air around him, revelling at the mess that you were right now. “Go on,” he smirked, letting go of your knee to run a trail up your torso. His hand ended up at your neck, and Ransom swore you felt your walls clench on his fingers from the slight pressure on your throat.

Next time, Ransom thought, biting his lips at the thought of an actual next time. When his hand moved down to your breast instead, you almost looked disappointed, but Ransom didn’t let you linger as he curled his fingers just at the right spot, which was all it took for you to fall apart. Ransom leaned over you to catch a perfect view as you cried out through your orgasm, grinding helplessly against his hand.

When your cries died down to tired moans and hums, Ransom slipped his fingers out, causing you to shiver. If you weren’t as flushed and breathless as you were, the embarrassment would definitely show on your face as Ransom held out his hand, wet with your slick and come. Even his signet ring on his pinky now had different kind of shine to it.

“What a mess, Pixie,” Ransom tutted. “You’re too fucked out from just my fingers.” When he began lowering back down your thighs, he hushed your protests, moaning about your sensitivity. “Shh, let me clean you up.”

Ransom managed to drag a smaller yet still thigh-quivering orgasm out of you with his tongue before he finally stripped you off all clothing. He pulled your thighs off his shoulders and climbed back up the bed after a small stop to retrieve a packet from his pants. With a firm grip on your waist, he lifted you onto his lap as he laid back against your headboard, wordlessly telling you what to do.

With your wobbly limbs, you hooked your arms around his neck and captured those soft lips, tasting remnants of yourself on his tongue. Sounds of wet kisses and the crinkling of a foil wrapper filled the room for a good minute before Ransom tapped your bottom as a signal. Reluctantly pulling away from his lips, you raised your hips to position his cockhead at your entrance before slowly sinking down. Despite coming twice, you still felt the burning intrusion of the fat head pushing through.

Ransom took great amusement at the sight of you trying your best to take him in. As small as you were, you managed to take more than half of him before your thighs began shaking. You could definitely take more of him, but damn if he wasn’t starting to feel like coming then and there.

“Tsk, do you need my help? Still?” Ransom asked. “Did you become a useless dumb baby from coming twice?” He tutted as he pulled your face to his, biting at your bottom lip that settled into a pout from his condescending tone.

“Your fi-fingers please,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulder.

Though he would’ve liked to keep you on your toes a little while more, Ransom started to feel the pressure building as well. With a twinge of impatience, which has always been one of his defining qualities, he reached in between you to give you what you needed. Taking him in another inch deep in your tight walls, he finally let out a groan, which turned into a hiss when your walls clenched on him again.

“You like hearing how good you make me feel?” Ransom’s voice was rough and raspy against your ear. “You’re doing so well, Pixie. Just a little bit more.”

You shivered at Ransom’s hot heavy breathing against your ear, combining with the slow circles he was rubbing on your swollen pearl. You did want to take more, but damn, you felt so full that you swore that you can feel every vein lining his dick against your walls. The very thought made you clamp around him again, making you shudder at his breathy moan. You wanted to hear more, just as he pried moan after moan from you earlier.

Now on a mission, you steadied your knees, gripping his broad shoulders for support as you rose up until only the tip of his cock was left inside you. Arrogantly, Ransom remained seated back, both amused and turned on over how committed you were to take all of him in. Not many of his conquests were that bold to take all of him if they didn’t do so in one go. Maybe the truly kinky ones, he mused.

You carefully looked down, and Ransom, definitely knowing what he was doing, pulled his hand away from your clit, to give you an open view of you and him connected. Even though your hole was plugged by Ransom’s cock, it didn’t stop you from leaking down his shaft. You whimpered at the sight, squirming in your place until Ransom grabbed a good handful of your ass, squeezing tight.

“Don’t you dare lose me from that sweet cunt, Pixie. Or else.”

You shuddered at the thought. Would he grab your neck again? Put you over his knee? All terribly bad yet so good ideas, but you focused on the task at hand instead. You hooked your hands around the back of Ransom’s neck, keeping his gaze level to yours. Then… you sank down to his full length.

Holy shitballs. The pleasure that washed over his face and that delicious long groan was enough to make you come. And you did.

“Fuck,” Ransom panted, feeling you pulse around him. He so desperately wanted to follow you over the edge, but this was his first pussy since he got out. He was not ending this night that quickly, not with an unusual find like you. “That’s it,” he grunted, grabbing your hips to pull you underneath him on the mattress. Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, Ransom did not even hesitate to start pounding into your abused hole.

“Wait,” you gasped, feeling the line between pain and pleasure blur. “Ransom, wait!”

Ransom grunted, annoyed but slowed down regardless. “Hurts?”

You shook your head, yet not being able to help your hips jerking up to meet his thrusts. “’m sensitive,” you squeaked.

Ransom let out a noise between a scoff and a chuckle before going back to his unforgiving pace. “You will give me one more,” he declared. “You’ll be good for me, right?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nodded frantically.

“What was that? Use your words, Pixie,” Ransom said, his hand reaching down to place a warning thumb on your clit. Still, his pace caused his finger to move and stroke at the bundle of nerves, sending electricity down to your toes.

You cried and tried to pull his hand away. “No more,” you begged. “Can’t. No more.”

He easily moved your hand away and shoved it back to your side. “One more, one more,” Ransom panted, his release quickly approaching. “Fuck, you feel so good.” His rhythm was starting to falter as he chased his peak while you were reduced into a mess of babbles and cries.

“Your pussy is fucking choking me,” Ransom growled. “You’re going to make me come. Yeah? Are you gonna let me come on that pretty mouth of yours?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Ransom!” you babbled almost noncoherently.

“Fuck!” Ransom shouted as you squirted around him, the wetness spraying on his thighs. He quickly pulled out and crawled up to you, ripping off the condom and tossing it to the side. He tapped the head of his cock against your waiting tongue.

Your eyes locked into Ransom’s towering figure as he knelt over the side of your head, roughly stroking himself to finish. Then there it was. The man’s O-face was so deliciously sinful that your core traitorously throbbed just from the sight of it.

Spray after spray of his come filled your mouth. Ransom carefully held the back of your head but not pulling you deep enough to reach the back of your throat, and you knew exactly why. When Ransom started to calm down, you pulled away but not before giving his tip one last suckle to catch the remaining drops.

You leaned up on your elbows, not trusting your legs to sit down. You looked up at Ransom who was staring down at you, panting and eyes dark. You flashed him a close-lipped smile before sticking out your tongue, showing him most of his spend, thick and heavy. You giggled when you swirled your tongue around your lips, dribbling all over your chin.

Ransom’s cock twitched at the sight, making him growl at you in warning. As much as he wanted to keep you up until it was bright outside, he was starting to feel the downside effects of all the alcohol he consumed at the base of his skull. Maybe if he had a bump he could definitely go on, but the drugs he carried that night was confiscated when he got arrested.

Instead, Ransom cupped your jaw, tilting your head higher. His thumb scooped back his come and pushed it back into your mouth. He then pressed his thumb against your lips, keeping them shut. Much to his approval, he saw the slight movement of your throat. Not a quitter, he mused.

“Did I do good?” you looked up at him hopefully.

Ransom smirked. “You were a very good g— you were good, Pixie,” he said, dropping down on the bed beside you to catch his breath.

You giggled. “I don’t know what Mel told you, but you can still call me girl, you know. I don’t mind either way.”

Ransom scoffed, caught red-handed. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“Nice to know you actually care, dude,” you said, finally deciding to sit up. You absolutely needed to go use the bathroom now. Maybe brush your teeth.

Swinging your legs at the edge of the bed to test them, you carefully stood up and made your way into the bathroom, aware of Ransom’s eyes on your backside. Once inside the bathroom, you grabbed your toothbrush, loaded it with toothpaste, then took a seat on the toilet. After relieving yourself, you finished brushing your teeth before going back to your bedroom.

Much to your surprise, Ransom was still on your bed, now passed out. Even though he seemed to be the type to leave right after a hook-up, you figured all that alcohol he had at Mel’s finally caught up to him. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time a one-night stand actually stayed the night on your bed.

Though you may have underestimated his size because your double-sized bed made it seem like a single from all the space he took.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #chris evans fanfiction

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starfishlikestoread · 20 days

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@mouseinamushroomhouse you asked me for a Simon Illyan playlist nearly a year ago, and I'm proud to report it is finally done! I hope you and anyone else who listens to it enjoys!! :)

(shoutout to @cookie-nom-nom for suggesting the song Time Machine and @trelldraws for the McCartney and National recs, as well as putting up with me randomly sending various songs and helping figure out which ones fit and didn't. More musings about the process & specifics under the cut!)

With this playlist I really focused on keeping the length down, since I wanted every song to count and ideally keep the whole thing around an hour in length. This resulted in a lot of songs that kind-of-but-not-really fit Simon having to get cut, which was painful but made the fanmix better in the end, and part of the reason why this whole thing took so long, hah. I did however save them all in a separate playlist, so if after listening to the main one y'all want to see what didn't make the cut, feel free to listen here (do know it's not in anything resembling order, though).

With that said, it was a conscious decision to devote 3 whole songs to the chip breakdown, because I feel like while objectively it didn't take up 18% of his life, subjectively in the moment I think it probably felt that way for him.

The first and last songs really serve as bookends to the playlist for me. With the first not even fully a song, rather a spoken word 3rd POV narrative about a robot and last one literally named 'Simon', it felt right thematically about how he sees himself. I'm not sure if we get any explicit musings about the chip from him in that light in canon, but Tej's line about his "super-humanity ... or super-inhumanity" stood out to me in that regard. Especially since it's all but said that he didn't have much of a say in getting it installed in the first place, did he ever feel like the robot people considered him to be? And how did that change?

At the same time, there's so much more to Simon than just his chip, and I hope that shows through the songs I picked as well (if you look at the dates added, you can see I only found 'Until It Kills' yesterday, and that finally completed the playlist for me). I wish I'd found a song that managed to convey him & Miles as a team specifically, but that proved surprisingly difficult as so many songs of that nature seem to be written with a direct parent-child relationship in mind. Still, I'll add it if I ever find it.

ALSO, so damn hard to find songs with spy-related lyrics, I've used so many different search terms and engines and still nearly every result is instrumental music or about a specific incident. I think I have enough in here that it works, and I'm sure those songs exist somewhere, but the internet in all its glory did not choose to reveal them to me (if you know any I'd love to have a listen, I probably won't be adding them to this playlist however as I really just want to be done with this mini-project asdfghjkl).

Edit: aa I forgot to say the one specific thing I wanted to, which is how the line "play dirty" in the song with the same name for me really links back to Galeni's line in Memory: "Damn but Illyan fights dirty when he fights" <3 that's my guy,,

And as said in the description of the playlist, first few songs are very much inspired by the fic Aral Vorkosigan's Dog by Philomytha (since it might as well be canon for me).

And finally, for fun, my top 5 favourite lines that just feel so Simon Illyan to me out of every song in the playlist:

"But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home / Sitting all alone inside your head" - Through Glass by Stone Sour "With the hands of time around my neck" - Hourglass by Motionless In White "Nano-electrodes pulse the thrum / One note to beat my heart, beat my heart, like a drum" - Yes I Know by The Pack a.d. "I testify if I die in my sleep" - Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea by Fall Out Boy "Keep them safe inside your home / If it kills you" - Until It Kills by Midtown

If you've read this far, thank you, and do let me know what you think of the playlist and if there are any songs/lines that stood out to you, I'd love to know <3

#vorkosigan saga #simon illyan #character playlist #my art #fanmix #character songs

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iheartpapipascal · 1 year

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Dangerous Statement

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

Summary: reader has bad sex the night before, so her roommate helps her out. Basically smut with a little plot beforehand and a tiny bit of fluff after (because I can't resist). Also, the reader isn't aware of Jack's occupation in this fic, just a heads-up.

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, nippleplay, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, yall), small praise kink, softdom!jack (blink and you'll miss it I'm serious), creampie, fluff, no use of Y/N. If I missed anything, please let me know in the comments!

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I really liked writing this, and I hope yall like it too. If you have any suggestions for future fics, just let me know :) also, if anyone knows how to make your posts say the "see more" thing, I would really appreciate it😭 I'm tired of scrolling all the way through a fic just to get to my other posts lmao.

Enjoy!

Edit: had to tweak a few things today, it was really late when I posted this last night and I forgot to add some stuff. Now enjoy (for real this time).

You yawn as you lumber into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Still making yourself aware of your surroundings, you spot the coffee machine on the counter and walk over to pour yourself a cup.

"Mornin'."

The smooth southern drawl of his voice abruptly cuts into the silence of the apartment, making you jump. You turn around, sipping on the hot, bitter liquid to face him.

"Jack? I thought you weren't supposed to be back for about a week."

He sits at the small two-seater dining table with a newspaper in hand and his beloved Stetson on the surface beside him.

"Well, I wasn't, but once we landed in Dallas, my boss musta' had the sudden realization that he overcompensated for the amount of work that needed to be done, so I was uh, sent home early."

You blink as you take in the slightly annoyed tone of his voice, the way his brows furrow as he talks, and the way his eyes glide over the page he's focused on.

"Oh."

You never really asked about his job, but you knew he was pretty secretive about it and that it kept him away often.

You pause and take a swig of your coffee.

"Hey, Jack, when'd you get in?"

Shit. Please say he got here this morning. Early this morning, too tired to even shower, please say that. Please say he didn't hear anything. Please, please, pl-

"Pretty late last night, but apparently not late enough. Boy, it sounded like you were havin' fun," he snickers as he turns the page.

Shit indeed.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, playing dumb, but he sees right through you.

"Oh come on, sweetheart," he drawls, tearing his eyes away from the paper and looking up at you through dark lashes, "You weren't exactly quiet."

"You think maybe," you scoff under your breath, giving up the useless facade, "That was the point?"

You couldn't hide the disappointment in your voice. And you were disappointed. You had high hopes for the man you had met the night before. He had seen you from across the bar and bought you a drink. He came over a minute later and cracked a cheesy pickup line. Despite your groans, the alcohol already in your system made you easy to laugh, and you invited him to have a seat. He was kind, funny, moderately handsome, and when he touched your leg after a joke, it gave you goosebumps. Yes, he was all this, and somehow, completely horrible in bed.

Jack chuckles. "So you were fakin'?"

"Yeah, nothing new though, if I'm being honest. Seems like all men have the same goal: get off and get out."

He looks back down at the newspaper. "Well that's quite a statement."

"So you're saying it's not true then?" You bring the mug to your lips, awaiting his answer.

He shrugs. "In my personal experience, no. A woman never leaves my bed unsatisfied."

You scoff lightly. "Well aren't you special?"

"It's true, sugar," He looks back up at you. "You wouldn't."

You look at him with wide eyes, silent at the suggestion that's clearly a joke. Clearly. Right?

"Hey, you there?" His voice snaps you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

"Jack, what do you mean by that?"

"By what, sweetheart?"

"By saying that I wouldn't."

You lock his eyes with yours, daring him to say the words again. He looks at ease, like he's enjoying this, even. He clears his throat.

"What I mean by that, is that if you had sex with me, darlin', those moans wouldn't be fake."

You stare at him, cheeks heating up, even more dumbfounded by these words than the last. This side of him wasn't relatively unseen, though. He was always flirtatious with you, and sometimes you even returned those words jokingly. He made it easy enough, being hot as hell, but he was your roommate. You had deemed him off limits on day one.

"Is that an offer?" You tease, trying to salvage your dignity.

He closes the newspaper and stands up, smirking. "I don't know, is it?"

You look at him as he walks towards you, still trying to wrap your mind around his words. The only viable explanation for this is that he's messing with you.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I don't know, am I?"

"For God's sake, Daniels, just answer the damn question," You say in exasperation. "It's too early in the morning for riddles."

He closes the space between you, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I think I've made my intentions pretty clear, darlin'."

You're looking up at him now, so close he can probably hear your heart trying to jump out of your chest. Your eyes take all of him in, your gaze lingering first on his warm brown eyes, the shape of his beautiful aquiline nose, then the pout of his lips. You can make out his familiar scent of whiskey, caramel, and spicy hints of cinnamon. You make one last feeble attempt to deny what you want. What you need.

"Jack, I don't know...." Your words almost get caught in your throat as you continue to take in his presence so close to you. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

He smiles as he takes the mug out of your hands and sets it gently on the counter.

"Let me help you make up your mind."

Your eyes lock on his as he cups one side of your face with his hand. And then he's kissing you. His lips touch yours and suddenly you feel a longing for him that you hadn't known was there. Your eyes flutter closed as you savor the kiss, tender but firm. He tastes both spicy and sweet, and you feel as if you can't get enough. His lips linger on yours for a moment before he lets them separate and presses his forehead to yours.

"Just say the word and I'll stop." His words break the silence the kiss fills and your eyes open to look at him. You take in the situation for a moment. You pushed up against the counter, this close to him. Your bodies feel as if they were made to be pressed together like this. Fuck it, you decide. You reach up to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him back toward you. The kiss is rougher this time, more needy from the both of you. Your hands find his hair and run through his dark locks, looking for anything to grab onto.

He softly grips your waist with his free hand and takes his lips away from yours. You would protest at the absence if he wasn't moving his mouth lower to your chin, down your jaw, and then finally making you gasp as he hits a spot on your neck that sends sparks all through your body and heats up the place between your legs. He lets his hand fall from your face to make its way around your waist, then lets the other one go lower to snake its way around your upper thigh. In one swift motion, he picks you up and sets you gently on the counter, still kissing you hungrily.

His hands seem to have a mind of their own, moving to touch every part of you that they can at once, though still never enough. They move across your legs, your waist, and up your shirt, each spot they desert replaced with a feeling of need for his touch. Your eyes are closed and your mouth is open in a soft 'oh' as he moves his lips from your neck to your sternum, your hands still playing with his hair.

He lightly touches the fabric of your shirt and pulls his lips away from your skin to look at you again, both of you breathing in unison.

"This shirt needs to come off, sweetheart."

The words weren't a statement, but a question. One last chance for you to stop this before it goes too far. He slowly bunches up the fabric at each side of your shirt as he awaits your answer. You give him a single slow nod, telling him to go ahead. He nods back as he carefully lifts the shirt up over your head and tosses it on the floor.

Normally, when he was home, you would wear a sports bra under your shirt to bed, something to cover your chest. You had grown up uncomfortable with the idea of anyone seeing too much, and that notion stuck with you into adulthood. But due to him not being there for the past few days, you had freed yourself from that restraint.

"Shorts, too."

He plays at the waistband of your shorts as you adjust to allow him to pull them off and throw them haphazardly next to your shirt.

You look at his face for any type of reaction, waiting for him to say or do something, anything, as he just stares at you for a moment. Stares at your bare breasts, the way they shape a deep 'V' into your chest. The black lace panties you're still wearing from preparation for the night before. He stares at you in awe of what he deems perfection.

He brings his hand to your stomach, slowly moving it upward to cup your breast, his thumb moving circles around the bud of your nipple. The stimulation gives you chills as he kisses you again. He starts to move down like before, but doesn't stop at your collarbone. Instead, he goes further to your other breast, kissing and licking at your other nipple as he looks up at your reaction. Your eyes are closed in concentration, trying to savor the moment.

After a minute, he stands up and guides your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He makes out with you ravenously as he picks you up, carrying you across the apartment and to the couch. He brings both of you down onto it, him on top of you as your legs untangle themselves from around him. He sits up for a moment, taking off his T-shirt to reveal his bare chest, then goes back to touch your lips with his. One hand is in your hair, the other making its way down your body, finally settling on the fabric of your panties.

His fingers rub small circles around your sensitive spot through the fabric, making you squirm. He smiles against your lips as he takes in the small sounds you make against his. He drags his mouth down your body as he continues to play with your clit, enjoying every reaction he can draw from you with just his hands.

"Fuck, sweetheart. So wet for me already, hm? You want these fingers inside you, sugar?" He says, his mouth down by your entrance, placing small kisses around the area and sending jolts through your body with each one. Not able to wait, he pushes the lace aside as he licks a stripe up your pussy, making you moan softly. You cover your mouth, embarrassed to be making noises this early.

"Yeah, just like that darlin'. Keep makin' sounds just like that for me." He reaches up to grab your wrist to remove it from your mouth and pin it to your side. He continues to tease your clit with his tongue as your body begs for him and your mouth does the same. He finally lets his tongue enter you, looking up at you as he chuckles at your reaction.

You moan and continue to writhe under the influence of his tongue as he uses his forearm to pin you to the couch.

"Shhh, sweetheart. Stop movin'....just relax. Stop squirmin' or I'll stop. Understand?" He says, clearly enjoying the way you're trying to control yourself.

"Mm-hm." You nod, unable to form coherent words and try to focus on following his directions. You try, but you're falling apart at the seams with the way his tongue is massaging your pussy. With the way his mustache is rubbing against your clit, creating friction and blinding all your senses with pleasure. He takes your legs and throws them over his shoulders, then enters you with his fingers. Fingers much bigger and and longer than your own.

He curls them inward, repeatedly hitting a spot that makes you see stars. You moan loud as he continues to eat you out and finger you at the same time, stimulating and bringing you to the brink of an orgasm.

"Jack, please," You beg between moans, finally finding the words, "I need more."

He laughs as he meets your request, curling his fingers even deeper inside you and sucking your clit, sending you over the edge. You wrap your legs around his neck and cry out his name louder than ever as you come, closing your eyes as white-hot pleasure courses through you. You buck your hips against him as he helps you ride out your high until it becomes too much for you to handle. He cleans you up with his tongue, lapping up your orgasm and making you shudder with every touch placed on your overstimulated area.

Then, he pulls you up into a sitting position, now at eye level with you. He brings his fingers to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him. It's unlike anything you'd ever experienced before, and you allow yourself to enjoy it, looking into his eyes as you lick every bit of your juices off of him, coming off his fingers with a soft pop. With your legs now together, he's able to pull off the useless panties separating your pussy from him in a single quick motion and let them drop to the floor. He stands up and unbuttons his jeans, dropping and stepping out of them. From your sitting position, your eyes are level with his boxers, and he gives a low hiss as you palm him through the thin cotton with your hand.

"These need to come off, sweetheart." You look up at him, feigning innocence as your hand continues to tease him. You tug at the waistband with both hands and pull them down, eyes widening as you take in the sight of his cock.

Oh, fuck. Of course he's big.

Your reaction is subtle but apparently not invisible, because he laughs softly and lifts your chin to look at him in the face.

"You can take it darlin', you'll be fine. Promise."

You quickly regain your composure and nod as he strokes himself a few times, trying to relieve some of the tension in him. Then, he takes your hands and helps you off the couch, kissing you as he turns you both around and sits. He pulls down so you're straddling him, your hands running through his hair as he lines himself up with your entrance.

He stops kissing to look at you and you do the same. He nods in encouragement as you prepare yourself. You start to move down and pause as the tip stretches your entrance. "Fuck," you mumble, and stay there for a second. He's not moving, letting you go at your own pace, and you're instantly thankful. You close your eyes and brace yourself as you lower onto him. You let out a soft gasp and hold onto him tighter as you put his full length inside you. He's painfully big and you stay there for a second, getting used to him. You're positive you wouldn't be able to do this if you weren't already wet from your previous orgasm.

When you feel ready, you start to ride him slowly, still trying to get comfortable. There's still a stinging sensation that comes with each downward motion, but you start to welcome it as pleasure begins to creep its way into the existing pain. After some time, the pain completely subsides and you're left with just desire for more of him. You start to pick up the pace and he notices, both hands on your hips to help guide you onto his cock. You open your eyes to look at him, letting out soft moans as he talks you through it.

"That's it, sweetheart, you're doin' amazing. Look at me, just keep your eyes on me."

Your legs begin to shake as you continue to move up and down, still somehow not enough to get you where you're going just yet.

"Jack. Faster. Please go faster," you whine, barely getting the sentence out. And just like that, you're begging just like you did earlier. With a rushed breath, you choke out the one word that will make him give you what you need.

"More."

Your pleas are hushed and quick, but he understands them. He starts to thrust up into you, his hands gripping your waist hard, no doubt leaving marks. He brings you down onto him with such force that he bottoms out, making you moan loudly. He does this over and over, and with each of his thrusts you melt into him, clinging onto him for support. Your cries for him become louder as he continues, until you swear your neighbors can hear you in the next apartment over.

"Fuck, sugar, keep goin' just like that. Good girl, just keep sayin' my name. So fuckin' pretty when you do that."

His words are low and barely heard over your screams, but they push you further nonetheless. You can tell he's close, but you can also tell there's no way in hell he's about to let himself come before you. He swears as he pounds into you from below, holding you steady as you ride him. The final motion that threatens to send you over the edge is when he brings his index and middle finger up to his tongue then back down to your clit, rubbing it in small, controlled circles. You try to close your eyes but he grabs your chin and makes you face him.

"Look at me darlin'. I want to see those pretty eyes on mine when I make you come." You look at him as best you can and try to focus on his eyes as he keeps his relentless pace, drawing out cries of pleasure from your lips. Then finally, without much warning, the coil tightening in your core snaps, sending waves of ecstasy through your body. Your eyes are still trained on him as he continues to fuck you, each motion making your muscles clench onto him and sending blinding pleasure to every last part of you. You put your head in the indent of his shoulder as you grip onto him for support, the reality of the situation coming back to you as your orgasm wears off. He continues to fuck into you, chasing his own high while whispering praises in your ear. After a few thrusts, his breathing increases and the sound of his voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Where do you want it, sugar?" He asks, his words strained as he tries to maintain his pace. Your face leaves his shoulder and you sit up to look at him.

"Inside."

That's all he needs to hear. He leans his head back against the couch, low groans escaping his mouth. Some seconds later, you feel his warm orgasm enter you, filling you up, and its unlike any sensation you'd ever felt before. You cant help the smile creeping onto your face. It'd always been a kink you wanted to explore, but during previous sessions with other men it had never felt right to ask when the time came. With Jack, though, you don't feel any hesitation to ask for what you want. It's freeing and you know instantly that you would be comfortable telling him even your deepest desires.

He slows his pace to a stop as you rest, still on him. He brings his hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he looks at you, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. He carefully guides you off of him then helps you sit down on the couch. He stands up then turns to face you. You have a look of confusion on your face and start to protest before he stops you.

"Don't move, alright? I'll be back in a sec."

You wait on the couch as he goes into the bathroom. He comes back after a minute, a wet washcloth in hand. He carefully cleans you up, chuckling as you shudder when the cloth touches a sensitive spot on your body. When he's done, he tosses it onto the floor beside his clothes. He sits on the couch beside you, then gingerly brings you both down into a laying position, one arm cradling your head, the other wrapped around you, pulling you close to him. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you tenderly before moving up to kiss the tip of your nose, then finally your forehead. He lets himself linger there for a second and you close your eyes, savoring the moment. You bring your hand up to touch his cheek, a small smile spreading across your face.

"So, were they fake?", he asks after a minute, laughing softly. You pretend to swat at him with your hand.

"Shut up." You say, laughing with him.

"Hey," he continues, caressing your back with his hand and still snickering, "you didn't say yes."

"Didnt say no, either." You continue, your head finding its favorite spot in the crook of his shoulder. His next words are missed as you doze off with him holding you, feeling as if you could stay there forever in his arms.

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