#{{runs away before bee can catch us

[fallenconstellation]

@divineshadows

"Hey, Emil... where are we?" The mist around them had shifted, giving way to a space that, while sort of unfamiliar, felt eerily like he had been here before.

He's careful not to fall as they advance, taking a few steps ahead of his companion.

'We've heard that a new tree has been born.'

"Is that... me? And look, Emil, Richter's up ahead!" He keeps walking, then hesitates, looking back toward his friend.

"I don't remember this happening, so, it must have happened after I was brought here, right?" He closes his eyes... it feels like he's got a headache coming on.

"Tell me the truth, OK? Is that... you?"

[puzzled-pegasus]

Here's some silly little metaphors that I think the dragon tribes would use

SkyWings

“Don’t count your clutch before they hatch.” (Don't plan too much too soon)

“Gold is better than silver, but silver is better than nothing.” (If you can't do it perfectly, still try your best. Most dragons forget the second part.)

“‘Sorry’ can't suck the fire back in.” (The damage is done and now you're dead to me.)

“You been eating too much burnt meat or something?” (Are you nuts?)

“Stop all this smoke and use your fire.” (Stop rambling and get to the point already; or stop complaining and do something)

“Doesn't know his tail from his wings.” (Stupid or clumsy)

“You fly like a depressed pigeon.” (Slow flier)

“There's no fire in a rainstorm.” (Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work.)

“Nighttime is for the NightWings.” (What are you doing up? Go to sleep.)

SandWings

“She’s all rattle, and no strike.” (Like all bark no bite)

“A diamond in a pile of quartz.” (Like a needle in a haystack)

“You’re watering the cactus and ignoring the sapling.” (You’re focusing on the wrong thing; barking up the wrong tree)

“Everyone thinks the camel looks silly until the dry season comes.” (Don't listen to them, they don't know how unique and strong you are)

MudWings

“Crocodile tears.” (Fake crying in order to gain sympathy)

“You can only catch a trout if your mouth is open.” (Be open to new experiences)

“If the tree gives away too much, it ends up as a stump.” (Don't let people take advantage of your generosity)

SeaWings

“Happy as a clam in high water.” (Very happy)

“The flying fish feels like a fool when it sees an osprey.” (Don't compare yourself to others, run your own race.)

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” (Plenty more opportunities to come.)

“You’ve got ink in your eyes.” (You're blind to something important)

“Lobsters only die when they don't leave their shell.” (Keep yourself busy with new experiences and you'll life a long life)

NightWings

“Sleep is for the dead.” (Why waste your time sleeping when you could be productive)

“SeaWings know their fish and SandWings know their cactuses, but we NightWings know everything else.”(NightWing supremacy propaganda)

“Being nice to a deer never got one in my mouth.” (Other dragons don't matter, only your goals.)

“A prophecy always comes true.” (I told you so but more cryptic)

"You're counting the stars." (You're doing something tedious towards an unachievable goal)

RainWings

“Gray’s her favorite color.” (She's a huge bummer)

“A lemon is yellow on the outside, doesn't mean they're not sour.” (Referring to someone who is two faced or fake)

“I love honey, but I’d rather not get stung by the bees.” (I could do this, but it requires effort so I don't wanna)

“Nobody likes a rotten banana.” (Nobody likes a bummer/downer)

“Don't tie your tail in a knot” (don't get all upset)

“I have all my berries in a basket” (I have everything sorted out)

“You couldn't sneak up on a pineapple” (insult to one's camouflage skills, popular among children)

IceWings

“The seal who asks why the orca is chasing him is the first to get eaten.” (A favorite of parents telling their kids to shut up)

“Not the sharpest icicle on the roof” (kinda stupid or slow)

“Clear as polished ice” (i understand or see it very well)

“You're looking a little pink in the face” (you look sickly. IceWings can turn pink from eating too much krill; a symptom of malnutrition. This line can be applied to any illness.)

“Blue blood kills, red blood spills.” (Patriotic propaganda implying that IceWings win every fight

“The SkyWings toss their blue eyed hatchlings because they're worried they'll be as strong as an IceWing.” (More propaganda)

HiveWings

“Pretty is for the SilkWings.” (Vanity is stupid and impractical)

“If it buzzes like a bug and bites like a bug, it's a bug.” (Don't ignore the obvious)

“Clearsight works in mysterious ways.” (I don't know the answer to your question, now go away)

SilkWings

“It's not always good to know how the honey gets made.” (Don't stick your snout where it doesn't belong)

“She's got a couple of threads loose.” (Calling someone a little crazy, threads refers to weaving)

“The bee minds its flowers and the spider minds her silk, it's when they mix that bad things happen.” (Mind ya business)

LeafWings

“Flytraps only trap because the soil doesn't feed them.” (Dragons don't get angry out of nowhere)

“Looking like a leaf only hides you in the forest.” (Time and place)

“If a branch doesn't bend, it breaks.” (Be flexible)

“Even the corpse flower attracts the flies.” (Even someone who seems ugly to one dragon they can seem irresistible to another)

[lale-txt]

✱ confessing to you w/ Gojo, Nanami, Higuruma & gn!reader

@snailor-bee asked: LALEEEEE!!! (o゜▽゜)o♥ WHAT'S THIS I HEAR?? REQUESTS ARE OPEN?? FOR MORE FANDOMS?? You just know I just gotta... May I please request Gojo, Higuruma, and Nanami trying to confess to reader? (*/ω＼*) Like headcanons/drabbles whichever. I just think it's real cute. And you're real cute. It just works out perfectly, hehe. Hoping you're doing well!! ;3; Sending you hugs and kisses!!

a/n: BEE my sweet (´⌣`ʃƪ) it feels like forever since i for around writing something for you, so i was super excited when you sent something in for me! i had a lot of fun writing these small drabbles, i hope they're to your liking! ps: i think YOU are super cute love you ok bye

➸ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐: Geto, Toji & Shiu

❦ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Gojo is used to being fawned on. He has the good looks and he knows. Keeps running his mouth without any consequences because there simply are none when you’re Gojo Satoru. The strongest. The balance of the world depends on him. He’s untouchable.

And then there’s you, who is tearing his whole act down with such ease, it makes his heart stop.

You don’t fuss over him and you don’t bow before him. His name doesn’t fall out of your mouth as if he was a deity, someone holy; and still it’s the sweetest sound he has ever heard. When you call out for him, Gojo wants to be there in an instant. There’s this unknown calmth whenever he’s with you, his heart feeling lightweight somehow. He’s drawn to you like the tide to the moon.

For someone as grand as Gojo, he loves so quietly. 

He can’t bring himself to say those words out loud, as if they carried a weight that threatened what you two have. Still, he doesn’t know what to do with all this love; he never learned where to put it down. You can handle it, can you? The burden and the curse of being loved? You wouldn’t be scared to love him back, right?

So Gojo makes sure to show you his love in the most mundane things, so there’s no room for doubt just how tight he holds you in his heart. Midnight strolls to the candy aisle at the supermarket. I love you. A hand on the small of your back when you’re moving through a large crowd. I love you. Your fingertips brushing over his long white lashes while he rests his weary head in your lap under the cherry blossoms. I love you. 

It’s only when you kiss him one night, in the middle of the parking lot, that those big words get caught in his throat. Six eyes aren’t enough to comprehend the feeling in his chest when his big hands cup your face, as if he wants to hinder you from ever pulling away from him. It would be so easy to mumble his confession against your lips, but you already know. So instead he simply kisses you back, sweeping you off your feet when you lose your balance from being on your tiptoes. 

He smiles when you shush him with another kiss. He doesn’t need to say it out loud; you know, you’ve always known.

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

Nanami’s confession is apologetic.

The words have been weighing on his heart until one night, they just fall out of his mouth. Maybe he had one drink too many, not enough to be drunk, but enough to loosen his tongue. His thumb rubbing over the rim of his glass, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his tie not so accurate anymore. He isn’t looking at you; it’s easier if his gaze doesn’t catch yours, if his eyes can’t wander to your lips. Your hands are next to each other on the bar counter, almost touching. He could close the distance so easily, but he’s aware that he wouldn’t be able to let go of your hand anymore.

“I’m in love with you.”

His voice is low, whisky-raspy. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable; it’s a warmth that’s surrounding you like a veil. At this moment, it’s just you and him. In another life, this could have been so easy, couldn’t it? In a life where he doesn't have to worry about fighting curses, and the horrors humans are capable of, and about the day he might not come back home to you from work. He wouldn’t have to break your heart like that.

“So deeply, utterly in love with you.”

In another life, you could have had it all. The shared books on the nightstand, the matching rings on your fingers, the messy blankets in the morning. Maybe he was being greedy, yearning for this. He couldn’t help himself when you tugged on his heartstrings like that. He tried to fight it, this attraction to you; but the more he tried to keep his distance, the more he yearned for a glimpse of your attention. Your bright smile from the other side of the room–it should have been enough. And still…

“I hope you can forgive me.”

Was it really greed that made him cradle your face in his palms, gazing into your eyes before leaning in for a kiss? No… no. But he knows he can never let go of you now, not when he tasted the sweetness of your lips. Not when you kiss him back with such hunger, years of yearning unraveling in this very moment. Not when forgiveness lies on the tip of your tongue, asking to be devoured. All he can do is hope that when his time comes, you’ll let him pick up the pieces of your broken heart and that the light of your love will guide him somewhere south; back to the warmth the two of you feel in this very moment with his lips on yours. 

❦ 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀

Higuruma has no doubt in his heart regarding his feelings for you. They’re clear as day to him. His heart leaps in his chest when you enter a room and your laughter washes away all of his exhaustion for a bit. 

He studied you from afar for a long time; he can read all of your small gestures and expressions like a language only you and him know. The way your tongue pokes out between your lips when you’re in deep focus, reading over a file from a case you’re working on with him. Your fingertips picking up a tiny piece of lint from his suit before you enter the courtroom together and the small smile playing on your lips when he looks over his shoulder to catch what you’re doing. That one strand of hair that seems to be loose no matter how often you try to tuck it away, much to your annoyance and his adoration. 

“I’d like to ask you out.”

His words are as clear as his intentions. Higuruma is a straightforward man, not brash but gentle in his own way. With him, you don’t have to wonder what's between you two, he’ll tell you what’s on his mind and he’ll expect the same from you. Never pushy, but longing for connection, for mutual understanding. He sees no point in hiding his feelings and he knows you’re clever, you’ve probably had them figured out anyway. 

Higuruma and you have to face them daily, the abysses of the human mind. It’s easy to let your heart go cold over them, to lose a bit of your own humanity. And yet, when your eyes meet, it’s all forgotten. It’s like he can see the essence of your soul and you can see his and it’s all golden; so golden.

You don’t pull away when his fingers weave between yours one night when you leave the office together. He feels a sense of relief wash over him in this moment, not because he was afraid that you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but because his world got a bit brighter in this moment, a bit warmer. He missed this for much longer than he’d admit.

To Higuruma, loving you comes easy. It feels as natural as breathing. It calms him, as if you’re the eye of a storm. And so he doesn’t even hesitate to say those words out loud, almost stating them like a matter of fact, and sealing them with a kiss. Guilty of loving you.

[tqmies]

ZB1 + Jealous Sex

ZB1 after one of you is jealous!

note: legal members only (not including gunwook or yujin!) & as always, minors dni!

JIWOONG's eyebrows just furrow because, really? Did you seriously think any of these run-of-the-mill men at this party could make him feel insecure? They don't but they do manage to piss him off. Why were you so close to them? You were just being friendly? You're a liar.

You babble incoherently as he held the vibrator to your abused cunt, having climaxed more times than you could count before having it ripped away by his hands. All he did was crudely laughs at your expense. "What's wrong baby? Earlier you had no problems acting like a slut. I'm just treating you like one."

You knew ZHANG HAO was cute, everyone knew it. Doesn't mean you appreciate everyone flirting with him though.. And his seemingly oblivious act to it all has you seeing red. God, you had to teach him a lesson.

"Babe, s-slow down." He lets out, cock already spent, your eagerness to get him to cum again has him tearing up. His face red as he bites his bottom lip, letting out low whimpers. You continue bouncing on him though, fingers digging into his shoulders as you use them as an anchor. You scoff, trying not to let any moans slip out. "Think any of those girls out there could have you like this baby?"

HANBIN knows that it's not your fault, but it doesn't stop him from getting a little jealous! His friends had crashed your beach date, catching your body in its full glory in the cute bikini you donned. He swears one of them even popped a boner from it!

"You're mine," He growled, your leg thrown over his shoulder. He hadn't even managed to slip your bikini off, only pushing it to the side enough to enter his fat tip into you. Could you blame him? You just looked so good in it! "Only I get to touch you like this, right?"

MATTHEW had been begging you to join him at the gym for months and you finally gave in. Things were fine until you managed to catch a group of girls giggling at your boyfriend in a compression shirt. Leading to an argument that he found himself determined to make up for.

His tongue licked the stripe up your clit, placing light kisses on your thighs to tease you afterwards, before tongue fucking you. "Don't act silly my love, you know you're the only one I want. Those girl's can look all they want, but you're the one that get's me this way."

TAERAE felt the familiar green monster rear its ugly head into his life the minute he spotted you being asked out at the coffee shop he was here to meet you at. You immediately declined the other, but he still couldn't help but feel a little insecure. It was up to you to show him he had no reason to worry.

"Hmm," You mumble, jerking him off as you prepare to deepthroat. He whines, holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you press kisses to the flushed tip. "Prettiest cock in the world attached to my pretty boy. No where else I'd rather be then here taking your load down my throat." He can't even manage to stutter a response before you're gagging on his shaft.

You can't blame anyone who hits on RICKY, people flock to him like bee's to honey. But two can play at that game, and you played it quite well, but Ricky doesn't like sharing.

"Gonna fill you with so much cum that it leaks out," He has you folded into a mating press, your walls sucking him in as you jolt from how rough he was fucking you. He was determined to drill into you until your pussy was molded for only him. "Lets see you talk to the guys with it dripping down your legs."

He doesn't get jealous, or at least that's what GYUVIN tells himself. He likes that you get along with his friends! No he doesn't mind one of his friends offering you a jacket. Or saving you a seat by them! It's all perfectly fine.

"Please, please don't leave me. I'd cry every day and- haah - I promise, none of them can treat you like I can." He begs, too busy caught up in his own ministrations that he can't even notice you're fucked too dumb to properly respond. Your back arched as his balls hit your ass with every stroke as you try to keep yourself propped up. "I'm promise I'm good enough, I'll be the best boyfriend- shit - you could ever ask for."

[cameronspecial]

Rafe and reader - enemies to lovers

Protective!rafe with innocent!reader

She asks her best friends brother for help when she’s in trouble!

Safe In The Arms Of The Enemy

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Fear of Being Followed and Walking Home Drunk Alone

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Sarah have been best friends for as long as she can remember. Even though Y/N is three years older, they met when she was nine and Sarah was six. The two of them just clicked and they have been thick as thieves ever since. This led to their families growing close together. The Camerons were always so nice to Y/N; everyone except for Rafe. For some reason, he has always been bothered by Y/N and she reciprocates that feeling because his hate provokes her.

The music in Sarah’s room blares through the speakers while Y/N stands in front of the mirror, singing along to “Stressed Out” by Twenty One Pilots. She is sleeping over at the Camerons' house to keep Sarah company. Ward, Rose and Wheezie are on the mainland for Wheezie’s spelling bee and Rafe is who knows where. The girls had grown peckish, so Sarah offered to get some pizza, leaving behind her best friend at Tannyhill by herself. “Wish we could turn back time. To the good old days. When our mama sang us to sleep, But now we're stressed out.” Her right hand forms an o as she uses it as a microphone. Her focus is on her own reflection, so she doesn’t notice Rafe’s appearance behind her. He leans against the door frame with his arm above his head. “Wow, you would think with how rich your parents are that they would pay for singing lessons for you after hearing you screech like a banshee,” he teases. 

Her eyes roll in their socket and she turns to face him. She fires back, “Like I care about your opinion. I’ve seen your tastes and I’m glad that I’m not up to your standards.” “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Obviously you are blind because I have amazing tastes.” 

“Nah, I’m not the problem. You are,” she pushes to infuriate him. She steps forward and they are face to face. He crouches down so their eyes meet, “I wish I was the one with the problem because then I wouldn’t have to deal with you. I swear every time I see you at my house, which is all the time, I wonder when you are going to get the fuck out of my life because I hate that you are in it.” 

His words don’t meet his eyes, but she doesn’t notice. Instead, her mind takes the words to heart. A poke attacks her heart and it causes a tsunami of blood to come out. She can’t explain why she takes the word to heart; she returns the sentiment. Nevertheless, maybe she doesn’t feel as strongly as he does because as much as she loathes him, she couldn’t imagine her life without their quipful exchanges. He sees her tight lips and her silent demeanour; guilt flashes through him.

Before he can try to resolve the situation, Sarah passes behind him with a steaming pizza in her hand. “Ugh. Rafe, leave her alone. I would like to eat in peace,” she complains, setting the flat box on her desk. His hand runs over his lips as he thinks. “Fine, I don’t care. Later losers.” 

———

The ending of summer means Rafe and Y/N have to return back to UNC. When she found out he was going to the same university as her (she should’ve seen it coming because Ward is an alumnus), she hesitated to accept her position; however, she figured uni was a big place and the chances of running into him were slim. It has been true for the most part. They’ve only run into each other five times in the two years they have been at university.

She stumbles through the dark street with her head pounding. It wasn’t the best idea to be walking home alone while drunk, except she didn’t want to make her friends go home early. She lied to them and told them another friend was picking her up. Her feet catch on the pavement and a rock skips across the ground. A car passing beside her causes her to jump away from the road. Her inebriated state makes her more paranoid. She lets out a breath when the taillights fade into the distance. Laughter coming from behind her causes her to spin around. She spots men walking in her direction and even though they don’t appear to be looking at her, panic sets through her. She begins to walk faster as her breathing starts to get faster and she decides to run into an alley to hide. Her first thought is to call to help, so she pulls out her phone and dials the first number that comes to mind. “What do you want?” he grunts through the phone. “Rafe, I’m scared. I don’t know what to d-” She hears footsteps coming closer to her and hangs up. A trash can seems like the perfect cover, so she drops behind it against the wall. 

Rafe sits up straight from the couch and stares at the phone. The screen showing that the call has been ended makes him grow anxious. He begins to pace as he tries her phone again. His hand runs through his hair while he replays the fear in her mind. He is sent to voicemail and wants to through his phone against the wall. Another thought comes to mind and he decides against it. 

———

She doesn’t know how long she has been behind the garbage with her head pressed against her legs. She is honestly too scared to move in case those men are still around. It didn’t look like they were following her, but it is better safe than sorry. The alcohol in her system starts to affect her state of consciousness and she struggles to keep her eyes open. A hand on her back causes her to scream and jump back. Her head hits against the brick wall. She grimaces as she brings her hand up to rub the back of her head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. It’s me, Rafe.” The familiar voice makes her look up to verify his identity. 

She sees his mop of dirty blonde hair and his stunning blue eyes stare back at her. She has never been so happy to see him. Her arms wrap around him to pull him against her, “I was so scared. Are they still out there?” She surveys the street once they separate. His hand cups her cheek to check her for injuries; he isn’t concerned about their surroundings. “Sweetheart, there is no one around. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?” He frowns at the last part, following her search with a hard expression to find the person he has to defend her against. She doesn’t find anyone and her shoulder drops in his hold. Her head rests against his chest. Tears begin staining his shirt. His hand laces between the hair at the nape of her neck and he gently scratches her scalp. He knows it soothes her. He kisses her forehead, “I’ve got you. You are safe.” For the first time tonight, Y/N feels safe and she is in the arms of her enemy.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[romypearl]

Beneath the Surface - Alpha!Regina George/Omega!Reader

Summary: After the disastrous Christmas performance, Regina needs to take out her frustrations on something, or someone. Her instincts lead her to an omega in heat that she found in the corridors of North Shore and she doesn't mind that it's Y/N.

Classification: Smut, angst

Warnings: Omegaverse/ABO, girl penis (?), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, language, slight bullying, Regina being a total idiot

Word count: +3600

Unrevised

In the dimly lit parking lot and the wintry cold, Regina sits behind the wheel of the sleek jeep, feeling hotter than ever. Frustration runs through her veins and anger boils her up from the inside out, weeks of preparation thrown away with one false move and suddenly nothing was under her control anymore. A total fiasco. She, the epitome of power, the Alpha of North Shore alphas, simply delivered a disastrous performance and, as much as her reputation gives her some credit, it was too shameful to bear. Anger, irritation and frustration that simply must be released. She had originally planned to call Shane or one of her affairs to relieve the tension, but as she left the stage, the intoxicating smell hit hard and almost knocked her off the small staircase. A breath of summer. Warm, inviting, vulnerable and extremely needy.

As a George and Queen Bee, she had always considered herself to be more than that, unlike ordinary alphas who ran down the corridors in search of an omega to relieve their pheromones. But that's exactly what she did. Walking at a brisk pace to find who owned that addictive scent, which unlike any other before, aroused her immediately. Excitement and horniness overcame all the sensations that were difficult to control, washing away the bitter taste of defeat and humiliation.

She needed that omega. She still fucking needs her. And she doesn't even care that it's Y/N.

One of Burn Book's targets, considered a zero, living in the shadows of high school, without groups or friends. Now revealing herself to be a silent omega, another who hides her nature to avoid the teasing and labeling that comes with being called an outcast.

When she pushed her against the wall outside, immediately recognized the smell, she'd smelled it before, remnants left in every corner of the school that made her crazy and curious. But to feel it up close is different, without the damned suppressants, so strong and bewitching. She can't resist dipping her face against the curve of neck, inhaling the sweet sinful musk. The shorter one is in heat. Ready, no, desperate to be taken. Claimed. Bred.

"Be quiet or they'll catch us." she murmurs, pulling the girl onto her lap, and bites her lip, holding back a moan as she feels the wet intimacy rub against her member "Fuck, you're so fucking hot."

Skillfully, her hands run down the covered figure, searching for the hem of the sweater, then pull the fabric up roughly and impatiently, revealing the provocative curves hidden under so much cloth. Regina leans in and, with a predatory glint in her eye, closes the distance between them in a second, taking her lips in a passionately fierce kiss, tongues meeting in search of dominance. With her heart beating too fast to breathe properly and face as flushed as a tomato, Y/N whimpers. She knows she should be ashamed of herself, being in HER arms, so excited by her touches that she can feel the wetness seeping between thighs and pussy aching in anticipation, the scent of the alpha making her dizzy, almost delirious.

"To think you're hiding under those rags..." the blonde comments, disentangling herself from the abused soft and swollen lips, tracing a path down the neck where she leaves red lipstick marks along with soft hickeys "And who you are." and digs her teeth into the immaculate skin.

Her nails run along Y/N's body with a possessiveness that borders on obsession, there is a trail of primitive scratches, yet it doesn't seem enough, she needs to drink from her so much that can barely think. Taking advantage of their position and her clear physical advantage, she engulfs one of the mounds, almost popping out of the thin tank top, tip of her tongue playing with the nipple stiffened by the cold. The hushed moans she draws from the omega could make her faint, everything is too much, the soft skin against her own body, the smell that consumes her brain, the excitement that permeates the car and all the magnetism that prevents her from turning back. She has to possess her.

"Regina, I..." the younger manages to say in desperate whispers as she tries to cope with the surprising pleasure, also struggling to get rid of the other's clothes, the Christmas costume being annoyingly glued on "I want... I need..."

"I know, princess." she replies simply and pulls her hands away, raising eyebrows in a teasing expression "They can find us, so let's keep as many clothes as possible."

Y/N nods in disappointment and unconsciously rolls onto the queen bee's lap in search of relief, the friction is too much for both of them.

"Do you have a condom?" Regina asks, already pulling up her own skirt to reveal the shape of her cock, panties marking its size and frighteningly large hard thickness.

Y/N denies with wide eyes, after all, she is a virgin and imagined she would be one for a long time.

"Holy shit!" Regina grimaces and sighs heavily.

"Gina, please!" the outcast begs, with an adorable pout and abandoned puppy eyes "I don't care, just come inside me. Fuck me here and now."

Seeing her like this, begging to be fucked and possessed, makes her member throb. She can't stop. She needs to have the girl, no matter if it's with or without protection. It's going to give them what they both want.

"Your wish is my command."

Carefully, Regina tilts the seat and pulls her to herself, their lips meeting once again, this time slowly, almost gently. The alpha recognizes the nervousness through the inexperienced touches and thinks it's a normal reaction to being with who she is, even the meanest betas reacted like this when she fucked them into oblivion. She smiles smugly, bringing one hand to Y/N's face to deepen the kiss and the other to her skirt, wrapping the fabric around waist until she is totally at her mercy, exposed and ready to receive her.

"You're so wet." she whispers, running fingers between the intimacy covered by the lace panties and in a single movement tears the fabric like paper, in pieces "Mine..."

"Yours..." Y/N agrees immediately, sucking on the lower lip "Just yours."

They know it's wrong. God, how wrong it really is. They're on opposite sides of the high school food chain, one the prey and the other the hunter. They are water and oil, wolf and lamb, don't mix. But at this moment nothing matters, when their lips come together and their flesh touches it feels as right and natural as breathing. On any other day Regina, figuratively and literally, would have her teeth around the girl's throat, on this day she leaves traces of passion on the spot, feverish with desire. Heat builds up between them and the alpha positions herself between the legs, feeling the wetness against her thick thigh, staining it with arousal. Her firm hands grip the hips tightly, leaving her fingertips imprinted on the soft skin. Y/N gasps and eagerly tangles fingers in the blonde strands, pulling her closer, wishing she could feel her fully, as if they could become just one.

"You're mine now, understand?" Regina growls, her husky, possessive voice sending shivers down the other's spine, she slides a finger along her wet entrance, eliciting low, pleading moans.

"Yes, I'm yours..." Y/N manages to formulate, eyes closed trying to deal with the pleasure she feels burning deep in her belly. She can't think of anything but being touched, every part of her crying out for more, begging to be filled.

Their minds spin, torn between the rationality that screams at them to stop and the primitive instinct that pushes them to keep doing it, taking over their senses and any sanity.

Y/N holds onto Regina's shoulders, nails digging into skin through the rubbery fabric. The feel of the cock against her naked pussy makes her gasp, then moan loudly as she rubs herself, simply hoping to have it soon, the sound muffled by a hand that quickly covers her mouth.

"Shh... be quiet, remember?" the other murmurs, flashing a lascivious smile "We don't want to get caught, do we?"

Y/N nods frantically, rubbing against the soft body in pure need and begging for some relief. The alpha laughs in disdain and settles down on the bench, positioning herself between the smaller's legs again. Without hesitation, she aligns her rigid member to the slippery entrance and slowly begins to thrust, feeling part of it being swallowed up by the warm, wet and receptive intimacy, exploring every inch as the girl writhes and moans, her hands reaching for the waist, holding it there possessively. Y/N's cry echoes through the car as Regina advances, arching in anticipation, between pain and pleasure, the blonde stops for a moment, giving her time to adjust to the size and the new sensations.

"Breathe, slowly..." the queen bee whispers, guiding her, her own instincts struggling to contain themselves.

Every fiber of her being just wants to move, to lose herself in the moment of possessing the omega, but she knows she has to be patient, especially since it's her first time, she's sure the loser has never been touched by someone like this and doesn't even like to imagine it. She has to confess to herself that she feels more alive than ever, the power and control she has turns them on in a way she's never experienced before. Not only that, having an omega in her arms is different and Y/N still manages to be different than any other omega she's ever shared a bed with, it's a whole new level of ecstasy.

Y/N takes a deep breath, trying to control the moans with every little movement, the stretching is painful, making her untouched walls burn with the intrusion, and it feels so deep even though she hasn't reached halfway, impeded by a thin barrier. At the same time as she's afraid, she can't contain her excitement, wanting to be possessed, filled and fucked into oblivion. The heat spreads, she's at the mercy and knows it, there's no turning back. She gathers her courage and sinks down, taking the rest of the cock all the way in, biting her lip to hold back another high-pitched moan. Their lips meet in a desperate kiss, tongues wrapping around each other, not out of dominance, but out of pure pleasure and delight.

Regina laughs, enjoying every second, and then begins to penetrate her again, moving steadily, in and out slowly, at a pace that makes Y/N feel it fully, inch by inch pulsing inside her.

"Faster... please..." Y/N begs, hands gripping Regina's muscular arms tightly, who opens a predatory smirk, arching her hips a little faster and harder, each thrust increasing the pace until they are both moving desperately in search of pleasure.

"Oh my... I..."

There is no more pain for the youngest, it has faded with every touch and kiss given while her virginity is taken by the alpha. She never imagined that one day she would capture the blue eyes for herself and if she did, it would be in a bad way, like starting to be stalked for some reason, becoming another target in the corridors of North Shore, more socially isolated than she already is. But here Y/N is, in the arms of some of her recurring nightmares and she's surprisingly affectionate. Full, soft lips find the curve of her neck, depositing long kisses, before moving up the length to find her thirsty mouth, rolling their tongues in pure lust and desire. Contained moans and sounds fill the silence of the parking lot.

Regina feels her climax approaching, hips moving faster and faster in a primal need to have her for herself, to claim her.

"I... I'm going to..." Y/N begins, but the words die away as her body convulses with pleasure and the other is no different, struggling to hold on as she feels the intimacy tightening around her member, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of her throat.

The thrusts become faster and deeper, totally sloppy, Regina's manicured nails digging into waist, pulling her tighter and tighter. Each move makes the car shake and they know they're about to fall apart, nothing else matters but reaching the climax. Their breaths are ragged and irregular, the kisses intense and the desire emanating from their bodies, lost in forbidden delight.

"Fuck, come for me, princess." the alpha murmurs, tracing a path down her neck, inhaling the sweet, irresistible scent of pheromones, it's an intoxicating mist that blinds her completely "Be mine..."

Finally, she bites the curve of neck, marking her. The girl moans loudly, a mixture of pain and pleasure as her body falls into an intense orgasm, as she feels the member hit a spongy and delicate spot that makes her lose complete control. The sight and sounds of Y/N reaching climax are enough to trigger Regina's own release. She comes hard, spilling inside the girl with a primal roar, marking her once again, this time with his seed inside the omega.

Heavy panting and sweaty, they remain in the same position, her cock buried inside sensitive pussy, moving tortuously slowly to intensify the pleasure.

Regina lies back on the seat, her eyes beginning to tire and her breathing to settle. The excitement and intensity of the moment also slowly dissipate, replaced by some sense of reality and awareness, as soon as she realizes where she is and who she's with, she's in shock. And soon the cold expression she usually has with zeros to the left returns. She knows she can't allow what happened between them to go public and ruin what's left of her reputation. Not after what she's just been through at the Christmas performance, that would do damage. Y/N, with face still flushed and skin burning, feels reality come back cruelly when she finds the pair of blue eyes staring at her... with disdain and contempt, as they always have.

"Get out, now," the alpha says authoritatively.

The girl hesitates for a moment, unconsciously squeezing the other's arms, confusion and pain evident in her expression, but she manages to hide her disappointment, no matter how much there were no real expectations. She obeys without contest, standing up in a clumsy movement, feeling humiliated at having to pull her still pulsating member out of her, sperm mixed with the blood of her maidenhood dripping down her thighs and falling against the leather red skirt.

While she gets dressed, Regina wastes no time in straightening her own clothes, as quickly as she can, so that she can start the car and leave the parking lot, running away from the mess she's made. She doesn't look back, she can't, because knows she'll see the girl crying. And that she'll come back to Y/N.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks went by faster than any student would have liked and soon classes were back in session. Y/N sighs before entering the school, as usual looking away from everyone and walking quickly to her locker. Even after telling herself a million times that that night didn't exist or didn't mean anything, it didn't do her deluded heart any good, every moment vivid in memories. She knows that deep down there is a tiny spark of hope that Regina might at least treat her differently, not like a piece of trash. She's not sure if she wants a little attention or if she prefers indifference to the coldness she faced after everything.

But this little spark is quickly extinguished when she sees the alpha in the corridor, surrounded by her usual group of friends, and she shows no sign of recognition, her presence is not noticed, a total stranger to the unreachable queen bee, not even worthy of a slight look of contempt.

Over the course of the day, the school becomes more and more challenging, perhaps it's a paranoia that haunts her because of what they did in the parking lot, every whisper and glance from other students makes her shudder at the mere idea that they might know. It scares her. And the loneliness is painful. Her heart squeezes, hands sweat and she feels slightly dizzy, nauseous to the point of vomiting, for a secondshe thinks she's having a stroke when their eyes accidentally meet in the cafeteria.

At the end of the day all she can do is hide in one of the toilets, just as she has done many times before when things were too difficult. It's easy, just cross legs, keep feet out of sight and keep quiet until there's no sign of life, it doesn't take long, everyone's itching to get home quickly or busy with extracurricular activities. It's a "safe" place.

"Did you think I didn't know about this bad habit of yours?"

Y/N freezes as she recognizes the voice behind her once she leaves the cubicle, and in the reflection of the mirror she finds the same face that dismissed her as if she wasn't worth a penny. The blonde rolls her eyes at her reaction and walks briskly over to the bench, leaning on it so that they are face to face.

"Now do you want to talk, Regina?" she asks, swallowing dryly, feeling the oxygen being knocked out of her lungs little by little as the courage comes out of nowhere. "Okay..." she prepares to leave, but is stopped by the familiar squeeze of soft hands on her wrist.

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" the question sounds more like a threat, however, looking deep into her eyes can be seen some remnant of vulnerability, possibly fear of what that night might do to the queen bee's reputation. Y/N realizes this and can't help the tears that quickly gather at the edges of her eyes.

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried." the blonde rolls eyes again and lets her go "No one would believe you anyway."

"But I want to understand."

"Understand what?" she knows exactly what it is, just wants to get away from the answers.

Y/N takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm "About what happened... between us. I just want to understand."

Regina bites her lip and exasperates, closing the bathroom door with a bang, the girl shudders and takes a step back.

"There's nothing to understand, Y/N. It was just a moment of weakness, a mistake. Forget about it and move on."

Tears now stream down her cheeks in a pained expression, no matter how hard she tries, the words hit like sharp blades.

"But you said... Regina, you said I was yours." instinctively she brings a hand up to the curve of her neck, where the bite mark can still be felt.

The alpha stares at her in shock, she had forgotten this important detail and her instincts go wild recognizing her own scent on her, even masked by the suppressants, so she lets out a sarcastic laugh, combined with nervousness.

"Did you really believe that? How ridiculous. It was just one insignificant night, just like you."

Shame and anger overtake Y/N, everything seems so small all of a sudden, in slow motion, now she's sure she's going to faint. She brings her hands to wipe away the cascade of tears that persist in falling. She didn't think she'd feel more humiliated and used than weeks before, but hearing, having the tallest one practically shouting cutting words at her, is different, surpassing the pain she felt when she was left behind standing in that cold parking lot.

"Can't you stand me telling the truth? You're a nobody, an outcast, just another needy omega who was lucky enough to find an alpha in heat. Accept that and stop making a scene."

Y/N has to hold onto the wall to keep from falling to her knees right there, the last knife having been driven deep into her already weakened heart. She clenches her fists and tries to keep the sobs that threaten to escape down, the crying intensifies and she can no longer see properly. The naked truth is before her: she has always been, continues to be and will always be a nobody to Regina George... even after all.

Without saying anything or objecting, she turns on her heels and pushes the door open as hard as she can, running out of the bathroom, sobs breaking the silence of the corridors and drawing the attention of the few people still there. What omega wants is to escape the pain and humiliation, make it all go away, hide in a hole in the ground and pretend that she doesn't exist. Maybe, just maybe, then it won't hurt so much.

As Y/N runs away, Regina stands there, static, her expression of cold indifference and contempt slowly crumbling. She feels something strange deep in her chest, a twinge of guilt that she can't ignore. Almost like... regret, when was the last time she had experienced that? She can hardly remember. Then she realizes how harsh she was in the heat of the moment and the damage her words have caused, but her pride and fear keep her from running after the girl. Run to what? Apologize? She wouldn't do that, not even if she was paid.

With a heavy sigh, the blonde leans on the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She no longer sees the same confidence and power that she had until a few minutes ago, but a gag of guilt, which tightens even more when she remembers those pleading eyes, the sincere desire and how she broke Y/N. At this point, Regina realizes that behind her facade of control, she is just as vulnerable as anyone else. By hurting Y/N, she has hurt herself in the process. Because, as much as she denies herself with all her strength, she cares about the omega, but she cares more about her reputation. And she's losing her mind over a loser.

I'm willing to write a part 2 and open to ideas >^^<

Taglist: @chaengluva @avelynpye @bianchiniomg @royalityofmultifandom @lottiematthewsceo @notjaexiee @mayles @l1lass @bridkesby @jaxon-nathaniel-drake @sage_rose2000 @Therealkatebishopfan @hizzygizzy @laylasbunbunny @yellowthingsstuff @eradicatedbythenightmare @ioveyouloveme @get-the-fuck-outta-here @marvelwomenrule @syddie-reads @charleeeesworld @Twdnegan26 @wordsmithofmouth @@starved-mortal @roguemetalmaster13 @daenerys713 @ahhhh41 @anonymousewrites @Bi_Mad @reneeswife24 @aylauwuuniverse

Join my taglist here ^^

[ziggyzolch]

Queen Bee-atch Ⅰ (Regina George x Reader)

Summary: You, a self-proclaimed loser, are going into Junior year with one goal in mind: Avoid Regina George. Nobody notices you, so it shouldn't be too hard…right?

✮✮✮

Light seeps through the blinds and birds start to make themselves known with their melodic chirps. Aggressive rustling can be heard from outside your door as you throw a mini tantrum on your, now ruffled up, sheets. Sleepless nights weren't new to you, but they don't get any less frustrating. You stare at the ceiling for a good 30 seconds before finally pushing yourself off your bed. Walking to turn off the air conditioning, you trip over god-knows what and fall flat on your face. The first day of junior year and you're already contemplating ending it all, on the floor of your dump of a bedroom, laying next to a-

"My mascara!", you exclaimed as you sat up. You lost that thing ages ago. You get up, taking the mascara with you and make your way into the bathroom. Becoming a junior wasn't anything you cared for. After sophomore year, the illusion of high school you created in your head had melted away, leaving behind a hollow teenage girl that just wanted to get it over and done with.

Putting away your mascara, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your mirror. A bed-head ridden girl with deep eye bags, which only seem to become more obvious with each passing day, stares back at you. "God, I look horrific," you thought out loud. A habit, in hindsight, you needed to rid yourself of. Going through your morning routine, you think about the coming school year. 11th grade! Will this be the year you reinvent yourself? You could completely change yourself; The way you walk, talk, act, and dress!

...

Who are you kidding.

After successfully poking your eye with your eyeliner three times, you're done. You peak your head out your bathroom door, glancing at the cat-themed clock you've had since you were a baby. It's 8 am. Classes start at 8:15. Curses fall out of your mouth. Did time warp halfway through your routine or something? Running out of the bathroom you quickly change into your clothes, a worn out band T-shirt and black cargos. You can hear your mother cursing at you from downstairs as you make your way out your room. "You're going to be late on your first day, seriously?" Your mom deadpans as you reach the bottom of the stairs. "Whatever, mom, they don't even care."

Walking to school instead of letting your mother drive you was probably not the best idea, but you're too far from the house to care right now. You turn the final corner and arrive at your final location, North Shore High School. Approaching the doors, you can already make out two students face-mashing each other through the window.

✮✮✮

You've been a student at North Shore since freshman year, but anyone could mistake you for a new student, if they even noticed you that is. You pride yourself in being able to blend in with the crowd. This school was filled with losers, so you fit right in. They had already been assigned, so you made your way through the various cliques grouped up in the hallways and to your locker. As much as you hated this place, it's what you're used to. You'd have a hard time adjusting to a new high school, at least at this one you knew who to avoid. You don't even think about it anymore since you don't run into them much- nevermind. "Watch it, freak!"

Great, of anyone you could've bumped into, it's the queen bitch, Regina George. "Whatever." you mumbled and began to walk away when you were pulled back by your bag and shoved back into the lockers...hard. "This is the part where you apologize, Gerard Way." she spits at you while holding the straps of your backpack. A bit of black eyeliner and suddenly you're emo at this school. She was a couple inches taller than you, making it all the more embarrassing, looking up at her. Wriggling around proves unsuccessful. Is there a gym-bro buried beneath her layers of pink and pretty or something? Getting out of her grip doesn't seem like a possibility, so you begrudgingly mumble out a "Sorry..."

She stares at you for a few seconds too long.

"Uhm...can I go now?" You ask. "Yeah uh, sure, whatever." She finally lets you go and storms away towards her group of all-mighty "biatches", or "Plastics" as some (mainly Damien and Janis) call them.

So much for not being noticed.

✮✮✮

A/N: this is my first time writing, so any constructive criticism would be great! forgive any awkward wording or corny-ness. There are more chapters up on my wattpad and ao3, same username for both. @ziggyzolch

[foreingersgod]

can we get something about Caitlin like after a big win of hers and her girlfriend is on court with Caitlin being all over her? think like Taylor swift and travis after the Super Bowl

Miss Americana & The HeartBreak Prince(ss) . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: even if caitlin’s the center of attention, she can’t help but focus on you

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

caitlin had been preparing for this game for months, it felt. there seemed to be endless trainings, camps, and practices just to get her ready for this moment. of course, every game to caitlin was huge, but this? this game would mark the end of her collegiate career, would give her a championship title if iowa could pull it off.

and they did.

with a massive lead of 10 points, caitlin being the top scorer of the night. they had won effortlessly and earned the championship title.

you had watched from court side all night to see your girl play. you had been to every game to support her, but you typically resided farther into the crowd to stay reserved. but recently, with more and more attention falling on caitlin, you’ve become a major hit with the media. once caitlin became a well known basketball star, everyone was curious to know all about her life outside of the sport. this included the age old question: “who is she dating?”

very quickly, you were bombarded with attention. fans commented on her posts about you, interviewers asked her about her girlfriend, everyone wanted to know all about caitlin clark’s biggest cheerleader.

you really hadn’t minded all that much. the questions and inquires about you came across as sweet in your eyes, you were actually quite flattered that all these people wanted to get to know you. but even then it still had its downsides. upon caitlin’s managers request, you were to be in the eye of the public with caitlin as much as possible. this meant doing things like sitting court side for every game even if you didn’t particularly want to. caitlin, of course, loved the idea. she jumped at any opportunity to show you off and talk about you whenever she could. so to her, it was no problem.

once the game had ended, your hands red from clapping and cheeks sore from cheering, you watched as the team celebrated together. watching your girl hold that trophy with the biggest smile on her face was the most heartwarming thing. you let them have their moment before anxiously stepping onto the court to meet caitlin. perhaps it was the excitement from the win or maybe it was just the pure eagerness to see her, but you were practically running across the court to get to her.

“cait!” you shouted from a distance, trying to catch her attention from across the floor.

she spotted you in a split second. caitlin would recognize your voice from anywhere. quickly, she handed the trophy off to someone else, excusing herself from the conversation to go over to you. you met half way, caitlin scooping you up into her arms causing you to balance on your tip toes. her arms locked around you, nose burying itself into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent.

“hey baby” her lips curled into a smile that you could feel again your jawline.

“you were absolutely amazing” you maneuvered to take her face into your hands, admiring her face. sweat and messy hair included, she looked so radiant and beautiful. you pushed up the bill of her championship hat and brushed stray hairs away, allowing yourself to take in her full appearance. “I’ve never been so proud of someone in my life!”

“you don-” she wanted to protest humbly, but was rudely interrupted.

it was like a swarm of bees. interviewers and cameramen surrounded you, lights flashing and microphones being shoved into your faces. many of them were shouting incoherent questions all while trying to grab your attention. your sweet moment was ruined, it was time to face the crowd.

“caitlin, tell us about your big win!”

“is this your girlfriend? caitlin, over here!”

“the fans want to hear from the new it couple!”

they were all shouting, trying to get an ounce of attention from her. you could tell by the look on her face that she just wanted to ask them to leave, but you also knew she would rather endure the exhausting interviews than tell anyone ‘no’. so she swung her arm around your shoulder, causing you to stumble into her side, to keep you close to her.

“it was a really great game…” she began talking about the game, all the interviewers listening attentively.

caitlin spent quite a bit of time giving run downs and talking strategies for the game, letting people ask her questions about what it felt like to be in the spotlight. the whole time, though, her arms never left you. she would occasionally rub your arm to ease the anxiety of having all the cameras on you, maybe sometimes move down to your waist just to pull you in even closer.

you sort of zoned out, putting yourself in autopilot to avoid panicking over the lights and shouting journalists. nothing caitlin said to any one of them you really heard, but somewhere in the sea of questions, you heard your name.

“and who’s this here with you? is this YN?”

suddenly, you were back in the game, completely engaged in the conversation. you looked over to see caitlin smiling down at you with the most goofy grin.

“yea,” she said “yea this is my girlfriend, YN”

you looked out into the vastness of the cameras, all of them pointing at you, as you proffered a small smile. it was still a process, getting used to being the center of all the madness.

caitlin continued before anyone could ask you something, knowing you weren’t ready to answer any questions quite yet.

“she’s the one i owe all this to,” her arm squeezed you, reminding you to take a deep breath and relax “she’s by my side day and night, giving me all of her support. i wouldn’t be anywhere without her so for that, i dedicate this win to her”

leaning down closer to your level, caitlin’s hand cradled your jaw to pull you in for a gentle kiss. it caught you off guard realizing that she was openly being intimate with you in front of everyone. but you trusted her judgment, letting yourself relax into the kiss.

of course, everyone went crazy, all happy that they had media coverage of the popular couple.

this was going to be all over instagram tomorrow.

after a few more questions and a several pictures of you two standing side by side, they dispersed to pester some other players. it was finally just the you and caitlin again, able to have a moment to yourselves.

“getting a bit risky with that kiss, huh?” you draped your arms over her shoulders.

“had to let everyone know how much i love you s’all” she shrugged, pressing another delicate kiss to your forehead. “i’d never pass up an opportunity to show you off, you know that”

“i do” you said, smiling at her. despite all the chaos around you, people still buzzing with excitement, confetti still lingering in the air, endless fans, it still felt like just you. just you and caitlin immersed in each other. “i love you so much”

“i love you a thousand times more”

[tartarusknight]

Steve froze as the mind flayer came flying downwards at their group. He could hear Hopper yell for everyone to get down. Joyce and Jonathan running for Will. Steve who had been by both Robin and El, threw himself in front of them. Covering them the best he could. The mindflayer hit them with its smoke form and it was like nothing Steve had ever felt before. As is a tidal wave and a strong gust of wind mixed together to make you feel like you were drowning on land.

It settles around their feet for a moment before it began to swirl around all of them. Tendrils ran up Steve's leg but he didn't focus on that when there was one on El. The girl was the best shot to killing this thing. If she was taken now, they were fucked. So he battered them away from her as she did her best to get free of it's grips.

Only when Steve feels a tug, not on his leg or arm but like something tugged inside of him. Like someone had gotten a good grip on his intestines and pulled. Steve stumbled back his body going taught as he felt what felt like electricity running through his veins. His hand spasms and he drops the nail bat before his knees give out. Robin shouts his name and the last thing he sees before falling forward onto the ground is her outreached arms.

Steve feels nothing and everything at the same time. It makes it difficult to open his eyes but when he does, it's to an empty landscape. Like the Upside Down but... Just nature. It wasnt the creepy hell version of Hawkins but floating rocks and yellow lightning. The vines looked more like veins than slimy killers. And there was a form, made out of black particles flickering around. Silently he wishes that they could just have normal human problems to worry about. Instead of this.

As Steve stared, frozen to his spot, he could see it solidify into a spider like form before becoming something closer to a swarm of bees. It was the mindflayer. But it wasn't attacking like it had just been, it was just watching him. "King, help," the word isn't said but Steve hears it clear as day.

His brow furrows, "what?"

"King," it responds like he should understand. But he doesn't. "Help us, my king."

That word lost all meaning to him hears ago. From Tommy starting the nickname to the distain Steve could feel when Robin teased him with it. "You are called a king." It says and the pressure from it's words is like a pressure to his skull.

He winces and takes a step back, "that- I'm no king." But it doesn't seem to understand repeating the word once more. He feels at a lost, wishing someone else was here. He barely understood Will and El when they explained it wasn't the mindflayer attacking them, it was just Henry. That technically the mindflayer was just another puppet. Yet no one else is here. Wherever here is.

He feels dread light up his limbs and sighs. "Look, I haven't been called that in a long time. It basically-"

But the mindflayer cuts him off, "you are a king without a kingdom.” It's almost like a question but said like a demand.

"Sure, I guess. But I don't- what the fuck-" he screams, starting back as the smoke spirals down in front of him, looking smaller... But like a more condensed form. It almost looked solid if not for the wisps floating around it

"We need a king." The form flickers and it's like a living shadow.

"I'm not a king," Steve presses but as it takes a step forward, he scrambles further back until he trips on one of the many vines. As it reaches out, its hand catches him from falling. The fingers wrapped around his wrist are solid, almost warm against him.

"We need a ruler, a mind to melt us." The form is growing firmer the longer they stand here and Steve is lost. "you already are changing us." And if it can, it sounds amused.

"But- it was just a nickname. I'm not special." Steve splutters and the blackness of the smoak is changing. "I don't even know how to help you."

The grip on his wrist is completely solid and when Steve glances down, long human fingers are around his wrist. "Oh, my king, you're already helping us. Henry wanted us to strike fear in his enemies, he wanted an ally in his war, he wanted a beast. You just want to be free, for your friends to be safe, for me to be human. You desire a normalcy that you've lost," and the voice isn't pounding into Steve's skull but spoken like someone is speaking to him.

But Steve can look away from the hand around his wrist. "You desire for your friends to have a normal childhood, to have friends and play their games. You desire Robin to have another friend to confide in. You desire love," the voice is smooth and it would be relaxing if it weren't for the fact that it had been the fucking mindflayer a second ago. "My king, we can give it all to you," another hand moves and cups his cheek. Tilting him to look at a man with sparkling eyes and curly brown hair. As a smile formed on the man's face, a dimple formed to wink at Steve. "I think that it could be fun for both of us," the man grinned and Steve wasn't really sure what was happening anymore.

So I was trying around with this king Steve plot thingy after reading In Over My Head by staymagical (a wonderful fic if anyone's interested💞) but I had another actual idea of something like Venom (yes from spiderman) but more of... Well it was like Eddie somehow becomes Steve's shadow as in Eddie wasn't human. But I haven't gotten around to writing it yet. I might write a small clip like this with that premise tho. Anyways I combined the two ideas because I could and you got this. Hopefully it's at least an entertaining thought for ya 💞

[jolapeno]

iii. when pounding dough isn't just baking

joel miller x f!reader | chapter three of honey stained hands

chapter summary: and he can already hear what Jackson will say if they find out, the looks he’ll get—because how dare he poison the sweet woman who tends to bees and bakes cakes. but he dares. fuck he’d dare over and over again.

warnings: patrol times, allusion to grief, minor mentions of loss of loved ones (rip tess/sarah), reader is unwarrantedly slapped on the ass by an unknown male (she handles it, cause she's a baddie), soft, slow-smut, p in v, typical canon-angst, no physical descriptions, minor use of the nickname 'bee' but no use of y/n. wordcount: 5.1k an: fuck me, she's uploaded hahaha. for this chapter, there's far too many people to thanks, I've rambled about this to anyone who listens, but as always thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for propping me up when this felt like it would never happen and thank you also to @goodwithcheese who loves this, probably as much as me, but has also reminded me i have to love it first.

It’s hard to pinpoint when the snow first began to truly settle.

When it began to simply dust itself over things, and then when it shifted into blanketing.

One day, normal. The next there’s a sheet of white hanging expertly over roofs and porches. It's placed there by the hands of nature, blanketing everything in innocence, unveiling deception by the way of footprints, while hiding away the horrors that have deteriorated and spoiled into the ground.

It twinkles when stared at and crunches under the soles of boots. It goes hand in hand with the weather which makes mist appear from lips as people converse, going on with their new normal. It forces laughter from individuals as it falls in flutters, collecting on noses, hands and the ground, just before snow people begin to appear, all crafted expertly by hands and joy. But, the snow also makes bones in those who are older ache and makes excited giggles flow from those who are younger.

For Joel, it drives him to yank his gloves further up his hands, causes him to grumble and makes him narrow his eyes as Ellie rolls another snowball and threatens to throw it.

She eventually settles with heading off to find Tommy, leaving him to stuff the gloves under the cuff of his jacket—trying to busy himself, and not stare. Alternating between flexing his fingers and peering around as he waits to hear your door open.

When it does sound, it’s like music to his ear. A soft whistle flows with it, a smile catching his eyes when he allows himself to glance over and look.

Joel swears the light of the world lives in your smile. It must do to penetrate the layers he wears, the walls he’s thrown up and the roughness he carries. Not that he’s ever about to admit it. Not that or that whatever had been churned up inside of him, smooths out. A semblance of calm slid itself over him, gently weaving its fingers under knots and taut muscles, relaxing him, inch by inch.

Although, a part of him is tempted to spill all his secrets to you when you skip down the steps, looking as over the moon to see him, as he is to see you.

“You ready for Patrol 101, Miller?”

He isn’t sure he is. His knees had groaned in protest this morning, then there had been an ache in his ribs when he stretched too far, and he was sure if he attempted to run his hip would give out.

Joel swallows all of it and doesn't share it. Doesn't want to highlight any more than the lines on his face and the callouses on his fingers what the years have done to him.

Because getting out was something he’d been craving.

A hunger in him that hasn't been stemmed with tasks and fix-me-ups. It’s why he had almost choked on his drink when Tommy told him the news. Practically watched his brother smirk in the same way he had when he was younger—like he’d gotten something on his older brother. Bee'll take you around a few times; show you the routes. Then you'll be paired with someone else.

While he hadn’t wanted to push, dismay swirled within him. It sloshed against the sides of the happiness he’d been handed, diluting it, and making it murky.

How come I can’t stay partnered wit’ her?

Can’t have the best two together—we’ll lose others quicker than we already are.

He said nothing. People had been getting braver for weeks, growing more desperate.

A thing which Joel had seen firsthand when he’d been outside of the walls of Jackson, long before he could ever say he was a resident. But, something had shifted more so since then. A deviousness not etched into those with more energy, more poison in their teeth and more gut in their stomachs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after you,” you tease.

Snorting, he holds your gaze. Allows himself to see his reflections in the way they glimmer, staring at him with a mixture of things—ones he wishes he could translate and understand. Your tongue tracing your bottom lip, something trying to write across your face, but never being spelt out.

That is until you clear your throat. Erasing it all, wiping the markings from your face—the begins of sketched-out confessions he would have tried to ascertain.

“Come on, need to get ourselves equipped.”

He follows, as he does for the next hour.

On the second time out, he’d grown used to your mannerisms.

How you went from nothing but sunshine to a thing someone would fear meeting in the dark.

That you begin by his side, but eventually fluctuate between being a little in front or just behind. Your voice ranges in pitch, sometimes whispering, sometimes at normal volume. All little quirks he supposed you’d picked up from surviving.

The main thing Joel learns is that he doesn’t hate listening to you—not like he does many others. Even when you elbow him, pulling a slight smirk from him.

What he hadn’t banked on was the way he felt when your eyes dropped to his lips temporarily, almost fleetingly.

Good job I’m a talker, isn’t it Miller?

While you are, he’s also now able to spot that shift in you on the third run—the one he saw before when you were littered with ruby droplets. He can predict when it descends, when it shifts in your eyes, something sharper, more razor when you’re on this side of the fence.

The playful light that adorns your face is gone, traded for something harsher, more weathered. He thinks it would be rude to say your age, but you appear hardened, like the things you’ve faced begin writing themselves across your face all over again.

Joel notes it’s worse when you pause at an abandoned cabin, your voice tight, almost forced as it leaves your mouth. Your eyes burn into the door and the chipped windows. He doesn’t interrupt, makes no sudden movements, just allows you to list the things there, the amenities, the hidden knife in the floorboard and half a box of bullets behind a brick in the fireplace.

He's not paying attention to that though, but rather you.

You who looks like you could shatter if he knocked into you, crumble into something that would willingly slip between snowflakes and bury yourself into the soil.

He's learned grief can be worn in a number of ways. Ellie's there, carried around her neck like a necklace, it lingering in unsaid words.

The most painful parts of his own are buried in a chamber, wrapped in iron, only released in the moments where he's alone, where there's nothing but darkness and quiet, allowing him to replay all he can recall like a home movie, paying attention to the way those three letters sound and the childish laughter rings out.

Another part comes back to him at the sound of running water, of circular rocks. He thinks of that sly smirk and that cunning brain when he rolls over mid-sleep to remember he still leaves a space.

Then, there's the way you carry it. A mystery, slices of it living in the things you surround yourself and you come into contact with, like a bunch of ghosts which haunt and linger.

"I know it’s not a lot, but it’s better than leading them back."

"Yeah," he adds.

Because other words don't come to him with ease.

You don’t fill the silence for a while after the cabin is barely in sight, just the world absently humming along, as though it doesn’t notice the tension and the way your shoulders are by your ears.

“So, why baking?”

It’s the first question he asks—the only one since the two of you left the safety of Jackson. If you’re surprised at his shift to engage, you do not comment, instead pointing in the direction the two of you are taking.

“Well, I did do candles for a while too, but…”

Moving a branch out of the way, you nod as you move under it, likely following a path you only know in your head.

And it lingers, the bit after the but. Waiting, hearing the breeze blow gently through bare trees and the snow wince under your boots.

“So, how’d you like patrol, Miller?”

Smiling, he grips the gun a little tighter at his waist. “S’alright. Y’a good tour guide.”

Laughing, you stop, waiting for him, jutting your head in the direction of the path, but he doesn’t move, and neither do you.

And it happens, brief and quick. Gone far too soon before he can point it out—that brief look you give him, dropping from his eyes to his mouth. Curiosity there, brewing, bubbling before you vanish it when you return to hold his gaze.

“If Tommy tells me you rated me less than five stars, I’ll be coming for you.”

“Will y’now?”

Narrowing your eyes, the world silent of snow crunching under boots. “Yeah. I know where you live, too.”

He doesn’t see you for several days after the third patrol—and in that time, he's paired with someone younger, a man who appeared more nervous about holding a gun than he did being outside the walls.

“The two of you will be going out in a week,” Maria had said, no room for complaint or argument.

A stern expression that hardens as though freezing in the cold temperatures.

So, Joel said nothing.

But he did think of you.

He dreamt of you, too. Them having shifted when he slept. Swirling, hearing the distinct whispers of Miller, flashes of your gaze just as he wakes up—leaving him gasping, hand on his stomach, desperate to alleviate pressure, but not the kind which had been in his chest.

By the fifth day, he still hadn't asked about you, but fuck did he want to. Almost went round, and hammered his fist into your door. Getting as far as his own porch before he talked himself out of it.

But, now Ellie had begun to mumble. Her sharing her worries, her concerns, fingers playing with the other as she sat at the table, breakfast untouched, sadness beginning to embed itself in the cheer that Jackson had slowly brought her.

"She might be already down at the pen."

Moving the spoon, Ellie shrugs. "She isn't. Her light is on."

By the time he’s decided to check in himself, Joel finds Ellie at the foot of your porch, hands on her hips—beckoning you to come out. Doing so at the top of her voice, all sing-song, making a dance and churning the snow into ice as you stand and watch.

Whatever your reply is, is buried under your breath, doing so begrudgingly, practically dragging your feet like you were the same age as her.

“You have anything to do with this, Miller?”

“Nope. I’d have dragged y’out if it were up to me.”

You’d poked his chest, smirking—a glint that flickered and then vanished inside the dark-sadness that swirled in your eyes. “You can drag me anywhere, Miller, just so you know.”

Somehow, the simple act of getting you out led you to teaching Ellie more about the animals, showing her how to brush one of the horses, and how to feed the chickens. Before he knew it, he was lingering behind, watching the two of you talk to other townsfolk, before somehow ending up in the Tipsy Bison.

It was then Ellie decided to leave you both—a look on her face that screamed menace and don’t fuck this up old man, all at once.

And he had tried. Kept things light, breezy. Ordered you a drink, listened, and even overthought questions before he asked them.

Your eyes flicked to a table across the room when you motioned to answer, it all loud, full of laughter. The pitch of them has been growing louder for the last half an hour, likely doing so as more time goes on and as more alcohol fills their stomachs and sloshes with the morals.

It seemed to make your spine tense, your jaw tighten. All newbies, from what Tommy had said when he’d served you—seem good, honest.

Joel didn’t get that vibe, and from the look on your face, neither did you.

Clearing his throat, he nudges your glass with his. “Y'been good?”

Chewing your reply, you lean on the bar—eyes staring at him. That same look.

The one which he sees in his dreams. The one he saw embers of on those walks.

Before it drops, finds a place near where his fingers rest, watching a smile crack into your stern expression, fluttering something else out in its place.

“Better now.”

“Yeah?”

Rolling your lips, you lean closer, the scent of your soap and shampoo flooding his nostrils. “Yeah, Miller. You make me—“

But your words are stolen, robbed.

Taken.

The action does so before the sound of a crack echoes, all heavy, loud—it punches itself into the calming air, turning it violent and angry.

It ricochetes.

And Joel is embarrassed it takes him far too long to piece together when he sees you jolt beside him. Only realising when Tommy yells and he sees the evidence of it cut across your face, the shock that bled into a deep frown—words dying mid-conversation before your head whipped around and you stare at someone passing.

Pushing up from the bar, slamming your glass down—it splashing itself against the wooden counter. “Did you just spank my ass?” you spit, cutting over the man’s laughter—directing it at him as he walked back to his table.

“Just thought you were good enough to eat, sweetheart.”

Even if the smile on your face is nothing but sweet, Joel sees the shift. The forced nature of it. The way it doesn’t glaze across your skin. But is planted there. Not quite reaching your eyes, not quite blazing over the simmering that’s there.

Because they’re aflame. Murderous. Slightly pinched at the edges as you slowly tilt your head, placing your bottle down.

The music continues to play, mindless chatter layers on top of it, but he can just hear your boots walking away from him. One step, two steps, three.

Your body inching closer to the man, the one with his thumb in his belt, leaning—like his comment had substance.

“That what you want, handsome? You want me?”

Joel’s throat dries, fucking tightens. And he just watches on, even as his fist grips tighter around the glass. Hating the drawl from your lips, despising it, in fact—even if he knows it's a pretence. Fake.

It’s a thing he knows from those patrols, has learnt all the inflictions of your voice—can read when you’re holding back and when you’re giving him nothing but honesty. He can tell when your words are silky, smooth—the same way he knows you’re acting now.

The man snorts. The scar on his cheek all pink, clearly healing, sliding up with his snarl. But, it's the way his eyes bore into you like a man starved, that makes him almost rise up from the stool.

The way the man licks his lips and looks you up and down. “I’d show you a good time, that’s all I’ll say.”

He can feel his blood boiling, hand so clenched he’s sure the bones will snap under flexed muscle and taught skin. But, he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—even if all he wants to do is go over.

Because you don't need him. Reminding him very much of circular stones and stubbornness. Reminding him of someone who handled themselves just as well, someone not worth crossing either—him there, only ever in case. That case rarely ever fucking needed.

He snorts to himself because it's only now he considers the fact that if the world had been different, he suspects the two of you would be friends.

Especially from the way you had moved closer to the table. Your hips doing their thing, fingers stroking at your palm as he motions to stand.

“Better than most around here, including your present company.”

You stop. Halt.

Head tilting ever so slightly—even from his position behind, Joel knows your face has switched again. Morphed. The air growing tenser, colder—practically bone-chilling.

And he swears the music quiets.

It happens quickly. A screech of a chair leg, the shattering of a glass, and the thud of a man twice your size landing on his back. Your body slowly crouches over him as the others at the table stand up. But, he's just focused on you.

How your jeans bend in a low V at the back as you hover over the man—shirt rising, skin showing.

All the other noises have stopped, and Joel can feel his brother’s eyes on him. Feel his pulse in his throat, in his ears, hammering and fucking hammering—

“This what you want? To have someone warm, sweet and gentle on top of your bones?”

You ask it in a way where there’s room for a response. The man’s eyes are wide, staring up at you like you’re the devil rather than an angel. Your tone carrying, fluttering to his ears—but your shoulders are squared.

“Lemme let you in on a secret. I’m not warm, m’not sweet—and touch my ass again, and you’ll find out that I’m not that fucking gentle either.”

Your words ring in the second after. Just the same as the thud of you throwing the man back to the floor. The words crawl across the walls, unwilling to be smothered by music. His drink suddenly tainted, ruined, no longer tasting of anything but annoyance, anger and sadness, watching you grab your jacket and leave.

Joel just rolls his jaw, over and over again. Glare burning a hole in the floor, opening it up, feeling red mist rise out of it as he tried to calm the pulse in his neck, the one hammering in his skull.

Y’going after her, or should I?

Tommy asked it in a way where he knew the answer, likely having bid his time to speak it. Let minutes rack up, and become a bigger number than they should have reached. He wore that same cocky expression Joel recognised from a world that didn’t feel like this one. It reminded him of kitchen mornings and car rides and mornings arguing with others about the prices of supplies.

It’s why he doesn’t answer, just grabs his coat, throwing a glare before he goes after you.

Joel pauses to visit the horses and lingers there to calm the anger in his bones and the fury in his muscles.

When he begins to trudge to your house alone, he pays attention to the way his boots crunch in the many prints left behind by others. His eyes trying to spot yours, discern them from the many others.

It only gets easier when the path forks off to where you both live. The prints grow fewer, able to spot the different pairs—the ones he knows to be Ellie’s, the ones he can recognise are his own, and then yours.

You with your little markings to your steps, the fresh snow leaving a breadcrumb trail he doesn’t need, but appreciates all the same. Because your house is flooded in darkness, bathed in the night—but the footprints told him you’d made it home.

Even in your anger.

He knocks once before he tries the door. Internally shaking his head at you leaving it unlocked, twisting it into place when he’s on the other side. Boots joining yours, bits of the outside crumbling from leather to meet the melting pools you’ve left yourself.

“Kitchen, Miller.”

Smirking, he shoves his coat from his shoulders, a little golden pool of light on your wooden flooring from the kitchen that lights his way. Leads him. Pulls him along with a transparent finger which hooks into the collar of his shirt and practically drags him, until he finds you where he suspected—behind a counter, flour dust everywhere, and staring waiting for him.

“Hey there pretty thing.”

Snorting, he bites back that you’re prettier. Swallows it. Until it rears its head up his throat, and sprouts in his brain, making him think back to your comment. Then, all he wants to do is make a comment about cashing in on it.

Truthfully, he hasn’t been able to stop himself from wondering if you sound as pretty as his perfectly tuned guitar.

As he turns it over, he realises—even if he was suave—it won’t sound as good. It all balling and rolling in a lump on his tongue.

“I’m sorry about tonight.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, y’hear me?”

Rolling your eyes, you tilt your chin to your chest. “Still. Should control my… annoyance better.”

Shaking his head, he folds his arms. "Think you controlled it just fine. Though, y'could've punched him."

Grinning, you look down at the bowl pointedly. "And how am I meant to buy my way into your heart if I can't bake you things?"

And it's there again, that thrum, that little twinge in him that you have awoken. A thing that made him think, not just feel. His thumb and finger play with the fabric of his sleeve, feeling his eye narrow as he watches you—considering, ticking.

“Can hear you thinking over here? Need some oil for the cogs up there?”

“Enough.”

Smiling, you lick your lips, tapping your fingers against the side of the bowl. “I’m used to it, Miller. The comments—the looks. Had it… well, far too long.”

Biting the inside of his jaw, he does so a bit too hard. Almost making himself wince, thumb digging into his arm, feeling it, halting him from exclaiming. “Shouldn’t have t’be used to it.”

“Yeah, well...”

You let the words fall out, before sighing. Resting your palms on the side of your bowl, you give him that look again. The one he thinks he understands and can read—even if it looks different. It doesn’t whisper in the same way as it did on Tess, on others.

On you, it looks like a challenge, a difficult thing he wants to overcome, solve.

Clearing your throat, you smile. Softer, kinder. "Least I'm your honey, right?"

Moving from his place, he moves closer to the counter. Something familiar coming back to him—something covered in cobwebs and dust. Once hidden under moth-eaten sheets, not thrown to the side as he comes to stop a considerable gap away—enough for you to blink, to tell him you’re tired and say goodnight to him in that playful tone.

None of it comes.

Lifting his chin, he finds you slowly smirking, eyes fixed on him, watching, waiting.

Clearing his throat, he rolls his jaw from side to side. “What’d y’like me to call you?”

Your hands flex, flour still clinging to your palms, your hands. “Tonight?”

Nodding, he watches you swallow.

Lets your eyes trace a pattern over his face, for a moment forgetting—allowing himself a moment of pretence. That this is normal, all of it.

“Yours. I want you to call me yours for tonight.”

Suddenly, his fingers are on you, palms grasping. It’s less a kiss, and more a need for your mouth—an act of dominance, a purposeful kiss to keep your tongue busy so it doesn’t take it back. More teeth than anything else.

Because it’s bold—yet so simple.

A thing which frightens him and makes him want to devour you whole, just as he’s inhaling, smelling sugar, sweet and all things fucking nice as you moan into his mouth—and fuck do you make him want. You, this thing that is all good on the outside and marred on the inside.

It's why he softens his mouth on yours, breathes you in a little gentler, hovering his mouth over yours, waiting, permission needing to be given, signed, delivered—

“Keep kissin’ me, Miller.”

Groaning, he does. Tasting something that is all things good, yet as he slides his hand around your apron and into your shorts, you’re nothing but bad.

He just feels skin, no fabric—your slick greeting his touch, how wet you are, all desperate to be known.

“Barely even touched you,” he groans, finger-coating himself in it. In you.

“Maybe you’re not the first visitor I’ve had in the last hour.”

Your hands are caked in flour still as he spins you, pressing you down. Cheek on the cool counter as the bowl tumbles and descends to the floor. Your hands, clutch, leverage themselves, hips all hinged.

“Y’mean it?”

“What?”

“Y’wanna be mine.”

“I mean whatever you want me to mean, Miller.”

Your tight as he slides another finger in, tightening around him, slick to the place his fingers meet his hand, your whimpers blowing flour dust around.

The more he touches you, the more he decides he has to have you. Something carnal, primal. Each whimper and moan grasped for like he was collecting them, storing them in his dark depths, hoping they’d glow and spark light.

Then, it cuts through it all, and your hand—smothering his jeans in uncooked batter—grasping at his thigh, squeezing.

Want you, Miller. Please.

Even as he retracts his hand, he wants to apologise. Turning you to face him, watching your eyes—all lust blown and pretty—drink him in, likely seeing his hesitance, his apologies.

Swallowing as you hook a finger in your shorts, letting them pool at your ankles, “It’s been a while for me, too.”

His mouth slants over yours, tongue diving past the back of your teeth. Clothes sliding free, skin exposed to the air of your kitchen—the evidence of your earlier baking leaving evidence in places he’ll find hard to explain.

Not that he cares. He wants to be costed in flour prints he’ll admire when he has to return home. Wants them to linger, be hard to rid—just like you.

“I’m no one else’s,” you whisper, teeth grazing his cheek.

But it’s the words that are left hanging he hears louder: not anymore.

A feeling he understands—relates to. His hands move, positioning you up onto the counter where you bake and make, and now fuck. He hears the bowl fall, the earlier mixture spreading out in a mess as he lines himself up, looking in your eyes one last time as you nod.

Then, he slides in, all enveloped by you. Walls wrapping around him, inviting him in—desperate, needy, as little moans kiss against his ear as he stills, thumbs drawing soft circles on your hips to make you relax.

It's slow, and cautious. Rocking into you. Letting your mouth find his, attempting to drown out all other things as your legs wrap around his waist.

"Your back."

"Don't care," he grunts, buries it in your mouth, layers it onto your tongue.

And he doesn't; he just needs.

All hungry, more than he thought he could be for a person he knows no history of. But as he loses himself in you, he feels his hand metaphorically let go of the dread he wakes with each day. Each moan of his name from your pretty fucking lips makes him feel like he belongs, not for someone, but for himself.

Feeling your pulse beat against his wrist as his hand slides around to hold the back of your neck, tongue tasting the sweetness collected on your neck, as you moan his name.

And he can already hear what Jackson will say if they find out, the looks he’ll get—because how dare he poison the sweet woman who tends to bees and bakes cakes. But he dares. Fuck he’d dare over and over again if this is what heaven feels like—if this is sinning, he’ll forever confess his wrongdoings.

Because you fit, perfectly taking him, your fluttering hole taking him deeper and deeper, welcoming him, nails cutting into him, marking him, maiming him in a way that makes so much sense for the people they are.

Grunting your name, your eyes open—fire there, present in swirling ruin, ready to pull him, unaware of how willing he is as he spears himself inside of you. Unforgiving, sharp—aiming to bruise and leave you wanting all at once. You’re panting, whining his name. Your head tilted back, chin in his fingers as he fucks into you.

Where he asks, and you smile—wicked and true—inside, inside me, Joel. And he can feel it, how close you are—all tight, desperate and unwilling to beg. But it’s there in the way you’re struggling to swallow and how his name keeps threatening to spill like the hook of a song.

“It’s okay, let go—fuck—let go for me.”

He sees the cogs turn, feels your body react, contort and wash over with pleasure, as he is sure he hears it, the distinct whisper of for you as you cry out, soaking him, coating his cock, fluttering and fluttering until you pull his mouth to yours. Tongue swiping across his bottom lip, tasting the sound of your name as his rhythm stutters, and stutters until his own release costs your insides, stains you, writes that he is yours all over you.

For minutes, it's just breaths, and the scent of you. Face sowed in your neck, your pulse knocking on his cheek, alive, living, all his.

"Miller..."

Swallowing, he steps back, boots standing in the contents spreading around him, deepening itself into the grout of your tiles as he pulls himself out, your hiss minimal, smothered and buried. His hand is outstretched, and he feels your palm slide against his as he helps you down to the mess the two of you made on the floor.

If you mind, you say nothing.

When he zips his fly up, you scramble back to redress. Silence, prickling tension building until he clears his throat, and you look at him with that same innocent look he first saw on your porch.

And he smiles. More so when you drag him by his cheek to your lips, having another second, another moment before reality rains down.

"I should... clean up," you laugh.

Nodding, he takes the cue. “You’ll… you’ll have to let me know when you’re next baking.”

You grin, then smirk, too—not saying anything. Staring at the ruin on the floor. “I’m sure I’ll need to borrow some ingredients.”

He wonders if that’s your twos thing.

And, he learns in four days that it is.

You step up onto his porch, Ellie having long gone out with friends—his fingers pausing in their strumming of the guitar.

“Ran out of hot water.”

“If y’want me to fix it, neighbour, I’m no plumber.”

“No. Just thought I could use yours—but, if you’re worried about consumption, we could do it together. Shower, I mean.”

He’s sure your eyes are sparkling; practically stars in a dark sky, twinkling, inviting.

His hand places the guitar down, leaning it, knees aching as he stands, your smile growing, turning more wicked as he nods at you to the door.

CHAPTER FOUR ->

[lvrhughes]

Fake Boyfriend | L. Hughes

pairing: Luke Hughes x f!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: bad ex, creepy dude?

summary: After your ex spotted you at a party, you use Luke as your escape but he won't believe you to are dating, leaving you to prove you two are.

requested: no

not my gif!

The feeling of his eyes, staring at your every move was haunting. You couldn’t ignore him even if you tried, keeping close to your friends at the party. 

“We’re getting drinks, can you keep our spot?”

You nodded, assuming nothing of it, just keep an eye out, making sure he’d stay away.

Him being your ex, him being the man who treated people horrible, him being only here to stare down innocent girls. Yet no one had kicked him out yet, leaving him to glare at you all night. He practically pounded up when your friends were two feet away, his walk towards you fast, making panic rise in you. 

“Shit.” you mumbled, getting up, surrendering the spot you were saving, to heading over towards the group of hockey players you had somehow befriended.

“BABY!” Rutger cheered as you walked over, glancing over at your ex who gave a more infuriated glare. 

“I told you not to call me that!” you groaned, sliding under his arms, tucking into his side.

“We were about to go on a snack run, you coming?”

“Sorry Rut, came here with friends.” he let out a dramatic sigh, falling onto the floor to add. “Get up.” you groaned, lightly kicking him. He slowly got up, making an effort to complain the entire time. 

You had managed an hour, one whole hour you lost your creepy ex. But of course he’d find you again, before Rutger and the others would return. 

“No no.” you whispered, tears slightly welling in your eyes, when you saw him strutting towards you again, making you quickly turn to find someone. 

Your eyes catching sight of Luke, who stood against the wall, surrounded by a few of his friends. Choosing he was the best bet, bee-lining to him, pushing yourself against him when you reached.

“Help.” you whispered, your body now in his arms, making him give you a confused look, maybe disoriented too.

“What?”

“Kiss me.” 

“What-”

His words cut off by your ex, keeping his strut as he came over.

“What’re you doing with my girl, Hughes?” Luke could see the look you were giving him, the scared look that clearly informed that you were not his girl anymore and you didn’t want to be.

“What do you mean your girl? She’s mine now.” The smirk on Luke’s face pulled the entire act together, almost proud to be your fake boyfriend for now, and making your ex want to punch more than he already did. 

“No she fucking isn’t! She’s mine.” his arms reached out to grab you, Luke swatting him away first. 

“Leave.” Luke almost growled, his arm around your waist keeping you tucked against him. Your ex, rolling his eyes at the word.

“Prove it.” Your ex growled, glaring his eyes at Luke.

“Just leave.”

“Why should I? Clearly she’s not your girl so give me my fucking girlfriend!”

“I’m not yours anymore.” quiet words, barely audible, but heard, your ex quickly grabbing at your bicep, tugging you towards him. 

“Let. Her. Go.” Luke's voice was firm, the room went quiet, watching the scene. 

“Why? You want the little Slut now? Have her then!” he pushed you into Luke, letting Luke’s arms wrap around you protectively. 

“Leave.” The words alone sounded threatening, yet your ex laughed at them.

“Why should I? You still got my slut, you’ve done nothing to show she’s yours so why should i leave her with you?”

“We don’t need to prove anything to you!” your ex laughed in your face, almost spitting on you, making luke push him back. 

Luke was quick to turn you, facing him again before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. Surprised would fit how you felt well, but letting yourself melt into him, tangling your hands through his hair. Luke’s hands staying on your waist, holding you against him. You barely heard your ex scoff before pushing his way out, the feeling of luke against you intoxicating. Almost whining when luke pulled away, the loss of contact leaving you cold.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled, “I had to.” 

“Don’t apologize.” you paused after the words, thinking about how you could do this without acting a fool. 

Instead pulling him down to kiss you again, his arms wrapping around you again, your hands messing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Slowly running your hands through more of his hair, lightly tugging the curls earning a groan. 

“Baby,” 

“Hey careful there, you’re going to have to fight with Rutger to call me that.” he laughed at the words, his head falling on your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“What are we now?” the words just slipped, curiosity fighting the part of you that just wanted to stay like this forever clearly, leaving a surprised look on your face to match his. 

“What?”

“I know you heard me, Luke.” you groaned, trying to turn away, him gripping your waist before you could.

“What do you want us to be?” the words making heat rise to your cheeks, leaning into his chest. Mumbling out words, inaudible to everyone else.

“What was that, baby girl?”

“I want you.” he grinned at the words, pulling you up, peppering your face with more kisses.

“Good, because I’ve wanted you for years.”

You pulled back at the words, looking at him for a minute before speaking.

“Years?”

“Since you got here.”

“I thought you hated me, Luke, you never spoke to me, you never even looked at me.”

“Baby girl, I barely speak to anyone, everytime i tried to look at you I got flustered.” his cheeks reddening at the confession, an endearing smile grew on your face, letting you cup his cheeks.

Placing a kiss on his lips, letting him pull you tight against him again. Melting into the kiss, letting your hands travel, sliding under the top of his shirt, tangling in his hair again, earning more groans.

“Home, yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, placing a kiss on his nose to see the red color that covered his face after.

[peachesofteal]

Hey just wanted to say I love your writing!!! Somehow it fills me with a sense of contentment I haven't experienced before, maybe it's because I see so much of myself in darling from dead disco and I'm loving all the au drabbles too.

Can we please get a glimpse into what happened when darling saw them at the grocery store. Did she bolt the first chance she got? She's probably still heartbroken and emotionally exhausted but does she miss them? How is she managing motherhood by herself? Does she think Soap and Ghost tracked her down? Sorry for asking so many questions my mind is racing 💗

Hi love! Thank you so much for all your support, you're truly too kind. 🩵🩵 I'm so glad you're enjoying all these crazy little stories, it's definitely a treat to dive into.

Warnings-tags: 18+ Mature themes. Takes place after this.

It doesn't happen, quite like you thought it would.

You had expected to feel fear, when you saw them again. Expected to feel the nerves, the anxiety, the twisting in your gut when you finally laid eyes on them. You imagined those feelings would shift into anger, as they always do, the tidal wave of your rage's strength pulling you under, just as it did the night you left, nearly two years ago.

You're surprised when it's none of those things. You're surprised when it's... sadness instead. A profound sense of loss, the swell of it so strong it nearly knocks you off balance, while it brings tears to your eyes.

Your mouth hangs open in shock for what feels like too long, seconds turning into eons while you cradle the baby's head, brain sputtering while you try to process. They've done it. They've found you.

They're going to take her.

Except... they don't look like they're looking for you. They look they're just out, doing their shopping. They look like they're just... having a normal day.

And they look just as shocked to see you as you are to see them.

Bee gurgles in your arms, a happy song, and you bounce her instinctively, while you break your eyes away to look past them, at the other end of the aisle, and the towards the door. You should leave. The thought primes your muscles, preparing you to flee, when Simon's voice rings out over the dim grocery store music.

"Don't run. Please. Please, darling. Don't run." You hesitate, unwilling to leave the grocery cart, unwilling to try to run through the store, and stand frozen, rooted to the linoleum like you've grown there.

It's like Bee can sense the shift in your mood, can smell your distress, because her happy trill stops, and her face scrunches up like she's confused, before she starts to cry.

"Shhh, baby. It's okay." you hum, trying to rub her back to calm her, while your brain trips over itself trying to go a mile a minute. Run. Don't. Be calm. Panic. Scream. Cry. Run into their arms. Don't be crazy. Don't let them take her.

They're stepping closer now, easing up the aisle towards you, and you shake your head at them as a no. No. Don't come any farther. I don't trust you. Johnny tries to wipe his cheek inconspicuously, while Simon's got his hands out like he thinks he's about to catch a wild animal.

Maybe he is.

"Stop." you half yell it, the word bubbling up your throat and out like a barb, and it halts them in their tracks.

"Darling, please." Johnny croaks, his eyes locked on yours.

"Stop!" you say again, and step backwards once. Bee fusses, and Simon watches her. "I won't let you." you hiss, and Johnny's brow furrows in confusion, while Simon regards you slack jawed.

"Let us what?" He asks and you nearly laugh, except in the moment you realize your breathing is more shallow than normal, lungs tight and fighting your brain for air.

"Take her. I wo-won't." Johnny's face shifts into something crestfallen, something broken, and he makes a strangled sound. Like he wants to speak, but can't. It hurts you, wounds something deep, something you've buried, and for a fleeting moment, you want to comfort him. Want to reach out, and touch him. Only just to feel him again. Simon doesn't anything at all, just stares at you in shocked silence, his hands shaking.

"Darling, we would never-" Would never? Would never?! He seems to realize, what he's saying, and stops himself... before taking a deep breath and continuing. "We know you don't trust us. But-"

"No. That's enough." You take another step backwards. He doesn't stop.

"Please, we can at least try to help with-"

"I don't need your help." You spit, and try not to look at your trolley. It's full of Bee's food, puréed, organic foods and brightly colored snack packs, while your own is a smattering collection of bruised produce and discount rack canned goods. "We're fine." you double down, but your voice cracks with the weight of the emotions that you're staving off, and Johnny looks heartbroken. "I'm fine. I'm doing it on my own. I've been doing it, on my own."

"I know." Simon's voice is soft, gentle, the gravel pitch smoothed into something velvety, just for you. It tugs at you, stabs and twists, nips at your heart, while you try to build your defenses to keep it out.

"I don't need either of you. We don't. I'm taking care of her. And she's great, she's perfect." It's not a lie. She is perfect. An angel. Your inquisitive, sweet, beautiful baby. Your little piece of perfection. You do everything for her, sacrifice everything, for her. She's your world, and your her's.

But being someone's world who needs you to survive is hard. It's really, really fucking hard. And doing it on your own is even harder. No one understands, what it's like, and you feel so weak, so stupid, so beat down every day that sometimes, it's too easy to close your eyes in the bathtub. It's too easy, to feel like you did after she was born, alone in your tiny flat, with a screaming newborn, and no one to help you. No one to call. It's too easy to wish for terrible things, especially when you know she would be taken care of. When you know her dads would keep her safe.

"She's beautiful, love." Johnny says, jolting you from your thoughts, and you can't help but nod in agreement.

"You've done so well." Simon murmurs and you slam your eyes shut. Don't. Don't listen to them.

"T-thank you." It comes out as a cry, tears you can't hold off anymore, and they both step closer, close enough that they're maybe two arms lengths away from where you stand. "No!" you croak, and Johnny covers his face with a palm, while Simon's face twists like he's in pain.

Seconds pass, and Bee still fusses in your arms, her body wriggling in your grasp, while Johnny takes long, deep breaths.

"Are you taking care of yourself?" he asks you softly, after he rubs his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Li...like I said. We're fine." You choke it out, and Simon shakes his head. Like he knows. Of course he does. They can see right through you. You have to get out of here. "We should go."

"No, wait." Simon tries to step closer, but Johnny grabs his wrist.

"At least, let us buy your groceries." Johnny tries, but you shake your head.

"No."

"Darling, please. Please." Simon latches onto your trolley, making it immobile in his grip, and you shake your head back and forth.

"She needs to go down for her nap." You grit out. You can feel your own tears on your cheeks, and you try to ignore it, try to ignore everything except for your mission. Escape.

"Can we... get your phone number, at least?" He tries.

"That's not a good idea." I have you blocked on everything so not sure what purpose it would serve, either.

"You still have ours, right? In case you need anything?" Johnny asks gently, and you nod.

"You can call us, any time. Day or night." Simon rushes out, like he's a bit frantic, stumbling over the words. He releases the trolley finally, and you pull it away immediately. "For anything. We'll be there." Bee cries, screams, lungs screeching and you pat her back.

"Okay, thanks." You don't say anything else before you turn, swinging around and beelining for check out, all while trying to remember to breathe and soothe your crying baby.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Violent Delights (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Warnings: Fluff. Pining, yearning, childhood crush. Mentions of sex, sexual thoughts, noncon (Baby reader catching Daemon in the act, it doesn't last long, adults intervene) all the usual Daemon warnings.

A/N: Meet dornish reader! I wanted to explore how Daemon can be in character and be with an actual age appropriate woman. Enjoy.

The first time you see Daemon Targaryen, you are twelve years old. Twelve years old and fascinated by the rain. It’s not something you usually see in Dorne, so as you trail your older brother around the Red Keep, you slip away to get a closer look.

You have never been good at orientating yourself, specially in such large spaces. You climb a stair and go in circles, before you decide to start opening doors. Unsure of which wing you are in, you decide to enter the first empty room you see.

Much to your delight, it is a sitting room with large windows. You choose the biggest one, underneath which a tiny windowsill will do quite nicely for a resting place. The window is heavy to your child self, a monstrosity made of a darker wood unseen in Dorne. You manage to pry it open with great effort and sit by it, one hand extended to feel the raindrops.

It's freezing. It feels just like running water does, but much colder. You close your eyes, committing the feeling to memory. In Dorne, desert and sand extends for miles and miles. When it rains, it's never like this. There are small drizzles, but nothing like this absolute downpour.

If it were to rain like this back home, panic would spread among the population. Crops would get ruined, houses would end up sunk in mud. But as you look down, you do not see hurried servants spreading sand or sawwood in the entrances, much less dragging furniture inside. Everything here seems to be built to withstand the climate.

You close your eyes again, feeling utterly at peace. The soft patter of the rain, so frightening at first, now feels much more calming. This is nice. You could get used to this, you think. Perhaps, when you are older, Qoren might marry you off to a kingdom where there is rain. You would like it, you think. It's a very marvelous thing. Majestic, even. There is a certain beauty in the natural forces making themselves known.

The door opens. You startle. When you look up, you are greeted by the sight of a couple kissing passionately. It’s a blonde man, tall and handsome, and a serving girl. Frozen in place, you stay quiet. You aren’t sure what the protocol is for this, if you should clear your throat or walk out quietly.

The couple parts. The man, young, around her age, pushes the woman down to her knees and starts undoing his clothing. He is a noble of some sort, you know it by the gambeson he wears. It's too finely crafted to be otherwise.

And sure, you are dornish. Someone has given you the talk about the birds and the bees already, along with some necessary knowledge of the feminine mystique. It doesn't mean you want to witness an unknown couple going at it.

As you get down from the windowsill, your shoes thud a little too hard on the floor. The woman doesn’t take notice, her mouth already… Well. But the man, blonde, Targaryen blonde, you think, looks up.

At first, it is as if he doesn’t see you. His face is contorted with pleasure, eyes nearly closed. He is beautiful, you think. His features stand out to you, specially because you are not used to people being so…white. The way he is lost in his pleasure, too, speaks to you in ways you can't yet comprehend.

Then, his eyes meet yours and widen. He is surprised at your presence, but it barely lasts. Without any ounce of shame, he gives you a superior smirk and winks.

You shriek. The serving girl pulls off him as if he were on fire. The man groans.

“Shut up, little girl.” He says, to you, as he pulls the serving girl back on. “In a few years, you too will be on your knees for a man.”

“My Prince!” The girl sounds scandalized. You can tell she is on the verge of placing herself between him and you. It's all over on the way she stands, blocking your view of his nakedness. You wonder if she fears damaging your innocence or what the man might do to you in a fit of temper. You have heard these Targaryens are quite spirited. “She is a child!”

“A dornish one.” The man, the Prince, shrugs. “Now, she can either stay or get out, but I am…”

Whatever he is, he doesn’t get to say it. No, because the door opens yet again, slamming against the wall. You startle, and so does the Prince. The serving girl starts quietly weeping, something along the lines of how she is sure she is about to lose her job.

Helplessly, three pairs of eyes shift to the door. There are guards, spears at the ready, at the forefront of it. One of them even drops his weapon, before shielding his eyes.

“What in the…”

The King and your older brother step inside the room, pushing past the men. Your brother's eyes are frantic, his hands reaching desperately for you.

The Prince still has his pants down.

Your brother takes one look at you, and one look at the Prince and loudly declares:

“We are leaving.”

Safe to say, Dorne does not join the other kingdoms that day.

There are many thoughts in your head about Daemon Targaryen after that. That he is handsome, and bold, and you always smile when told of his exploits. It's not a trait you should admire, as a second daughter, but you like his rebelliousness. When he gets the moniker of the Rogue Prince, you think it fitting.

You grow, during those years. You turn into a beautiful woman, sharp and bold, flourishing in the way women do when free to pursue their interests. But in your suitors' eyes, you have one fatal flaw: You live as you please and bed exactly the number of people you desire to bed.

In Daemon's eyes, though, you are a ghost. A memory that haunts him, every once in a while. He has heard of you, of your beauty and independence. He wonders if he was the one to initiate you into the world of pleasure, if that's why you have turned into such a siren. It's not often that Daemon does, but when he wonders, he recalls the face you had made when shattering your innocence.

But you don't know that yet. The more you grow, the more you forget him, even starting to feel a mild annoyance towards his house.

“You can never trust a Martell.” Or so King Viserys said, when your brother's offer to fund his side during the war at the Stepstones reached him. But he certainly finds it convenient because he pockets the gold so fast, one might believe him a dornish lover.

While it was true that you had an unfortunate habit of deceptiveness, it was not as if you changed sides as fast as a viper shed her skin. You only do it twice a year. Every six months is the perfect time to conduct an assessment of your investments.

Because that was what it was. War was no more than profit, for you, and most of the nobles in Westeros. The only difference is that you were much more honest about it than most.

It wasn't necessarily profitable in terms of gold. No, sometimes it meant gaining lands, or getting other kingdoms to respect you, so you could retain your freedom. But regardless of what you were gaining, you tended to look at things in a rather practical way. Some things were worth the sacrifice, some weren't.

Qoren lacked a business instinct. You had told him time and time again that the Triarchy was not a good investment. You would be losing men and funds, only to stick it to the Targaryens. Grievances aside, it was not worth it. You had to think about the good of your people.

Yet no matter how much you insisted, Qoren refused to see reason. Too proud. He had argued that the Iron Throne was going to scam you, in some way or another. When he had finally conceded to jumping ships, you had found out that he might be right.

While much more profitable than your time with the Triarchy, considering that you were now about to win the war, you were pretty sure you were being robbed. The funds you gave them slipped though their fingers faster than sand. They were either very dumb and got duped every time they bought supplies, or they were inflating the costs on purpose.

The deal had been clear. You would foot one quarter of the expenses for the lasts months of the campaign. But it seemed like you were footing the whole war with how much they were asking for.

While Qoren ruled Sunspear, you had always done your best to be involved in his politics as much as you could. Having been raised with the freedom most dorsnishwomen were, you had not been eager to make a political marriage or leave your home for a land that would think you too unconventional. Instead, to guarantee not being sent away, you had endeavored to make yourself as useful as you could.

But as you grew, you had proven to be much more than so. While he had made a good marriage, with a kind woman, she had not been raised in the way that you had been. You had turned indispensable in the ruling of Sunspear, his Lady in all but the fact that you did not share his bed.

It helped that, unmarried as you were, you retained your title. And as the Princess as you were, you didn't stand for being made a fool. That fact, aided by the hot-blooded nature of the Martells, had been what had prompted you to travel by yourself to the war camp.

If the lords loyal to the Iron Throne did, why couldn't you?

Much to your surprise, when you finally arrive at the Stepstones, it seems like the war is over. You find men pillaging the caves where the Crab King kept his few riches. A few wounded lay on the floor, others already taken by the Stranger.

You step in the sand, kicking a few bodies away to make room for yourself. The whole place is a mess. There are some fires going. Some men are rounding up the enemy’s soldiers, either killing them or placing them in chains. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

Slowly, you start to make your way forward. You have made sure to be dressed in the bright yellows and oranges of House Martell, to avoid being confused with someone else. The heavy, male boots you are wearing contrast sharply with the daintiness of your attire.

As you make your way forward, some men try to approach you. You gesture to your guards, a second son of House Dayne and a young man by the last name of Sand, to block their paths.

“Who is that?” Some men ask, dumbly. You roll your eyes. What sort of allies were these, that they didn't recognize your standard?

“Hey, Lady, you can’t be here!” And oh, the sheer stupidity of them all. If you didn't know their lords to be much more cunning, this display might have actually led you to believe that they were, in fact, being duped time and time again instead of inflating the cost of supplies.

“… The Maiden…” Now, that one was a bit better. You looked good in your traveling dress, despite the chunky boots.

“What is she..?”

You bat them all away, set on reaching the center of the smoking ruins. You know the men you seek must be there. The faint screeches of dragons tell you that.

Your knights locate a rock for you to sit on. They stand guard, their backs turned to you. You eye the carnage around you and decide that yes, the rock is precisely where you wish to sit. It's high enough that you get a vantage point to watch the terrain, but not too tall you will need aid to get up on it.

When you sit down, carefully spreading your skirts to not let them touch the dirt, someone sits by your side. You don't need to look up to know it's who you seek. Your guards wouldn't have let him approach if he wasn't.

“Quite the entrance.” He says, casually leaving his sword on the sand. “You have grown.”

Pretending not to recognize him, you look at your nails, casually. His voice sounds exactly as you remember it.

“Do I know you?”

“More intimately than you probably wished at the time.” He laughs, and you finally risk your first glance at him. Daemon Targaryen is still in his armor, covered in so much blood he looks positively feral. His hair, in intricate little braids, is as beautiful as you remember, even if limp and tinted red. A shame he will probably have to cut it now because by the looks of it, the blood and sooth are not coming off.

You are no longer a girl of twelve years old, and he is no longer the young Prince you once caught in the act. Yet, he is still disarmingly handsome. Despite the years and the self assuredness you have managed to cultivate, he leaves you weak at the knees.

How could one say this in a polite manner? Daemon had featured in quite a few of your teenage fantasies, as you grew older. After catching him in the act, you had had an interesting conversation with Qoren. It had opened your eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

Twelve years old was an impressionable age, especially for young maidens. You had flowered not long afterwards your first exposure to sex. Back then, you hadn't understood what you had witnessed properly, but as you grew, your imagination did too. And Dorne was not a place for the shy.

As you started to look at the world with the eyes of a woman, you had experienced your first infatuation, and it had been on him. Never before had you met a northern that was as open-minded about pleasure as Daemon was, and that fact had made you wonder what it would be like to share his bed. And then, the war at the Stepstones had reawakened your teenage urges.

“You!” You play it cool, as if you had not set up this whole thing on the odd chance of getting to see him. Dornishmen were no strangers to pleasure, after all. And you had never been good at denying yourself of anything you wanted. “The boy in the sitting room.”

“The girl at the window.” Daemon conceded, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And here I thought I would have to lower my pants.”

You snickered. Daemon looked perplexed for a second, before snickering too. You could tell he was impressed by your lack of a reaction to his joke, probably because he had thought it would scandalize you.

The moment is cut short, though, by his own sobering up.

“You shouldn't be here, little dornish girl.”

“Oh?” You extend your legs in front of you, getting comfortable. Will he mention the elephant in the room, or will you have to?

“These men have not seen a woman in months.” Daemon answers, lightly curling his hand over the pommel of his sword. You look around you, noticing that some of the men are, in fact, staring hungrily at you. It's not something that bothers you, any longer. Despite the nickname Daemon has bestowed on you, you are no girl. Younger than him by a few years, you are more of an old maid. You were used to men's attention. As the Princess of Dorne, you had come to expect it.

“And that concerns me, how?” Because there are much more interesting matters you wish to discuss, rather than the ogling of some uncouth northerns. For one, where was your gold going. Second, what were you having for dinner. Third, if he was going to join you.

“Do I really have to explain?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. Deciding to play coy, you give him a sweet look.

“Please. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of your opinions.” And if it comes out a bit ironic, Daemon doesn't seem to notice, too entranced by the way you are twirling one of your dark curls between your fingers.

“Plenty of hungry cats.” He says, as if in a daze. Apparently, Daemon hasn't seen a woman in months either, if seducing him will be this easy. “And you are looking an awful lot like a little mouse.”

You fight the urge to snicker. You were no mouse, but a viper, and you were ready to strike. But if he fancied himself the protector, you didn't mind playing into it.

“Well, good thing you are here. Now they think this little mouse is spoken for.” You run a hand over his arm, softly. Your hands lift a trace of the blood in his armor, leaving behind a drawing made up of empty space.

“Are you?” He arches an eyebrow, unbothered at the contact. You retract your hand, staring at your now bloody fingernails.

A scattering of images comes to mind. Maidenheads, bloody sheets. The girl you were at twelve. The man he is now. Your nails scratching lines on his back, biting at his throat, nipping at his lips. Unable to connect the thoughts, you let them go until only a pleasant smile remains.

“Are you a hungry cat?”

“No, little mouse.” Daemon tucks a loose curl behind your ear. As his hand comes down, he caresses your neck, lightly. It's barely a brush of his fingertips, yet your breath falters. He leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words come out in a whisper. “I am a hungry dragon.”

Predictable, if a bit witty. Targaryens and their dragons. Despite it, you enjoy how much of an effort he is putting in. As a Martell, people often expect you to do all the seducing, not noticing you like being seduced as well. It's good that someone finally acknowledges it takes two to dance.

“That explains the never-ending appetite.” You tease, leaning towards him as well. The sun is starting to settle around you, some of his men lighting fires. They do not seem about to stop their pillaging. You wonder if Corlys Velaryon is near, and if so, why he doesn't stop them.

“You have no idea.” His voice is low and smooth. His hand is still on your loose curl, lower, this time. Barely touching your collarbone. His eyes are dark, and you doubt it is from the change in lighting. "A taste would never satiate me.”

“Shame. Little mice make for small bites, I think.” Your lips quirk up at the corners, barely suppressing a laugh. Expert in denial as you are, you know now is the time to retreat. You want him hooked on you so badly, he never sees your next move.

“I would make sure to do so very slowly. Savor it.” Daemon's thumb rubs just between your collarbones, tracing a path towards the valley of your breasts. You move away before he can reach it.

“Maybe, hungry cat.” You stress the last word, already knowing how you will lead Daemon into your trap. It will only take a few well-placed prods at his ego.

“Hungry dragon.” He repeats, a bit annoyed. The idea that you do not recognize him by his proper title upsets him. You laugh.

“Oh, but you look like a starved cat. A stray.”

“I am no stray.” Daemon complains. You arch an eyebrow, coolly.

“What else is a Prince doing fighting a war so far from home?”

Daemon stares at you. You are willing to admit it was quite mean on your part. Perhaps a tad too vicious. But you have yet to accomplish what you wish to, hence why you take it even further.

“You have until tomorrow to deposit the gold you have stolen from us in coffers.”

His whole face shifts, flirty expression replaced by a mask of indifference that is not fooling anyone. Caught off guard by your words, Daemon resorts back to his only defense mechanism.

“And if I don't?” He thrusts his chin up, defiant.

“You will find yourself at war with Dorne.” Your tone is even. Your voice doesn't waver, as if you were discussing the weather and not defying a kingdom much larger than yours.

“And you will declare war with two knights?” Daemon laughs.

“Have you met Dalton Greyjoy, perhaps?” You lean back on the rock, tilting your face up to the sun. Soaking in it. “Awfully young ironborn. Eager to prove himself, much more so if it's to beautiful women. Or so I hear.”

“You have allied yourself with the Iron Islands?”

You say nothing. Instead, you give him an enchanting tilt of the head, as if he was no more than one of your suitors. Your lips stretch into a coy little smile, one that tells him you have a secret he is not privy to.

“I do not believe you.” Daemon shakes his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, before uncrossing them and shaking his head yet again. Stunned. “No. Prince Qoren would never allow it.”

“Qoren would not?” You repeat, mockingly. “And pray tell, since when do you know him so well?”

“Do you know why he dropped the Triarchy?” The question is unexpected. Before this, you had not bothered to wonder about your brother's motives. Used as you were at things going your way, you had assumed Qoren had seen the wisdom of your advice and decided to take it.

“Because I told him it was a bad investment.” You answer, refusing to back down. What could Daemon Targaryen know of the motivations of a prince of Dorne? Nothing. He had to be bluffing, searching for a weakness he could exploit to get out of this.

“Because the Crab King, over there…” Daemon gestures vaguely in the direction of the corpses. “Had eyes that lingered too much on you. And if this Greyjoy boy is the same…”

You blink a few times. It makes sense. The Crab King had never tried to seduce you, yet you know men like that are not used to asking. Instead, they order. You can only guess the face Qoren made when faced with such a demand. He is as proud as you are.

Daemon could be lying, of course. Trying to make you doubt Qoren. Divide and conquer, and all that. You can't let that happen. Everyone knows the two of you are a team. Whatever grievances you have to air with him, they will be on private. You tuck away the piece of information for later, and focus on what's in front of you.

“If Qoren is willing to turn into a turncloak for my sake…” You narrow your eyes at Daemon, menacingly. You know as well as him that the easiest way to stop you is to hurt you. Kill you, perhaps. But it would mean war. “Think of what he will do to you, if you hurt me.”

“You will have your coffers tomorrow, Princess.” Daemon says, bitterly. He knows he has lost. You outmaneuvered him. House Martell has never bowed to dragons. If Daemon declares war on Dorne, his brother will pull the support from the Iron Throne. Corlys Velaryon will not want to get involved, no matter how much he has benefitted from their plot. He cannot wage war alone.

You get up. You dust off your skirts.

“Good. And make sure you bathe before touching the gold. Wouldn't want you staining it.”

You do go back to Dorne with a chest full of gold, and then some. As it seems to be a tendency with Daemon, you almost forget all about him before he is barging into your life again.

It happens on an odd afternoon, while you are trying to broker a deal with a foreign King. The tart taste of the berries makes you scrunch up your face. It's more acidic than what you are used to, but good nonetheless. You smile at the King in front of you. He looks on the verge of drooling.

“I am glad you like it, my Princess.” He simpers. “I must say the shade compliments your caramel skin quite well.”

Caramel. Ugh. How you hate when men compare you to food. It's always your caramel skin, your cherry lips, your golden eyes. Can they get more unoriginal?

You beg to the skies for fortitude. This alliance is important, you remind yourself. Qoren needs them, Dorne needs them. They grow more fruit than you could ever hope for.

As it often happens, your prayers are heeded in a way you could not have expected.

“Princess.” A guard suddenly sprints into the room. “There is a situation at the gates. Prince Qoren needs you.”

You spring up from your seat so fast, one might think there were needles on your cushion.

“I apologize, my King. The berries were lovely. Perhaps you could send some more? For the people?”

“Oh, I understand.” The King gives a jovial laugh. “Duty calls and all. You are right, I shall send you…”

“Good.” You cut him off, and walk out of the parlor. As you start to reach the gates, you slow down your walk. You can't have Qoren thinking you rushed to his side, after all.

“Have you developed some sort of mind reading ability?” Qoren turns at your words. He is facing the gates, right in the middle of the watchtower. It's not an actual watchtower, but rather a ledge on one of your lower walls, right aside to the actual tower. Its slightly off center position allows for a better view of the gates, despite not being very high.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He asks, reclining precariously. Your stomach turns. This is a recurring occurrence, Qoren watching from places he is not supposed to. You often fear he will fall to his death, yet he has yet to even slip. He is noisy enough to not care about the dangers of the world.

“You knew I needed an out, I gather.” You keep your tone flat. While you enjoyed being his right hand, you disliked that so many of your allies thought flirting was the way to do business.

“I didn't. Come here and take a look.” Qoren sounds uninterested in your grievances, which is highly unusual for him. Whatever he is looking at must be fascinating. You start climbing the steps, aided by the guard that led you here. You try to do so gracefully, but it's daunting in a dress as the one you wear.

“How did you even get up here?” You huff, crouching on the ledge before slowly starting to stand.

“Invaders.” Qoren says, unbothered. You nearly fall off, shrieking. The guard pushes you upright again.

“At ease, Princess. We got you.” He says. “Look closer.”

So you do. You narrow your eyes at the horizon, and what you can see of the gate. You can barely make out a giant red blur. A dragon, perhaps? One you already know, by the eerie calm he is sporting.

You only know one dragon. It happens to be red.

“What did you do to that man?” Qoren laughs. Your mouth opens and closes. It has been almost two moons since you departed from the Stepstones, half of the gold you had originally given to the Iron Throne back with you.

You had gone on with your life. Taken a few lovers, here and there. Ate good food. Pawned off resources for alliances. You know, the typical. Daemon Targaryen, though, clearly has not. Because he now stands at the gates of Sunspear, dragon in tow.

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” You reply to Qoren, still open-mouthed. “Is he trying to declare war?”

Qoren laughs at you, poking you in the ribs. You squirm away, before remembering you are standing on a ledge. You slap his arm.

“Don't do that! We could fall!”

“The only falling being done here is that dragon prince for you, dear sister.”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. What is he on about? Despite your desire to bed Daemon, you had walked away from the meeting with the certainty that he was not interested in you. You were not a maiden like the ones he chased, nor were you young, and you had done a good job of alienating him after threatening him with war. This could not be a mere visit, for you had parted on bad terms.

But Qoren doesn't answer. He only raises his voice slightly.

“Truss him up in chains!” The order is clearly not meant for you. “And place him on the Princess' solar.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, as the guards hurry to carry out his order.

“I'll give you a chance to deal with him.” Qoren says, mysteriously. “I think he is about to ask for your hand.” And with an agile jump, he is off the ledge and getting down the wall. You scramble to follow.

“Qoren!” You scream, nearly falling off in your haste. He is too fast for you, already entering the palace. The guard steadies you again, and you gather your skirts and run after him, but it's too late. You do not know which direction he has turned. “Qoren, what do you mean by that? Have you spoken to him? He asked you for… Qoren, dammit!”

His cheery voice reaches your ears.

“Do try to get rid of him, alright? We can't have our people thinking we have been invaded.”

You chase after the sound, but he is gone. You could follow him to the throne room, but you decide for the more amusing option. No matter if Qoren is teasing about the marriage proposal, you decide to go and freshen up a bit. It will take a long time for the guards to subdue Daemon, and to drag him inside. Plenty of advice for you to change clothes.

Be it for declaring war, or rejecting a marriage proposal, you like to be well-dressed for the occasion. You take your time choosing your outfit, strapping a tiny dagger to your thigh.

Only when an hour has passed, you walk towards your solar. There are a few knights stationed outside, one of them being your Dayne companion. He approaches you cautiously.

“The Prince left instructions for us to enter at your call. One scream, Princess, and we will be in there before he can draw his sword.”

He sounds worried. It's actually kind of sweet.

“Don't worry. He won't hurt me.”

But despite your words, as soon as you enter your solar, you are grabbed harshly by the arm. You look up to find Daemon not only free from chains, but furious.

Perhaps the guards thought it would not be very diplomatic to chain him up. A shame. You jerk off his grip, and go serve yourself some wine. It's a very neat trick, one you have learned from the men in your life. One must let the other do all the nagging while pretending to be entirely innocent, so they sound insane. Often, it leads to the person reproaching you actually thinking they are going mad. You only use it when you feel particularly cruel.

"You took your time.” Daemon follows you, stomping and huffing. “I have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I was not decent. I had to change into my afternoon clothes.” You give a little twirl, enjoying the luxurious feel of the skirt against your body. You know it will only anger him further. “Do you like them?”

“You have some nerve.” Daemon scoffs. You offer him a goblet of wine, which he takes. “Do you know what men say of you?”

“Does a viper pay attention to the mumbling of worms?” Your voice is calm and sweet. In truth, you do pay a attention to what they say. Who doesn't? But Daemon doesn't need to know that for the game you are playing.

“You are hardly a viper.” His eyes narrow at you, in a flutter of pretty lashes and lilac. Good Gods, what right does he have to be so handsome. You hate him.

“I like to think I am one.” You drink from your wine, giving him a coy little look over the rim of your goblet.

“They say you are a witch. That you place your spell on them and have them dancing at your tune.” He complains, gruffly. So far, he seems very angered by you, which is fair considering the way you parted. What makes no sense is the fact that he has come this far to make his displeasure known.

“It's not my fault men are often led by their cocks.” You shrug. It's rather crass, but you are unbothered by it. If men are allowed to speak how they please, why shouldn't you?

“Perhaps not.” Daemon cocks his head. “But I do wish to ask something of you.”

“Oh?”

Daemon places his goblet down. He plucks yours from your fingers, all soft movements. He raises your hand to his lips, and kisses your palm. His eyes never leave yours.

“Remove your spell from me.”

You laugh. You stare at him as if he has two heads. You laugh some more.

"I'm serious. You have bewitched me. Ensnared me with your charms and feminine…” He lets go of your hand, angrily gesturing. The laughter dies in your throat. Daemon is not joking.

“I have what?” You repeat, confused. Now you are actually thinking him a madman.

“You have made it so I can't lie with another woman. I only get relief when I think of you. Remove your spell, or I shall…” And it's too good, too much of a joke not to laugh. You restrain yourself, knowing angering him more could be bad for your health.

“You shall what?” Despite your attempts, your amusement must show because Daemon grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a tiny shake. It's not enough to hurt you, but it startles you into seriousness.

“I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you.” His eyes do not show the emotion his words imply. While his face reflects need, Daemon has not drank nearly enough to have such a loose tongue. Something is amiss. “Let me have you. If you don't remove your spell, I need to have you.”

His eyes don't show need, but eagerness. He is trying to manipulate you. The thought of him implying that you must let him have you makes your blood boil. You are angered beyond belief. Has he really come all this way to make some half-assed marriage proposal, in the hopes of trapping you with him? Who does he think he is dealing with?

If you were another woman, more inexperienced, you would let this man manipulate you right into his bed. But you are not. You are old enough to know that lust can be cured with a few well-placed hot baths and enough time and distance. His excuses are a poor attempt. You almost prefer the other men's simpering.

“I am no witch, you fool. Now, out!” You point at the door.

Daemon straightens. He eyes you carefully.

“I need you.” He repeats. It's clearly a lie. You wonder what else is, too. Is it odd to feel flattered by him being so set on you, he is willing to manipulate you into marriage?

“You do not. There is nothing interesting here, go find a whore.” You cross your arms over your chest. Your traitorous heart seems to disagree. You don't want him to leave, says the heat in your cheeks. Not yet, answers the harsh ring of your pulse in your ears.

“I do.” Daemon steps closer. He seems slightly unsure and that is what gives him away. If you are trying to manipulate someone, you have to go all in. You can't hesitate because they call your bluff. His seduction techniques need serious work. “You have to let me have you.”

“I don't have to do anything.” You scowl at him, getting right up on his face. To you, it doesn't matter if you are shorter, you will put the fear of the gods in him or so the Seven help you. “And I do not believe a word you say. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have merely asked. I do not appreciate you trying to manipulate me. I do not need to be coerced into it, I am no maiden.”

“And if I were to ask?” His nose brushes against yours, tenderly. Daemon's eyes have turned dark, his body nearly vibrating in excitement at your anger. You had heard Targaryens had queer customs, but had not expected him to be so aroused after getting yelled at.

“Too late, out!” You push your index finger into his chest, hard. Daemon smirks. He takes a step forward, forcing you to back off or get your finger crushed.

“You said I had to only ask for what I want.” He gets closer still, backing you against a wall. “No more games.”

“No more games.” You agree, a bit shakily. He noses along your temple, softly. You look up at him, all big, surprised eyes. How has he turned the whole situation into his favor so fast? And when, exactly, did you lose control?

“I want to know what is behind your eyes.” Daemon presses a soft kiss to your brow, then to your eye. You let go of the breath you are holding, eyes fluttering closed. Your lips tingle with the urge to be kissed, alight with the rush that comes from being seduced. But you do not intend to make it easy for him, no. He can't just expect you to submit just because he asks.

“No, thank you.” You duck beneath his arm, leaving behind your moment of weakness. He still tried to manipulate you, after all. He deserves a bit of suffering.

“What do you fear?” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. He nuzzles your neck. “It certainly isn't modesty, you said so yourself. You are no blushing virgin.”

“I do not want to marry you.” You jerk free of his grip.

“Perhaps, you think I would enjoy you less. Or you fear I might not like what hides behind your eyes.” He kisses right behind your ear, softly hugging you to him. “The thoughts you have… The things you crave…” His hand traces an upward path, from your belly button to your collarbones. “To me, it only means you are already mine.”

“I'm not interested.” You say, but your whole body is saying yes. You just can't help it. His attention is overwhelming. His hands are gripping at your waist, your hips, everywhere. You shake against him as if you were an innocent still, and not a woman seasoned in the arts of love.

“I made you like this.” Daemon presses scorching hot kisses against your neck. You wonder if all Targaryens run as hot as this one. “Do you remember, little dornish girl?”

“You did not.” You pull away once more, and grab your wine again. You take a hearty sip. The memory you have obsessed over is one he has thought of too. Daemon had awoken something in you that rainy afternoon, and it's clear you had done the same to him.

“I taught you something, even if unwillingly. I always wondered, when I heard of your exploits, if you thought of me too.” And you have. Oh, how badly have you thought of running into him and bedding him, but you are not willing to admit it. You know if you look at him, you will give yourself away, so you keep stubbornly looking somewhere else.

Daemon chuckles.

“Let me see those eyes.” He gently grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. “Ah. So I was right.”

Furious at being caught, you place one of your hands on his hair and tug. Hard. Hard enough to force him to expose his neck.

“How do you feel about my eyes now?” You snarl.

“They are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Daemon's brows are pinched together, his back slightly arched. Your punishing grip on his hair is hurting him, and you are glad for it. Yet, his lips are parted as if experiencing the sweetest delights. “They are those of a woman in the throes of passion.”

“Do not test me.” You warn, forcing him to his knees. He goes willingly.

Daemon reaches up slowly, his much bigger hand curling around your wrist. He coaxes you to let go, softly massaging.

“I can taste the arousal cursing through your blood, Princess.” He pulls you into him, until both of you are sprawled out on the floor. “I see how your chest heaves, how your breath is getting heavier, how your lips plump… You are excited.”

“So what if I am?” You huff. It's all cornered animal. You cannot deny it any longer, you want him too badly for it.

“It means you and me… We are the same.” And he finally kisses you. His mouth meets yours in a hungry kiss, into which you pour all your frustration. But Daemon coaxes you to go slower, to kiss more passionately instead of hurriedly.

“I want you.” He says, when you part. His forehead rests against yours. “Let me keep you. Be mine. A woman as bloodthirsty as you cannot stay alone forever.” As he lays you down on the floor, as he gets on top of you and his hands pin yours down. “Let me keep you.”

And this time, you say yes.

[karxis]

Stalker Lando.

(Warnings: manipulation, stalking, noncon, nonconsensual drug use, female reader)

Everyone had warned you about moving to Monaco. A young woman moving across the world to live alone? No one back home had thought it was a good idea.

But you’d done it anyways, packing up and moving to the first one bedroom apartment you could find.

Now nearly 3 months later, you’ve never wished you listened to everybody more. The first month had been perfect, taking any chance while you weren’t working to explore the city. Spending most your free time down by the marina, spending most of the time sunbathing and watching the yachts pass by.

Then the second month had begun and the gifts started showing up. A rose on your doorstep, a note shoved into your apartments mailbox, you’d assumed it was someone from work when you’d walked into your office one day to find a new book sat gift wrapped on your desk.

Then one day you’d come home, dragging your feet after being kept late to finish before the deadline, you’d stumbled in, near asleep on your feet to catch sight of a bag of take out sat on your kitchen table. Your secret admirer had sent food before, but it’d always been left outside the door.

You creep closer to the table, reaching a slow shaking hand out to tug open the bag, your favorite thai food sitting inside, container still hot to the touch. Nothing else in your apartment looked out of place. You tried to shake off your nerves, calling the main office to ask who’d been buzzed up to your apartment earlier, he only responded it was a delivery driver and assured you no one from the apartment had been the one to open your apartment for then.

You toss the food and with a quick after thought the food in the fridge gets tossed too, suddenly scared of how anything could have been tampered with. You sigh, slipping on your shoes, going to head back out the door but the handle doesnt budge under your hand.

You fumble for the lock, making sure it was unlocked as you try yanking on the door again, though its still refusing to budge. Stretching to your tiptoes you look through the peephole, only to find it covered. Unmoving darkness in the place of where the fish eye view of your hallway should be.

Theres someone in front of your apartment door, holding it closed or…with a shock to your body as you quickly fumble to relock your door, getting ready to push their way in.

You stumble back from the door quietly, pressing a hand to cover your mouth as a sob threatens to bubble over, you watch as nothing happens for a moment, before after a minute or two the handle quietly jingles under the pressure of someone trying to press down on it.

The handle moves back up and its silent again for a minute, before you see the lock begin turning from the other side of the door.

Thats enough to kick you in gear, running towards the bedroom, the door shut and locked behind you, you spin into the bathroom to lock that door, closing it firmly behind you as you go back to the bedroom, hoping it will distract whoever it is whose breaking in, while you choose to tuck into the closet to hide instead.

Whoever enters is quiet as they do, the only thing giving them away is the soft padding of their footsteps against the hardwood floors.

You hold your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your breathing, despite the sob that tries to break out when you hear the bedroom door handle jingle softly, though its swiftly unlocked as well. They bee line for the bathroom door, which quickly follows the other doors.

Then it goes quiet again. No footsteps on the floor, no shifting of furniture or clothing. Just your soft breathing and then the swift yanking open of your closet doors.

Hands grab at you and arms wrap around your chest before you can react, yanking you out of the closet and tugging you against a broad chest. Theres a prick in the side of your neck and you begin struggling against the strong arms still wrapped around you.

“Good baby, keep struggling” a male voice whispers in her ear, “It’ll kick in quicker if you get your blood pumping” he coos, despite not being able to see his face from where your face is shoved into his shoulder, you can still hear the smirk on his face.

You halt at that, feeling tears well in your eyes as you begin to sob. He rocks you back and forth, shushing you lightly when you begin to try to struggle away from him again. He sighs, scooping you up to toss you onto the bed, watching as you try to scramble backwards.

Clearly whatever he’d injected you with beginning to kick in as you feel your arms collapse below you.

He’s not particularly tall but still an intimidating presence, he’s wearing a mask over his mouth, a pair of dark shades covering his eyes and a baseball cap tugged over his hair.

“Shh shh” he whispers, climbing onto the bed afterwards, you can just barely register that theres an accent to his words, though nothing you can place.

You let out a whine as he gets closer, trying to turn over and crawl away but your limbs feel like jelly, still you manage to crawl off the edge, his arms snagging around you before you get all the way off.

He sits in the middle of your bed, pulling you into the space on his lap, using his hands to move your arms, lifting them up and back down, getting your blood pumping you realize with another choked sob.

It already feels like whatever he gave you has reduced you to nothing, not knowing how it could get worse than this.

“Hold your arms up for me, baby” he says in your ear, lifting your arms up and removing his grip on them, you try to tense the muscles to hold them up but they drop back down limp to your sides.

“Good! Good job baby!” He calls out even as another sob wrecks through your chest.

“No no, no tears, baby. Its all okay! Thought I could trust you to take care of yourself, ‘n then you go ahead and throw away all your food? Stupid.” He giggles, grabbing at your limp arms and waving them around again, at some point he mustve tugged his mask down because he nuzzles his mouth down against your throat.

“My stupid little baby, huh?”

He gently presses you out of his lap, laying you down on the pillows, pressing one last kiss against your temple before tugging his mask back up. “Be right back baby.”

You lay there on the bed, hazily looking up at the ceiling, trying intermittently to try and lift your limbs, trying to get them to work properly again but to no avail.

You can hear him puttering around your apartment, soft humming as he sings. You dont know how much time passes but it feels like you only blink before he’s gently shaking you awake.

He pulls you back into his lap, sighing happily as he wrap his arms around you to keep you steady and propped up.

“Missed you so much” he whispers, “You’re so greedy. I finally get to spend time with you in person and you have to go and throw away your food? Make me take time away from you to go make something new? Greedy. Stupid. Baby.”

You try to shake your head, a mumbled whine at his words. Brain too muddled to comprehend the situation beyond that hes insulting you.

“No? Youre going to be good now?”

You nod, although its barely more than knocking your head back against his shoulder.

“Good!” He draws out the word a bit, but removes one of the arms around your chest to reach for a bowl on your nightstand. Balancing the bowl in your lap, he uses his newly freed hand to bring a spoon full of soup up to your lips. You keep them pressed tightly closed and he sighs against your ear, “you promised to be good? Remember”

You whine at the words but open your mouth, letting him spoon feed you and chewing each time he has to remind you to.

By the time the bowl is finished off you’re nodding off against his chest. The bowl moved back to the nightstand as he trades it for the tv remote.

Gilmore Girls is loaded on, Logan is there which means its your favorite season, you dont want to think about why the man knows that.

Speaking of, hes tugged his mask off behind you, pressing his lips to every stretch of skin he can reach.

You cant help but shudder at each press against your skin, not being able to see but being able to feel as they get more persistent, feel each drag of his lips, the drag of his tongue.

The barest scrape of his teeth as a warning before he bites down on the junction of your neck and jaw.

You let out a startled gasp at the sudden pain, before he starts laving his tongue over it, sucking harshly against it until youre sure theres a bruise developing.

That seems to unlock something inside him, attacking along your neck with a ferocity then, your head drooped back lazily against his chest as he maneuvers you this way and that to continue his worship.

Its another long blink before you open your eyes again, his hands have wormed their way under your shirt, one holding its place against your lower stomach while the other trails fingers up and down your side.

“Baby, baby?” He whispers against the side of your head, his own voice heavy as he voices the question. “You back yet, baby?”

You let out a hum at the words, lifting one of your own arms to rest your hand over his, trying to lace your fingers together over your stomach. He laughs at the way your fingers dont quite get the message.

“You feeling sleepy?” He teases, sitting up a bit more as you start shifting in his grasp. You scratch uncomfortably at your shirt and he smiles, “lets get you ready for bed.”

He doesnt wait for a response, knowing he likely wont get one, slowly pushing you up out of bed till youre shakily stood on your own feet, following quickly behind you.

Tugging off your clothes as if its second nature. Not hesitating to tug off his own hoodie and pull it firmly over your own head. Instructing you softly to rest your hands on his shoulders so he can help you step into a pair of sleep shorts.

He sighs as he tugs them up, using his grip on them to pull you close, loosening his hold on the fabric to instead cup your ass, groaning into your ear as he feels you up.

“Baby, would you let me touch you just a little bit more?” He coos in your ear, turning your face up towards him, on some level you know hes removed everything blocking his identity, but your eyes cant focus on his face long enough to place the features together.

You focus on his lips instead, curled upward with a set of dimples to the side of them.

You see them moving and find yourself nodding along, wanting nothing else than to see those lips stretch wide across his face into a smile.

You find yourself taking short half steps back, letting the backs of your knees hit the mattress and sitting down with it. His hands quickly follow to push you down onto your back, lifting you further up the bed till youre all the way on it.

He follows after you, climbing on top of you with his knees bracketing your hips.

He leans down to press a kiss against your lips, sloppy with the way you can barely reciprocate but he groans into it anyways. One hand leaves the mattress to push your shirt up, exposing your chest to him in a swift move.

He moans at the sight, one hand bracing against the mattress so he can lean down and begin kissing along your skin.

His free hand reaches down to press down the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping himself firmly in hand, letting out a shaky breath.

He kisses along your breasts, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking lightly, his teeth nibbling lightly at it as you whine and moan above him.

He pulls away to start biting along your breast instead, sucking along the way, intent on bruising your chest with how quickly he begins pumping himself each time he pulls away and stares at them.

He giggles when he catches you looking down at him, you’re sure your face matches his with how blown out his eyes look. Whatever color they usually are swallowed up by the black of his pupils.

Darting back up to pepper kisses over your face, you find yourself giggling back into it. As the drug settles in you cant remember why you were so apprehensive in the first place, lifting your arms to wrap around the back of his neck, tugging him closer when he tries to pull away.

The tug you give shoves his lips into your cheek and he lets out a loud laugh at the missed move. Grin spreading against your skin before he finally moves to catch your lips in his again.

He pulls away as far as your arms will allow, laughing as he looks down at you.

“Hi baby” he coos out, “I thought you were sleepy?”

You give him an unimpressed look as youre reminded of the sleep tugging at your eyes. Letting out a sigh as you drop your arms from around his neck and fall back against the pillows.

He lets out a loud bark of a laugh as he follows you down, pulling you back to his chest and worming his hands back under your shirt, groping at your tits again as he hums against your neck.

“You just go to sleep” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the spot just below your ear.

He waits an hour after youve finally drifted off before he finally climbs out of the bed, shaking you harshly and humming when you barely react, just sleepily mumbling something under your breath.

He slips his face coverings back on, tugging the hood up to cover his hair as he digs through your clothing, pulling a pair of sweats and hoodie to tug over top your pajamas. A pair of tennis shoes onto your feet. Before hoisting you up, an arm looped around his shoulder so he can half drag half carry you out the door.

Its late enough that the apartment complex is quiet, and going through the elevator to the car park is a quick thing.

You’re tucked into the passenger seat without a fuss, the seat reclined back as far as the small luxury car will allow.

Lando climbs into the driver seat. Fussing with the pile of paperwork left inside, apartment lease agreements, the $4000 in cash in an envelope for breaking said lease, the papers outlining to the complex when the movers will be coming to remove your stuff.

He rolls his eyes as he hops back out of the car, dropping it all off at the lease office before finally he can set off to driving to his own place, humming happily along to the song on the radio as he reaches across the console to grasp at your unresponsive hand.

[lqveharrington]

Birthday | A.W.

summary: it’s your birthday, so of course aaron and your daughter have to go all out.

pairing: dad!Aaron Warner x mom!reader

includes: MAJOR FLUFF, suggestiveness toward the end, that’s pretty much it

a/n: warner is actually the loml. like i always like the blonde men (with the exception of a couple of brunettes and dark haired men 😝)

Every year, both you and Warner went all out for your birthdays. You knew of his past and he knew of yours; This meant that all future birthdays had to be ten times better than the last. However, there has been one factor that prevented some birthday festivities. For the last five years, both your birthdays have been spent with your daughter. She kept your days busy, but still enough to have dinner and cake during important days.

But given both your pasts, you and Warner chose to cherish your daughter’s birthday far better than your own childhood birthdays. For her birthdays, Warner would wake up every morning to make chocolate chip pancakes whilst you made beautiful paper crowns for her when she woke up. It became a tradition for your family to do so, but your daughter adored the day more than you and Aaron ever did.

It wasn’t until your current birthday that Warner and Lana decided to turn the tables and celebrate your birthday with such traditions.

“Baby, we have to be quiet.” Warner pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek, letting her add the chocolate chips to the batter. Snagging a piece himself, he let the candy melt in his mouth as his daughter munched on the chocolate. “You don’t want mommy to wake up before we can surprise her, do you?”

She gasped with a hand reaching out like it was the worst news she ever received. “Daddy no!”

He chuckled at Lana before helping her down the counter, giving her a small twirl and taking the bag away. He watched her take quiet steps toward the breakfast nook to finish up her birthday card and crown for you, freezing when she heard feet pattering against the floor.

“That’s just Honey, you can move, baby.” Warner glanced over his shoulder at his daughter while petting the golden retriever’s fur; Clicking his tongue when she tried to bite the chocolate. “You’ll get sick, Honey Bee.”

“Daddy, I need string.” Lana called out to her father, admiring her handiwork. She adorned the paper crown with stickers, jewels, and dried out flowers, creating a charming design that would soon be bestowed atop your head.

Warner adjusted the stove’s heat as he poured a fresh batch of pancakes onto the pan, guiding their dog to follow toward the other side of the kitchen, away from the chocolate and cooking batter. Pulling the designated junk drawer open, he found multiple colors of yarn that were used for this particular reason.

“What color yarn do you want to use, Lana?” He held two different colored yarn balls up, knowing both were your favorites and you wouldn’t care which was chosen.

She looked between the two and back at her crown before tapping her nose in revelation. “The pink one.”

He tilted his head in a dopey manner at his daughter’s action, knowing you would do such a thing when you figured something out. Warner balled the remaining yarn together and tossed it in the air. “Catch, sweet girl.”

Lana caught the yarn and giggled when the fuzz hit her cheek, her blonde hair partially covering the view. “Thank you!”

Warner let a soft smile take over as he went back to the stove, letting Honey run out the kitchen and back to the rest of the house. He loved the family you and he created. He loved that he was able to make up for all his misguided actions for his own family. And he especially loved moments — such as these — that remind him that he’s exactly where he needs to be:

In the loving home of his doting family.

“Aaron?” You mumble sleepily, arm patting around his side of the bed. Typically, you were up bright and early to make breakfast and check in on Honey, but it seemed as if you were up late with the disappearance of your husband. It was unusual for Warner to be out of bed before you were up. More so when you knew you were given many kisses on the morning of your birthday. So when you found that he was gone, it only left you frowning with the question of ‘why?’

Sitting up, you glanced at the clock before looking back at your bed. It was only six in the morning and Aaron was already up and gone. You were sure he would leave a note, but you found none in the area. Pursing your lips, you tug on your silk robe and shuffle out your bedroom. Across the hall, your daughter’s bedroom door was wide open. Your mind started to wander. What the hell did those two have planned today?

However, all thoughts stopped when your golden retriever ran up the stairs and started pawing at your legs. You creased your brows at the action, taking her paws in your hands. “What’s gotten you all riled up, Honey?” She barked up at you, making you frown again. “Let’s go outside then, okay? I don’t know if Lana and daddy are still sleeping somewhere.”

She nudged your knee with her nose as she followed you down the steps. The morning had gotten more unusual at each passing second. And with your family missing from their rooms, you didn’t know what to expect for the rest of the day. Honey kept shooting looks back at you and the hallway toward the kitchens, continuously pushing the back of your legs toward said kitchen.

“Honey Bee, what’s wrong?” You stop all movements and kneel in front of her. Sadly, you had stopped right before the kitchen. She whines, licking your hand as if she was asking you to keep moving. You rubbed her head in confusion and worry, “We’re almost outside, it’s okay.”

Barking again, she runs out of your arms and into the kitchen with loud stomps across the tiles. You sigh as you stand and dust the invisible dust off. This was not going the way you expected your birthday to start. Taking a step into the kitchen, you call for your dog before another voice interrupted.

“Honey—“

“Honey Bee, please stop barking.” Warner tried to calm his dog down while flipping pancakes. “Lana, can you play with Honey for a second? I’m almost done.”

Your eyes widen at the sight. He was making the traditional birthday breakfast for you. A faint smile graced your face as you tilted your head and shifted your gaze toward your daughter. She seemed to be working on the crown and the card before Warner asked to play with Honey.

“Honey, come here!” Lana pulls a treat out of the bin and waves it in her direction, gaining the attention of her dog. Honey sits patiently in front of her, tongue out in anticipation. “You can’t bark because mommy is gonna wake up, okay? Daddy is almost done and he’ll be upset if you bark again.”

Honey puts a paw on her leg, making Lana giggle. “Here you go.”

A small laugh left your lips as you leaned against the doorway. There wasn’t a young girl around that was like your own child. And knowing her, she’ll be just as amazing at anything like your husband. She was the epitome of your existence and you would change that for the entire world.

Your eyes snap back to where your husband stood as he flips the last pancake on the plate in front of himself. Even the plate was decorated with your favorite flowers in a small vase. Warner shut the stove off and made his way to soak the pan, calling out to his daughter.

“Lana, can you grab the juice from the fridge so we can bring mommy her breakfast?”

She nodded and happily walked over to the fridge before her eyes widened in surprise at your presence. Her mouth open in shut in response before asking for her father. Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Mommy’s already down here.” She whispered in slight disappointment as the surprise was ruined.

You let an amused smile take over your face at your daughter’s sudden shyness. Slowly, you walk over to her and take her into your arms. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

“Good morning.” She mumbled into the crook of your neck. “You’re supposed to be sleeping still.”

“I know, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” You press a kiss to her cheek and tuck a blonde lock behind her ear. You meet her bright eyes, rubbing soft circles onto her cheek to help soothe her. “But everything smells delicious. Did you help daddy make the pancakes?”

She nodded, “I added the chocolate…”

“That’s my favorite part.” You spoke softly, running your fingers through her bed hair. You nod your head toward the breakfast nook, “Did you make a crown for me?”

“Mhm! I made it all different kinds of colors.” She got excited again, pulling you up and tugging you toward the table. She shuffled up on the bench, sorting throw the papers to find the crown. “But I made sure the string was pink because it’s your favorite.” Lana took the crown and attempted to balance it atop your head. “See!”

“I do see.” You kiss her forehead, taking the crown from her. You thumb the paper crown as you watched her throughly explain her process, nodding when she looked over at you. Your heart practically melted at the sight, but soon started beating faster when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

“I thought you would still be sleeping, my love.” Warner pressed a kiss to your cheek before resting his head in the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses down toward your shoulder.

You feel him squeeze your waist gently as you turn your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze and lips eagerly. “One, I always wake up early.” You grin against his lips before continuing. “Two, I can’t sleep when you’re not there.”

“Did we surprise you though?” He left one last kiss to your lips before taking the crown and tying it around your head.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting it.” You take your daughter into your arms again, balancing her on your hip.

“Mommy, you look like a queen!” Lana held your face in her hands, giggling as you peppered kisses onto her face. “So daddy would be the king!”

You give her a bright smile and nudge your nose onto her cheek, “And that would make you a princess, baby.”

Warner brought over the pancakes and juice, cutting pieces for Lana. He kissed her cheek, “Do you want to make a crown for yourself?”

She looked over at you, waiting if she could make one even if it wasn’t her birthday. You nodded your head, setting her down on the cushions to sit properly for breakfast. Lana took her fork and took a piece, humming at the deliciousness hitting her tongue.

Warner pulled you to his chest again, lowering his voice so only you could hear him. “I owe you your favorite birthday present, love.”

You flush pink at the thought, smacking him in the chest. You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, finding them filled with amusement and lust filled thoughts.

“What about Lana?” You murmur, resting your hands delicately on his chest.

“What about her?” He put a finger underneath your chin and placed a light kiss to your lips.

You smile before pulling away, whisper-shouting toward the blonde. “Aaron, I’m serious!”

Warner chuckled before turning to Lana, squatting to watch her reaction. “Baby, is it fine if mommy and i leave you here for a bit? We’ll be back, we just have something to discuss.” He asked the young girl who was kicking her legs joyfully at the pancakes.

“Mhm.” She answered, mouth full of pancakes.

Aaron quickly spun around toward you, making you raise a brow. “What?”

“The little princess won’t bother us.” He pressed open mouth kisses onto your shoulder, slowly backing you out of the kitchen and tapped your thigh.

You wrap your arms around his neck, humming. “You’re positive— Aaron!”

He picks you up and takes the stairs two at a time. You throw your head back and laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You press your lips onto his, threading your fingers through his hair. “I just love you.”

Warner smiles, “I love you too.”

And for the first time in years, you had three major birthday gifts. One given nine months afterward.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[fictionalsimp09]

castle – @rosekillermicrofic – 367 words 

This is the last time Evan will listen to one of Barty’s idiotic ideas. A little bit of fun and chaos is not worth the two weeks detention when they get caught. And get caught they did. Honestly, fuck him! But as they walk back through the castle to their dorm, Evan realises how uncharacteristically quiet Barty is. He hasn’t tried to apologise since McGonagall told them off. He hasn’t even tried to catch up to Evan’s long strides. 

He turns around to see his friend shaking, not looking where he is walking until he runs right into Evan. All anger he had at the other boy immediately dissipates. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“What’s wrong, Bee?” Evan asks, his tone as soft as he can muster. Barty just shakes his head and tries to walk past him. Evan places a hand on his shoulder and anger courses through his veins once again as Barty flinches. Not at him though, at his father. At least he has some idea about what’s troubling him. “Is this about your father?” 

“McGonagall said she was disappointed in us,” Barty croaks, still not meeting his eyes. 

“But she’s not like your father. She won’t hate you forever because you got in trouble once.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do, Bee. I really do, and if I’m wrong, you can blame me, okay? Everything will be okay.” 

Barty walks right into him again, this time on purpose. Evan wraps his arms around his shoulders and they stay there for a while; he’s not going to be the first to pull away, not with how desperately Barty needs the comfort. 

“We should probably go,” Barty says after a few more minutes pass by, and stands back slightly, “before we get even more detention.” They walk back to their dorm, shoulders brushing occasionally, and by morning, Barty was his normal, annoying self – though Evan could tell it was fake. But his mood drastically improved after Transfiguration, and McGonagall didn’t treat the pair of them any differently than she usually would, constantly praising Barty on his exceptional display of magic. Maybe now Barty can start to learn that one small mistake isn't the be all, end all.