#forced distance?????? the food of gods

[ceilidho]

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

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You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with. 

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels. 

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to. 

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today. 

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there. 

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you. 

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you. 

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet. 

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp. 

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor. 

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat. 

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it. 

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.” 

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down. 

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.” 

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you. 

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit. 

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid. 

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow. 

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy. 

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped. 

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it. 

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?” 

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting. 

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest. 

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you. 

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it. 

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you. 

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again. 

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples. 

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up. 

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid. 

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek. 

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you. 

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite. 

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture. 

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car. 

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader #x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x reader #soap/reader

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 23

part 1 | part 22 | ao3

cw: alcohol, recreational drinking

Steve fusses with his hair in the side mirror again, tugging awkwardly at his borrowed clothes. He feels stupid, standing here fidgeting in the parking lot like some kind of nervous freshman, but half of Hawkins seems to be here tonight and Robin’s got him dressed like a loser — worn green flannel and a ripped black tee with a faded picture of The Smiths. Jesus. “Did you really have to dress me like this?” 

“What? You look cute!” 

“I look like I raided Jonathan Byers’ closet.”

“No, you look like someone a certain neighbor is going to be drooling over all night.” Steve’s grateful for the dark then; for the blush it hides on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault you don't know how to make a deal; if you wanted to borrow a specific shirt, you should have said so before we shook on it.”

“Besides,” she ignores him when he rolls his eyes at her, “you wouldn’t even let me smudge eyeliner on your lower lash line like I wanted to, so I really don't feel like you’ve earned complaining privileges.” 

“I’ll complain if I fucking want to,” he grumbles under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair one more time, then forces himself to look away from the mirror. Rolls his shoulders back and down. “He’s not even here, anyway.”

“Ah-ha! So you did check.” She links their arms together, starts dragging Steve across the uneven gravel, her ankles wobbling in her low-heeled boots. “‘Just looking for a good parking spot,’ my ass. God, I’m always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct. I should really play the lottery next time I visit my grandparents..."

“Uh huh.” He’s not sure what luck and correctness have to do with each other, but sure.

She stumbles over a rock; pushes into his side, grinning, “I’m serious! I’ll play the lottery, and I’ll win big, and then you’ll see. Might even split my winnings with you if you’re nice to me.” 

“I’m literally so nice to you all the time, but okay. Can’t wait to take half your earnings when you get ten bucks off a scratcher.” 

“Hey, five bucks is five bucks! That’s like an hour and a half of our lives.”

Jesus Christ. “That’s just depressing.”

They walk arm and arm down the narrow footpath to the party — ferns brushing their calves, dry dirt beneath their shoes kicking up tiny clouds of dust — and as the path opens up Steve sees the place is packed. More packed than the overstuffed parking lot let on. There are people scattered over the picnic grounds in groups of fours and fives, a full dance floor under the main pavilion; a DJ set up at the front with food and drink stands to the side; a giant bowl of spiked punch; a tower of solo cups; a couple of coolers filled with beer.

In the surrounding grass he sees more tables, more people. A couple of guys he remembers from swim team rally around an arm wrestling match; another group plays beer pong on a brown fold-up table that they definitely stole from someone’s church. There's a circle of burnouts playing hacky sack behind a tree.

The bonfire burns brightly on the hillside in the distance, and beyond that he spots the faint glow of trail lights leading up to a bridge under the falls. 

Part of him wants to follow the trail. Shake Robin off, pretend like he’s going to take a leak. Find a nice rocky overhang to camp under for a while.

Listen to river sounds. Gentle slosh; cricket buzz.

Maybe he gets drunk up there alone. Maybe he just enjoys the solitude; lies on a rock on his belly by the icy river’s edge, swirls his hand in frigid water and doesn't dream of dark brown curls.

“Steve?” Robin nudges him. “You good?”

Another, much less annoying part of him reminds him that he’s Steve Goddamn Harrington. He knows how to have a good time at a party.

Who cares if he feels too old to be here, or if it’s weird to see so many faces that used to call him Captain or King? Who cares that he's one smudge of eyeliner away from looking like a full-blown new wave art freak?

He’s not about to slink off to do depressed weirdo wallflower shit when the DJ’s playing Wham!

“Yeah.” He squeezes her shoulder. “You want a drink?” 

“Yes, please.” 

—

The drinks are strong.

Steve’s pretty sure the punch bowl is a lot more hunch than punch, but there’s still no sign of Vickie, and Robin’s getting that sad little stress wrinkle between her brows about it, so Steve says bottoms up and starts chugging. 

They wince their way through two cups each. Robin plugs her nose on the second one like she’s about to do a high dive, and Steve laughs and takes her hand, leading her into the crowd just as Take on Me comes on. The lights all blur together as they shimmy and shake and twirl, moving like a couple of dorks, but Steve’s having a great time. Bobbing his head to the beat; a big, dumb grin on his face as he moves his hips. Robin shouts “Watch this!” over the music, and the next thing he knows they’re competing to see who can bust the worst dance move. 

He brings out all the big guns, the full-groan dad maneuvers.

The sprinkler, the lawn mower, the fucking disco finger. 

Robin answers with a sloppy attempt at the robot, so he makes up a new move he calls be kind, rewind, and she laughs like a horse and pretends to walk down a flight of stairs.

She’s crouched into a goofy lunge, two steps into the ascent back up, when the song fades out and a ballad takes over. The crowd presses in to slow dance; Robin steps on someone's toes.

“Hey, watch it!” the person hisses.

Robin startles hard; knocks herself off-balance when she tries to stand up straight, babbling, "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! Are you- are you okay? I'm such a klutz, oh, my god, I'm—"

Steve snatches her up under the armpits; puts her back on her feet. Then he looks up and realizes who exactly she just stepped on. 

Well, shit.

—

part 24

tag list part 1 below the cut, let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @aliea82 @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bookbinderbitch @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @kingelyx @lifeisacrisis @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @phoenixtheone @questionablequeeries @runninriot

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #st fic #robin buckley #jonathan byers #my writing #my fic

[bunnibaby-love]

Would it be too much to ask for a Zhongli x Bunny!Reader heavy SMUT fic? 🥹

🐰 Zhongli x Bunny!Reader 🐰

♡ female reader + size kink + manhandling + power dynamics

Shameless bunny sleeping at the statue of lord of geo. How dare you disrespect Morax?

Zhongli rather found it amusing. Seeing you curling your tiny body on the lap of his statue. From his distance, he can see the twinkle of your eyes admiring his statue with a little pout.

He's maybe quite jealous of his own statue. Why put yourself in that uncomfortable position when he can just take you in. Surely you can warm his lap

He approach you when he saw you at harbor docks looking for food they can spare you. Poor bunny. He invites you over at his place so you two can enjoy treats and tea.

You didn't even pay attention on his vivid eyes while he shares a tea with you. You started getting sleepy after the treats and he offers you sleep on his bedroom. Guilible bunny just don't have any sense of danger

From your peripheral vision, you can see the consultant taking off his suit and reveal his black and gold arms. It's fascinating so you stares at it

"Cute bunny..i really admire such beautiful creatures" he carees your bunny ears and you can't help but purr "But you...are very naughty" He grips your jaw, forcing you to look up at him with widen eyes "Sleeping on the statue of morax...that's disrespect. Why did you do that?"

You feel scared of his strong aura but also feeling butterflies on your tummy "Don't have home....im lost..." you pout with your pink lips "M'like the statue...it's comfy and warm..." you blush while confessing the sin you did while he just chuckles

"Do you recognize me?" You met your gaze with his cor lapiz eyes "..Morax? but...no..morax is dead" even though you are from Inazuma, everyone knows Morax is decease

"The god is infront of you.." you can't speak and can tell he isn't lying "You deserve a punishment for disrespecting a God..." You feel your body cold with how intimidating he actually is

He sat on the bed and look at you sternly "Lay down like how you did with my statue" you hesistant but he instanly pulls your tail causing you to just command him

You curls up on his lap but he turns you around making you lay on your stomach on his lap. You can feel the roughness by him holding your tail when he spanks you "Wah..! no...hurts!" Your pleadings only goes to deaf ears as he smack your ass two more times

"I assume you aren't wearing anything at all under this dress of yours" He's right. You hate wearing undergarments it feels restricting your movements and it just feels better

You heard a rip of fabric and it's your dress he casually throws around. He make you sit on his lap and slap your clit that made your body shiver

"Ride it my love" you blush with his words he really knows how to get you. He's very big, thick and veiny! Can you even take his tip. "Be a good girl or i'll pinch your clit again" You bite your lips as you start to sink down to take all of him

It's so hard taking him full on your cunny. You starts to ride him slowly enjoying the initimation but it doesn't look like what Zhongli is planning

He grips your hips and lays you down without pulling away his cock. He quickly pounds you rough and fast "No...more...too big!" you whimper and cry as you try to grab his chest but your hands just got slap "Behave.." he growls and you can't help but just take everything

You feel a sudden emptiness when he pulls out and make you on all fours. Your knees are giving up on you and you can barely balance yourself but he doesn't mind. Putting his weight behind you and pushing all the way his cock again to resume his pace

"Im cumming....please....let me...Morax..." you softly purrs as you are close to release but he pulls away again leaving you empty "no please...i'll be good..." you kneel beside him and gave him your lovesick eyes and puts you again on his lap "daddie....i can't...take it anymore...!" you shake your hips on him

He kiss you and you feel his forked tongue claiming your lips at the same time his 3 fingers enters your cunny as he fingers you fast and rough, taking all your moans on his mouth

A pinch on your clit and you squirted all over him. It's like you're soul got taken after the hard orgasm

You still pouted as you didn't get to cum on his cock and you look at him again with doe eyes "Bunnies can never be satisfy..." He chuckles "Kneel and worship your God"

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut

[loki-cees-all]

Hello and hi, my lovely!

I have this scenario for you that I sometimes think about.

How would Loki react if you (the mortal he might have feelings for but he’s not quite certain yet) were the only one to acknowledge his birthday? Maybe you put up a few balloons and even buy him a little cupcake with a candle on it? How would he react?

Happiest of birthdays to you! You’re a joy to know!! I love you!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Cupcake For a God {Avengers!Loki x Avengers!Reader}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : Avengers!Loki x Avengers!Reader

Summary : Loki’s birthday is approaching, and it forces himself to reconcile who he wants to be versus who he actually is, and to reflect on his almost certainly unrequited feelings for you.

But what if the feelings weren’t unrequited?

W/c : 1.9k words

Content/Warnings : Angst, a bit of fluff

Author's Note : I swear I tried so hard to make this not so angsty! Please forgive me, Saz! 😭😭😭

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

There were a lot of things for Loki to dislike about living on Midgard. 

For starters, he was being forced to live there, inside Stark Tower with the other Avengers as penance for his crimes. It was only fitting, they’d told him, that he should assist in their efforts to keep the mortals safe because he was the reason they needed protecting in the first place.

Loki didn’t bother telling them what Thanos had done to him after he fell from the Bifrost; truthfully, he still didn’t quite understand it himself. That entire year was a blur to him - a painful concoction of lies and manipulations and tears and blood that left him unable to tell the difference between fact and fiction, even almost two years after the torture had began. 

He didn’t want anyone to know how weak he was, about how much he’d lost himself. If they knew how vulnerable he was, they might decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and send him to the dungeons of Asgard instead. 

Another thing he disliked was the forced pleasantries and unnecessary rituals humans had developed with each other, and by extension, him. The humans would smile as they past him by on the street, but it was a falsity every time; the sentiment never reached their eyes, and Loki could smell their fear from several blocks away. 

Loki knew they didn’t actually care how his day was going, that their concern only went as far as making sure he wasn’t on the verge of invading with another alien force under his command. He wasn’t, but honestly, if it meant everyone kept their distance, then he wasn’t going to argue with it. 

It wasn’t fair to say that Loki preferred being alone, but he was certainly used to it, and that was in direct contradiction of the forced socialization he had to endure on Midgard - press conferences, team building exercises (which Loki believed was just an excuse to consume copious amounts of food and drink), training sessions, something called “movie nights”, and missions across the world to dismantle S.H.I.E.L.D.’s various bunkers and bases. 

It was so much talking, and even more listening. So much lying and pretending that everything was fine, that Loki didn’t feel like a caged monster, and that everyone else wasn’t waiting for the littlest thing to completely set him off. 

But Loki was trying as hard as he could to ignore the dull ache that haunted his dreams and every waking moment. He knew he had hurt people, he knew he needed to make up for his grievous transgressions, but he didn’t know how else to make up for it all. So he pressed on, through the discomfort and awkwardness, in the hope that one day everything might become a little easier.

The one bright side to all of this, the one shimmering ray of light amidst the sea of gray, was you. Loki didn’t quite know what to make of his attraction to you - was it real, or was it just your absence of fear in his presence? Had it just been too long since he’d felt the touch of another, or were you actually everything he’d ever wanted?

Loki almost didn’t want to find out, in case it wasn’t real. Because your smile reached your eyes every time you looked at him, and your laughter was like sparks blowing across the embers of a dying fire…but he couldn’t shake the fear that it could just be another trick. 

Perhaps his mind still hadn’t fully recovered from Thanos’ torture. Maybe Thor had put you up to this, as a way of making assimilation easier for him. 

Because why else would you look at him like that? Why would you go out of your way to sit next to him during the team’s movie nights? Why else would you lean towards him on the couch and fall asleep against the shoulder of a villain, of a monster, of a fool? 

It was stupid, and pointless, and illogical, and just like him to irrationally want something he couldn’t ever have. He was a God, and you were a mortal, and it would ultimately end in heartache either way. So while he had the chance, Loki forced himself to remain content and to just linger in the question of what if you could want him too. 

The final thing about Midgard, and the one he despised the most, was the mortal obsession with birthdays. Loki was grateful the Asgardians never paid any attention to such silly and exhausting traditions - which was surprising, considering how much Asgardians loved frivolity. 

So he really shouldn’t have been shocked when Thor discovered, and subsequently fell in love with, the concept of birthdays. His brother immediately requested his mortal companion Jane to perform the necessary calculations to determine the Midgardian equivalent of Thor’s birthdate - and Loki’s as well, which his brother gleefully announced to the entire team and embarrassed him to the deepest pits of his soul. 

A massive celebration was planned for Thor, with enough food and drink to sustain a small country, and on the special night, flashing lights and loud music bathed the massive common room of Stark Tower in merriment and laughter. Everyone was invited, and it would have been rude for Loki to not make an appearance - but it wasn’t because he wanted to admire you in your party dress, although that was a very lovely bonus. 

But as gorgeous as you looked - the longer the party went on, the sadder Loki became. Everyone was talking, smiling, and dancing, congratulating Thor on his many accomplishments and swapping happy stories of all the good times they’d had together. It was painful to witness, to know for a fact that no such party would be happening for himself when his birthday rolled around. 

Loki tried telling himself that he didn’t want it, and that he’d be miserable during it. He tried convincing himself that it would be too loud, and too bawdy, and vain, and that he didn’t need other people’s reassurances that they were happy he was there with them. He told himself he didn’t need it at all, that he was completely fine without it. But it was a lie, so of course it didn’t work. 

As the days approached to Loki’s birthday, he became even more withdrawn than usual. With the exceptions of necessary missions or training, he stopped leaving his room. He was silent during travel on the Quinjet, and refused your invitations to further movie nights, even though the disappointment on your face ripped him apart in ways he’d never experienced before. 

He felt like he deserved to suffer, to collapse in on himself like a dying star because he knew he’d never be worthy of the love and attention his older brother seemed to collect so effortlessly. It wasn’t Thor’s fault; it was just Loki’s lot in life. And the further he receded, the more likely his heartache would be justified, and he couldn’t be surprised if he was already disappointed.

The evening of his birthday was the worst night he’d experienced in a long time, not since the day he let go of the Bifrost. Loki didn’t even come out of his room for dinner that night, choosing instead to feast on pain, and anguish, and regret, and all the feelings he hadn’t ever had the time to process over his thousand years of existence. 

Thor tried several times to lure him out of his room, to no avail. Loki wouldn’t leave - no, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t bring himself to witness the fact that they’d done nothing special for him, even though he’d be furiously uncomfortable if they did. 

As the hours passed, he tried to distract himself with sleep, and then reading, but neither did the trick. Eventually, he curled up on the window seat of his private quarters, wrapped himself in furs and pressed his forehead against the glass, watching the tiny little mortals going about their nights in blissful ignorance of the god suffering fifty floors above them. 

And Loki was so lost that he could barely respond to the cautious knock on his door, the one that threatened to pull him away from his misery. But his heart leapt in his throat when he heard your voice calling his name, and he wanted so much to let you in, to feel you next to him. 

But the urge to say something cruel, to push you away and continue on alone, was just as strong. Loki didn’t know which to concede to, even as his feet slowly carried him to the door. He didn’t know what he was going to say, even while his fingers raked through his messy curls and rubbed the pain from his eyes. 

He felt ridiculous as he hesitated to open the door; he was a God, and once the most fearsome villain this entire planet had ever seen - but here he was, nervous and split open and too raw to simply open a door and look upon a beautiful woman while he was hiding away from his birthday. 

There was a soft rustling sound on the other side of the door, and Loki’s forehead rested against the wood as he heard your footsteps quietly retreating down the hallway. He’d waited too long, paralyzed by his self-indulgent indecision, and it had pushed you away. 

He thought about yanking the door open and calling after you. He considered begging for you to come back. He desperately wanted to wrap his arms around you and to pull you closer, but all he could manage was to gently pull the door open after he was sure you were gone. 

On the floor of the hallway, waiting patiently and comfortably for him, was a beautifully-decorated cupcake and a note resting on a small paper plate. A single candle rose out of the emerald and sapphire swirls of frosting, and the pink paper was folded in half, with his name written in the loveliest cursive on the outside. 

Loki fought back tears as he retrieved the gift from the floor, and he cautiously balanced the plate in one hand while holding the note in the other. 

Hey Loki,

I know birthdays are hard; they’re hard for me too. But hopefully this treat makes you smile, even just for a second. 

I’ll be awake for a little while longer - stop by my room if you need to talk. I promise I won’t find it weird :) 

XOXO

P.S. I’m really glad you’re here, even if you’re not ready to accept that yet. 

He swallowed hard as he stared at the most generous gift he’d ever received. He didn’t know if you even fully understood what you’d just done for him. He fervently wanted to go after you, and he desperately wanted to continue hiding. 

But you’d extended an invitation, one he could feasibly take you up on. No one would argue it wasn’t in his right to do so. And Gods above, he wanted to, more than anything else he’d ever wanted. But would it be worth it, or would it just make everything worse? 

Loki tore his damp and heavy eyes away from the note and glanced up and down the hallway. He shut his door, just as quietly as he’d opened it, wondering if it would be a mistake to allow his heart guide him to where he’d rather be. 

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ──  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅  ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Click here to be added to my Loki fic tag list! 💚

#gloriousbirthdaybash #loki x female reader #loki #loki angst #loki x reader angst #loki laufeyson #loki x you #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #marvel x reader #loki fic #loki mcu #marvel #imagine #fanfic #fluff #loki imagines #loki x yn #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki x y/n #cee writes

[novasdarling]

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

With yanfeitan please

I made Feitan talk here more than I think I ever have, so hope that's not a problem.

Kill Me

TW: Kidnapping Mentioned, Yandere Behaviour, Violence mentioned (Punishment), Knife, Threats

The air felt thick, heavy with guilt and anger. Whose anger and guilt you weren't sure of. His or yours? Perhaps both. The way he stared at you from across the room made you want to yell, scream, something. Something to break his silence and get him to move. Get him to react. Get him to change any way you can. His silence made you want to tear your skin off. It allowed no answer, no hint of what he was thinking or what would come next.

"What's my punishment this time?"

Feitan didn't answer, just continuing to stare at you. Keeping his distance. He was off, even by his own standards. Cold and quiet was how he was, but this was different. This version of him made you uncomfortable at a level you had never been with him. Made you terrified more than before.

You had run and managed to escape for about an hour before Feitan dragged you back to his hideout. The place you had been forced to call home for the last few weeks. It wasn't the first time you had run, but it was the first time you managed to slip from his grasp for so long. You knew that would piss him off. You showed him his flaws, that you could leave, that he had weaknesses.

"Going to lock me away again? Lock me in a closet for a few days with barely any food, huh?"

You were provoking him, it was wrong, but at least then you would know what the hell he wanted. What his plan of punishment was.

"You going to-"

"Basement, now."

The basement. Those words made you want to throw up. You knew what went on down there. What his hours down there with some unfortunate soul meant. Feitan had taken you down once, when he first brought you here. He didn't explain why, just told you to sit still as he engaged with his prisoner. You were forced to see the blood, watch how he cut and stabbed with no remorse. Even when you shut your eyes, that didn't get rid of the screams. The pleas for mercy, for him to stop. Even for you to help. There was nothing you could do. That's what Feitan wanted to prove. You were helpless against men like him, against him.

"No, Pl-"

Feitan turned towards you, cutting you off with his look. He still had his icy stare, but this one was telling you not to challenge him. That things were different, were worse than ever before. Feitan turned to head towards the stairs. Expecting you to follow on your own. It would be wise to. To comply until he was finished with whatever he was plotting. Perhaps it would earn you some leniency. Maybe it would cut the punishment short. You told yourself that as you took a step forward, but something else stopped you. Something made you turn and quickly grab a dull knife from the kitchen. Stupid thoughts that knew the truth yet had no real plan. There was no real mercy with Feitan when you messed up. No early forgiveness from him. Just lesson and punishment. If you went down there with him, you could die.

Adrenaline rushed through you as you held the knife up. Pointing it to him like it would offer you any actual protection. Offer you any safety from the monster in front of you. Yet, there you were. Still holding, pointing it at him. Like it was a cross offering you protection against an unholy beast. But God wouldn't answer your prayers. Not today, not when he seemed to fear the man in front of you so.

Feitan turned towards you. Staring as he took in the sight before him. You holding a dulled knife he left up here for you to be able to cut your food. Holding it, pointing it at him with shaking hands and uneven breaths. He could make out the tears falling from your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Pathetic and yet, enticing. You always reminded him of a sacred trapped animal and this just cemented it. A frighted field mouse trying to distance itself from an owl. With nowhere to hide and no real defence, yet still hoping. Still trying to get away. Simply just delaying what is to come.

"I'm not going to the basement. I-"

You were cut off by him. Feitan made his move across the room towards you. He moved faster than you had ever seen, faster than you thought anything could. You were still holding the knife, but now it pointed at an empty doorway. While Feitan moved behind you. Keeping you in place, holding your arms so they kept the same position as his chest leaned against your back. Pushing you towards him.

"What was your plan?"

You couldn't give him an answer.

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

He gripped your arms tighter. Still holding the knife at nothing.

"What then?"

"I-I-"

"I-I-I" He mocked you "Have a plan next time."

Feitan took the knife from your hands before letting go. Making his way back towards the basement. You had made things worse. Made whatever was to come down those steps so much worse. You had threatened and offended him. Following him down, you hoped this punishment would be cut short due to a phantom troupe call. It was the only mercy that would be granted.

#yandere #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan portor #yandere feitan #yandere x reader #yandere feitan x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #hxh #hunter x hunter #feitan hxh #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter feitan #hxh feitan #feitan #hxh x reader #yandere anime #nova writes

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: Part Twelve

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Plot. Plot. Plot. Plot. Confrontation. Plot. Culminations. Confrontations. Lets go. The storm is brewing. (Also fluff at the start).

Notes: There was meant to be more in chap 12 but that gut punch will wait for chap 13, apologies in advance I'll be paying everyones therapy bills I promise. P.s shout out to the person who saw the foreshadowing hehe

‘I feel like it’s gonna storm soon.’

Your idle chit-chat floated through the nest as you lounged on the bed, your eyes fixed on the nearby window. With the shutters open you could see the full expanse of the forest in the distance. The sky was a pale and endless blue, dotted with a single motionless cloud, perfectly highlighting the stillness of the pines below.

‘Hmm?’

Mig looked up from the fire he was tending and glanced towards the same window, his eyes wide and peeled.

He was busy cooking breakfast over a small fire you’d built in the middle of the nest, one with a closable chimney that kept the nest free from smoke. Your shared home now looked like a giant chicken in the woods, a big white oval on two stumpy tree legs slowly puffing smoke into the empty air.

‘Is this your, senses, mi arañita? Because I don’t see a storm.’

‘Yeah, sure. Call it uh- intuition.’

Miguel grunted in response. He tapped his feet, feeling the vibrations, before shrugging and returning to the food. ‘Mm. Fascinating. Well, I trust your judgement, arañita. If you say storm, I will expect a storm.’

‘I feel like it’ll be a big one’ you added with a yawn. ‘Should be interesting out here.’

‘I’ll shutter up the nest, you won’t be harmed in any way’ he said, instinctively trying to soothe your worries.

‘You gonna spin a big tarp to cover the whole thing?’ you teased. He let out a snort of a chuckle.

‘Mm. That’s not necessary, it’s just you that needs protecting. Besides, I don’t think I can produce that much silk.’

‘Oh shh- come on, you wouldn’t let your home get destroyed just to cover me’ you scoffed. Despite your ribbing you were surprised when he turned, as his face was absolutely serious.

‘I can replace my home, arañita, I could not replace you. Your life will always matter more’ he said. He waved his little crude-cut wooden spatula in your direction as if telling you off, and slowly your smile returned.

‘Pff, okay, fine. When you put it like that you sound noble, and not- you know, obsessive.’

‘A man can be both’ he replied, and as he turned you caught just the hint of a teasing smile on his face. You were glad to see it.

‘Mm, sure. A man of many sides.’

You didn’t see it, but his smile drooped just a little. His eyes turned glassy over the burning fire. ‘So, many sides, yes’ he murmured.

‘What was that?’ you called, your body now spread wide over the mattress in a starfish position. Mig shook his head and forced the smile back on.

‘Oh, ah- I was just saying the food is done.’

‘Oh thank GOD, thank you thank you, I thought I would pass away from starvation.’

Mig drew back and carefully crawled across the floor to your side. He used the stool he’d built for you as a table to balance both of your plates. This proved mildly anxiety inducing for you, considering half of the plates seemed to be hanging over the edge, but it somehow held steady.

He took a quick sniff of your forehead as he sank down to join you. It would have been an odd or even off-putting behaviour to you even two weeks ago, but you were used to it now. You knew it was him checking your condition, smelling for your health and hormone balance.

As he sank down and folded his fluffy legs, he looked pleased. ‘You smell good this morning, little spider’ he noted.

‘Like, health wise? Are all my organs functioning nicely?’ you asked while grabbing your plate.

‘Yes, but- no.’

You blinked, clearly slightly taken aback by his response. You had to juggle your plate to avoid the food spilling as it tilted. ‘I’m sorry what? What’s wrong with me, what did you smell?’

‘Oh, no. Nothing is wrong, arañita. I just meant, you smell good. You smell nice. Literally.’

You made a soft ‘oh’ sign with your mouth as your brewing panic burnt out. ‘Oh. Oh! Oh! Aha- well, thank you, Mig, you- smell good too.’

Miguel chuckled to himself again as his abdomen vibrated. ‘I highly doubt that but, thank you anyway.’  

With his body now settled he grabbed his own wooden plate, one that he’d absolutely piled with rare cooked venison. It turns out that carrying such an enormous body required a lot of sustenance. Usually you were happy to just sit and eat with him, comfortable in your domestic silence, but as he clawed up the first piece you abruptly put a finger to his open lips. His eyes rolled to you while his head stayed still, his eyes wide and curious as you rubbed his bared fang.

‘Can I get my morning kiss, before you get all messy?’ you giggled, gently tilting his chin with one hand.

He quickly pushed his plate aside. ‘Oh, yes- of course, arañita.’

You closed your eyes as he leaned in and kissed you firmly on the mouth. You couldn’t help but giggle again as a low, soft moan vibrated from his lips at just the faintest brush of skin, his eagerness oozing out of every little movement he made.

The heat at this point was basically over, but god, he was still insatiable.

He held onto your waist until he’d gotten at last six kisses, his lips moving slowly and tenderly as they enveloped yours, but you were forced to part when his tongue started brushing yours.

‘Mm- Miggy, sweetheart, food’ you panted as you pulled away. ‘If you go any further it’s gonna get cold.’

He met you with that sweet and awkward smile, his lips parted and breathless. ‘Ah- what? Oh, yes. Food. Okay, just— just one more—’

You squeaked as he launched forward and dragged out one more kiss, holding you for as long as he could, before finally letting you go. You had to wipe your lips on the back of your hand as you coyly watched him shuffle back.

‘You big dork’ you mumbled affectionately. If he heard you, he didn’t answer. He began ripping his food apart with his massive canines while you snacked beside him.

It was strange how easily and quickly you’d adjusted to living alongside Mig. Perhaps it being your first time living with someone gave you less to contrast, but whatever it was, you kind of liked his eccentricities.

You were getting used to him waking you up early so he could patrol his territory, where he’d kiss you before letting you go back to sleep. You were getting used to him carrying your sleepy body down to the spring in the morning so you could brush your teeth and wash your face. You were getting used to him preening himself and then preening you, combing your hair with strands of silk, and to his quiet presence around you while you read or checked the news or did chores.

You liked being around someone who could just sit in silence with you and not treat it as strange. You liked being around someone who was so blunt, because when he didn’t complain you knew he was genuinely comfortable around you.

As you finished up your meal you gently nudged him with your foot. ‘Hey, I was thinking. When we’re done with the full fireplace do you want to build anything else?’

Miguel grunted and turned mid-bite, his teeth terrifyingly bared around a red piece of meat. He aggressively tore it aside before speaking, desperate not to speak with any food in his mouth.

‘Ah- well, I had thought about building a second story. A den section, in the ground perhaps. I thought it, might be warmer.’

You hurriedly swallowed your last bite to reply. ‘In the ground? Are you sure? It’d have to be another bedroom right, if its all dark?’

Mig shrugged. ‘Yes. Or a second study. Or, we could, as you said, make it the main bedroom and make this a study. I just want to be sure that you’re comfortable here.’

‘Hey, I’m fine’ you said with a wave of your hand. ‘I’m good, I still don’t want to take over your home like that. I’d want it to be something that benefits you too. But, hmm… Now that I think about it, when the next heat comes, you dragging me down into your dark little nesting hole could be fun, right?’

At just the suggestion you saw his abdomen bristle. He tried to keep a neutral face, but his legs had begun gently tapping with excitement.

‘That… could be, fun’ he said slowly. You giggled at how strained he sounded.

‘Could be lots of fun’ you said, your voice dipping softly. ‘So warm, and safe, away from the outside world.’

He bristled even further, his spine physically arching. He had to bite his lip to keep his resolve. ‘Mm- it is, ideally, where nurseries are made’ he murmured. ‘In a safe burrow, in the ground. It would be… quite, evocative, for me.’

‘Oh my god Mig, you’re so—’

‘Miguel?!’

Your body went still as a voice echoed in from the forest outside. A voice that wasn’t yours, nor his. A voice that was new and yet painfully familiar. As the voice called again you heard the nearby birds flee.

‘MIGUEL? Are you here?’

‘That- that’s Jess’ you whispered. The words squeaked out of your mouth.

Miguel met you with the same look of horror. ‘Why would she want to speak with me?’ he hissed. You violently shook your head.

‘I don’t- I don’t know! I don’t know! Does- do you still talk to the HQ?’

‘No, I—’

‘HEY! Newbie!’

You felt a tightness in your gut that made you sick. It was as if everything suddenly stopped moving, like something had physically punched you in the stomach. ‘She- no, no I never said I was here—’

You scrambled out of bed and across the floor as Mig tried to calm you down.

‘Shit… shit! Why… why is she here?! Oh god did she see you on the call?’

‘Arañita, shh, it’s okay.’

Mig crawled across the floor and drew you back towards his chest with his forelegs. He rocked you like a baby with his claws in your hair, trying his best to show you the same gentle physical care you showed him when he panicked. ‘It’s okay’ he repeated. ‘I will- speak with them.’

‘NEWBIE! I need you to come out!’

Jess’s voice made you physically jolt in his grip. You let out a low whine as your anxiety tripled over. ‘Shit- I, I have to go out, right?’

‘No, no. I won’t let them take you out—’

‘Miggy they could take my watch’ you whimpered. You both simultaneously glanced at your watch on the floor, its screen blank but glowing. Your eyes rolled back to each other, and your arms tightened.

‘They could take my watch and my membership if they think I’m rogue. We have to go out’ you repeated.

Mig swallowed hard, almost gulping, his Adams apple rocking hard in his throat. You could see his mind working overtime from the way his eyes were darting back and forth, back and forth, desperately searching for a way to get out of this.

‘MIGUEL!’

You saw him physically deflate as Jess’s voice sounded for a third time. She was getting closer.

‘Okay’ he murmured. ‘Okay, um- okay. I’ll go out with you though.’

‘Are you sure?’ you whispered. ‘I mean won’t they know—’

‘Mi tesoro, they’re calling for both of us. They know. They knew we’re- together, at least to some capacity.’

You pursed your lips. It was uncomfortable but he was right, as always. They clearly knew.

‘Okay’ you croaked back. ‘Okay, ah- shit. Let’s go.’

You slipped into your new suit and crept your way out of the nest first, with Mig following close behind. You began to follow Jess’s distant cries.

The first steps you took were agony. Each crunching leaf beneath your boots was like a stabbing pain. As strange as it might be to anyone else, the one thing keeping you stable right now was the enormous shadow of Miguel’s spider form as it eclipsed your own.

God, why hadn’t you planned for this? You’d spent so long with this exact nightmare scenario haunting the back of your head, niggling at your conscious mind like a rat, and yet you’d just continued to push it down. Now you were paying for it. You had no idea what to say, what they’d do.

You sucked up a breath as you marched onward. Your feet were dragging at this point, desperate to just stop, but Miguel was at your back and his presence was forcing you to continue.

You had no idea what he was thinking. He seemed so calm on the outside, but his face was stony and drawn. When you glanced up at him you saw nothing, though he did make sure to keep his foreleg on your shoulder so you knew he was with you.

‘MIGUEL!’

Her voice was so much closer now. You’d definitely found her. You sidled up against one of the larger pine trunks and peered around it.

Sure enough, there she was. You could see Jess in her spider suit slowly trekking through the muddy earth, hands held up to her lips so her voice travelled further.

You took in one more deep breath, hard and sharp, and finally stepped out of the trees.

‘Ah- Jess, over here’ you called.

‘Hey, there yo- OH, JESUS CHRIST!’

Jess jumped out of her skin as you appeared alongside Mig, his enormous spider body slowly emerging from the dead brush. She was forced to look at you both from behind her hand, eyeing you up in the same way one would glance at roadkill. You felt your skin prickle at the strange reaction.

‘Sorry- shit, he- Miguel told me what he was but it- my god, that’s freaky’ Jess said, awkwardly stammering the last part to herself.

‘What- what is going on here?’ you asked.

As you emerged you realized with some horror that Jess wasn’t alone. It looked like the entire elite squad had been summoned. You could see Jess at the front with her head in her hands, flanked on either side by Spider Byte and Ben Reilly. They’d even brought Peter B. in the back. None of them looked happy to be here.

‘Look, I- if this is about me and—’

Your attempt to pre-emptively apologize was cut off as one final figure emerged from the back of the group. He parted the spiders like the sea, and with a single swish of his hand he removed his holographic mask.

It was Miguel.

He had a stony expression as he approached. You noticed his eyes scanning Mig before flitting down to you, and there they stayed for an uncomfortably long amount of time. You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze.

Miguel sniffed the air and immediately his cold expression turned violent. You saw the way his nose wrinkled in disgust, his eyes burning the colour of congealed blood. You even saw the flash of a fang.

Shit, you thought, he could smell it. He could smell what you’d done.

‘What- what is this?’ you stammered.

Right as you edged onto the cusp of anxiety you felt Mig pressing in at your back. The brush of his foreleg as it touched your shoulder helped to ground you in the moment, giving you a little piece of your courage back.

‘I- Look I need to ask again, what is going o—’

‘We’re here on code violation’ Miguel blurted.

You scrunched up your face in confusion. ‘Code violation? Look, if this is about me seeing Mig, I know you said not to but it wasn’t technically in the code—’

‘So you’re aware of the fact that you lied?’ Miguel snapped. You jumped at his tone.

‘Ah- I, I know, I—when I said I was sick, I wasn’t trying to lie, I really did need to—’

‘Being in heat is not being sick.’

Your face was burning up. This was mortifying. You could see the other elites glancing at each other, all either trying to discern what he meant or trying to hide the fact that they already knew. You gripped your own hands for support.

‘It- did, impact my ability to work, quite severely. I just didn’t want to discuss that kind of stuff with anyone, it—’

‘Hey, look—that’s fine’ Jess said. She’d put a hand on Miguel’s shoulder to stop him before he interrupted you for a third time, and while she still looked unnerved, she was clearly trying to be nice. ‘We don’t care about that stuff. I promise. You’re totally right that telling us would have been weird, and we don’t need to know why members are gone, we just gotta know that they are gone. You understand?’

‘Yes. Yes, I know, I’m sorry’ you repeated. ‘But- so, that isn’t why you’re here?’

‘No’ Miguel said bluntly. You watched him steady his hands on his hips. ‘We’re here because we do not facilitate or permit any reproduction across universes.’

His voice was unnervingly clear as he spoke, almost monotone. It was obvious that he’d memorised those words. It took you a good ten seconds just to verbalize one thing in response. ‘Wh- what?’ you stammered.

‘I’m sorry, newbie, but—it is a rule now’ Jess added. ‘We don’t know what this could do, if its dangerous, so- we just have a blanket ban.’

‘No, no, but- we’re not— I’m not, reproducing with him’ you exclaimed.

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. He looked exhausted. ‘Lyla, scan them’ he barked. Immediately your hands flew up. ‘NO- No, don’t, scan me—’

As you stumbled back in horror Mig finally stepped forward. Having been silent until now he could no longer stand back, and with his front legs reared he violently spat a line of smoking venom across the dead grass, separating you and him from the elites. They all immediately fell back.

‘Do not step any closer’ he seethed. The spiders all took defensive positions as his eyes transformed, the whites turning red and his pupils dilating. You remained hunched up against the fur of his abdomen.

‘Hey! Woah, woah, hey! Everyone chill!’ Peter cried, his hands raised and outspread as if he was trying to herd back a group of snapping dogs. You kept close to Mig as the other elites struggled to de-escalate.

‘Do we need a light cage?’ Spider Byte whisper-shouted across the group.

‘Nah, I can take him’ Ben drawled. At this point it was you and Peter trying to calm everyone down.

‘He’s not dangerous!’ you cried. ‘Just stand down, you- you came onto his territory without warning—’

‘Territory?’ Jess repeated back.

‘Yes, he- he’s a spider!’ you snapped, your voice finally cracking over the point of annoyance. ‘But he won’t hurt anyone if you just don’t scan my body without consent!’  

The group hesitated for a moment, but the stalemate couldn’t hold forever. When Mig failed to do anything aggressive the group began slowly shifting out of their defensive positions, and when he continued to be still, they dispersed. Mig gave the group a curt nod.

‘Fine. No scan’ Miguel snapped, his jaw tense as his struggled not to hiss. ‘Bring up the lab results then.’

Despite your fears you recoiled at his suggestion and immediately snapped back. ‘Are you serious? You can’t scan me without consent, so you’ll just show my doctors notes without consent?’

At this point even Jess seemed concerned by Miguel’s actions. She was sharing looks with Spider Byte, speaking without words.

‘Miguel, you can’t do that’ Jess hissed.

‘I will do what I have to do if it puts the multi-verse at risk.’

‘But you—’

‘STOP. Enough’ Mig yelled, his monotone bark causing even Miguel to stammer. He glared at the elites one by one as one of his forelegs slipped over your shoulder.

‘We do not need a scan, and you don’t need their records’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, we mated. We have mated multiple times. They are my… partner.’

The words sparked such joy in your heart, and yet everyone else gave equal looks of discomfort or disgust. You saw Jess hang her head in her hand and mutter something you couldn’t hear.

‘Aha, oh boy, uh- well hey, as much as I love a good love story, uh… That’s kind of the problem then’ Peter said as he awkwardly sidled forward. He seemed to be the only one unconcerned with your relationship, as his cheery demeanour was seemingly undampened by your confession. ‘If you two are…. Doing, things, ah—well, birds and bees, you know, that sadly is our jurisdiction now.’

‘What Peter is trying to say is that this puts you at risk of conceiving a child with parents from two different universes, which is exactly why we’re here. We can’t permit that kind of behavior’ Jess added.

‘Wh- but, wait, why? That wasn’t mentioned in my induction’ you argued.

‘It’s not something we considered until, recently’ Jess admitted with another awkward shrug.

Your eyes narrowed, and with a grunt you stiffened your lip. ‘You mean Miguel just suddenly brought it up, right around the time I said I was sick, I assume?’

Jess didn’t look guilty at being called out. To your surprise, she looked confused. Her eyes flitted from you to Miguel as if she hadn’t expected you to guess such a thing.

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘That doesn’t matter. It’s still an issue, and we can’t allow it to continue. We’ll need to enforce a separation’ Miguel said, quickly cutting Jess off before she could reveal the now painfully obvious fact that he’d been looking for excuses to enforce this.

Immediately your stomach fell. Regardless of Miguel’s intentions, he was the society leader. He had control over everyone’s multi-verse watches. He could impose whatever he wanted, so long as he could justify it for the greater good.

He could take you away.

‘No! No, no, wait, we um- I’m on birth control’ you blurted.

The elites all glanced at each other. You saw, for a moment, panic in Miguel’s eyes. His plan hadn’t accounted for that.

‘You can- fuck, I can prove it. Jess, I give you consent to view my medical files. You’ll see it there, I had a scan done after the first- well, first few times we had sex, I was not pregnant, and- and I got 3 months’ worth of patches. We’re not having little spider babies, at least- not right now.’

While Miguel struggled to not openly fume Jess took up the mantel of checking your files. She drew up a smooth holographic screen from her watch and began to scroll with her finger, her eyes moving quickly over each little bit of information. You saw her lip curl slightly with discomfort, and you knew for sure she’d found your records.

‘Ah… well, they’re telling the truth’ Jess said with a sigh. She smoothly swiped the file away. ‘They’re on birth control. They ain’t pregnant. There is no immediate threat.’

‘But they’re still claiming to be in a relationship’ Miguel hissed beneath his breath. Jess shrugged; she seemed indifferent to his continued anger.

‘I mean yeah, but, that isn’t against the rules’ she said. ‘We’d need to ensure the rules are followed but, we don’t have any reason to restrict relationships.’

‘What about the mark?’ Miguel insisted. This time his finger was pointed directly at you.

‘The, mark?’ Jess repeated back.

‘Yes. The mark. On their neck. The bite.’

At first you were horribly confused, but then you remembered that Miguel had bitten you that one time you mated in the woods. Your hands frantically went to your shoulder where the scars remained.

‘He’s caused damage to one of my members, that’s—’

‘The biting was consensual’ you called back. It was a little scary to interrupt Miguel, but also secretly thrilling in a way. It felt good to fight back. However, you quickly learned to eat your words, as Miguel’s nose scrunched up with disgust.

‘What do you mean, consensual?’ he hissed.

‘Uh- Miguel, buddy, some- people are, into that stuff’ Peter whispered in his ear. You watched Miguel’s face contort even further. ‘I can explain to you later—’

‘I don’t need an explanation!’ Miguel snapped. The force of his voice pushed Peter to stagger aside. ‘I need—’

‘Everything I’ve done with Mig was by choice’ you asserted, cutting him off for the second time. Miguel’s rapidly decreasing patience was clear in the bloody stare he shot you, and while it caused you to shrink you had Mig there to hold you steady. You could feel his pride as he purred.

‘I- Look, I’m here by choice’ you explained. ‘I’m with Mig by choice. It was an accident that we met, but, we’re- friends. Well, we were friends. We’re, more than that now, and- that’s it. I’m not getting pregnant, I’m not- in any danger, so… please, just, go.’

‘Well then what about the newspaper?’ Miguel exclaimed, his finger still raised as he paced.

Jess audibly groaned at this point. She refused to even turn. ‘Oh my god—what are you talking about, Miguel?’

‘There was a story published. Some hikers ran into a monster, in the woods, a 10-foot spider that they saw eating someone alive. That was clearly them.’

‘And?’ Jess asked.

‘They’re at risk of revealing their secret identities!’ he snapped.

Jess sighed, her hand going up to rub her temple. You couldn’t see her face, but she sounded exasperated. ‘Miguel—Miguel, I don’t wear a mask! What are you talking about?!’

‘It—if people, know, about the giant spider—’

‘It’s not our problem’ Jess stipulated. She had her finger now pointed at his chest. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not interested in enforcing any rules which suddenly put me and half the society in the doghouse. This is his universe, his problem. If he’s not causing damage he’s not a threat. If he needs help ‘cos he’s in danger, we offer help. Otherwise, its not my problem. Now let’s go.’

Despite their leader still seemingly fuming, the other elites were just as tired as Jess was. They’d been brought out here to argue relationship drama instead of fighting bad guys, and nobody wanted to draw this out any longer.

Jess shot you one last awkward wave as she turned. ‘Look, to be clear, we will need to organise this officially. You’re not pregnant now, but we will have to enforce that going forward for yours and your universes safety. Until we know what it does, you’ll need to be monitored. Okay?’

Your stomach turned at the idea of your relationship being authorised and overseen by the society, but right now you just wanted to leave. You decided to play along.

‘Fine. Okay. We’ll- discuss that soon’ you murmured.

Jess nodded, curtly, to both you and Mig, before turning on her heel. The other elites all turned to follow.

‘No!’

Miguel refused to move, even as the others began walking away. He had one claw raised and his hand was shaking, his face contorting into a mask of disdain.

‘No, no. No. No. You.’

He pointed his claw towards Mig, who met his vitriol with a neutral expression. The two locked eyes.

‘You. I cannot, permit this. I have tried to be nice, I have tried to give you an out, but you’ve given me no choice. I know, you know, that this is not safe. You can’t trust them that they’re safe!’

‘Miguel, come on, they—’

‘NO! No, Jess. I have one more thing that needs to be brought up.’

To your surprise, Mig’s stony façade suddenly cracked. Something about what Miguel had just said seemed to cause him significant distress, as his abdomen began to shake as his paws scraped at the earth. You tried to hold his forepaw but he didn’t even see you.

‘YOU!’ Miguel yelled as he turned, both hands now pointed at Mig. ‘What, about, Da—’

‘I plead section 1675.’

You were surprised to see Miguel go stiff, almost as if time had stopped around his body and his body alone. It was eerie the way he froze up, his fingers still raised and his mouth half open.

You glanced between the two, and inch by inch your expression went from scared to confused. You expected Mig to say more, to explain, but he didn’t. He just stared straight ahead with that same cold face.

Miguel began to lower his hand. ‘No. No, you can’t—’

‘Pull it up.’

You balked as Mig called for Miguel to act, seemingly without concern. It was like he’d done this before.

Miguel looked like he might explode. He was physically shaking, unable to comprehend how he wasn’t getting his way, but to your surprise he folded. He raised his watch.

‘Lyla. Come here.’

For the first time Lyla flitted into existence and walked across the open air, noting the strange new surroundings as she went.

‘Hi! What’s u—’

Lyla froze in a comedic parallel to Miguel as her eyes fell upon you, your hands still wrapped tight around Mig’s foreleg. Her glasses fell off and fizzled into tiny holographic pixels at her feet.

‘Oh my god you’re kidding me’ she murmured. Her voice was unnervingly monotone.

‘Lyla, I said come here’ Miguel snapped. She continued to ignore him.

‘Is this- oh is this your variant? Is this—WAIT!’

You jumped as Lyla drifted down to stand in front of your face, her eyes wide and starry. ‘So on your scan, when it showed—It was HIM?! Oh my GOD you’re KIDDING ME—’

‘LYLA!’ Miguel barked, quickly drawing her attention back. ‘Pull up file 87. NOW. RIGHT NOW.’

The AI shot you a slightly disgruntled look behind Miguel’s back, but she did concede, smoothly manifesting a file with her hands. She flicked her fingers and the holographic sheet flew towards Miguel and Jess, the latter of whom was now standing behind his back with a curious expression. The two glanced at the file together.

You saw Jess’s eyes widen, and then, she withdrew.

‘Okay. That’s—okay, never mind. Miguel, come on. He has a 1675. You can’t bring that up.’

Miguel looked so strangely defeated as he swiped the file away, and behind you Mig let out a sigh of relief. The elites moved to depart once more.

You were utterly bewildered. What just happened? What was Miguel about to say, what was that file? You glanced at Mig, expecting an answer, but to your horror he refused to look at you. He stared straight ahead at nothing, his face dark and shadowed.

‘Mig?’ you whispered.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing.’

You spun around as Miguel spoke. He was glaring at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t discern. Was he disappointed? Angry? Or, perhaps, sad? Whatever it was you didn’t get to find out, as he was dragged away by Jess when she grabbed his arm. The elites created a portal and departed without another word.

The moment the portal closed you felt something wet on your cheek. You blinked and glanced upward, only to find that the once clear blue sky was now dark and grey. A foreboding rumble echoed from across the hill.

‘Storm’ you whispered.

Mig promptly gripped your suit in his teeth, and like a cat with a kitten he carried you back into the woods.

Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #drider #miguel o'hara fanfiction #smut #smut with plot #spider man 2099 #monster human relationship #miguel angst #miguel smut

[wileys-russo]

Ella toone / Mary Earps one for your writing challenge with the reader scrolling through edits of her and Ella / Mary noticing reader doing it, just kinda teasing fluff lol

ella toone

you chuckled to yourself laid down on your bed, watching an edit of ella and alessia's latest adventures together on the lionesses version of gogglebox, rolling your eyes at your girlfriends recount of a very minor finger injury she braved through during the world cup.

still relatively new to using tiktok as you'd first vowed against its use seeing just how addicted ella and mary became, but unable to put it off any longer and with a lot of free time in malta during prep camp you caved.

out a mild curiosity you clicked on the tag of your girlfriends name. her videos came up at first and those you'd seen, her phone forever thrust into your face as she begged for feedback on her content. but scrolling a little further your eyebrows furrowed at the immense amount of edits of the mancunian which were not made by your girlfriend.

so engrossed in your scrolling you failed to hear mary return to the room after her shower, wringing out her hair with a towel as she noticed your obvious interest in whatever you were watching.

"oh you are not watching fan edits of your own girlfriend?" you jumped and locked your phone as marys obnoxiously loud laugh echoed around the room. "piss off nosy!" you threw your pillow at her head as she settled into bed.

"god you're so lovesick its disgusting." mary gagged dramatically as you threw your other pillow, this time successfully hitting her in the face. "your loss! these are mine now." the older girl smirked tucking them both under her as you sent her a glare.

"just you wait till i tell tooney she's gonna love this."

and despite your begging, and you did mean begging on your knees with hands clasped together and puppy dog eyes, the keeper did in fact keep her word and rush over to tell your girlfriend the very next morning at breakfast.

you sighed from a distance as you grabbed food for the two of you, rachel patting your back in sympathy at the wild eyed grin ella sent your way. "i don't know what thats about but...good luck." the older girl chuckled as you groaned and picked up your tray.

"oh my biggest fans brought me breakfast aren't i lucky!" ella smirked as you placed her plate down and rolled your eyes.

"don't make me spit in it ella." you mumbled, tired and hardly in the mood for this today, kept up half the night by marys snoring having drawn the short straw and being forced to room with her this time.

"oh my grumpy baby whats wrong?" ella cooed knowing exactly why you were so annoyed as you shot a smug looking mary a filthy look across the table. "here babe maybe this will cheer ya up." she slid her phone in front of you where an edit of her from last years euros played.

"you're insufferable." you sighed knocking her phone away as she sloppily kissed your cheek mumbling that she loved you very much, your mood remaining low all throughout breakfast.

"nope! you sit love, i'll do it, and i'll make ya a juice for trainin." ella beamed pushing you back into your seat and grabbing your plate for you, stealing a kiss as she did and ignoring the teasing jabs from mary across the table, millie going with her.

"i hate you earps." you crossed your arms and scowled at the keeper who blew you a kiss and wiggled your eyebrows. "you love me." mary waved off the claim and returned to her conversation with keets beside her.

a juice was placed down in front of you as you craned your neck back and smiled appreciatively up at your girlfriend, kissing her cheek in thanks as she sat back down. "oh! i know how to cheer ya up." ella suddenly perked up, scrambling back to her feet.

"el baby i'm fine i'm just-" you started but her finger smushed against your lips silencing you as she bent down and whispered something to millie whose grin slightly terrified you as ella stood out of her seat, counting in.

on three millie clicked play on something on her phone, breaking dishes by rihanna started to play and ella began to sensually dance. "who needs tiktok edits when you can have one live baby?" ella grinned as she rolled her body and pulled faces.

"oh jesus help me." you buried your face in your hands as ella continued and mary started to film, both her and keets dying of laughter on the other side of the table.

"okay ella enough!" you groaned though unable to stop a smile growing on your face as millie cut the music and your girlfriend dropped back into her seat.

"enjoy that love?" "no i think i like the edits more, they don't speak back."

#woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso blurbs #ella toone x reader #ella toone #woso community #engwnt

[titanic-angel]

нoвιe вrown х gn!reader

⇁︎a coмғorтιng anarcнιѕт↽︎

ѕynopѕιѕ: aғтer a roυgн day, yoυr 'вeѕт ғrιend' нelpѕ ѕooтнe yoυ

warnιngѕ: none

noтeѕ: jυѕ ѕυм ѕoғт lovιn- ѕнorтer тнan мy υѕυal ѕтυғғѕ вυт yĸnow ιтѕ ѕтιll ѕweeт

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

You did not cry often.

For starters, it was embarrassing. You felt childish and most of all stupid, for not being able to control your feelings. Whenever you felt that ache behind your eyes, you would try your best to breathe through it, feigning a headache or frustration to avoid someone looking into your eyes and finding tears.

Second- you felt ugly. It sounds vain but something about the way your cheeks went damp, the crinkle of your nose and the sound your mouth made when it tried to catch up with your lungs made you want to recoil out of your body.

Today however, closing your door after an exhausting day, little droplets of shame ran down your cheeks.

Training day. It was your least favorite day of the week, by far. Not only were you forced to preform in front of your peers, but you were expected to improve since the last session.

Of course, you were well versed in plenty of skills, you’d been doing your job for plenty long by now. But it was so anxiety inducing, those people watching you, that simple tasks started to feel near impossible.

You had made a fool of yourself.

Frustration tears bubbled in your lids closed tight in hopes they would simmer away for another day.

But they just kept falling.

You groaned, slipping off your shoes and flopping on the couch. Just as you closed your eyes, you heard your fridge being shut.

“Long day- yeah?”

Shit.

You knew that voice anywhere. His boots clunked towards the couch, and you frantically wiped your face and tried to think of a plan to hide your tears.

You could pretend to be asleep- but Hobie would probably just shake you awake.

You could turn over, but he’d eventually turn you around by force.

Or you could lie.

Too late.

He poked his head over the couch, eyes landing on you. You didn’t move, but forced a smile up at him, trying your best to avert his eyes from your own.

“Hey Hobs.” You drew out the hey, sliding up to meet his gaze.

He seemed to stutter for a moment, eyes widening just slightly. Your heart raced, really hoping he’d say some dumb British slang that makes you laugh- makes you forget.

Frantically looking for a distraction, your eyes fell on the bowl of cereal in his hand. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “What did I tell you about coming in here and eating my food.”

He didn’t say anything, moving around the couch and sitting down, cereal still in his hand. You leaned up against the pillow to make room, palms getting sweaty as his unusual silence continued.

“What- are you not gonna answer for your offense?” There was lightness in your voice, but Hobie definitely knew you well enough to pick up on the nerves that made your voice squeak.

He turned to you, and immediately you knew the gig was up. He looked almost disappointed- how terrible you were at hiding your feelings. At least, around him.

You looked down at your knees. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You heard the clicking of the bowl being put down on the side table.

“It was a long day okay? That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

The shifting of his jeans on the couch. God, he was really close to you right now.

“Can you say something? You being quiet is really disturb-“

Course hands on your cheeks pulled you to look at him. Your heart raced, cheeks warming at the gentleness of his gaze, his hands, his…breath.

Hobie had been your best friend since day one at the force. However, you won’t deny how gorgeous the man is, let alone how comfortable and safe you feel around him.

But like he says, labels aren’t his thing.

And loving someone who couldn’t wasn’t yours.

So you settled for whatever…this was. The comfort and warmth, the little distance between your lips, the staring contests that neither of you ever broke off.

You felt his thumb brush away a wet patch, eyes still concentrated on yours. “Feel like talkin’ now?”

You breathed deep, chest caving into your spine.

“I just- I’m frustrated with myself. Today should’ve…it could’ve gone really well…” your nose scrunched up, feeling the burned sensation starting behind your eyes again, “but. Training sucked today. I sucked today. And I’m just- I feel stupid.”

You opened your eyes, leaning into his warm touch. He was still quiet, as if pondering what to say next. It only made you more frustrated.

“God would you just say something.”

His hands drifted from your cheeks to your shoulders, and he pulled you into his chest.

There was something about this embrace that felt isolated from other ones. Flippant hands around your shoulder, head locks, the shake of the shoulders.

This was one to melt into. One that felt as if you could close your eyes, live in it forever.

“Yer the smartest person I know.�� he said, his whisper near gruff in your ear.

You buried your nose into his shoulder, tears threatening to spill onto the cold leather. A muffled thank you was all he needed to pull you closer.

You stayed like that longer that friends do.

Suddenly, the swells and falls of the day started to drift away, and the smell of him made its way into your brain- processing how close he was. If your chest beat any faster, you swear he could feel it on his own.

He pulled away, and your noses brushed.

When you looked at him, his gaze wasn’t on your eyes.

It was on your lips.

“Hob-“

“Can I kiss you.”

You felt your heart lurch into your chest, the four words in that order barely registering until you found yourself nodding, and his mouth meeting yours.

It was soft, at first. You barely moved, but when you brought your hand to caress his cheek you felt him shift, hand pulling you in closer from your waist.

He kissed like he talked. Gruff and low, but to you it was always gentle. It felt like his laughter, he smile, and every other slip of heaven the man ever sent your way.

He pulled away, releasing a sigh.

“You ‘ave no clue how long I’ve wanted that.”

You put your head into his shoulder. “Maybe is should come home crying more often if your gonna greet me with that.”

He chuckled, resting his hand on your back and pulling you into his laugh. “Nah. I’d rather kiss you when you’re smiling.”

It was your turn to laugh, chest vibrating against his. You lifted your head, sending him a skeptical look. “Awfully poetic for an anarchist.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? You bring it outta me.”

You hummed, leaning back into his shoulder. Of course, you could try and figure out what kissing him meant for your relationship. Whether or not this made things complicated or simple- but for now it felt right to just let your mind settle and your breath slow, with him.

You felt him reach across the table to grab his cereal bowl, and you resisted the urge to take it yourself.

“‘S was the last bowl, by the way.”

“You’re paying for another box.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

ѕнorт and ѕweeт!! мayвe ιll wrιтe a ғollow υp вυт ιтѕ υnlιĸey lмғa

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #fanfic writing #spiderverse itsv #spiderman atsv #spider punk #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x you #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x you #hobie brown x you #hobie brown headcanons

[sitp-recs]

any recs for jealous harry? especially before they’re in a relationship. i think i’ve read most of them. but just in case i’d love to see if you have any!

thanks :)

Hi anon! I’ve seen more and more jealous Harry recently, good food 🤌🏼 here’s my reclist with jealous Harry and some additional recs for early jealousy before they get together. Enjoy!

The Real Thing by @skeptiquewrites (M, 5k)

Harry only means to cheer Draco up after a terrible breakup. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

Two of Us by @sorrybutblog (E, 5.5k)

The gang goes to a gay bar. Or: five times Harry accidentally pretended to be Draco’s boyfriend and one time Draco told him to put out or shut up.

Deadheading the Odd Dahlia by @peachpety (E, 8.7k)

Harry is content to spend his days at Draco’s flower stall at the farmers market, burying his true feelings in artisanal coffee and rose bouquets. When forced to find new lodgings, he accepts Draco’s offer to live in a cottage at Malfoy Manor, and his long-hidden crush blossoms out of control. Turns out, proximity makes the heart grow fonder.

Let Me Roll It by @lagerloutfic (E, 9.5k)

The thing about Harry was, he hated most people. And there was no one he hated more than Draco’s boyfriend Justin - certified knob and all round wanker. So when he finds out Justin is just as selfish inside the bedroom as he is outside it, Harry can’t help himself.

Peep Show by @kbrick (E, 10k)

To everyone’s surprise, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have become maybe-possibly-sort-of friends. When Harry moves into the building next to Draco's, they become neighbors, too. Actually, Harry can see directly into Draco's flat from his window. And as it turns out, Draco gets up to some interesting things at night.

Take These Lies by @pennygalleon (E, 20k)

There’s a portrait of his godfather in Draco Malfoy’s potions shop and Harry needs to know why. But that’s not why he keeps coming back.

We Might Be Too Old for a Bildungsroman by @wellhalesbells (T, 21k)

Harry finds something he’s been looking for since the war’s end. Admittedly, the packaging’s a bit odder than he expected.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Around You Moves by ignatiustrout (M, 29k)

Harry knew Draco was gay when he invited him to move in. He’s never had a problem with this. So why does he feel so weird about Draco bringing men home all of a sudden?

LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k)

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #jealous Harry #get together

[wardenparker]

The Viper’s Bride - ch 1

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst​

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol* A slap! Mentions of menstruation, fleeting mention of a suicidal thought, threats of violence, bathing, so much foreplay, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering (anal), MM coupling, MMF threesome, anal sex, oral sex (f giving and receiving), FF coupling, technically this is an orgy. Summary: Upon receiving news of your arranged betrothal, both you and Prince Oberyn of Dorne make your ways to the Red Keep for King Joffrey’s impending nuptials. However, his arrival to the city is significantly more playful than yours. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number seven! This summer we are getting hot and heavy in Westeros with everybody’s favourite promiscuous prince. Buckle up, my darlings, because this one gets spicy right off the bat 👑💖

Oberyn frowns slightly as the oil slicked hands of the servant press into the arches and joints of Doran’s feet, making his older brother hiss in pain. It must be a harsh day for him, his wheeled chair a near constant as it is now too painful for him to walk even short distances. A far cry from the hale and hearty brother he had grown up with as the youngest of the Martell princes. He knows the oil is warmed, the scent of eucalyptus and mint filling the air as it is worked into the skin, hopefully providing some relief. “I can come back, brother. Let you rest.”

“This is important.” Doran insists, not dismissing either man from his presence. His own discomfort is a stark reminder of the sacrifices that must be made for the throne of Dorne. “You know the Baratheon boy is to marry.” The fact that King Joffrey’s mother is a Lannister makes him an unsavory topic between the Martell brothers, even as Marcella Baratheon plays in the water gardens a mere thirty yards away.

Stiffening instantaneously for a moment before he forces his body to relax, Oberyn despised the mention of anything to do with the Lannisters, including that bastard on the throne. Everyone knows the rumors and with the golden mane of the boy and the tales of evils he has done, he’s inclined to believe it. “Gods be praised.” He murmurs sarcastically, reaching for the carafe of wine and the spare goblet that had obviously been left in anticipation of his visit with the elder prince. “What poor girl is marrying that…king?”

“Margaery Tyrell.” The elder prince huffs derisively before leveling his younger brother with a serious gaze. “You are to attend the wedding in my stead.”

Rolling his eyes, Oberyn sighs heavily. It will be two weeks of hard traveling to reach King’s Landing. All for a wedding he does not wish to attend. “I will extend the Martell family’s feelings.”

"You will be gracious and accommodating." Doran warns, knowing that the Martell family's true feelings are not appropriate in any way to be expressed at a wedding. "There will be some other business for you to attend to in King's Landing which is far more important."

“Yes, there is that wonderful brothel down in Flea Bottom.” Oberyn muses, grinning at the idea of bringing Ellaria there. The last time he had come, it had been two years before he had met her.

"Oberyn." His brother's voice has a warning tone to it. "I beg you not to waste your time in brothels on this trip no matter how enjoyable a pastime it may be. There is someone you need to meet."

He snorts and shakes his head. “I have no interest in meeting boring nobles with their equally boring wives.” He tells him. “I’ll be with Ellaria anyway.”

"No, you won't." Doran jerks away from his servant in frustration and turns to fully face Oberyn. "I will not have that woman jeopardize the contract I have signed when the ink is barely dry. Leave her home, Oberyn. She will be here with open legs when you return."

Oberyn’s brow arches up dramatically. Doran has never had issue with Ellaria, even counting her as a confidant in his absence. She is the mother of four of his children and a member of the family despite there being no vows between them. His soulmate. “What contract?” He growls.

"Leave." He hisses at the young man who was tending to him and he backs off immediately, taking the pot of oil back into the interior of the palace as fast as his feet can carry him. "It was time, Oberyn," he intones seriously. "Far past time, but I have let you have your freedom as long as I was able."

“Let me have my freedom?” His hackles rise and his eyes narrow. “I have my freedom because I wish it.” He reminds his brother. “I am not the head of the Martells like you, and you have your heir.”

"I have one heir." Doran bristles, but the raised tension between the brothers is his own fault. A product of the tension and pain he was already feeling today. "If anything should happen to Trystane, it will be you on the throne. And though I have great love for my nieces, none of them can be a princess."

“Our house will endure like it always has.” Oberyn snorts, dismissing Doran’s concern. “If the time comes, I will marry Ellaria and claim my Sand Snakes as legitimate.” He takes a long sip of his wine, humming at the delightfully floral note.

"The chance for that has passed." It is Doran's turn to be dismissive, sitting back again in his wheeled chair and adjusting a cushion under his arm. "Your objections to marriage have been noted, brother, but it is time to make a respectable husband of you. Ellaria will understand. She is an intelligent woman, and I'm sure would not abandon you as your mistress." Oberyn prefers the term paramour, and though it is accurate now, it will be more complicated once things are settled.

“Brother, what have you done?” Oberyn demands, slamming his goblet down onto the table.

"You know exactly what I have done." There is no chance, in his mind, that Oberyn has not deduced that a marriage contract has been signed, but Doran still sighs heavily. "She is the only daughter of a noble family. The father let her go without a match for some time while her brothers all married, but her portrait is beautiful and he assures me that she is accomplished." Reaching for the wine glass that Oberyn has rejected, Doran takes a gulp rather than a sip. "And she has no marks, blessedly."

“The agreement was my soulmate or no one.” Oberyn hisses, his gaze turning withering. “I will not marry some cow faced northerner.”

"Every place is northern to Dorne," Doran waves one hand dismissively and sets the wine glass back down on the table between them. "The contract is signed, Oberyn. You will not make a liar or a fool of your brother by denying it, and I am not going to try to force you to spend time with the girl or even like her. But you will marry her and produce a legitimate heir." The contract is full of terms to be adhered to, and the fairly enormous size of the girl's dowry includes access to trade routes that will greatly benefit the people of Dorne. There is no downside to this arrangement in Doran's mind, aside from having to have this discussion with his brother.

Oberyn’s lips press together in a firm line and his chair scrapes back as he stands. “Then you fuck the girl.” He hisses. “For I will not be gracing her bed.” Turning on his heel, the prince storms away before he loses his infamous temper.

Doran breathes a sigh, reaching for the goblet again to drown his frustrations in the wine that his maester has instructed him to avoid when he is in pain. "Fuck it," he grumbles harshly. Oberyn is going to make his life a living hell anyway, he may as well be drunk for it.

******

“Marriage!” Oberyn scoffs angrily, pacing in front of the lounge where his paramour is currently sprawled. “As if I am some fresh-faced maiden. How dare he sign a contract on my behalf!”

"I smell Mellario behind it," Ellaria admits, watching him pace back and forth like a caged beast. Oberyn had come careening back into his chamber like a sandstorm and now he was seething. "Doran has never had issue with your arrangement before now, and suddenly he is concerned about heirs? I would not be surprised if her change has come."

“Or he cannot get his cock to rise.” Oberyn winces at the idea of his own cock not working, but with his brother’s declining health, he would not rule it out. “I will not do it.” He decides. “We will leave for Braavos if he decides to push the issue.”

"My love," Ellaria sits up, shaking her head. "If you leave here, I would follow. You know this. But you would still have four daughters you would not be able to see and we both know that would break your heart." His children are the most important thing in the world to Oberyn – everyone knows this – and Doran would certainly use them as a punishment for insubordination. "Exile is no choice, Oberyn. Even self-imposed."

Pausing mid-stride, his robes swish around his legs as he turns to stare at the woman who had been with him and by his side for nearly twenty years. “You would have me entertain this idea?” He demands, surprised she would consider this.

“I would not have you be less of a man than you are.” For all her complexities, Ellaria Sand is not the temptress or the snake that some make her out to be. Her genuine love for Oberyn is rooted in as much respect as it is passion, and their four daughters currently have a father that they can look up to as a good and wise man. “What is the worst this girl could be?” She poses the question carefully as he shifts his weight anxiously in front of her, and she folds her hands in her lap. “Ugly? That is not her fault. The sun and good company can make anyone more beautiful. Cruel? Doran has already said you do not have to spend much time with her. Or perhaps childish? Spoiled? Then you treat her like a child and send her to her chamber without a treat if she misbehaves.” There is anger in his face, which Ellaria hates to see, but she tries to be encouraging. Motherhood has taught her that encouragement can be a balm on almost any wound. “So you would be married. What does that signify? Nothing in so far as you and I are concerned. You are still my soulmate, my love. And the father of my children. She cannot change that.”

“You are my sun.” Oberyn reaches down and takes his lover’s hand to draw her to her feet. Pulling her against his body, his broad hand covers the small scar on her side, a knife wound that he had earned in the fighting pits. “My world.” He promises, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, trying to rid himself of the idea of tying himself to another. Ellaria is his soulmate, which is why he had said that he would only marry the woman who bears his marks.

"And no one will ever change that." She vows just as solemnly, giving herself over to the kiss without restraint. There are parts of his world that she does not stray into, or they would have fought with Doran for the right to marry years ago. The elder Martell brother may not mind her as Prince Oberyn's paramour, but she is not what he would envision for a princess of Dorne, nor does Ellaria particularly want such a title. For Oberyn she might have borne the duty of it all, but he never asked that of her and she was grateful. Now, whoever this girl is that is being thrust into their life will bear that burden instead. Ellaria does not envy her the responsibility.

******

“My love, you must calm yourself.” Within the walls of your chambers, Raeden Stone knows that the two of you are safe. Your maid will not interrupt unless necessary and she is sworn to protect your happiness and well-being above everything else, including your parents. “Stop.” Striding across the room, the sword at his side clanks as he grabs your hands filled with dresses, and takes them from you. “We cannot flee under the cover of darkness like we are thieves escaping the sword.” He knows that if he is caught, he will be killed or sent to the Wall as well.

"I won't do it." The very idea is offensive, leaving the taste of burnt crumbs in your mouth and the feeling of insects crawling on your skin, so that even with Raeden clutching your hand all you can think of is being rid of the horrible sensation. This whole horrible situation. Your eyes are already red from tears, their dried tracks left on your cheeks and down your neck, yet still more threaten to spill over as he holds you still. "I won't marry a stranger and move halfway across the world. I won't leave you behind!"

“You will not need to leave me.” Setting the clothes down on the trunk that is meant to be packed for your journey to King’s Landing and then to Dorne, he cups your cheeks. “I will pledge to accompany you.” He promises, his dark eyes boring into yours. His heart aches but he had known this day would eventually come. “I will ride into all seven hells if need be to stay beside you.”

"Why can we not just tell them?" Your smaller hands wrap around his long fingers, holding tight to him as though he might disappear if you let go. "To marry my soulmate should not be such a shocking thing to do, surely?" Having gone over and over it in their time together, you know why. Status. For a young noble woman to marry a bastard of no consequence, soulmate or otherwise, would be unacceptable in any part of Westeros.

“I have no name to offer you, other than Stone.” Raeden reminds you, aware of his station. He had only become a trusted member of your guard when he had risked his life for you nearly three winters ago. No one knew of the shared marks on your skin. No one could know. “No coin, no land, no future.”

"I could be your future." The argument is an old one. Aged and worn like the stones in your floor. The fact that you would abandon your station and your family for him is moot now that your father has sold you. "Three brothers married wealthy wives and yet I am the sacrificial lamb to be offered up to the lecherous second prince of Dorne." The stories of the man's temperament and deeds preceded him, of course. Lusty and vengeful, the second son of House Martell was to be feared never spoken of above a whisper in polite company. And now you have to marry him?

“I have heard he is handsome.” Despite his own heart aching at the thought of another touching you, he has to make this seem like a good thing. “They say he will treat any in his bed respectfully.”

"He could be the most handsome man in all of Dorne and he would still not be as handsome as you." Soulful eyes the color of chestnut shells, plush lips, and a perpetually mischievous smile when he’s pleased, there is no one more handsome than Ser Raeden Stone. Firm muscles and an impressive strength make him as formidable on the battlefield as they do in the bedroom - a fact which you have kept mum about for years now. Raeden's broad frame and towering height envelope you fully when you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest to muffle a sob. "I will never lay with him. Or love him. Not as long as I live."

“You will be his wife.” He swallows as he says those words. “You will bear his children, love or not. And I will protect you.” It will be his own special kind of hell, watching you grow with a child that is not his, marry a man who is not him. “You must not tell him, love.”

"How can you be so calm?" You demand, looking up at him with fear and hurt swimming in your eyes. "My father is sentencing me to stand at the side of another man and you...my love, I cannot believe you are accepting of this?"

“I have no choice but to accept it.” His voice hardens slightly. “If we try to run away together, we will be caught. I will be killed or sent to the Wall.” It rankles, but he had known that one day you would be married off. “I cannot protect you if I am dead or taken the oath.” He growls, shaking his head and leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I cannot risk leaving you alone.”

"Only cruel gods would have given us to each other as soulmates without ever intending to allow our love." It is an unfairness of life that you have lamented more than once, but right now it feels as though a dagger has been plunged through your heart and twisted violently.

“The gods know of our love.” Raeden knows it, sighing softly. “We are together and we will still be together.” He kisses you softly. “I spend more nights in your bed than my own. It will be the same in Dorne.”

"I will not allow it to be any other way." Despite the fear of the unknown, the thing that you can cling to is the strength of your feelings for Raeden Stone. Since the day he arrived rather triumphantly in your life, he has been a constant and welcome presence and you will not allow any power to steal your soulmate from your side. "No prince from Dorne will ever keep you from my arms."

“There is my girl.” Raeden smiles, happy that you are calm again and he presses closer to you. “Now…do you wish that I take your mind off your worries?” He coos softly.

“I always wish for you.” Though time is precious now, as you leave for King’s Landing in just three days and the road is no place for a romantic interlude. Raeden will not even be allowed to ride in your carriage during the journey. His place as your guard demands that he protect you, not indulge in you. Although he is fully capable of doing both.

The grin that you have said melts you flashes across his face and he pulls back so he can remove his belt and sword. “Then let me make you forget about Dorne, forget about marriage and only think of me.”

******

The painstaking journey feels ludicrous, and your weary mother certainly has not made it any easier with her complaining. The decision for your parents to accompany you was entirely your father’s and even then it was only so that he could brag to his small group of friends that he attended the king’s wedding. If this were only about delivering you to your groom, he would have sent you with your guard and your maid and thought no further on it. As it is, you have spent every day sitting beside your mother’s lady’s maid in the cramped and uncomfortable carriage praying that you might get even ten minutes alone with Raeden before the end of the day. It has hardly happened, and you have found yourself near tears rather constantly. Ignorant man that your father is, he imagines you so delirious with joy that you are weeping for your good fortune. The truth could not be further away.

“Do not fret.” Your mother assures you softly. “We have long had daughters marry in Dorne or Dornish brides sent to us.” She reminds you. “While most will look their noses down at a Dornish man, we know he will treat you well.”

“I still do not see why this marriage is even necessary.” And since no one has offered you any sort of explanation, you’re inclined to just ask. “My brothers married wealthy women. We do not need the favour of House Martell. So I am forced to wonder again why I am being offered to them in sacrifice.”

“Change is coming to Westeros.” Your mother leans in, her words quiet and fervent. “Dorne is the last kingdom that still has royalty. You will not just be a lady, you will a princess.”

"I do not want to be a princess." You inform her flatly, ignoring the way her lady's laid looks aghast at your ingratitude. "My own maid had more freedom than I do. At least someone asked her if she wanted to be shipped south like chattel. And she was even able to say no!" Though Clarey had served you since you came of age, your own maid had been able to marry her soulmate and had recently discovered she was with child. Your father had considered himself quite magnanimous for not breaking up that family to send her to Dorne with you.

“You would have your father break his contract with Dorne?” Your mother asks, appalled at the mere idea. “You were born into a noble house. You have grown up knowing your father would arrange a marriage for you. Most are married at seventeen.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment that you are forever ungrateful for the time your father had allowed you to remain unwed. If you only knew the rumors that had swirled.

"If you always planned to marry me against my will then I wonder that you waited so long." Staring out of the carriage window, you can see Raeden up ahead, face drawn in concentration as he keeps constant vigilance over the route you are traveling. "Why not have signed me away to the Starks when I was born?" The bitterness in your voice is obvious. "Then I would have been a queen."

“You will watch your sharp tongue, or you shall be sent to your room without dinner.” Your mother hisses, sitting back and shaking her head. “Your father wanted to hold out hope for a soulmate.”

"I am not a child, as you so love to point out when it is convenient to you." The threat of no dinner is nothing when you have no appetite to begin with. It would be a blessing not to be stared at over a meager meal. "And you can hardly send me to my room when I haven't one. We will not even arrive in King's Landing before first light tomorrow."

Your mother’s hand strikes out, slapping your cheek with a sharp crack. “You will not shame your father and house.” She hisses. “I have long begged your father to marry you off, to stop giving into your childish notions, but no more. You will marry Oberyn Martell.”

If the impulse to cup your own cheek was present, you don’t give in to it, not wanting to show the satisfaction of acknowledging that she has caused you pain of any kind. At the moment all you can really think is that it is good Raeden did not witness your mother striking you, or he may have given himself away with his reaction. “At least in Dorne I will never again be forced to breathe the same odious air you have exhaled.” No one in all of Westeros could ever have mistaken your mother for your ally if they saw you interact in private – it is only her sickly sweet countenance in public that made others think that she had babied or favoured you in any way. More than once in your life you’ve wondered how such a hateful woman could even grow a babe let alone birth four of them.

“You will learn your place soon enough.” She promises you. “You are a woman, not a man.” Her disappointment in you pours off of her in waves. “Be thankful your father did not choose a fat, aging lord.”

“Fat and aging means he would die faster.” At least antagonizing your mother is passing the time, you decide, staring straight ahead at the pompous boil of a woman who has lorded herself over you for the last twenty-five years. “I think I would do very well as a widow.”

“I wonder if your bravery would falter learning that your guard will not be staying with you.” The sly, evil menace in your mother’s voice is clear.

“Of course he will.” Brazen confidence is the tone which drowns out your panicked fear, and you tell yourself not to look outside and give yourself away. That could ruin everything in less than one heartbeat. “He swore to Father to protect me and Father accepted.” If something had changed, surely Raeden would have told you.

“Hmmmm.” Her smile is acidic, her fingers twisting around her handkerchief. “You think you are soooo clever. That I did not know.”

“Honestly?” Honestly you really did not think for a second that anyone besides your former maid knew anything, but you swallow down the boiling acid in your throat and keep your chin poised to stare your own mother down. “I do not know what you could possibly mean.”

“I birthed you.” She snorts, a very unladylike sound. “You think I do not know when my daughter had decided to spread her legs and become a Stone’s whore?”

Of course the thing that bothers her most is that Raeden is a bastard – Stone, as they are named in the Vale – and not an actual concern of safety or care. “I can assure you, that is not the case.” Though saying it would be a waste of breath, nothing you have done with Raeden could mark you as a whore. Just a woman very much in love with her soulmate.

“At least you just bled.” She scoffs. “Not carrying a bastard in your belly.” She leans in, her eyes flashing with malice. “Behave. Or I will allow your father into my bed for the night and he will do as I say. Including making sure your precious Raeden rides home to the Vale with his lord, your father.” She threatens.

Though you have serious doubts that your mother’s cunt is magical enough to control your father’s thoughts, it isn’t a chance you’re willing to take. If Raeden is ordered to return to the Vale and you are forced to ride for Dorne without him, you are more likely to see the bottom of the seas than your marriage bed. “My Lord Father loves me and wishes to protect me,” is all you say in response.

“Your Lord Father will do what makes me happy.” She promises you with a self-assured smirk. “Especially now that I have convinced him to marry you off.”

“It was you?” You should not be so shocked. Her hatred for you has been obvious from the time you were a child and had never seemed to waver. Your father, on the other hand? Doting and indulgent, always picking flowers for you and bringing you books instead of suitors. Your brothers are strong men with discipline instilled in them. You had been allowed to read and dream and sing and ride at your leisure. Of course his sudden change of heart was down to your bitter, angry mother.

“Who else?” She sneers. “Your father would be content to keep you around until you are nothing but a spinster. You are already past your prime. Luckily enough, the Prince of Dorne already has eight bastards.”

The way her utter dismissal of you makes your blood boil is beyond explanation, but as you squeeze your hands together in the pockets of your robe, only one precious thought floats to the surface. “My only solace is that if I should ever see you again after this week, Mother, you shall have to curtsy to the person you despise most in the world.”

“I will not.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I will never bow to a little whore like you.”

“Oh, but you will.” A victory, even a small one, is enough to grasp at as you square your shoulders again. “When I am Princess of Dorne it will be required of everyone save King Joffrey himself. You included.”

“Bitch.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb.”

“A regret you will live with forever.” If Knocking her from her wicked confidence is the best you can do in this conversation, you will not take that for granted, for your mother has always been a formidable enemy. “Now leave me to read, Mother. Lest you earn yourself another wrinkle and find your hair a shade greater than it was when we left home.”

“I will be overjoyed to not see your face every day.” She spits, hating that you don’t seem cowed by her threats. “Dorne will be eye opening for you. And everything you deserve:”

“As you say, Mother.” Without another word, you take the small book of histories from your reticule and open it to the place where you left off last night, too distracted by Raeden’s handsome face to give any more thought to words. False confidence is a thing you learned very well in the face of your mother’s vitriol, and apparently on this one occasion it has actually yielded a victory. You may still be terrified of your future in Dorne, but she never needs to know that.

******

“This city still smells like shit.” Two weeks of travel has left Oberyn irritable, grumbling as he pulls his horse up to the gates of the city. “Let us go find comfort and a bath.” He tells Ellaria, unable to stay in the carriage and deciding to ride ahead of the contingent of troops Doran had sent with him.

“At the brothel, my love?” She smirks at the suggestion, far less uncomfortable from travel than he is. “A bath, fresh food, and a good fuck will restore your mood.”

“Of course.” Oberyn scoffs. “I will not accept chambers in that keep.” He hates even being here and seeing it. Wanting to burn it down, considering his sister, niece and nephew died in that keep.

“Nor should you.” As a prince he should have the most resplendent rooms available, but they both know what would happen if Oberyn ever set foot in the Red Keep beyond the wedding in two days. “We will visit this Littlefinger you have spoken of?”

“I had sent word that we were arriving.” He chuckles, smirking at Ellaria because she knows him so well. “Tell me you don’t want a hot bath and an even hotter cunt?”

“If I am honest, I am ravenous for a cunt to bury my tongue in.” There is never any judgment between them, or jealousy, and Ellaria sighs indulgently at the idea of a slick cunt and perky tits to indulge in. “Will you share with me, lover?”

“Always.” Oberyn waggles his brows. “We will pick out a whore together.”

“A favorite pastime.” Ellaria laughs softly. She has not spoken a word about Oberyn’s intended bride since they left Dorne and she won’t until it’s necessary. His mood is volatile here in the northern capital and she does not relish his moments of anger.

“Silk sheets.” Oberyn groans, not willing to admit that he is weary of travel, but he needs to recover. Especially if he is to be meeting this bride. He had decided that the poor girl deserves to be told in person that he will have nothing to do with her.

“Silk sheets. Roasted meats. Wine. Berries and nuts fresh from their trees.” She giggles when his hand slips inside her dress to caress her skin. “And a pert ass for you to bury yourself in.”

“We could get two. A man and a woman.” He reasons, smirking at the idea. “Perhaps we will have Littlefinger line them all up for us to choose from.”

“As many as you like, my love.” After all, it is not as if the coffers of Dorne lack for funds. They have brought a fortune with them under Doran’s insistence that Oberyn shower his intended with gifts – and a second fortune to pay for the bills his natural extravagance will no doubt incur. “We will have whatever you desire. And when you have had your fill we will rest and then begin all over again.”

“Wine.” Oberyn decides, frowning despite thinking of nicer things as the two of them enter the walls of King’s Landing. “I will need a lot of wine.”

Their destination is not far, but the duo of Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand attract attention by virtue of their combined beauty and the onlookers who cluster to gaze at them make their journey last longer. Oberyn sends their driver off with the carriage to find stables nearby and Ellaria wraps her arms around him when he returns to her side in the steps of the building. “Do you hear the false moans, my prince?” She pouts in sympathy for the unsatisfied women inside as they cross the threshold together. “We will make them scream so they never forget us.”

Oberyn smirks, holding her hand with no shame. He does not hide Ellaria, she is his paramour. Much more than that, although that is something that is kept between the two of them, private at her insistence so she does not become a liability to him. “We will, my love. Every whore in this brothel will pout when you leave.”

“Very pretty pouts, I hope.” Ellaria loves a very pretty pout when the time is right. To be begged to come back to bed. To have a lover cry her name with such passion that their heart aches for more. She saunters into the brothel beside Oberyn with her head high and looks around as the prettily dressed woman at the entrance fawns over Oberyn. Everyone fawns over Oberyn, that is of little interest to her.

Oberyn eyes the cunts and tits on display, lifting a brow when he sees earrings through one woman’s nipples. “I see we are in the right place.” He smirks, watching as Littlefinger rushes over to the pair.

“Prince Oberyn.” Though he does not ever bow deeply, he does bow, eyes tracking over to Ellaria with an oily smile. “My lady. What an honour to be graced with your presence. What can we provide for you this morning?”

“My lady?” Ellaria scoffs, making Oberyn smirk and squeeze her hand. “We will be needing accommodations for the duration of our stay in King’s Landing.” Most brothels do not rent rooms and he is sure that Littlefinger’s establishment is no different but Oberyn has learned that his title and the gold of his coin makes things possible when they previously weren’t. “For now, until it is ready, we need baths and whores to join us.”

“The duration of your stay?” The man does not bother to hide his surprise, but smiles broadly like the showman that he is. “I will send someone to ready your accommodations,” he promises, hand on heart. “Our baths are this way,” Littlefinger motions deeper into the building. “Do you have a preference for who should join you or shall I send you a variety to choose from?” There is enough gold dripping from the Prince of Dorne that Littlefinger will unfold the world of pleasure at his feet if that is what he wishes, without worry for his ability to pay what is owed.

“Your choicest men and women.” Oberyn looks over to Ellaria for her approval. “Clean.” He insists, although Littlefinger’s whores are always of a higher caliber than most. “We will send the others away once we have chosen.”

“Leyth.” Littlefinger waves to a tall, buxom girl with orange curls down to her waist. “Tend to the prince and his lady for me,” he instructs her, obviously trusting that she can do the job. “Anything they need, you will acquire for as long as they are here, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl called Leyth nods and smooths her thin skirt, looking between the beautiful prince and his stunning lady. “I will be happy to serve them.”

“Good.” The chuckle that bubbles out of Littlefinger is full of approval. “Take them to the baths and then fetch them food and wine.” He smiles at Oberyn, a thing dripping with false charm. “I will send you a selection of company to choose from.”

“Berries.” Oberyn adds, the need for fresh fruit after weeks on the road is great. Ellaria chuckles, well aware of his fondness for snacking, especially when he is fucking.

“Berries.” Leyth bats her eyelashes prettily as she leads the pair down the hall. “Do you prefer sweet things, your Grace?”

“Hmmmm.” He doesn’t answer one way or the other, although his gaze is sliding up and down her form and he reaches out to caress her ass through the sheer robe she is wearing.

She hums right back at him, playful but bidding, and slows her pace slightly to let him touch as they turn the corner to the bathing room. The deep bath in the floor sits full and waiting for paying customers, beautifully tiled with trays of soap and sponges for gently scrubbing skin. The oiled waters smell of flower petals, and two baths are even littered with the things. Leyth walks toward the bath of floral water with a sultry smile and a swing in her hips. “I will wash you with my own hands if that is your wish, after I fetch you food to break your fast.”

“What do you say my love?” Oberyn asks Ellaria. “Leyth and whoever catches our eyes?” He would love to see his paramour’s thighs spread for the orange haired beauty. “Or would you prefer to choose the woman?”

“You are lovely, Leyth.” Ellaria praises, already having decided that she likes this woman’s spirit as well as her figure. “We will see who else catches our eye when they arrive.”

“Show me your tits.” Oberyn commands the woman. Eager to see if they are as perky as they seem or if it is an illusion of the gown she is wearing.

Obedience is necessary to work for Littlefinger, but Leyth is lucky to have been given to this couple she finds so attractive. She slips the ties from her shoulders and lets her silken dress fall to the stone floor with pride. Her body is well worth selling and has given her a good living, so she proudly bares her large tits and curved waist to this prince when he demands it.

“Very nice.” Oberyn groans with a smirk. “They will look lovely bouncing when you ride my cock.” He predicts. “We can undress ourselves.” He promises, turning to Ellaria and pushing aside her own gown so he can cup her bare breast, tweaking an already hard nipple.

Ellaria moans happily when the girl excuses herself to fetch their food, and drops the traveling robe she was wearing to the ground immediately. “Lover…” she sighs, her body arching to seek Oberyn’s touch instinctively. “You were right about this place.”

“Of course I am right.” He teases playfully, leaning in and dragging his nose along her throat. “Now, we need to wash so we can be ready to play when the whores are brought in. I want to feed you fruit while a tongue is buried in your cunt.”

“Leyth is a beauty.” Ellaria disrobes easily and quickly, leaving her things scattered as she steps into the bath built deep into the floor. It is warm and smells sweet, like summer in the Water Gardens. “Pale, but I like her freckles.” She looks up at Oberyn with admiration as he shrugs off his own robes. “I like your freckles better, though.” Especially the one on the inside of his right thigh, high on his muscled leg where she can kiss it before swallowing his cock.

“Just like her tits are gorgeous, but yours have suckled four of my children.” His cock twitches and he kicks off his boots, throwing the loose, pale yellow shirt off and reaching for his leather breeches.

“Hers are bigger than mine.” Ellaria chuckles at the way he loves tits. “Enjoy them, lover. I know I shall.”

“You always do.” He chuckles, thanking the gods that his soulmate is just as adventurous as he is. “Maybe she will be the only one we choose for now.”

“Perhaps.” Sighing as she lays back in the water, Ellaria tilts her head and soaks her hair, enjoying the way she feels cleaner already. “Perhaps we will develop a taste for sun-red hair while we are here.”

“Whatever we develop a taste for, we will indulge in.” Oberyn does not mind sharing her, doesn’t get jealous because she is his sun and world. No one could break their bond.

“Come to me, lover.” She beckons him with both hands, pouting for him prettily. Now that travel is behind them, Oberyn is already cheerier and it lightens her heart. “Soak with me. It has been weeks since we had a bath.”

“With pleasure.” Stripped down, Oberyn strides over to the bath and starts to descend the stairs to join her in the deep tub.

Ellaria moves to him immediately, arms welcoming him home and lips finding his with a deeply satisfied moan. Her legs are around his waist as quickly as his hands find her ass, and his growing cock twitches against her soft skin.

Oberyn turns around, letting his paramour cling to him as he drops down onto the seat under the water. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly against his lips.

“As I love you.” Since the day they first spoke the words to each other they have not wavered, and Ellaria runs her hands across Oberyn’s skin reverently. “My warrior.”

“My sun.” Oberyn squeezes her ass and rocks her onto his hardening cock. “My world.” The passion between the pair has not wavered over the years, growing stronger in a way that could only be because of their soulmate bond.

“Oberyn.” No matter how many times she takes him, the stretch of his cock inside her takes her breath away. Her hands find his shoulders to cling to him as they find their pace, with his grip guiding her as she begins to bounce on his length in earnest.

“Too soon, my love?” He teases, knowing she is far more than adequately wet. She is dripping.

“Never.” She shakes her head before throwing it back, letting her moan ring out through the echoey chamber. “Never. I am always yours.”

Multi-tasking is a gift that Oberyn has. Results of a wandering spirit and a restless mind. It was one of the reasons he had joined the maesters and eventually left after forging eight links. He reaches for the perfumed soap and a rag to wash his lover.

They are fully enraptured with each other when Leyth returns, and she sets the tray down beside them before seeing about pouring two goblets of wine. It’s rare to have pairs of lovers visit the establishment but not unheard of, and she smiles indulgently, watching the passion they share for a moment before making herself known. “I can do that for you, your Grace,” she offers, knowing her employer will be upset if she neglects them.

Even with Ellaria impaled on his cock, Oberyn tears his mouth away from her lips and looks over at the woman. “Join us and bring the wine.” He orders. “Are the others coming?”

“They are right here.” Leyth slips into the water easily, taking the sponge from him and resumes the work of bathing his lady without missing a beat. Four women and two men all of varying ages and looks pour into the room behind her clad in next to nothing looking apprehensive.

“Do not be shy.” Oberyn turns Ellaria’s head and groans when she clenches down around him. “Any who wish to not join us may leave now.” He does not want someone who is timid.

The most tired looking of the women takes the youngest girl by the hand and leads her from the room with a respectful nod of her head, and one of the men bows before stepping out behind them. "Leaving us with five supple bodies to learn," Ellaria groans appreciatively. Between Oberyn's cock and Leyth's hands massaging her back as she washes her, this is surely already one of the seven heavens. One of the girls is the first to step forward, beautiful dark skin on display and bright eyes full of mischief as she easily discards her meager dress and slips into the water right away. She has heard legends of the second prince of Dorne and intends to find out for herself if they are true.

“Eager.” Oberyn chuckles and beckons her forward. “I like that.” His eyes slide past her towards the remaining man, tall and broad. His tawny skin clear and it’s obvious that his cock is starting to harden as he watches. “You—” he motions towards him. “Do you suck cock or like cock in your ass?”

"I like whatever you like, my lord." After all, is that not what he is here for? Being a man with a voracious appetite for pleasure makes him an asset in a place like this.

Oberyn growls, eyeing his cock tenting the loose trousers he is wearing. “Strip and join us if you are going to.”

Spacious as it is, there is not enough room for everyone in the bath, and the last remaining girl lays down bare on the edge after everyone has climbed in and patiently plays with herself while she waits her turn. There is plenty to feast her eyes on until one of them decides to bury their face in her pussy.

Twitching inside his lover, he kisses her gently and pulls her off his cock. “Go play, my love.” He urges her, knowing she wants to do more than just be touched.

"We may learn to enjoy King's Landing after all." Ellaria laughs, happily letting hands explore her skin. Leyth and the man gravitate toward Oberyn, and she is happy to drown herself in a sea of pussy until she is drunk on the sound of women's pleasure.

When he is close enough, Oberyn reaches down and cups the man’s cock firmly. “What is your name?” He demands, squeezing him gently and jerking him slowly.

"Cal, my lord." His eyelids flutter slightly at the firm touch, eager for more. "Or whatever you want it to be."

“Cal….” He smirks and presses his thumb against the head of the man’s cock. “Have you ever been fucked by a Prince?”

The way Cal shudders and his breath hitches is reverent, and he shakes his head as he tries to remember to breathe. "No, your Grace. But I would like to be."

He turns to Leyth, jerking his chin up. “Kiss me.” he orders, stretching his neck out and lets go of the man’s cock so he can slide his hand around him to press between the cheeks of his ass.

The room fills with moans as Leyth eagerly complies, licking into the prince's mouth with surety. She knows her skill and she hopes to impress, even pressing closer to him to wrap her own hand around his cock.

Oberyn hisses, his tongue sliding against hers happily as he finds Cal’s puckered hole quickly and starts to rub around the opening.Hands are everywhere as Cal lowers his head to lay kisses along the taut muscles of the prince's neck, one hand caressing his skin and the other groping for Leyth's breast to squeeze the supple flesh and play with her nipple. They are paired together often, when clients wish for a show, so he knows her body as well as any instrument.

“You are lovers.” Oberyn groans, pushing a finger inside the man’s quivering hole. On the other side of the bath, Ellaria and the ebony skinned beauty are tangled together in a passionate embrace.

"Sometimes." Leyth agrees, leaning over to give Cal a kiss without missing a single stroke of the prince's cock.

The sounds of heavy breathing and pleasure are filling the bathing room and he can feel the way Cal’s body squeezes his finger as he pumps it into him to stretch him out. “So do you want his cock or his tongue while I fuck him?”

"If I have his cock, I will feel every time you fuck into him." She moans at the idea, chest heaving with just the thought. "You will be driving us both wild with pleasure."

He chuckles and nods, pulling his fingers out of the other man. “Then get on your knees and let him slide inside your cunt.”

Kneeling on the bench where he had been sitting, Leyth presents herself easily for both men to appreciate and sighs out loud when the familiar stretch of Cal's cock presses inside of her wet heat. She knows that Cal is truly the one getting spoiled today and hopes the prince lives up to every rumour for his sake.

Oberyn can’t help but reach out and slap her ass and groans when her generous skin jiggles. “I will fuck you after I have had my fill of your lover.”

"He is insatiable," Ellaria offers, chuckling deeply before burying her face in the cunt nearest her talented mouth. Oberyn is not the only one with an endless appetite. It is one of the reasons that they have so much fun together.

“It has been two weeks.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. There hadn’t been any place to stop and fuck while on the road. He was pent up.

"No one here will complain, my lord." Cal promises, burying himself again in Leyth's cunt and groaning at her heat. "The stories of you are legend, and most of us are eager to know if they are true."

“They are true.” Ellaria pulls his tongue out of the cunt to purr her vote of confidence.

“Thank you, my love.” Oberyn chuckles and reaches for the oils that are kept on the edge of the bath for things such as this.

"Then we will add our praise to the stories that already exist." Soon Leyth will be able to do nothing but take the thrusts from the two men above her, but for now she meets each movement with a roll of her plush hips.

"We are yours for as long as you wish to stay." It is only half of a promise from Cal himself, having been instructed by Littlefinger himself to give Prince Oberyn whatever he wants, but at least now Cal can make the vow with pleasure.

Oberyn has no doubt that these people have been told to do whatever he or his paramour likes but he will only take what he deems right. “Only if I bring you both pleasure.”

"I cannot imagine you have trouble giving pleasure." Cal moans, bending over Leyth's back to present himself to the prince for the taking.

Coating his cock in enough oil to wash his entrance, the water in the bath sloshes as he shuffles closer and takes himself in hand. Pressing closer and pushing the head of his cock against the other man’s hole and slowly rolls his hips forward to break him open.

Cal curses, eyes rolling back into his head as the prince's girth fills him, and in turn pushes his cock further into Leyth's fluttering pussy. The bathing room may as well be their own private party in this moment, because of the large handful of people indulging in each other no one notices Littlefinger lurking by the doorway. True pleasure is rare in a whorehouse, so this is sure to be a lucrative visit for the proprietor.

Oberyn lets out a lusty groan when his hips are flush against the other man’s ass. “You do not flinch away.” He praises, wrapping his long arms around the man so he can cup Leyth’s generous breasts while he waits for the man’s muscles to relax around him.

“Pleasure is a gift.” Cal’s body shudders as he takes Oberyn fully, the stretch of him making the man pant and reach back to grasp the prince’s hip. “You have a very large gift, my lord.”

Oberyn chuckles quietly, pleased with Cal’s words and leans in to nibble on his ear. Enjoying the way he shudders again. “Let me show you what I can do with that gift.”

******

The Red Keep looms above you when you finally step out of your carriage, trying with all your might to block out your mother’s voice muttering indignities that your party was not greeted by a royal retinue at the city line. What utter nonsense. Your house is ancient and wealthy, yes, but certainly not royal and there is no reason for the royal Baratheons or Lannisters to pay you any heed. At least, outside the carriage, you can finally be more than a foot and a half away from your mother again.

“Alright, pumpkin?” Your father beams down at you before swinging off of his horse.

“Of course, Papa.” Of course not is the truth, but after days of spitting venom you are too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, now that you know this is your mother’s doing, it is hard to be upset with your father for simply being a fool.

Your father beams at you as he steps beside you and offers you his arm. Not having an opportunity to talk much on the road, he wants to assure you. “I understand you are nervous because you have not been to Dorne, but your grandmother and her mother are from Dorne.” He reminds you. “And there is family in Braavos and across the Narrow Sea.” The long tradition of finding love outside the Vale is common, your father finding the free-spirited prince to be a far worthier match for you than some sniveling little lord grasping for favor. The idea that his daughter will be princess is also a factor.

“I shall visit them all at my earliest ability.” The idea of traveling to see family you have never met sounds infinitely preferable to spending even a minute in the presence of the prince you never agreed to wed, and for a moment you almost relax at the idea.

“I doubt your husband will allow anything other than you spitting out his heirs for the next few years.” Your mother scoffs. “You will be visiting his bed.”

“That is not for you to know or to decide.” You tell her, though the fact that she may be right makes you sick to your stomach. Two steps behind the three of you, Raeden could not have missed the comment but you cannot exactly turn to look at him.

Raeden keeps his gaze down, your mother’s words in his mind as he tries to decide if he had made the right choice. Perhaps he should have run away with you. He’s noticed the captain of your father’s guard eyeing him so he had tried to be as impassive as possible. His heart aches at the idea of you in the Prince’s bed, despite the rumors of his prowess and propensity for men and women, something that he shamefully shares with the Prince of Dorne. He had fought his attraction to the other men around him. Not even sharing it with you.

“My lord. My ladies.” A steward in the hallway bows to you dutifully and opens his mouth to welcome you to the Red Keep, but a swish of skirts and a silky smooth voice cuts him off from behind. “Lollard, I will greet my guests,” she instructs, sounding nearly severe before her voice pitches up to something delighted and seemingly terribly excited. “I was so pleased to see your banner approach that I could not help myself.” The woman declares, and you cannot tell if she means it or not. “Lady Margaery Tyrell,” she introduces herself with a broad smile. “It was I who sent your invitation. Welcome to King’s Landing, and to the Red Keep.”

“You are even more beautiful than your portrait, Lady Margaery,” your mother gushes, simpering to the woman who appeared to be several years younger than even you. “And how thoughtful of you to include our House in your nuptial feast. We are honoured.”

“It is I who am honoured.” She steps toward you with a smile. “To have the future princess of Dorne amongst my guests, and of course the ancient connection between our Houses makes us loving cousins, does it not?” The marriage of a Tyrell daughter into your House was four generations ago, but Margaery has never been one to overlook a string that might be pulled in her favour. At least not after her grandmother pointed it out.

Future princess of Dorne. Raeden’s fists clench at his sides as he tries to ignore the fury in his heart at that simple phrase. You will be a princess, and the gap between your stations will be more vast than before.

“We are flattered by such a personal welcome.” Beside you, your father is talking and patting your hand on his arm, but you barely hear him. Each time another person calls you princess or refers to the man who bought you, you feel closer and closer to being sick all over the floor. Or perhaps sinking in a wasting depression. If both are possible simultaneously, that may be the answer.

“Forgive me.” When you find your voice it almost cracks, but you put one hand to your stomach delicately. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Margaery, but I am afraid I feel quite ill from weeks of travel. Would it be possible to be escorted to our chamber so that I might be well enough for a turn around the gardens later?” An ally – any ally – may be worth grasping, and you enjoy the way this young woman made your mother frown by not paying attention to her. For right now, though, you would do anything to be alone so that Raeden could visit you.

“Forgive me.” Margaery bows her head respectfully and gives a small, sincere smile. “My manners have forsaken me.” She gestures towards the keep. “Allow me to show you personally to your rooms. A light repast has been laid out for your pleasure as well.”

“How very kind of you,” you murmur, knowing you won’t touch a thing. The reality of your situation has stolen your normally healthy appetite.

Clever blue eyes catch the subtle grimace when she mentions food and yet she doesn’t comment on it. Sensing that you will have much to talk about, Margaery had invited you to stay in the keep as her guest after learning of your betrothal to Oberyn Martell. “This way.” She smiles and motions towards the left corridor.

Though you might not be fond of the games of society, you were raised in them, and you have sense enough that when the future queen offers you her arm you take it. That is how the first glimpse many guests to court ever have of you is strolling arm-in-arm with the woman who will become queen in two days time. It does not matter that you just met. It does not matter that she is chattering away politely while you simply smile your polite smile and nod. The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the future princess of Dorne paint a very pretty picture on their way through the halls of the Red Keep with your family trailing behind. If you weren’t so desperate to be alone with Raeden again and attempt to forget all this is happening, you might more fully enjoy the way your mother is green with envy.

______

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #reader x m!OC #male OC #female reader #male original character #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage

[hermesmyplatonicbeloved]

An Analysis of Percy/Annabeth's Life Aspirations

What do you think Percy/Annabeth would look like as adults?Let's look at their ambitions and ideas of what their "ideal" life as an adult looks like.

Let's break down what Annabeth and Percy's characterizations and what they actually want to do with their lives:

Annabeth.

Annabeth's has always wanted to be a hero. She loves going on quests, gaining glory and being victorious. She's Athena's daughter; she welcomes the challenge and revels in the victory. All throughout PJO we see Annabeth being one of the main driving forces pulling Percy into the greek world. She's never going to want to stop. We see this many times after PJO, when Jason asked Annabeth to go with him, the only reason why she said no was because she was looking for Percy. Right after the Titan War ended and they got the new great prophecy, Annabeth was immediately on it and trying to figure out what it meant. She wanted to be part of it.

As long as Annabeth lives, she'll want to go on quests. This is how Athena (via imposing expectations at a distance) and Chiron raised her. This is what she wants. This is who she is, as a person.

Percy.

Percy has never wanted to be a hero. He never wanted to be a half blood (it's literally the first line of the first book, written in Percy's voice at 19 years old). After the Titan War, he tells the reader that he's done with quests, with the war, with prophecies. He hears the next great prophecy and says "that's a problem for future generations." He leaves camp half blood and doesn't look back, instead planning a normal, human life in Manhattan.

Of course that's ruined by Hera's kidnapping but what's interesting about that second great prophecy is that all the seven demigods chose to be part of it aside from Percy. Percy was dumped in NR and was on a quest the very next day. When he gets back to NR, a few days later the Argo II arrives and Percy is forced to flee on the boat as one of the seven. He spends the rest of the quest missing his mom, eating blue food and questioning if he's actually going to survive and return home. He's not in it for the glory, or for the gods. He was quite literally brainwashed and manipulated by Hera and the others into going. His mental state got so bad that he attempted suicide mid-quest.

To remind everyone: Percy wasn't raised a hero. Sally went to great lengths to keep Percy away from camp half blood until the last possible moment. After a single summer, she asks him to return home, and he does everytime. Yes, he loves camp, but his home is in the mortal world. He has only spent about 4 summers at camp/on quests: that's 8 months total. After finding out his parentage, Percy chose to spent roughly 3 years and 4 months in the mortal world and 8 months in the greek world. He has a clear preference.

To summarize:

Annabeth wants to spend her life going on quests, going on quests and getting challenges and glory. Percy does not want to go on any more quests - he wants to settle down with a family in the mortal world (Manhattan) and live as peacefully as he can.

See the conflict there? They want the exact opposite thing.

This becomes very evident in cotg. Percy is pulled into yet another quest - he needs recommendation letters from the gods to go to New Rome University.

What's interesting about this is that Percy doesn't actually want to go to school. It's literally the first page of the book, he's asking Poseidon to write him a letter excusing him from school. He doesnt even know what he wants to study. He hasnt even looked at New Rome's programs (from what I remember).

So why does he want to go?

Annabeth. She is the only thing pushing him to go. Percy has a good life in Manhattan - his family is there: his mom, Paul, his little soon to be little sister (and Percy clearly states that he wants to be there to see her grow up - starting with changing diapers) and camp half blood. It's where he wants to be. Percy just got back from a severely traumatic year - being kidnapped, in a coma, falling into hell and fighting another war. His mental state was so bad he attempted suicide. He's tired. He finally got back to his safe space, his home, his mom (please remember this boy just turned 17 years old - he still desperately needs his mother). Its less than 2 months and Annabeth is already urging him to go on more quests to go to New Rome with her.

Remember what we just established about their characterizations? Annabeth will never stop wanting to go on quests, and will thrive in the mythology world while Percy wants to stay in Manhattan in the mortal world and do no quests? Yeah. Prime example right there in cotg.

So Percy goes to NRU for Annabeth. It's not what he wants - not the lifestyle he wants, but he loves her and the idea of losing her terrifies him so much that he'd rather go to hell than see her die so he goes.

But eventually his other desires for a normal peaceful life will catch up with him. Annabeth will inevitably be offered another quest, and she'll say yes so Percy will say yes to keep her safe and he'll constantly be doing exactly what he doesn't want to do: more quests. More fighting. More killing. More doing the gods' dirty work. And eventually, it will make him miserable. Maybe to the point of suicide again.

So one of two things will happen:

One: Percy says nothing. Doesn't tell Annabeth how he feels (which he doesnt do at all in PJO, HoO), and runs himself into the ground and maybe attempts suicide again. Maybe he succeeds this time. Maybe he doesn't. But it's a miserable life that - other than having Annabeth - he doesn't want. Has never wanted.

Two: Percy stands up for himself and tells Annabeth that he doesn't want to do anymore quests, that he's done doing shit for the gods. However, Percy would never be okay letting Annabeth go on quest without him watching his back, so this would turn into Percy asking Annabeth to stop going on quests, stop doing things for the gods and to stop seeking challenges and pride. I don't know if Annabeth would ever agree to that, but even if she does it's just a bad because now she's giving up her dreams, her life for Percy. She'd be miserable.

Its a lose-lose situation. Neither of them will be happy together long-term. They want the opposite things. Their dreams and aspirations are directly opposites. They don't make a good long term couple. They shouldn't be together post-war, as adults.

Thank you for sticking around to the end of my TED-talk.

...

This post was inspired by cotg and a post I've seen floating around saying that Percy is perfect for Annabeth because she's ambitious and he has no ambitions and I hate it. It's a bad take imo that doesn't actually account for their actual characterizations and ambitions- only a romantized version that hides percabeth's flaws.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #percy #annabeth #rick riordan #cotg #character analysis #percy analysis #annabeth analysis #new rome university #new rome #quests #sally jackson #percy x annabeth #percy/annabeth #percy jackson/annabeth chase #poseidon #greek gods #rrverse #rick #riodan #chalice of the gods #pjo cotg

[no1konigfan]

Task force 141+König when they are horny

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Captain Price

-Really depends on how horny he is

-But he's pretty casual about it

-I mean,he's a middle aged man with a very hard job, he don't have time to fuck around

-He won't say he's horny though

-He believes in"actions speaks louder"

-It usually happens when you two are watching a movie while cuddling,but deep down both of you know he does not watch the movie

-With one hand he caresses your hair while the other one makes its' way down on your body

-You feel the shivers go up and down your spine caused by his warm hands

-The hand in your hair suddenly disappears and is now gripping your chin to look up at him as he's inviting you in a slow sensual kiss

Soap

-It's really not hard to tell when he's horny

-He doesn't say it with words but his actions are clear

-He kisses you more than usually and his hands do not leave your body, not even for a minute

-But he will wait until you make the first move to have sex

-Which can be pretty annoying for the both of you

-For you,because he's a grown man,living together with his girlfriend,if he want to have sex ,he just has to say it

-For him,because you make sure to not make the first move

-You will drag his little game out till he can,which is usually 2 to 5 days

-But in those 5 days he suffers

-You two will go to bed with him kissing you goodnight,saying he loves you,but you can always hear him whisper"you witch" under his nose,making you chuckle

Ghost

-He doesn't say it

-He doesn't show it

-Neither of you know why but he just doesn't

-He will just say"Fucking hell,you have no idea how much i've been waiting to do this" as he's slinding into you

-One time you told him it makes you feel bad that he doesn't say these things and from then on,sex was a daily activity

Gaz

-It's unusual for Gaz to be an attention seeker

-But he just can't help it

-He wants ALL your attention

-And god forbid you giving your attention to anything else

-He will stare at you so much it starts to feel like he's burning a hole in you

-And then the rope breaks and the next thing you notice is him prying your shirt off you while kissing your neck

Alejandro

-He makes sure to let you know it

-He got home from a mission and just woke up to the smell of pancakes

-He made his way in the kitchen seeing you in his black shirt and nothing else

-With two slow steps he was just in the right distance to hug you from behind making you feel his already hard member pressing to your back

-He lowers his head next to your ear and whispers all sorts of knee buckling things

-The way his rough,hoarse voice speaking to you in spanish was all it took to get your penties wet.And he knew it,and used it everytime

-Even when he's extremely horny,he makes the sex all about you

-That's what gets him off

-Seeing the pleasure on your face

König

-Now there is two sides to a coin

-On one side this man will do so many romantic things when he's horny

-He takes you to picnic in a forest for lunch

-He makes your favourite food for dinner with candles on the table and tells you to put on a beautiful dress

-Spoils you

-But the other time oh god

-He's just so needy he can't wait another minute

-The moment he sees you in his shirt he looses it

-He grabs your waist,pushes you against the nearest surface and before you even notice your clothes are gone

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod price #x reader #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #call of duty #gaz cod #alejandro vargas #alejandro cod #cod ghost #könig cod

[niconebula]

Thinking about Buddhism as it relates to Madoka Magica, sadly for the first time as I have no personal frame of reference surrounding the religion as a white Canadian.

I think just as much as Madoka criticizes aspects of Christianity, it is also criticizing Buddhism. Namely that the salvation Buddhists seek in the pursuit of nirvana can rob us of our inherent human experience.

“According to Buddhist tradition, the Buddha taught that attachment or clinging causes dukkha (often translated as "suffering"), but that there is a path of development which leads to awakening and full liberation from dukkha”.

Huh. Attachment and clinging causes suffering… where have we seen-

Homura is the fairly straightforward unideal person in Buddhism. Attachment and clinging in Buddhism is called ‘tanha’, and there are three main pillars of it, each of which Homura represents in Rebellion (and the girls all represent with their wishes):

1. Kama-Tanha: Craving for sensory pleasures. These are usually material things and mostly associated with our base desires, like food, sex, wealth even, etc.

2. Bhava-Tanha: Craving to be something, to exist, to unite with an experience. This one is more difficult to understand; but it seems to relate to the idea of wanting to be important and exist in others’ lives and thoughts.

3. Vibha-Tanha: Craving for non-existence. The desire to not experience unpleasant things, and also the desire for self-annihilation (suicide). Homura exemplifies this one strongly.

Buddhists seek to distance themselves from these things in order to seek nirvana, the cessation of desire and thus of suffering. But when you are left without this ‘suffering’, you are also left without the beautiful things in life.

What is a life worth living without desires? What is life for a god who has no attachments? Madoka Magica through Homura, the antithesis to Buddhist ideals, asks this question blatantly in the Concept Movie Trailer.

What is happiness without delicious food and sunbeams (sensory kama pleasures) or connections and existence (bhava)?

Madoka’s existence as a so called enlightened being in heaven (nirvana) goes against what makes us human beings, and her own happiness in turn.

The cessation of desire, a driving force for basic human emotions, does little but make you emotionless and numb. It disconnects you from relationships. What then is to differentiate you from emotionless Incubators?

Attachment and clinging can bring despair to people like Homura in Rebellion. But in the right circumstances, attachment, desire - it brings happiness and love. It is happiness and love. Without suffering, there is no joy. Is an existence without joy worthwhile?

#and then through this I realized the fairytale we may be getting inspo from next is Princess Kaguya #but that’s for another post ;) #madoka magica #pmmm #madoka kaname #homura akemi #Buddhism in Madoka #madoka analysis

[halsteadlover]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

*Gif not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: after a long day at work, the only thing Spencer wants to do is go back home to his family.

• Warnings: none, just fluff.

• Word count: 1814.

• A/N: here is my first Spencer fic. It’s ugly as fuck and I wanted it do be better but I hope you’ll like it, I’m sorry for this but it’s just a period of time where I’m not feeling 100% myself so that’s what I managed to do lol. Let me know what do you think, likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated. Thank you for your constant support. Love you all ❤️

Spencer was as tired as he'd been a few times in his life.

The case the team had worked on had been particularly stressful, tiring and draining like few others and even though it had only been four days since the team had left for Boston, it felt like they had lasted forever.

And the distance from his family helped to further increase this already particularly precarious state of mind. It wasn't the first time he was forced to fly away for days to another city for work but that didn't make it any easier, especially then, because it wasn't just you and him anymore, but there was also little Reid.

It was incredible how such a small little being had managed to turn his life upside down, in such an overwhelming way he couldn't even stay a minute without thinking of him and without feeling the desire to hold him in his arms and fill him with cuddles.

Even staying away from you had become much more difficult than he could’ve ever imagined. He couldn't quite explain why, but ever since the baby was born he felt the bond with you had strengthened even more. He had heard so many stories of couples who couldn't resist, who got carried away by events and weren't strong enough to overcome the present difficulties and it was impossible to explain why, God, he worshiped the earth you walked on and he would’ve done anything to ensure your well-being, after all it was the least he could do for the mother of his child.

Ever since you told him you were pregnant and throughout the pregnancy until you became parents, it was as if he started to look at you with different eyes and the love he felt towards you increased dramatically, which he didn't even believe possible since he already loved you like crazy like he never did in his life.

Seeing you become the beautiful mother you were meant to be, carrying his child, God, he would’ve impregnated you every day if he could and if it was simple.

If anyone had ever told him he’d find the love of his life, that he’d marry you and have a child with you, he would probably have burst out laughing because he never, ever expected to be overwhelmed by such joy and to experience such a miracle.

And it was enough for him to cross the threshold of your home for him to feel that emptiness inside him finally filled again, happiness crossing him when he heard your voice mixed with little Reid's giggles.

Spencer walked into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest as he took a moment to watch you and your baby together. He was sitting in his high chair, his little legs and arms flapping in the air, his little face dirty with the food you desperately tried to give him but which he refused.

That simple scene put a huge smile onto Spencer's face and it was at that precise moment he wondered how he had ever lived without this.

You were gorgeous. Your hair gathered in a bun, your home clothes slightly soiled with food while you tried to distract your little one so you could feed him but in doing so you yourself distracted yourself, not realizing Spencer's presence.

Damn it, how had he gotten so lucky? What had he done to deserve such a perfect family?

“Hello my loves,” Spencer had announced and at that point you turned abruptly towards him, a huge smile on your face not expecting to see him and the spoon suspended in mid-air.

“Baby oh my god! When did you come back?!” you asked and before you could get up to say hello he approached you, placing his hands on your shoulders and giving you a kiss on your lips. He wanted that little kiss to last forever, making him realize how much he missed you, so much more than he thought.

“I just got back darling, I wanted to surprise you,” he replied with a smile on his lips and stroking your hair before returning his eyes to his baby, who at the mere sight of his father began to fidget more in his high chair, a huge smile on his little face. “And who do we have here? Hey, you little one! Come here to your pops.”

Before you could object by telling him you were trying to get him to eat, Spencer took him in his arms and the joy that overwhelmed him when after all that time he hugged his son again was priceless. “God I missed you so much little man,” he murmured as he kissed his little one's chubby cheeks not caring they were dirty with food. His laughter echoed through the kitchen, making your heart leap with joy.

It was so hard when Spencer was away for work, you couldn't deny it, but it was times like these that made the distance, the anxiety and worry worth it.

“You treated your gorgeous mom right huh? Have you been a good boy?” Spencer asked, as if his son could answer.

“Da-da-da...” the little boy kept babbling and you wanted to immortalize Spencer's expression after hearing his son say 'dad' for the first time.

“What?” Spencer murmured, incredulous, looking at you for a moment just to make sure you heard that too. “Can you repeat for me baby? Dada, yes say it again, da-da.”

“Da-da-...” your baby kept babbling while his sticky little hands continued to touch his father's face and it was at that moment you noticed Spencer's eyes fill with tears, while he tried to hold them back and not cry. Out of joy and contentment he started to kiss and tickle his baby, over and over again, eliciting uncontrolled laughter from him.

“Yeah! That's my buddy!” Spencer exclaimed before showering the boy with kisses, who kept squeezing and returning those kisses as best he could. “Yes! Oh my god! Yes I’m your dada!”.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he whispered, rubbing his nose tenderly against his son's. Your heart peeped into your chest and never as in that precise moment you felt more proud of your family, of the love your child would always receive from both parents.

You continued to watch that tender and very sweet scene, Spencer who continued to talk and look at his son as if he was the most beautiful of wonders.

Spencer wasn't joking when he said that little creature had saved his life, he made him a better husband, a better man, he made him love life even more and had made him understand how precious it was.

He had never been good at dealing with feelings, he was a scientific person, he believed in science, in evidence, in hypotheses that were verified, but everything that happened to him when he was with you, with his baby, was beyond rationality, the love he felt for you two couldn’t be described, it was a visceral love that could not be enclosed in a few simple words.

“You are the best thing that has happened to my life, your mom seriously couldn't have given me a better present and I am so proud of you,” he kissed mini Spencer's little forehead “I'm so sorry I was gone buddy, I’d never want to be away from you and your mama.”

He directed his gaze to you for an instant, a frown on his face as he noticed the tears streaming down your face, which you tried to wipe away in time but to no avail.

“Hey, baby what's wrong? Come here.”

Spencer drew you to him and surrounded your shoulders with his free arm, squeezing you and leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Nothing bad love, it's just… I'm so happy, you make me so happy. I couldn't ask for a better father for my son.”

He smiled but burst out laughing immediately afterwards when your baby stretched out his arm towards you and grabbed a lock of hair that had escaped the bun with his little hand, ruining that beautiful moment. Damn, how could a person of not even 50 centimeters tall have such strength?

“Hey, hey, no buddy no hurting mommy,” Spencer interjected, pulling your hair out of his hand.

“Oh you're so lucky you're so cute or you were going to have some problems mister, yeah! You're so cute baby, you like hurting mama yeah? Can you say mama?” you said smiling, however pointing a finger at him while instead he continued to laugh and giggle in Spencer's arms, amused by the situation.

“Da-dada-da…”

Your smile instantly disappeared from your face and Spencer started laughing heartily again, head thrown back.

“Yeah! That's my little boy! Dada yes!” he exclaimed, lifting him back into the air a couple of times before showering him with kisses.

“Oh so that’s how are things going mister? Did I go through 20 hours of labor for being disrespected like this?” you affirmed with feigned disappointment and hands on hips, but trying not to smile when you saw Spencer jumping and playing with the baby.

“I love you mommy but I love dada more,” Spencer raised his voice a couple of octaves in an attempt to mimic a child's.

“You're gonna pay so much for this Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“I’ll wait for you with immense pleasure my darling,” he winked at you and just that small action made you want to have ten more children.

You sighed, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Since you're such best friends you'll be the one to keep feeding him while I'm going to take a nice hot bath,” you approached Spencer, giving him a kiss on the cheek and whispering in his ear “And I'll think of you so intensely when I'll be naked as I soap my wet body and touch myself.”

Spencer was mesmerized and paralyzed for a moment, his blood instantly flowing to his private parts at the mere thought of you naked. His eyes scanned every inch or of your body, devouring your ass with his gaze until your figure disappeared down the aisle.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, “You heard that buddy?” he turned to the baby “How about we take a deal? Now you'll be a good boy and you'll eat everything okay? So I'll give you a nice bath and you'll go to sleep, because dad misses mom so much and he would love to be alone with her. Yes little one, you’re such a good little boy,” he continued carefully placing his baby in his high chair and tying the hooks before starting to feed him again “I’m so proud of you, yes keep eating so in a while it will be dada's turn to pull mama’s hair.”

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[brewstersbru]

More radioapple with ace Alastor (cont. of last 📻🍎 fic) sorry if its a little ooc im sappy

“No.”

Alastor’s voice comes out quick and staticky as he expertly dodges Lucifer’s hands trying to pet down his waistcoat. Lucifer immediately steps back, eyes wide.

“Sorry! Sorry, Al, was that not okay?” He asks, still keeping his distance. Alastor’s expression is inscrutable, nose wrinkled as he smiles at the ground.

It’s quiet for a moment before Alastor shakes his head.

“I need to be alone for a bit.” He grits, then, just as Lucifer goes to respond, his shadows envelop him and he melts from the room.

“That’s-“ Lucifer sighs, “fine.” Leave it to him to somehow fuck this up. “This” being the unspoken, ever so slightly romantic thing he and Alastor have had going on ever since that night in the bathroom.

It started with meals; after figuring out that Lucifer was bearing his wound, Alastor- for lack of a better term- threw himself into feeding him.

Lucifer thought it was sweet that he used his, surprisingly human, ways to care for him through recovery. The food probably didn’t do anything tangible in helping Lucifer’s body patch itself together, but it made him feel warm, loved. Better than he has in an age.

The food, of course, was delicious, but what Lucifer liked most about taking meals with Alastor was the quiet sense of simply being with another person, without expectation. Without an unspoken asking for something in return. Lucifer had already done his part, and the pulsing pain in his chest each night was infinitely worth each peaceful hour.

At first, Alastor didn’t touch him if he didn’t have to, but just him being there, acknowledging Lucifer’s presence and doing his best to care for him through the pain was enough. Lucifer thought it would be over when he was finally healed, that Alastor would consider his debt repaid and leave him to his own devices once the bleeding stopped.

It was almost too much to imagine.

Lucifer has a nasty habit of getting attached, which is really quite unfortunate given his circumstances. Still, he hasn’t been able to shake it quite yet, and in a shameful moment of spiraling weakness, he had torn through his stitches, hoping to elongate the healing window, even just slightly.

He left the three green X’s alone, tried to keep it secret, but somehow Alastor figured it out, like he always seems to.

Furious, he’d marched Lucifer right back to the bathroom and redid his stiches, this time entirely with the neon green thread he is able to manifest at will.  The thread was warm, a little biting against his skin, but Lucifer liked it. Liked that it meant Alastor would pay attention to him.

God, what a pathetic thing to do. He still cringes when he thinks back on it, but loneliness will make a wasteland out of you. And Lucifer was desperate enough to bleed for the company, his blood is a mere pittance, after all. He’ll never run dry.

The longer they spent together, the more comfortable Alastor was touching Lucifer; little brushes against his shoulder as he passed behind his usual seat at the kitchen island, a steadying hand on his side when he checked his stitches.

It was bliss.

There was a starving, gnawing part of him that basked in it; that took the offered touches like scraps from a table and still wanted more. Another part of him, cold and still burnt from the last time, told him not to get stupid, not to ask for more than he was worth.

Never to beg, because begging is unbecoming of a king.

They fell into a rhythm, small touches, loaded glances, oh so subtle forms of care. Lucifer was healed before he wanted to be, but Alastor didn’t stop. Didn’t leave, even when he checked his stitches one day and, grinning, snipped them away to reveal a shining pink scar.

Even healed, Alastor cooked for him. Even on days when he couldn’t force himself to leave his room, a covered plate would be left just outside his door, food incomprehensibly warm even hours after being made. The touches- maddening, lovely as they were- continued, chaste and addicting as ever.

Lucifer began to feel wild with it. Something inside of him- frayed at the edges, and torn in the middle- couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Why? He thought. Why, still? Why me? He never got the courage to ask, too afraid of Alastor realizing his mistake.

So, they continued like that. Alastor got more comfortable touching Lucifer who was more than happy to let him. It seemed like he didn’t get much practice with it. Touching.

The more Lucifer fell into the lull of security, the more he noticed the tentativeness of each touch, the careful laying of each finger against pale skin, as if Alastor were exploring touch for the first time. As if it fascinated him.

Lucifer never asked- always afraid of doing something stupid to make the final shoe drop faster- but he did notice. And he began coming up with a plan. Alastor is not the only person in hell who sees their relationships as transactional. Good deeds must be paid back. They must, or you’re indebted. Or, more frighteningly, at least to Lucifer, they will grow bored of you.

They will see that you are ungrateful, and they will leave.

Unwilling to let that happen, Lucifer devised a plot. Alastor has very obviously never been very intimate with anyone before, which is totally ok, if not confusing given his objectively handsome features. But he evidently, somehow, feels safe exploring intimacy with Lucifer, which is so incredibly heartening (it makes something hot burst in his chest every time he thinks about it). Lucifer can use this to pay Alastor back, slowly introduce him to different touches until he feels more comfortable with them.

It’s perfect. Or- he thought it was perfect. Until today. Until Alastor got that wide, panicked look in his eyes as he shouted “No!” before running off to recover. Father Above. How did Lucifer manage to fuck up this bad? There’s no way they recover from this.

He takes a second to mourn the relationship before squaring his shoulders and heading to his room to write about a hundred drafts of his apology letter. He can’t believe he so brazenly stepped over a boundary, not even realizing it was there!

He’s the king of hell for godssakes, he should know when one of his subjects is on edge, or uncomfortable. More than that, he’s spent enough time with Alastor that he should know his tells, as well.

Some king he’s turned out to be, huh? Fuck.

***

It takes Alastor two days to appear before Lucifer again, and not for lack of trying on his part. Lucifer had forced himself from his room each day, wandering the hotel’s grounds looking for him. Several times he would sit at the bar for hours on end, watching, waiting.

Not for nothing, though, he’s learned something quite interesting about the bartender, Husk, and Angel Dust, the porn star.

Over a series of poorly hushed conversations, and not-so-surreptitious glances, he’s learned that they’re dating. Have been for a good few weeks, and somehow no one’s noticed. They seem glad of that fact, though, so Lucifer resolves not to tell anyone.

More interesting, though, is that Husk has been urging his boyfriend to ‘go for what he wants, for once’ which Lucifer hadn’t really understood until he looked over and caught both of them hurriedly looking away. Super unsuspiciously. It was almost enough to make a grown man blush, the sudden knowledge that he was wanted. That despite what he tells himself in his worst moments, he is desirable.

Angel is an attractive man, Lucifer’s not too insecure in himself to admit that, but something curdles in his gut at the thought of pursuing anything with him while he and Alastor are still on the rocks. Which… Is new, and a little terrifying.

Plus, he doesn’t exactly seem like the type to take charge, if you catch his drift, and while Lucifer is happy to play any role his partner wants, he doesn’t know if he’d be any good at it. Not anymore. He just can’t see himself as a figure of authority, not when he knows what it’s really like to be himself. Pathetic, and lonely. The thought of embarrassing himself like that while vulnerable is excruciating, so he pretends not to have noticed their intentions. Thankfully, Angel hasn’t approached him yet. He’s not sure what he would say, anyway.

Back to the most pressing matter, Alastor knocks on Lucifer’s door late at night, two days after the awkwardness of Lucifer’s unwanted touches. When Lucifer opens the door, he’s smiling calmly, and holding two covered plates, one in each hand.

“May I come in?” He asks. Lucifer nods, doggedly, then flushes when he remembers the state that his room is in, after several nights of wallowing. Being the king of hell does have its perks, though, so he snaps his fingers and the place rights itself.

Not before Alastor gets a good enough look to purse his lips disapprovingly, though.

Lucifer manifests a small table and two chairs, which Alastor makes immediate use of, placing a plate in front of each chair, and pulling one out for Lucifer to sit in.

“Please, take a seat. I think we need to talk.” Great. That’s always a good start to a conversation. Not like that’s ever gone wrong for Lucifer before. Nope.

With a sigh- internally steeling himself against the impending rejection- Lucifer sits. Alastor hums, and follows suit, snapping his fingers to disappear the lids to their food as soon as he’s seated.

It looks delicious, as it always does. Some sort of colored rice dish with meat and veggies mixed throughout. Lucifer smiles and thanks him, snapping to manifest some drinks- a champagne for himself, and a rich red wine for Alastor.

It’s quiet for a bit as they take their first few bites. Lucifer hums his appreciation, which Alastor’s smile ticks up at.

Finally, stomach knotting itself enough to disrupt his enjoyment of the food, Lucifer speaks.

“I’m so sorry, Al. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I did, and if there’s anything I can do- anything at all- to make up for it-“ before he can finish, Alastor cuts in, voice staticky.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dear. You didn’t know. I’m afraid I…” He trails off for a bit, mulling over his next words. Lucifer waits patiently, eyes wide.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that specific kind of touching. I don’t like it.” He’s not looking at Lucifer anymore, head turned to the side as he taps his claws against his wine glass. Lucifer tilts his head.  

“By ‘that kind of touching’, do you mean on your torso? I don’t want to mess it up again.” He asks. It’s a little presumptuous to imply that he’ll be able to touch Alastor, after this, but he’s too on edge to censor himself correctly. Alastor scoffs.

“You did not ‘mess anything up’. There was just a simple miscommunication. By that I mean sexual touches. Or anything meant to lead in that direction.” Ah, Lucifer’s hand had been quite close to his navel, and his intention was most definitely to take the touches further if Alastor was comfortable with it. He nods, apologizing once more.

“Got it. Sorry again, Al, I know you don’t think I need to say it, but I still feel bad. Thank you for telling me.” Lucifer- infinitely relieved and brimming with ill-advised hope- smiles up at him and rests his hand, palm up, in the middle of the table. Maybe he can salvage this. Maybe he doesn’t have to lose everything again.

Alastor’s grin softens at the edges as his eyes rove over Lucifer’s expression. He ‘tsk’s but places his own hand on top of Lucifer’s, gently intertwining their fingers and bringing them up to press a small kiss to Lucifer’s knuckles.

A giddy laugh bursts from Lucifer’s chest and he buries his face- or what he can manage to obscure of it- into the palm of his remaining hand. It’s okay. Alastor’s not angry with him, it’s okay.

A few tears gather on his lashline, but he blinks them away before they can fall. Alastor’s other hand leaves his wine glass to brush just underneath Lucifer’s eye.

“Oh, don’t cry, dearest. It’s alright.” He says, voice softer than Lucifer thinks he’s ever heard it. It occurs to him that this must have been hard for Alastor, too, so unused to being vulnerable, but still showing this part of himself to Lucifer, and for what? So that Lucifer feels better? To put his mind at ease?

It’s so stupid.

It’s so kind.

Lucifer shakes his head, “Happy tears, Al. Thanks for trusting me.”

Alastor’s thumb swipes against the apple of his cheek as he hums.

“As if I could do anything else.”

#radioapple #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer #alastor hazbin hotel #lucifer x alastor #hazbin hotel #old men yaoi #the intrinsic love in making meals for someone #lucifers inability to see himself objectively #alastor's a little too nice in this one but idc #i feel like being vulnerable is hard for him too #brublurbs #there is some self harm here #just tw #lucifer hurts himself to try and keep al invested #stupid head #huskerdust crumbs #also setting up for a later fic i wanna do abt the four of them #but thats for laterrrr #asexual alastor #sex repulsed alastor