#I should’ve made haste with this

[swedenis-h]

A new light

[prettygiri222]

Stress Relief

summary: Armin gives the best head

Armin x Black Reader SMUT

you were beyond frustrated at this point, work pissed you off today. it was originally your day off and you were gonna spend it with your boyfriend Armin, but your boss called you in last minute because someone couldn’t make their shift. then they spent the whole day up your ass complaining about the littlest things and even getting you for being late? you almost put your two weeks in when your coworker spilt your much-needed iced coffee, she didn’t even offer to buy you a new one! you got home with tears in your eyes when your lovely boyfriend offered to help you relieve some stress.

“Arminnn” you whined out. you were at the point of tears. you and Armin have been at it for almost an hour and you haven’t had the mind-blowing orgasm you craved. you were bouncy so desperately on Armin’s dick, like a rabbit in heat. 

you should’ve been embarrassed at the state you were in: your edges were long sweated off after a long day at work, your makeup was running from your sweat and tears, your blowout was starting to frizz up, you didn’t even have time fully take off your clothes so your jeans were caught on one leg, your panty was pulled to the size and your tits were suffering from the constraints of your bra.

“c-calm down babe” Armin placed his hands on your hips to slow you down. Armin was struggling underneath you, what was once pleasure was becoming torture. unlike you, Armin had already came 2 times and was nearing his third. he was overstimulated and he was trying to hold out to help you but he was nearing his limits.

your eyes were squeezed trying to focus on building the growing feel inside your stomach missing out on the pornographic image in front of you. Armin was flushed a deep shade of pink, his lips a deep shade of red as he bit down on them trying to slow the growing feeling of his climax. his pants were around his ankles and his shirt was pulled up past his chest in your haste to get him inside you as soon as possible. 

“fuck Armin, right there!” you moaned out as you finally got him to reach the deepest part you so desperately craved. the sight of you so bouncy so desperately on his cock brought Armin to his climax faster than he wanted.

“wait babe, p-please… i can’t, i can’t” Armin whined out as you grinded into him. you finally opened your eyes to see the mess underneath you. Armin hips were jerking into you deeply despite his pleas and you knew he was close, his voice always rose an octave higher during his orgasms.

“not yet,” you were so close you could almost taste it. Armin however, couldn’t take it anymore. he was growing weak underneath you, becoming a mess of babbles and whines.

“c-cumming!” Armin went cross-eyed at how intense his orgasm took over his body, spasming on the couch. beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he looked up at the ceiling. you however, were still going at it, chasing your climax. you looked so beautiful above him but it was starting to hurt. Armin could barely feel his dick anymore.

“I’m close ‘rin, s-so close, fuck-” you orgasmed was denied when a strong grip picked you off of your boyfriend's flushed cock. “Armin!” you cried out frustrated. that was the closest you got to an orgasm during the whole day and your boyfriend just denied you.

“you’re so fuck-” “relax, I’ll take care of you angel,” Armin said as he put a finger to your lips stopping your rant. Armin sat you back on the couch and took his place on the floor in front of you. after taking off his own shirt he finally took off your jeans and underwear before taking off your top and releasing your tits.

he took you in a slow deep kiss while he played with your nipples, twisting and pulling at them. “Armin,” you moaned out.

“i know, i know, i’ll make it better. i promise,” Armin said as he kissed down your neck leaving hickeys in his path. he slowly made his way down to your clit drawing out whines that were like music to his ears. you were already squirming underneath him and he barely did anything. “my poor baby needs this badly?” he mockingly questioned, already knowing the answer.

you could only nod afraid your voice would give out. you held on to Armin’s hair for dear life, “oh god! please don’t stop Armin, please!”

“mhm,” Armin groaned from in between your legs. one of his hands was used to hold up your leg and the other was playing with your tits. “yough tath ahmahzin” Armin didn’t bother to remove his mouth from your clit to speak. his lips latched onto your clit licking and sucking on it before he started to get messy.

you would think Armin received the most pleasure when he ate you ate the way he was moaning into you. he was spitting and slobbering into your soaking wet heat. he removed his hands from your tit and inserted them into your cunt when you lost it.

“min! f-fuck minnie, ‘m close” you could barely form a sentence Armin was fingering the sense out of you. you held his head in between your legs as you started to grind into him hard. you whined when you felt the growing feeling begin to disappear as you tensed up.

“relax.” Armin gave your thigh a quick slap before holding it up. the sight beneath you would’ve been enough to make you cum any other day. Armin looked up at you with glazed-over eyes, his bangs were stuck to his forehead and his fingers going in and out of you as he ate you out with haste.

“give it to my baby,” Armin’s other hand rubbed your thigh trying to coax your orgasm out of you. you started to squeeze around his fingers, biting your lips to stop yourself from bucking into his mouth. Armin knew you were close so he kept up his ministrations.

“min, ‘min, ‘min!” you chanted out in a trance. your vision turned white as your climax finally hit. no noise left your mouth as it was stuck in an O shape. your body was trembling now and the only thing you could feel was Armin's wet tongue going in and out of you. 

“min?” you moaned out as you came back to your senses. you tried closing your legs but his hands had a firm grip on them to stop them from closing. he kept nipping at your overstimulated clit holding you in place as you tried pulling away.

“my pretty girl, i think you can give me a couple more.”

Safe to say you totally forgot about your day at work🤭

[wicchyy]

—0.5 flipped ; james potter

sum: you’ve been obsessed with James since you met him, but he doesn’t feel nearly the same. then, he’s flipped.

warnings: James throwing his breakfast in the trash

notes: this was inspired by the movie ‘flipped’. delulu girls win!!! sorry for being a bit too long, this is different from my usual works !

These are all the things people know about James Potter; he’s a skilled quidditch player, one of the smartest students in your grade, a lightweight, and he can manage his time well between practice, classes, and parties.

But those things, they’re just surface stuff. These are what you know about James Potter; he has the most beautiful brown curls, hazel eyes that change between brown and green depending on the sunlight, a delirious laughter, and the most flirty drunk you’ve ever known.

Sirius introduced you to James during your second year. And since the moment you saw him, robes askew, chocolate smeared all over his cheeks, and glasses slanted on his face— you’ve been in love with him since.

Maybe it was love at first sight, the plausible explanation. Or perhaps it was obsession. Either way, you haven’t paid attention to anyone other than James Potter himself.

“Hey, Siri. Hi, Remus. Have either of you seen James? I thought you lot finished practice minutes ago.”

Sirius nodded, chewing down the rest of his waffles before replying. “Mhm. Doing extra rounds, Prongs looks a bit stressed on the field today.”

“Perfect!” You clapped your hands together, “I’ll just bring some breakfast down for him.”

“Actually, Y/n! I don’t think you should—“ Remus interferes.

“Don’t worry, Remus. I’ll be sure to get two waffles. I know he gets hungry after practice.”

Remus tried to protest again, but Sirius waved him off with a look that said ‘what can we even do to prevent it?’

…

In the middle of December, snow covers the Hogwarts ground. You’re careful as you hold onto the napkin that holds James’ breakfast. The quidditch field isn’t far off the castle grounds, so you make haste of your movements and quickly head to the entrance of the Gryffindor locker rooms.

“James?” You shout, stepping inside until you see the one and only locker door open and the curly headed boy lying on the wooden bench in the middle of the room.

He immediately stands up, the voice all too familiar for him to not flinch. “Y/n?”

You appear in front of him with a wide smile, grinning happily as you set the breakfast in front of him on the bench. “Hi! You didn’t come for breakfast so I asked Siri where you where and he mentioned you’re practicing extra by yourself. So I figure you’d be—“

“Y/n!” James shouts louder.

“.. So I figured you’d be hungry.” You finished, your voice lower this time like you’d been caught red handed at something.

“Thanks. But no thanks.” He smiles forcefully. He grabs at the napkins holding the waffles and two pieces of strawberry, crumpling it in his hands and aiming it for the big black bin at the corner of the room.

Of course it lands perfectly inside, and he huffs an angry breath as he takes in your flushed, ashamed look.

“Look, just like you noticed, I wasn’t at breakfast. Because I don’t want breakfast. I’m not in the mood, yeah, Y/l/n? And I don’t need you trailing after me like a lost fucking puppy you want to feed breakfast. I’m not your anything, understand?”

Harsh. His words struck you in the gut. Maybe you should’ve listened to Remus earlier. James had never been practicing late unless he was ordered to. And you should’ve remembered it was winter as well. No one would willingly practice more quidditch than required in the harsh December winds.

“I— I’m sorry.” Your face flushed. You had to admit, you’d never been so embarrassed quite like this moment before. “I thought it’d be a nice thing.”

James stood up, picking up his towel, a spare shirt, and his knit beanie and stuck it in his locker before banging it roughly.

“If I haven’t made myself clear all these years, Y/n, let me make it clearer. I’m not interested.” He scoffed. “And I won’t be fucking interested because you bought me breakfast.”

You were left standing in embarrassment. Your eye making contact just a second with James, then to the bin where the breakfast you had bought for him was thrown in.

“Just back off, Y/n. I mean in.”

…

James had been feeling pretty guilty for the whole week. Yes, he was annoyed by you at the moment and yes, he’s always been annoyed by you. But all the times he’s ever been annoyed with you, none of those times has he said something like that. And after careful realisation, he’s understood that his words may have hurt you a tad bit.

He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know how. Especially not to you. So he doesn’t. James doesn’t apologize for weeks, and then a month, and then he finally comes to terms with the fact that his brain somehow misses your annoying face, your annoying voice, and your annoying personality always annoying him.

“I have a question.” James interrupted his friends who were mountain deep in their homework.

“Hm.” Sirius shot lowly while he closed his subject book, “Go on. Think I’m done for the day.”

Remus shot his eyes at the interaction between his friends, leaning back on his seat to pay attention to James.

“So, you lot know about the incident a month ago, yeah?”

Sirius scoffed, “Mate, the bin waffle? Course we know!”

“Not really something to brag about, Prongs.” Remus chimed in.

“Look, I know. I’ve done some thinking and—“

“You wanna apologize to her?”

James stayed silent, “Well, I—“

Remus shot his friend a look of pity, “Honestly, you should’ve done it months ago. We know you may not like her, but she’s still mine and Pads’ close friend. And yes, she’s done so many things to annoy you but ..”

Sirius continued, “But it was a really shit thing to say. And you were fucking rude! I mean honestly, Prongs! Throwing out the waffles? Not necessary!”

“I know, I know. I’ve been feeling pretty bad about it recently and I want to apologize, really. But I dunno— things are just confusing.”

“How is it confusing? You just need to walk over to her and apologize.” Remus shrugs.

“That’s not it, Moony. It’s more confusing, like— I don’t even know how to explain it, y’know. Like, I used to be so fucking annoyed and pissed when she’s around. But now, it’s like somethings missing. Something like .. her.”

Sirius scoffs, “Shut the fuck up!”

James looks confused, “What—?”

“Shut up!”

“Literally not saying a word.”

Sirius stands up, “James Potter!” his hands banging on the table until the librarian is ordering him to calm down.

Remus looks up at him and pulls Sirius’ hand to sit back down at his chair. “Maybe you should tell him quietly.”

“I love how much you don’t notice, mate. You’ve got a crush on her, Prongs!”

James scoffed, his arms immediately crossing. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you very much do.” Remus replied.

Sirius smiles, “You may not have liked her when she was bothering you, but you sure are thinking of her when she’s gone.”

“That’s nothing. It’s just cause I feel bad.”

“No you don’t!”

“I actually do, Pads. That’s why I’m bringing this up.”

Sirius scoffs with a wide smile, “No you’re bringing this up because you need to talk about it.”

“Well— yes. Because I need advice on how to apologize.”

“No, mate. Prongs, you’ve totally got a crush on her!”

“I don’t!”

“You’re so stubborn, mate. You know that saying ‘you lose them and then you know’? Thats you!”

Remus interjects, “Actually, the saying is ‘you don’t realize what you’ve got till it’s gone’. But yes, I do think it resembles this situation.”

“It doesn’t resemble anything. Besides, if she is here right now I’m positive I’d be annoyed just the same. I just feel bad for the .. waffle incident.”

“Wrong. Don’t believe it.”

Sirius looks across the table where James is and gives him a dumbfounded look. “Alright, fine. If you really think that, then what d’you say to a bet, huh? We prove that you’ve got feelings for her and if we succeed you pay for all your drinks whenever we go out for a whole month.”

James rolls his eyes, “And how would you prove that? She’s not even talking to me.”

Remus shoots Sirius a coy smile, the gears in his head turning as he makes up a plan in his head. “Well we’d just apologize to her for you and ask her to hang out with us. Then we’ll see your reactions and … other things.”

“Perfect plan!” Sirius chimes excitedly.

“I don’t agree to all of this.”

“That’s cause you’re scared to show us you actually do have a crush on Y/n.”

“One, I don’t. And second, fine. I’ll agree. But if this doesn’t prove anything and I’m right all along that I do not have a crush on her, you both will be doing my Arithmancy for a month.”

“Really? Why’d you even take that elective?” Sirius scoffs.

James smirks and extends his hand for a shake, “Deal?”

Remus shakes James’ hand quickly as his boyfriend beside him makes a sound of protest. “Moony! It’s Arithmancy, I thought we’d just have a counter agreement.”

“Come on, Pads, I’ll be doing all the work anyways.”

…

You clutched your books tightly, the familiar weight providing little comfort as you walked the corridors of the castle. Resentment and annoyance simmered within you since the incident with James.

As Sirius and Remus approached you after class, your expression soured. "What do you two want now?"

Sirius cleared his throat, putting on a cheery facade. "Hey, Y/n! Prongs wanted us to extend his apologies again for the breakfast thing. He's really sorry, you know?"

Your eyes narrowed at Sirius. "Sorry? James is sorry for tossing away the breakfast I brought for him without a second thought?"

"Yeah, he's been beating himself up about it. Really wants to make it right," Remus chimed in, attempting to sound convincing.

Your frustration reached its peak. "Is he? It's easy to be sorry now, isn't it? But where was his remorse when he threw the waffles in the bin like it was nothing? Tell James I don't need his apologies.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a quick glance. Remus spoke softly, "Y/n, we understand how you feel, but Prongs is really trying to make amends. It might help if you could give him a chance to apologize properly."

"Yeah," Sirius added, his tone earnest, "We all miss hanging out together, and Prongs, he genuinely wants to make things right. Look, we’re all hanging in the commons just after classes are done.”

You hesitated, torn between your anger and their earnest plea. After a moment of contemplation, you sighed. "Fine, I'll be there. But not because of James. I'm doing this because both of you are my friends. And I’ve missed hanging."

As you walked away, Sirius and Remus exchanged relieved smiles, hoping that this hangout might just make them win the bet.

…

i - reconciliation

You sat in one corner of the Gryffindor common room, a book in hand, although your mind was elsewhere. Sirius and Remus hovered nearby, trying to create a relaxed atmosphere, but the tension lingered like a thick fog in the room.

When James entered, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes fleetingly met yours before darting away, a visible unease surrounding him.

"Hey, Y/n!" Sirius exclaimed cheerfully, attempting to break the heavy atmosphere. "We’ve been thinking of names for Moony’s new owl!"

"Yeah .. definitely that," Remus added, striving to mask the tension in his voice.

James cautiously approached, his gaze finally meeting yours. "Y/n, can we talk?" His voice was quiet, carrying an earnest plea.

You hesitated momentarily, then nodded, reluctantly setting aside your book and following James to a quieter corner of the room.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," James began, his voice laced with genuine regret. "I was thoughtless and I hurt you. I don't expect forgiveness, but I want you to know I'm really sorry."

As James spoke, his eyes held a raw sincerity that tugged at your heartstrings. The hurt remained, but you found yourself softening, unable to resist the depth of emotion in his gaze. Your own feelings for him, buried deep within, began to stir, making forgiveness a more feasible option.

"You did hurt me, James," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But..." You hesitated, your resolve faltering as emotions swirled within you. His eyes, filled with remorse, seemed to tug your emotions. "I appreciate the apology. And I... I forgive you."

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus tried to lighten the mood by engaging everyone in different activities. Yet, in the corner where you and James stood, the emotions were palpable, the unspoken tension slowly dissolving with your admission.

Conversations flowed more easily throughout the evening, punctuated by shared smiles and lingering gazes between you and James.

Beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding seemed to grow between you and James, sparking a flicker of hope for reconciliation.

Remus and Sirius settled into a quiet couple, minding their own business. You took the moment to excuse yourself to avoid anymore awkwardness. You’ve never been in the situation without being so all up in James’ business. James watched you leave, a mix of relief and gratitude evident in his eyes.

…

ii - jealousy

“What do you guys think of Cassius Flintwood?” James broke the silence at his table. His friends looked up from their work, giving James a puzzled expression.

“Nothing. Other than he’s probably the saving grace of Ravenclaw’s abomination quidditch team.” Sirius shrugged.

“Yeah, that. And he tutors Marlene, oh and Y/n— wait, are you asking cause you’re seeing him tutoring Y/n?”

Sirius gasps, immediately turning around to see where James’ eyes are making intense eye contact to. “Prongs, you’re jealous. Christ, this is perfect! Might as well just go get drinks right now, cause we’ve won!”

James rolls his eyes, head making contact with the wooden table as he lays his head down. “Shut up, Pads. I’m not jealous, jus’ asking.”

“Mhm. Definitely.” Remus chuckles.

“I’m so confused with everything. I apologized to her, we’re good. Why’s she .. I dunno, distancing herself still?”

“You dimwit.” Sirius says with a hint of shock, his hand slapping the top of James’ head. “You have a big ego James Potter. D’you honestly think she’d just go back to obsessing over you?”

James lifts his head up and rolls his eyes “No, that’s not what I meant. Just—“

“Look, mate,” Remus interferes, “If you’re that bothered by her and Cassius just go over there and study with them. Sure he won’t mind.”

“What? I can’t do that.”

Sirius narrows his eyes, “So you’re admitting that it does bother you?”

“No! She’s just having a tutoring session.” A tutoring session that involves Cassius touching her arm and making her laugh. She’s probably not learning anything right now. James’ annoying head thinks.

“Then stop looking at them.” Sirius warns.

“Y’know what, I’m tired. Might just fit a nap in before my late classes.” He begins to stand and collect his things. Just before putting everything inside his satchel, an idea pops into mind.

James glances at the thick Potions book beside him along with other books stacked below it. He lays his hand flat on the wooden surface and gives it a small shove, making the stack of books clattering on the floor and making a loud echo throughout the library.

Sirius just scoffs at his friends’ action, meanwhile a smile plays at Remus’ lips, clearly understanding the dumb little trick that James has just performed.

In a second, your eyes landed on James for almost the tenth time. When you see him finally collecting all the books from the floor, you make eye contact. His face is red, a hint of embarrassment showing on his cheeks. A small smile twitches on your lips, trying not to let it show to James.

James kept a steady hand in the table and lifted himself up, quickly putting his books inside his satchel and making haste of his exit from the library.

“Think we’ve got this bet in the bag, Pads.” Remus says.

…

iii - realisation

The Quidditch pitch resonated with the energy of practice, but James's mind was elsewhere as he maneuvered through the air on his broom. Sirius watched from the sidelines, unable to ignore James's distracted flying.

"Oi, Prongs, you’re flying like you’ve got a Bludger lodged in your head. What’s going on?” Sirius remarked, concern etched into his tone.

James landed his broom, "Just not in the zone today, I guess," he muttered, trying to downplay his disarray.

Sirius crossed his arms, gaze unwavering. "It's about Y/n, isn't it?"

James faltered, caught off guard by Sirius' directness. "Maybe," he admitted, a tinge of regret lacing his words.

Sirius arched an eyebrow, probing gently. "You miss her, don't you?"

James sighed, the weight of his unresolved feelings palpable. "It's more than that, Sirius. I've been a complete prat to her all these years," he confessed, his voice tinged with remorse.

Sirius's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You mean treating her like a pest?"

James nodded, guilt weighing heavily on him. "Exactly. I never gave her a chance and, Christ, I feel awful for it. She's been nothing but a good friend, maybe a tad obsessive but .. I've been too blind to see it."

“It’s fine, mate. Least you’ve figured it out now. Who knew the waffle incident would’ve caused this, huh?”

"I dunno though,” James admitted, a mix of regret and uncertainty clouding his thoughts. "It's like realizing something you should have known all along."

Sirius gave his friend a coy smile, "Give yourself time, mate. Just remember, she's not going anywhere. Maybe it's a good thing to figure it out now, yeah?"

James nodded, a mix of emotions swirling within him. With Sirius's encouragement, James readied himself to get back on his broom.

…

iv - confession

The first thing James saw when he entered the common room was you. Sat there in your too big sweater and a book huddled in your lap. His heart beats nervously as he walks closer to try and calm himself down.

“Y/n!" James greeted, trying to hide the hint of nerves in his voice.

You glanced up from your book, smiling warmly at his approach. "Hey.”

Taking a seat beside you, James fiddled with the sleeve of his robe, trying to find the right words. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Reflecting, you know?" he started, eyes darting to meet yours.

You raised an eyebrow, curious about where this was going. "Reflecting about what?"

James let out a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, you see, I've had this knack for making a right mess of things. Especially when it comes to... certain people."

Your lips curved into a small smile, sensing the playful tone in his words. "Certain people?”

"Right, so I've been a bit dim, maybe blind even. Overlooked something that's been there all along."

"James Potter, are you about to confess your undying love for someone?"

James laughed, a touch of color rising to his cheeks. That laugh that you could get high on no matter the situation. Well, it's not quite as dramatic as that, but..." James took a breath, looking straight into your eyes. "Maybe I've been a bit of a fool. Y/n, you uh … , are more than just a friend to me. You're, uh, rather important."

Your smile widened, realizing the sincerity behind his playful demeanor. "Oh really? Important, am I?" You teased lightly.

He nodded, his smile widening. "Yeah, you are. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I rather like having you around, you know?"

Your smile softened, this was the moment you’ve dreamt for probably millions of times. Truthfully it wasn’t as dramatic as you’d expect. But having to see James in his awkwardness, words falling clumsily from his mouth and making eye contact with you, it was a moment you’d dream of. That was how much you were in love with the boy.

"As long as you mean it, Potter."

💌 thanks for reading lovie! support me by reblogging <3

[mikkomacko]

Thank u for doing requests ! What about giiving kisses on mob boss Nico’s scars (if any)?🥹🥹

This is so sweet oh my god I’m gonna cry. (This also somehow turned into a smut scene at the end so happy first smut scene of mob boss Nico!)

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope I did it justice!

————————————————————————-

It wasn’t a big dead, not really. Just an off-handed remark Jack had made after Nico chirped him for getting a bad haircut.

“You should spend more time worrying about that lip of yours than my haircut.” He’d yapped, motioning to the recently split lip Nico had gotten. “Eventually your girl’s not gonna wanna kiss it better.”

It had healed just fine and yeah for a bit there you’d avoided the raw wound, but now that it’s just a sliver of a scar it’s fine, right?

Nico can’t help it. He’s picking at it, smears of shaving cream still splattered across his jaw and cheeks. He picks at it until the skin of his lip is red and raw, and it hurts so badly he has to stop.

In a frantic spiral he’s suddenly spotting all the little marks on his face. Every scar left over from teenage acne to fist fights to hitting his head on the coffee table as a child, Nico feels manic as he takes them all in.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved. Maybe he should’ve let his beard grow out, creep up his cheeks and down his neck to hide all the ugly marks.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole he goes. Wiping the shaving cream off with a towel, Nico spots the ugly mark on his collar bone from where he’d been nicked with a knife. The one on his abdomen from where he’d been kicked with steel toe boots.

Something ugly and ashamed rises in his chest, threatens to choke him. He scrambles out of the bathroom, haphazardly shutting off the light as he rushes to the closet. In his haste to cover himself he misses you already lying in bed. It’s not until he’s yanked on a hoodie and sweatpants, finally able to breathe easy, does he notice you watching him with bewilderment.

“You ok boss?” You ask him, slightly amused.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, feels like throwing up. What if you saw all of them? Like really saw them? Sat in front of him and saw all those ugly spots at once, all his ugly spots?

“Fine,” he mumbles, climbing into his side of bed. He feels stiff and awkward, ignoring your gaze as he reaches to shut off the bedside lamp.

You make a confused noise in the dark and Nico blinks until his eyes adjust. Then he’s lying back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers ache to reach for you, to touch your skin. But he’s terrified of you touching his skin and suddenly deciding you don’t want to anymore.

Stupid fucking Jack and his big mouth.

The sheets shuffle, the mattress moving with your weight. “Nico?” A hand pats down the duvet, then slithers across the blanket until it’s resting over his chest.

“Hm?”

“Baby you’re on the edge of the bed.”

“M’just hot.”

“Maybe it’s the winter clothes you just put on?”

Nico hesitates, scrambles for an excuse. “Not feeling well either. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“You ate three plates of pasta, Schoa. I don’t think that’s contagious.”

Clearing his throat, Nico pathetically shrugs. Something’s welled up in his esophagus, is choking him and he wants you to reach over and make it better.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to piss you off first?”

He closes his eyes, feels the weight of your hand on him. That feeling chokes him again, makes him panic until he’s spiting out his worst fears to you.

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Nico expects you to laugh, to kick at his leg and tell him he’s being ridiculous. But he thinks the pathetic whimper of his words has given away how dire this topic is to him.

“Oh baby,” you breathe out, “I want to kiss you all the time.” You sound sincere, like you’re thinking about kissing him right now. It makes his face hot, embarrassed and insecure for some reason.

His silence is thick, hanging in the air so heavily you have to sit up in bed and crawl over him. Nico can’t help it, his hands moving on their own to find your hips as you push the blankets back and straddle his thighs.

“Nothing could ever make me not want you.” You whisper. In the dark he finds your eyes, the moonlight coming through the window gleaming in them. They look shiny and blurry, warped by the night- no by him. Because he’s got tears in his waterline.

“You didn’t want to kiss my lip,” he mumbles like a child, “when it was hurt.”

You stroke through his hair, press your palm to his cheek. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you, not because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“What if next time it’s worse? What if the cut is bigger and then the scar is and it doesn’t get better?”

“What-Nico where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

He’s silent, embarrassed again. “Jack said if my scars get any worse you won’t want to kiss them better anymore.”

“Oh Nico baby,” you huff in disbelief. “Have you ever noticed that Jack doesn’t even have someone to kiss his scars better? Who does he think he is?”

You’re right, but he doesn’t feel better. So he just shrugs, makes some weird noise of protest in his chest because he’s scared and hurt.

“Can I please turn the light on?”

Nico leans into your palm, heart thumping loudly in his chest but he mutters his consent. The lamp flicks on and at first he’s blinded. But then you come into view, one of his shirts on your shoulders and you’re pretty hair frizzy on top of your head.

You look so beautiful over him.

“Oh my god, what has Jack done to you?” You ask softly, stroking your thumb under his droopy eyes that are still wet with unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Your fingers trace his face, over the soft skin of his freshly shaved cheeks and the slope of his nose. Your thumb outlines his lips, your eyes following its movement with such adoration in them it makes his heart ache.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” you say with earnest, stroking the scar on his lip. “No cut or bruise or scar is ever going to change that.”

“Yeah?”

You lean down, ghost your lips over his. “Yeah Nico,” you promise, sealing it with a kiss. He runs his hands up your back, holds you as you trail kisses over the little marks of his face.

Nimble fingers dip beneath his hoodie, touch the warm skin of his stomach. “Can I take this off my love?”

Sluggish, Nico nods. He sits up enough to help you wiggle it off of him, falling back into the pillows as you throw the hoodie to the side.

You sit back, admiring the skin of his chest and abs with your hands and lidded eyes. “All I see when I look at you, is the brave and strong man that I love.”

Sliding down his body, you mouth at his collarbone with soft and needy lips. Nico sighs contently, lets your breath tickle his skin and grows warm at the way you touch him so sweetly.

Sometimes he wonders how you can treat him so softly, how you can take him in those soft hands and turn him into a puddle.

“Baby,” he whines, unsure of what he’s even calling for. All he knows is that he loves you and you’re making him feel so good.

“Let me love on you,” you request, word pressing into the column of his throat. “Let me show you how beautiful and sexy you are Nico.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, shudders as pleasure nips at his belly and blood rushes to his cock.

“Fuck, yes, please.”

You’re slow and diligent, finding any and every place on him that is marred or changed and showering it in kisses and loving touches. He’s sweating and panting when you get to the edge of his pants, peeling the band down to reveal more and more of the scar there.

“This one’s my favorite,” you say so quietly he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head, brain foggy with lust. You peer up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking sultry over the planes of his body. Lips hovering over the mark that trails down the v of his hips and the top of his thigh.

“My favorite,” you mumble into his skin, kissing at the point of his hip. Then you’re pulling his sweats down even more, innocent eyes watching him hiss when his cock jumps free, red and hard against his abdomen.

“Why?”

Your lips curl up, wicked as you bite into the inside of his thigh just enough to make him twitch. “Because I get to see it every time I’m down here.”

Nico’s brain short circuits, shuts down when you bite into his skin again and it feels so good he might come untouched. He doesn’t want to though, not that he needs to tell you that.

You nose at his cock, mouth wet and hot against the base of him and his bones turn to jelly. He falls back into the mattress, widening his legs for you to get closer.

Grounding himself with fingers in your hair, Nico whimpers when you drag the flat of your tongue up his length, gentle fingers wrapping around his girth.

“Baby,” Nico whines again, and you’re already kissing at the thick head of his cock, all teasing flicks of the tongue and lips sticky with precum.

“I know pretty boy,” you assure, sweet and loving. Nico moans, ears growing hot at the pet name. “So pretty, from those big eyes of yours all the way down to your pretty cock, huh?”

His hips buck up, eyes rolling back and he twitches in your hand. Jesus Christ, now he knows why you love when he talks you through sex. The rawness of your words, the truth in your tone, how utterly sweet you sound saying such filthy things.

“Make me cum,” he begs, tugging on your hair encouragingly. “Please just -fuck!”

You swallow him down easy, fitting his cock into your warm mouth just how he taught you. Like it’s habit now, to have his cock dripping into the back of your throat while your tongue licks at the underside of him.

Nico’s so worked up and sensitive he’s already throbbing and threatening to blow his load. That fire licks at the base of his spine, curls his toes and has him blubbering nonsense. You bob your head, drooling down his length and cupping his balls in your palm.

You’re so soft and warm, so loving in everything you do. Nico thinks it might kill him one day, how much you love him. But that would be a hell of a way to go.

His cock throbs, twitching in the hollow of your cheeks and you stroke a free hand over that favorite scar of yours. That’s at it takes and he’s seeing stars, coming so hard on your tongue it twists painfully at the pit of his stomach.

Dropping his hands from you, heavy like his bones are made of lead, Nico fights to catch his breath. Your merciful on him, easy and gentle as you kiss your way back up his torso and to his mouth.

Nico doesn’t peel his eyes open until you’re messily mouthing at his parted lips. Your tongue tastes like him, breath hot and he groans into your mouth as he kisses you back.

“I lied,” you pant when you part from the kiss. “This one’s my favorite actually,” and your pecking a kiss to the scar on his lips.

“Baby you just sucked the soul out of me,” Nico croaks, wrapping his arms around you and pinning you into his sweaty chest. “I can’t take anymore compliments.”

You giggle, touching your nose to his. “It’s the truth this time, I love that one. It’s the first thing I see every morning, the first thing I see after you kiss me.”

Nico hums, smacks a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Yeah? Do you think that’s pretty too?” He goads, smirking when you blush and roll your eyes. “Pretty like my cock? Or pretty like my eyes?”

Laughing, you wiggle in his hold to try and get away. “Oh shut up!”

“Noooo keep telling me how pretty I am, boss please?”

[frost-queen]

Married off (Reader!Targaryen x Jacerys Velarys)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer , @slythetic

Summary: Reader is promised to Jacerys, her cousin whom she can't stand. Thinking he is too snobby. When you have to share the bed, you set up a number of rules for Jacerys to uphold. Yet you are the one to break it. At diner jabs Jacerys at you by exposing your snuggling up to him. Something that is laughable to your brother Aemond. Ending with asking what a kiss is like.

Alicent handled you with fury. Holding you firm by the elbow, pulling so hard it didn’t matter to her if you could keep up or not. With haste she rushed through the corridors. She came to a stop near her quarters, throwing the door open. In a split second you saw your brother Aemond at the other end of the hallway.

Staring down at you. Something serious yet frightful in his expression. The glance was brief as you got shoved into the room. Alicent closing the door firm behind you. Her expression tense with shock. – “What kind of attitude was that?” – she called out in anger. Her expression calm yet full of violence.

“The one he deserves.” – you spoke back with frustration. A slit second later shot Alicent’s hand across your face. Leaving a throbbing pain in your cheek. In shock, you stared at your mother with trembling knees. She composed herself by pacing back and forth. – “I have told you numerous times Y/n. Your marriage to Jacerys Velaryon is final.”

“What about what I want?” – you dared to speak back. Already taking a deliberate step back so she couldn’t hit you again. Her expression darkened as you knew you should’ve kept your mouth quiet. Lowering your head, you presented her with a humble apology. – “You will marry Jacerys tomorrow.” – she made clear with a point. Alicent grabbed for the door, opening it once more.

“Don’t make me drag you.” – were her final words before leaving you with a slamming door. The sound making you jump out of your skin. As her footsteps died out, you sunk to the ground. Sobbing quietly in your hand. For all the people your mother could marry you off, she chose your cousin.

The one you found snobbish. There was not one bit you liked about him. Frightened you lifted your head up when the door opened once more. Your brother Aemond entering. His expression stern yet with remorse. – “Sister.” – he spoke nearing you.

He sunk to his knee, holding his hand out to you. – “Don’t.” – you told him, slapping his hand away. Aemond’s expression faltered to sorrow and pity. Taking a deep breath, you moved your hands over your face to your hair. Bringing yourself back to your senses. Without his help, you got back up with poise and grace.

You left the room, leaving Aemond behind. Blindly you followed the corridors leading up to your chambers. Looking at them with anew eyes. For you would never lay eyes on them again. After the marriage you would move over to the Black’s side. To be closer to your cousin… husband. This was the very last night in your room. A goodbye, you didn’t want to say. You wanted to stay here forever.

For now it felt like your mother has just given you to the enemies on a silver platter. A marriage forged between her and Rhaenyra in a way of peace settlement. You knew it was just a scam. To keep the good image up of peace whilst in the dark, shadows kept fighting with fire and blood. It was good for the land to see two sides united by one.

The morning quickly came as your chambers were swarmed with people. Dressing you for your marriage. Making sure you looked your best. Between the dressing and hair fixing, you grabbed for the wine. Needing the support of your good friend wine to get through this day. If your brother Aemond hadn’t banished all wine from your chambers, you would’ve been drunk.

“That is well enough sister.” – he would say, plucking the glass from you. You shot him a glare for the steal. – “Oh come on Aemond.” – Aegon responded in annoyance. It made you turn to your brother, sitting down in a chair with his feet up the table. – “What are you here for?” – you called out, wondering what your brothers were even doing here. 

“The spectacle.” – Aegon answered all smug. You turned to glare at Aemond. – “Precaution.” – he told you. Rolling with your eyes, you ignored them. Bothered that they have ripped you from pleasure.

So just a bit tipsy, you rolled up for your own wedding. Everyone was waiting inside as you stood waiting just outside. The heavy doors opened to the throne room as it made you suck in a breath. All eyes were turned on you.  Up front stood your cousin. Jacerys. Slowly turning round as you neared.

A smug smile on his face as it made you roll your eyes at him. You hated how he was gleaming at this. Taking great pleasure in it. Approaching the iron throne, you nearly tripped over your own feet as Jacerys reached out and grabbed you. – “Are you alright cousin?” – he asked with worry. You immediately elbowed his grip off you. – “Don’t touch me.” – you told him, keeping your voice down.

Straightening your posture, you kept your hands in front of you. Feeling a slight tug on your dress, you looked down. Seeing that your cousin was holding a bit of your dress between his fingers. As if he needed to keep you in place. Rolling your eyes again. Half of the speech you didn’t hear, too tipsy to even pay attention to it. Instead your eyes were fixated on the iron throne. The muttering dying out.

After the wedding, you rushed back down the throne room. – “Y/n.” – Jacerys would call out, upholding his smile to the others. With a bit annoyance, he began to hurry after you. Out of the throne room, you were already detangling your hair. Needing this spectacle of yourself off. – “Y/n.” – Jacerys called out catching up with you. He noticed the direction you were going as he took a hold of your elbow.

“Let me go!” – you insisted upon, pushing your arm back. He moved his hands up in defence. – “Look all I want to say is you are going in the wrong way.” – he said.  – “No I’m not, I’m going…” – you responded loud catching yourself make the mistake. Jacerys quirked his eyebrow up. You were heading for your quarters that no longer were yours.

“It’s this way Y/n.” – he reminded you offering you his arm. Rolling your eyes with a scoff, you brushed past him. Your cousin coming after you like an excited little dragon. Jacerys opened the door for you as you walked in. Hair completely detangled, no more braids and hairclips. Your eye fell on the single bed in the room. It suddenly felt real that you had to share the room and bed with him.

You rounded up to the bed as Jacerys followed you from the other side. – “Do you want to lay down?” – he questioned as you pulled the covers back. Taking a pillow or two with you. He frowned confused seeing you back away from the bed. – “No, just making my bed.” – you told him. Jacerys laughed confused. – “But… but your bed is right here?” – he gestured at the grand bed. You shook your head, throwing the pillows on the ground.

“I’m sleeping on the floor.” – you told him looking around for a blanket. Jacerys neared, pulling you to a stop by your arm. – “You can’t be serious about sleeping on the floor!” – he called out with concern. – “Oh but I am cousin.” – you responded pushing his hand off. You continued to search for a blanket to ease your new bed.

“Y/n, just lay in the bed.” – he’d tell you. – “The floor will be cold at night. It will get your muscles sore. You might even be frozen to death on the floor!” – he listed up in a panic. – “And you care because?” – you answered with a glare. – “I am… I am… your husband.” – he responded making you laugh loud.

Your laughing made him swallow ashamed. He didn’t like you ridiculing him. You threw a blanket on the floor, adjusting your new bed. – “Y/n please. Just lay in the bed. I…I command you to sleep in the bed!” – he ordered out, trying to sound like his uncle Daemon. It made you quirk your eyebrow up. – “You command me?” – you repeated mockingly. Jacerys swallowed nervously when you approached him.

“Please…” – he begged rubbing his hands nervously. You turned on your heel, coming to sit on the floor. Immediately you felt how hard and cold it was. Jacerys watched you closely. It took you about two minutes and a bit more nagging from him to finally give in. – “But there are a set of rules!” – you made clear throwing a pillow back in the bed. Jacerys nodded. – “Don’t touch me and don’t come near me!” – you threatened.

Jacerys held his hand up with a boyish snobby smile. It made you throw the second pillow at him. To your annoyance you crawled into the bed with him. Jacerys making sure there was enough space between the both of you. – “Is this good enough?” – he asked, looking at you. – “Do shut up.” – you said looking up to the ceiling. You didn’t want some small talk. Not with him.

“Goodnight Y/n.” – Jacerys said as your response was to roll over. Turning your back to him. Jacerys looked nervously at you, making sure he respected your boundaries. Soon his eyelids felt heavy as sleep took over. You had never been a restless sleeper. Somehow you were tonight. Perhaps it was the wine or the nightmares of your wedding.

Making your sleep anything but peaceful. Tossing and turning. You were used to sleep in an empty bed. Yet now there was an obstacle in your way. You had bumped against it a few times in your tossing and turning. Till you settled, bumping against a shoulder. Somehow in your dreams, your arms slapped over the person’s body. Making yourself snuggle closer to him. Hauntings fading away as the world became peaceful to you.

Your eyes opened to the sunlight. Body moving with the movement of breathing. The beating of a heart against your ear. Something felt off, yet you didn’t react to it yet. Needing a few more moments to try and understand what was different. The warm touch underneath you that felt like…skin. Eyes shot wide open, pushing your upper body up.

“Morning my wife.” – Jacerys said moving a hand behind his head. Annoyed you slapped your hand on his chest, rolling back to your side. – “What did I say!” – you told him, pulling the blanket with you as you stepped out of the bed.  Jacerys came leaning on his elbow, looking over at you. – “It was you who snuggled up to me. You didn’t follow your own boundaries.” – he told you.

Feeling suddenly flustered, you quickly turned around so he wouldn’t see. You disappeared behind the screen to get dressed, dropping the blanket by the screen. Fully dressed you re-appeared. – “Did you have a good night sleep Y/n?” – Jacerys asked looking all smug. – “Shut up.” – you bit at him annoyed. His response was to chuckle teasingly.

You waited for Jacerys to finish dressing up before going to diner. Jacerys wanted to hold your hand, but you moved it out of reach before he could take it. Nearly everyone was already seated as the two of you entered. Your brother Aegon raising his glass to you. – “How was the wedding night?” – he asked teasingly. Alicent shot him a glare for even wanting to discuss such a matter over diner.

Both of you remained silent, sitting down. – “Are you well sister?” – your sister asked sitting beside Aegon. You hummed quietly not wanting to react much to it. Aemond seemed to keep a close eye on you. Alicent and Rhaenyra giving each other a glance from across the table. Daemon rolling his eyes at the silence. Aegon moved closer, lowering his voice.

“How was it? Did you come?” – he asked his cousin as you dropped your knife in a deep protest. – “We kept it civil.” – Jacerys responded politely. Aegon’s expression horrified with disbelieve that he didn’t take advantage of it. – “What did you do then?” – Aemond questioned giving him the side-eye.

Jacerys cleared his throat softly. – “We just… snuggled.” – he responded as your knife clattered onto your plate in shock. It made the entire table look at you. You shot a glare at Aemond suddenly laughing. – “So sentimental suddenly sister.” – he laughed out. You tried kicking him from underneath the table, but you couldn’t reach him.

“Well I think it is rather sweet.” – Helaena said. Looking across the table, you saw the others smile warmly at you. Perhaps there was a bit of a glare with your mother, but it was subtle. – “I couldn’t wish for a better wedding night.” – Jacerys proclaimed leaning in closer to you. Leaving a quick kiss on your cheek that he stole before you could protest. Stunned by the sudden touch, you couldn’t help but get flustered. Quickly hiding it by looking down. Aemond kept laughing having the time of his life.

After diner returned Jacerys and you back to the chambers. You sat on the bed, arms crossed. Jacerys looked at you, sighing loud. – “Are you really that bothered?” – he questioned coming to stand in front of you. – “It was just a joke Y/n.” – he said tapping your forehead playfully.

Blinking surprised the sudden thought popped in your head. Perhaps it was connected to his touch or not, but you got pulled back to the moment he had kissed your cheek. Making you wonder more about it. – “What is a kiss like?” – you blurted out, making Jacerys quirk his eyebrow up. – “Well…I can’t explain it… I can only show you.” – he answered scratching the back of his head nervously.

“If you like of course…” – he finished. You slowly nodded. Jacerys took a deep breath, placing his hand against your cheek. It made you gasp soft, looking frantically around. – “It’s alright Y/n.” – he whispers to you whilst leaning down. Closing your eyes, he closed the gap between the two of you. Kissing you.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[yeoandmoon]

cowboy take me away ( mingi x reader )

as the child of a long forgotten freedom fighter, and a long time informant of kim hongjoong, you've been entangled in the bloody history & politics of strickland for as long as you could remember. when an invitation shows up at your door in the form of a familiar gunman, you find yourself grappling with the idea of gaining freedom & love in your harsh world or sticking in the comfort of your shadows.

smut + angst, ateezverse, outlaw!mingi & librarian!reader, afab reader, right person wrong lifetime, mentions of war & corruption, mingi is covered in blood, breeding kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, wc is 4.7k

NOTE: takes place almost directly after the events of the bouncy music video ( a whole comeback and a half late, but i think it's what cowboy mingi would want )! this fic was written across 2 provinces, 1 state, 2 continents and 3 countries its a world traveller <3 title is from cowboy take me away by the chicks. if you like this please consider reblogging or leaving a comment / an ask :)

BANG! BANG! BANG!

You hear the banging before anything else. You’re quick to get up, nearly tossing your book to the floor in your haste.

The clock on the stove reads 21:37, and you know exactly who awaits you on the other side of the front door. The news reports of the bombings of The Prestige Academy had been live for nearly three hours, and it was only a matter of time before they came knocking.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Another bang rings out through your apartment, shaking the wooden door and the small ornaments that hung around it - good luck charms, your mother had once told you.

It was silly of you to keep them up. You knew it was silly to still believe the bedtime stories of a broken down revolutionary, and the childhood she wanted so badly for you.

Yet, here they remain - framing your door in an arch of wooden dolls, and nearly forgotten symbols.

Everything you’d witnessed with The Eight; all the history that could’ve been and should have been of your world laid out right in front of you by a scary little man and his little hourglass wasn’t enough for you to pull them down. You told yourself it’d be disrespecting your mother’s memory by doing that.

Hongjoong and his boys made you believe in the stories of your mother, and the world she wanted.

It’s while staring at the smallest doll in the arch that you take another deep breath, and finally steal a glance at the shadows that are casted under the door. You can see the person shuffle in place, almost nervously. 

You know who it is, and what they want from you.

You almost want to be upset by the uninvited visitor. You want to throw the door open, and scream at him; you want to tell him how he ruined your life. You want to tell him how you should’ve called the Guardians when you saw them walk into your library that day; how you regret letting them pull you into this world you watched tear your mother apart.

But - you’re not really upset. The thought of them makes your palms sweat, and your cheeks flush and you don’t want them to go. You want him to come inside and hold you; you want him to stay here, and despite your threats, you could never call the Guardians on him… on any of them. 

You look back up at the small doll that smiles down at you, and try not to let visions of soft pink hair and gummy smiles invade your mind. You try to forget the feeling of rough hands against your skin, and his lips kissing your tummy. You want to push those to the back of your mind, and simply ignore the cowboy on the other side of your door.

BANG!

A final resounding bang rings out, and you finally grip the door handle before ripping the door open.

As if summoned by your inner complaining & contemplation, there is a man in a cowboy hat on the other side of your door. His hat sits low over his face, and a rifle hangs at his side; you could just see the blood splattered on his leathers and his cheek.

You try not to stare at the way the tan vest hugs his toned torso; or how the deep red blood speckles his neck and chest. Your knuckles turn white as they tighten on the doorframe.

Your lips kiss along his neck, while your hands are tight against his hips. You pull him closer to you and revel in the soft whimpers that fall from his swollen lips. His hands are warm, but you know he runs hot and you soak in the warmth.

“Y/N.” His deep voice breaks through the silence, as if slashing a knife through your daydream.

You give him a brief nod, “Mingi.”

There’s a smile growing on the outlaw’s face, “Were you hoping I would leave if you ignored me enough?” Mingi asks, gently pushing you to the side as he steps into your apartment.

You sigh before closing the door behind him, making sure the locks and deadbolts are tight before turning to him. You don’t answer, but your mind continues to linger on his comment and just how wrong it truly is. 

The last thing you want is for him to leave - for him to leave you.

“Hongjoong called you.”

You nod, and your eyes flicker to the drawer where your small burner phone sits in the kitchen. There’s a coded voicemail from Kim Hongjoong in the inbox, and you had listened to it enough times that you could probably recite it for Mingi.

Hongjoong and his boys wanted you to join the revolution - officially. You had been content hiding in the background of it; feeding information to Hongjoong in cryptic messages & sneaky meetings, and then letting them take the credit, but Hongjoong wanted you at the forefront now.

There was a reason, of course. You knew why he wanted you, of all people.

“I’m not my mother, Mingi.” Your voice breaks as you finally look up at the man in front of you.

Mingi looks down at you. His short pink hair is messy under the cowboy hat, and his brows are furrowed in frustration. As you look back at him, all you can think of is the wanted posters plastered through the city center, and how you wish the artists could see the vision you see.

His voice is soft as he finally speaks, “You’ve gotten comfortable, Y/N.” Mingi moves the rifle from his shoulder and onto your kitchen counter, careful to place the barrel and silencer facing the wall.

“You’re comfortable surrounded by your books, and letting Hongjoong take all the credit for your work. You should’ve been there tonight.”

You lean back against the door, right under the arch of dolls as you contemplate Mingi’s words. He’s mirroring you - standing under the arch of your kitchen door, but your apartment is so small that you can just feel the warmth of his body against yours. A part of your mind thinks you’re imagining it, but you know if you were to reach your arm out, you could take the outlaw’s rough hand into your own.

You almost do, too. You begin to reach your hand out when Mingi moves to speak again, “She’d want you to be there, you know.”

His words slam into you like a ton of bricks. Your hand falls back against your side while Mingi’s statement immediately fills your eyes with tears, and the vision of the bloodied man in front of you begins to blur. You look down to hide your tears from him, but you still find yourself nodding in agreement. He’s right. He’s right, and it makes you so angry just how right he is.

“But I don’t want to be there,” You finally say, “It’s not the place for me. I’m not like her. I’m not like Joong. I want what they wanted… what they want, but I’m better off behind you.”

Mingi shuffles closer to you, and his hand moves to hold your wrist. You blink, and tears begin to fall down your cheeks when you feel his nimble fingers against your pulse point. His body gently pushes you back against the front door.

“Would it change anything if I told you: I want you to be there? I want you to be there, right next to us? Next to me?”

When you look up at him, you see his dark brown eyes have softened. His face is still shadowed by the cowboy hat, and you reach your free hand up to gently push the hat off, letting it hit the floor in a soft thud. The warm light of your apartment immediately illuminates Mingi’s harsh features, revealing a sad smile as he meets your teary eyes.

You push his hair out of his face before cupping his cheek, and you revel in the way he closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 

“I’ve watched this world tear people apart, Min. I don’t want to watch it break you too.” You tell him, your thumb gently brushing against his cheek, “I don’t want it to break me.”

You felt selfish as the words left your lips. Maybe you were being selfish, but you cared about him too much. You care about him enough that it’s dangerous - for both of you. You both knew your time together was limited and scarce, and soon all the work you’ve both done would finally culminate with Hongjoong’s plans.

Yet, here you stand - wrapped in a bloodied cowboy’s arms, half naked and crying, unsure if this will be the last time you see each other.

“I’m not going to break, Y/N.” His hand maneuvers from your wrist, and onto your bare thigh, just brushing under the hem of the night shirt you have on, “You wouldn’t, either. We wouldn’t let you.”

You stay silent, but you wrap your arms around Mingi’s neck and pull him into a tight hug. Mingi immediately reacts, with his own arms moving to wrap around you and his head falling into your neck. You can feel his lips ghost against your neck while one of your hands moves through his hair, almost holding him in place against you.

There’s things you could say; things you want to say to him (don’t die. come back. i love you.), but you don’t say any of that. Those are foolish thoughts for your situation, and dreams neither of you can afford right now.

Instead, you gently push him away so you can see him, both your hands coming up to cup his cheeks, “Does Joong know you’re here?”

Mingi shakes his head, and you notice his own tears beginning to fall down his face. You keep your eyes on him as you nod, while one of your thumbs gently runs over his bottom lip.

“We don’t have much time then?” Your voice is hardly a whisper.

Mingi kisses your thumb before taking your hand in his, entwining your fingers and kissing your palm, “We’re leaving at midnight.” He finally says.

It takes a moment of contemplation before you surge forward in Mingi’s hold, leaning up to capture his lips in a harsh kiss. His arm around your waist tightens its grip before he kisses back, and you feel his other hand drop your own before beginning to move into your hair.

You pull away after a moment, leaning back against the door as you settle in Mingi’s arms. You look up at him - taking in the way his cheeks have blushed, and his pupils are nearly blown out. Your eyes glance over the now-smudged blood on his cheek and neck, and you have to think he’s doing it on purpose. He’d come to you after doing Hongjoong’s dirty work before, bloody & wrecked and he’d always laugh when he saw how wet your panties had become after seeing him like that.

“Take the jacket off, Mingi.” Your voice cuts through the silence you two had created. 

There’s a small smile playing at your lips when Mingi jumps before nodding, unhooking his arm from around you to pull the heavy leather coat off. Your eyes follow it as he unceremoniously drops it on your foyer floor.

His hands move to his vest, and your eyes are quick to follow as he begins slowly unbuttoning the leather.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” You narrow your eyes at him.

Mingi’s cheeky smile and the way his eyes glance up at you confirms all you need to know. You fake a gasp as one of your hands reaches out to grasp his, and you tug him back closer to you.

“You’re a tease,” you tell him as you kiss him again. 

He smiles into the kiss, while one of his hands moves to cradle your head and tilts you to gain easier access to your lips, “Am I?”

You begin to unbutton the remaining buttons on the vest, just as Mingi crowds you back against the door. He presses a kiss to your cheek, and you melt into the way he deepens the kiss while his thigh moves between your own, pressing up against your soaked core.

You groan at the feeling of his jeans against your clothed pussy, “Am I going to come here?”

Another cheeky smile flashes at you, “I am a tease, aren’t I?” He hums.

Mingi pushes you down against his thigh as he speaks, with his hands holding your hips. The drag of your clit along his thigh rendered you speechless and hot, and you let yourself fall back against the door in your bliss.

You’re standing on your toes as you rock against him when one of his arms hooks around your waist. 

“Go on, baby.” He leans down to kiss your temple, “Use me to make yourself feel good.”

His other hand tugs at the hem of your night shirt, slowly inching it up to reveal your body to him. There’s a hunger in his eyes that makes you feel wanted and sticky, and you can’t help it when your hands move to grasp at the vest to steady yourself. Mingi’s free hand moves to your chest, his fingers gently begin thumbing at your nipple until it hardens. 

You let out a sharp gasp at the feeling, relishing in the way his touch fuels the warmth that grows within you - it’s a warmth that truly only burns for the Gunman, and part of you worries it might never burn for anyone else.

Your hands move into Mingi’s hair when he leans down to take your nipple in his mouth, and the whimpers that come from the man as you tug brings another wave of arousal that goes straight to your core (and the sticky mess that you’re sure are ruining your panties and Mingi’s jeans). You can feel the bulge in his tight jeans each time you rock your hips; it matches the hunger you saw in his eyes as he kissed up your neck, letting your shirt fall back down as one of his hands moved to cup your pussy.

You reach out to palm the bulge in his jeans, and a sleepy grin graces your lips when Mingi lets out a beautiful sound. He groans your name, his free hand gripping your wrist while you push against him.

He pulls your hand away, “Don’t worry ‘bout me,” He tuts.

“You sound pretty.”

Mingi’s thumb pressed into your clit in reply, and the action brought a near scream out of you. Your hips stutter against his hand, and you grip his vest tighter as you begin to lose your balance. Mingi’s hand around your waist moves to pick you up, using the imbalance as an excuse to pull you closer to him.

“Mingi…” Your voice is strained and full of neediness.

He hums into your skin, nipping at your collarbone, “I know, Y/N.”

His thumb presses circles into your clit, and your thighs shake as you wrap your legs around Mingi. Your head falls onto his shoulder as your hips rock into his hand, urging him to move faster and harder.

You kiss him, messy and rough when he brushes his finger over your entrance, pushing you over the edge to your orgasm. You tremble against him, and he kisses away your cries and whimpers, holding you impossibly close in his arms.

Mingi’s thumb slows its movements as you ride out your climax. He presses a kiss to your hair, and you know he’s talking to you, but you can hardly hear him. You can hardly guess what he might even be saying against the quiet of your apartment and the blood rushing in your ears.

“We’re going to bed now, baby.” He whispers to you, kissing your cheek and finally moving away from under the arched doorway.

You laugh into his shoulder, “Are you going to fuck me?”

He doesn’t answer on the short walk to your bedroom, but you don’t need an answer. You know how tonight will go. You always know with Mingi.

Mingi softly drops you onto your bed, untangling your legs from around his waist before quickly beginning to undo his belt. You keep your eyes on him as you pull your soaked panties off, haphazardly kicking them to the floor while you watch Mingi undo his jeans, leaving them open as he turns his attention back to you.

He looks positively wrecked, and all he’s done is made you come. This causes an undeniable high to begin racing through your veins, and the high only grows when you feel Mingi’s fingers dancing along your inner thigh leading right up to your soaked core.

“‘Gonna open you up, baby,” Mingi grunts, while he gently pushes you back against the bed and shoves your legs open so he can comfortably kneel between them, “We gotta make sure I fit, yeah?”

You gasp at the combination of his words and the feeling of his thumb against your clit so soon, but when you glance up, he’s smiling down at you. Your fingers tightened in the sheets and you wanted to curse Mingi. You were so wet from your previous orgasm that you knew you could probably take him with minimal prep - it wasn’t anything you hadn’t done before.

But no; Mingi wanted to watch you writhe on the sheets as you took his fingers, nice and slow.

He gripped your thigh as he pushed two of his long fingers into you, and he chuckled when you threw your head back, a moan of his name escaping your lips.

“Min, please,” You bucked your hips up to meet the thrust of his fingers, “Just fuck me!”

Mingi kisses your knee in response, “We got some time,” He hums, but you could hear his voice waver as he adds another finger, and watches you grind yourself against them.

The short walk to your bedroom had hardly been enough time to recover from the orgasm you’d had against the door, and all you could do was soak up the increasing pleasure as you rode Mingi’s fingers. Although your bedroom was usually a quiet spot, it was soon overtaken by the sound of your soft cries and Mingi’s fingers thrusting into your weeping hole.

You let your head push back against the mattress as you whined in frustration and arousal. Your thighs were burning from Mingi holding them open to accommodate his large frame, and all you truly wanted to do was come on his cock.

Maybe you were made to ride his cock, a sneaky part of your arousal corrupted brain squeaked. Usually, you’d push those thoughts out of your mind but right now… You looked up at the man who sat over you. Mingi’s hair was a mess from you tugging on it earlier, with his vest hung open to expose his blood splattered chest and arms to you; leather string necklaces and chains hung from his neck, and it didn’t take long for you to pick out a pendant you had gifted him months earlier. His unbuttoned jeans stretched over his thick thighs, and hung low on his hips, exposing just enough skin that it made your mouth water.

Right now, you had no choice but to agree with the little voice that just maybe, you were made to ride Song Mingi’s cock.

You let out another whine at the revelation, bucking your hips into his hand as you reached for Mingi with a sweaty hand, “Min, I-I need you to fuck me now, please.”

Mingi takes your hand, using it as leverage to pull himself down and crush his lips into yours, “My baby needs my cock?”

His palm grinds against your clit, and the pressure is enough to turn any answer you might have for him into a broken moan. You kiss him harder, squeezing Mingi’s hand tightly in yours as you push your hips up to gain any kind of friction against him.

You wouldn’t even put it past yourself to begin grinding on his thigh wedged between your legs again - like some kind of bitch in heat.

The coil in your lower half begins to burn again, timing itself with the harsh thrusts of Mingi’s fingers and the way he kisses you, hard & unforgiving. When you move out of the kiss to place soft kisses and bites along his jaw, a broken whine escapes Mingi and it nearly topples you hard over the edge.

You buck your hips hard into his hand and kiss his neck, “I’m g-going to come,” You tell Mingi, who swears before kissing your cheek.

Hardly a second flashes before you, then the hand between your thighs is ripped away, along with it is the pleasure that you so desperately crave.

“Mingi!” You whine, trying to reach for him as he pulls his hand from your cunt, dodging your grabby hands and begins to move off of your bed, already tearing the vest off his body.

“‘think you should be good now,” Mingi gives you a teasing smile, beginning to push his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down his thighs.

He keeps his gaze on you as he begins to crawl back onto the bed, and you can see the fire that’s present in his eyes. He moves to settle between your thighs, though you can’t help but let your vision wander down his body.

A gruff laugh comes from Mingi as you feel one of his warm hands rest on your thigh. His other hand reaches for you, gently resting on your cheek as he moves over you, “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

You want to laugh at his bluntness, but he kisses you so hard that you can hardly react. His hand moves from your thigh to sit heavy on your hip as he pushes into you, and all you can do is whimper into the kiss.

Despite the prep (and your inner insistence that you could take him unprepared), Mingi is big, and you could hardly remember the last time you felt so full. It’s a euphoric feeling as he thrusts into you, holding you down against your mattress and pushing any non Song Mingi related thoughts out of your mind.

Your hands move as if they have a mind of their own; one of them moves to tangle back in Mingi’s hair, and Mingi groans before pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Min, it feels so good.” The hand on your hip squeezes, pressing you harder into the mattress.

He smiles against your skin, and presses a kiss to your throat, “I’m not sure how long I’m going to last,” His voice is weak, and laced with wanton pleasure.

Mingi had been restraining himself all night - that much you knew. You had felt the change in his energy the moment he propped you up on his thigh in your living room, but he still took his time. He took his time teasing you, and drinking in everything you could give him, but you knew wanted more. Mingi wanted every last drop he could get from you, and you wanted him to have it.

You nod at his words, and try to pull Mingi closer to you. The incoming familiar waves of pleasure were already tugging at your strings, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you would find yourself over the edge again.

You’d like to think it was the pleasure that spoke the next sentence that fell from your lips; or, maybe even the Mingi corrupted part of your brain, but you knew that you meant the following stuttered request with every ounce of your being.

“I wan’ you to come in me.”

Mingi’s hips stutter and he swears, “If I knock you up, you’d have to come with me.” He gives a hard thrust, as if proving a point, and seems to revel in the way it makes you gasp and clench around him, “Then, I might just knock you up again - for good measure.”

You can hardly contain the broken moan that falls from your lips, “Mingi… fuck, Joong would kill us.” You grip his arm, your nails digging into the flesh as he thrusts harder into your heat. You’d never admit (especially not to Hongjoong), but the idea Mingi proposed erupted a fire within you, and it burnt from head to toe.

A low growl escapes from his lips, as he presses another kiss into your sweaty skin, “Nah, Hongjoong would kill me. He could never hurt you, baby.”

He continues his kisses along your neck, and you feel the hand on your hip slowly move over your soft tummy before you feel his fingers graze over your clit again. He presses down on the sensitive nub as you mewl, pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts. The new angle presses his cock deeper into you, and you can feel the tendrils of euphoria begin to wrack through your body with every movement of Mingi’s hips and nimble fingers.

In that moment, you’re not sure how anyone will ever make you feel how Mingi does; how anyone will fuck you like this, or just simply look at you the way the tall gunman does.

Mingi’s hips stutter again as he gently nudges your cheek with his nose, “Y/N…”

You grip his arms harder; hard enough that you’re sure it’ll leave bruises for Hongjoong and the others to find in the morning, but for now you just nod, “Mingi, come in me.” You repeat the demand.

Mingi presses a kiss on your collarbone as he moans, a breath of your name leaving his lips before he comes. The feeling of his seed spilling into you, and the warm hands on your body is enough to set off your own undoing, pushing you hard over the cliff.

Stars take over your vision, and your back arches as you ride out your orgasm against Mingi, trying to pull him closer into your orbit. You vaguely feel his hand take yours, and you begin to slowly recover while he presses soft kisses against your wrist and palm. He’s sweaty above you, and you can see the flush that overtakes his cheeks while he comes down from his own climax.

“Do you have to leave now?” You manage to croak out, scared to look at the clock next to your bed.

Mingi glances at the clock, and a frown crosses his face - just for a moment. He shakes his head though, “No, not yet.”

His voice is soft, and you know he’s lying to you. He’s still holding your hand as he moves to lie next to you on your bed. The bed is small enough that he crowds you against the wall, but you two had done this enough times that you expect it; in fact, you almost welcome the crowding that comes from having Song Mingi in your bed.

You’d take anything to spend more time with him, but for now you settle with the soft kisses he’s placing on your hand.

“You know what to say if they come looking for us?”

You nod.

“I’m sorry,” Guilt racks his voice, and you’re not sure what he’s sorry for. Maybe he’s saying it for Hongjoong, who pulled you back into this, or maybe he’s sorry for leaving.

Maybe he’s sorry for loving you, when neither of you could afford to be loved.

You don’t want an answer though, and instead you pull him back into your orbit and settle for slotting your lips against his one last time.

—

When you wake alone in the morning, you can’t help but notice the small doll in the arch around your door is gone - only the blank wallpaper behind it remains.

As your hand moves to touch the mouth-shaped bruise on your throat, you somehow find comfort in the broken arch of charms.

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter III: Too Young To Reason, Too Grown Up To Dream I Prev I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Is Aemond as insufferably pompous as he seems?

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, Aemond the snob, Aegon the bully, mentions of an animal being put down, dysfunctional family, smut, quickly escalating P in V, unprotected sex, pussydrunk Aemond being (somewhat) inexperienced, Aemond ‘One Eye’ Targaryen has a praise kink!

Word count: 3300

Her feet fall clumsily to the ground with each step she takes. She moves faster than her body is capable of, eager to get back to her dorm and hog the shower; the only place secluded enough for her to ease the extreme ache between her thighs.

Fuck him!

What an asshole. 

Infuriation bubbles within her, not only directed towards the stuck-up Targaryen, but at herself as well. She should’ve known. 

He hadn’t really fooled her into believing he was a nice, helpful guy by any means, but still, something about the way he diligently showed up and listened to her instructions had temporarily fooled her into assuming he wasn’t a straight up prick. 

Wrong.

Was it her sudden and unexplainable enchantment with him that had caused her to act so embarrassingly foolish? He had not done anything to award him her favour, and still she had felt hot all over when he followed her command in the dance. And when he took over, rolling his hips with a dominant grip on her, she’d lost all her resolve and succumbed to his will in a heartbeat. 

Reaching the communal shower shared amongst the workers at Red Lake, she throws off her clothes in a haste and impatiently turns on the shower. The water is cool and it feels nice; refreshing her scorching insides. Still, when she lowers the shower head and sighs in pleasure, she turns the water temperature up; imagining a certain insufferable dance partner’s tongue between her legs. 

It is easy to assume you know someone.  

It is only human, the way we apply a lifetime of learnings, impressions and assumptions onto those we can’t fully comprehend. Every day of our lives we accumulate stereotypes, and subconsciously project those onto the people around us. 

That is exactly what she had done with Aemond, the rude, pompous snob that seemingly got off on humiliating her. His bad attitude, paired with her unfavourable impressions of the rich patrons of Red Lake Resort, made her feel like she already knew him inside out. 

A self-serving, uncaring twat. 

A day has passed since she last saw him, and as she reaches her usual practice spot a few minutes before seven in the morning, she comes to the conclusion that she’s figured him out. 

She now understands how he operates; that he only entertained the idea of being her dance partner to humiliate her. To be honest, it would be a lie to say she didn’t enjoy his attention, but the humiliation that followed their escalated dance session far outweighed any pleasure he made her feel. 

Even if he managed to make her inside desperately ache for his touch. 

Throwing her sports bag on the ground, she sits down to stretch her stiff legs out, fingers rubbing firm circles on her ankles to boost the blood flow and warm herself up. 

She had never really struck up a friendship with any resident before, despite this being her fifth summer at Red Lake. The resort may have curated a relaxed image, but staff are made very aware of the fact that spending time with guests when off duty is not encouraged. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if it was technically allowed; spending time with Aemond like she had. But none of that matters now. 

If anything, being ridiculed by him makes it easier to take a deep breath, curse him, and move on.

But then she sees his tall, rigid frame appear on the other side of the grass overlooking the lake, and the carefully crafted image she has of him shatters, leaving her momentarily dumbfounded. 

For the life of her she can’t figure out Aemond Targaryen. He barely says hi, only nods in her direction, and puts down his bag on the ground. He straightens back up and walks the few paces separating them before halting right in front of her, expectantly awaiting her instructions for the day.

She's not sure what he expects her to say. Does he want her to acknowledge the strange, sexual dancing they engaged in the day before, or would he prefer to pretend like nothing happened? 

She prefers the latter. 

“Good morning! I just finished stretching, should we get started?”

“Mm”

“Okay!”

The overly cheerful tone of her voice sounds so forced it makes her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Aemond’s unexpected loyalty towards her has thrown her off in a way few things could, and despite her clinging to a casual and relaxed disposition, she hates how she’s not pulling it off. 

There is no point in asking why he did what he did yesterday. 

By now, she’s contemplated the unexpected turn their dancing took so furiously she’s almost forgotten what actually prompted it. Her recollection of yesterday has turned into a kind of fuzzy, dream-like memory, even if not even 24 hours have passed. 

Maybe she was the one who started grinding against him, and he just went with her initiative? It nearly feels like she imagined the whole thing; as if she was under a spell cast by his enchanting aura. 

Better to pretend that’s the case. 

Aemond stays unmoving, diligently awaiting her command. She moves closer to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, and something warm spills in her chest when he wordlessly copies the position she had instructed him to take the day before. 

He does pay attention. 

He’s doing that thing again. Observing her closely, as if he’s trying to see into her soul. His focus is solely on her eyes, and her gaze can’t stray away from his. 

Inwardly, she pathetically recognises how thoroughly enchanting he is. He really embodies it; that tell-tale, rare Valyrian beauty. 

Not only does his hair reflect so brightly in the sunlight it appears to shimmer. One of his eyes is lilac, a rare genetic mutation only descendants from Old Valyria possess. The other one is dark blue, and perhaps it’s the colour, or just her own fascination with his purple pupil, but it seems much more expressive, much more alive than the other. 

The spell of captivation he’s cast on her breaks as he speaks, voice low due to their close proximity,

“What do we do next?”

She realises that she’s allowed quite a lot of time to pass in silence as her mind swirled with conflicting thoughts of adoration, trepidation, and intrigue. Her cheeks grow even hotter, practically scorching, and she tells herself it’s only from embarrassment, and not from the closeness between her and her dance partner. 

She regains her senses and guides him, focusing on complementing his posture and encouraging him to let go of some of the tension in his back and shoulders. He follows her orders without protest, though he has a hard time fully relaxing his shoulder in the way she’d like. 

She doesn’t chastise him for it. Instead, she feels grateful for the diligent student he proves to be. 

It is easy to assume you know someone.  

They dance for an hour, before Aemond leaves for breakfast with his family and she needs to get ready for work. They don’t really talk about anything besides the routine, so when she’s about to leave and Aemond gently grabs her elbow and asks when she’s practising next, it takes her by surprise,

“I’ll be back here after I finish up work, probably not until after sunset”

“Okay. See you then”

It’s always too noisy for his liking, family dinner. 

It’s not like his family consists of overly talkative people. Well, the exception is Aegon, but even his chattiness depends on the level of alcohol in his blood. 

Whenever the Targaryen-Hightowers gather after spending their days apart at Red Lake Resort, his mother and siblings start the regular evening routine by sharing where they had spent their time. Alicent, often appearing to be on the verge of a breakdown back home in the city, enjoys the calm qualities of the resort, and prefers to relax by reading romance novels and frequenting the extensive spa. 

Aegon, eager for attention, dives into exaggerated and fabricated tales of his ‘marvellous’ adventures.

Aemond knows his older brother likely spent the day glued to the TV, smoking weed, and flirting with girls by the pool. Yet, somehow, Aegon manages to spin his mundane activities into something resembling an over-the-top, Bond-esque adventure.

Next is Daeron. Young, likeable, and always up for a daring challenge, he has no trouble finding people to join him in whatever extreme sport is currently trending. Even at Red Lake, he seems to draw the attention of like-minded individuals. 

This evening, he recounts a day spent surfing with one of the watersport instructors, even spotting a stingray along the way. Aemond can't help but think Daeron and Aegon are more alike than they care to admit.

The two outgoing Targaryen-Hightower siblings, always at the centre of attention.

Like they’re desperate for it. 

Aemond, on the other hand, finds himself most like his sister, Helaena, who sits quietly next to him. Like her younger brother, she prefers not to speak unless spoken to, mind floating away somewhere only she knows. Still, she doesn’t seem to mind the idle chatter, smiling contently even when Aegon’s voice grows louder. 

As he silently listens, Aemond's mind drifts as well. He’s restless, tapping his fingers against his thigh, hidden under the table of the award-winning restaurant. The sun is setting behind him, casting a pink glow over the patio table before him, adorned with decorations carefully selected to reflect the current trends in Westeros. Soon, he’ll have to excuse himself, 

Perhaps it’s his restlessness that makes Aemond feel especially agitated tonight. His evenings are filled with family obligations, and his mornings consumed by dancing. The time he had hoped to spend focusing on reading about important cases or working toward his future is instead overshadowed by thoughts of her. 

Despite only knowing her for a few days, she already haunts his mind. 

She seems forward and friendly; a combination he usually finds easy to deal with. Most people like that aren’t complex; some might even call them simple. 

Yet, when they dance together and she takes the lead, something else sparks from her. 

A mystery he has yet to solve; an unexpected riddle he can’t stop contemplating. 

She intrigues him. 

As if he could read his mind, Daeron addresses his older brother,

“When I was leaving this morning I saw you come back from the lake. What were you doing there?”

Suddenly, his family’s quiet. 

Aemond knows they’re waiting for him to answer, but he doesn’t want to.

“Oh?” Aegon’s voice cuts through, too casual to be anything but a thinly veiled prod.

Aemond doesn’t reward his brother much attention, stubbornly staring at his plate of pasta as he replies, 

“I was just out for a morning jog”

He doesn’t feel guilty for lying. 

He’s been burned by his family before. Or perhaps burned by his own inability to stay strong in times of adversity. Either way, he’d learnt his lesson; to never show vulnerability again. 

It’s only another excuse for them to ridicule you.

When it happened, Aemond hadn’t expected to cry. 

He is a grown man, after all, and Vhagar was old; too old to carry on without pain. Still, when he stood there, watching the veterinarian prepare the injection, he felt that painful tightness in his chest, the kind he hadn’t felt in years. 

Vhagar had been with him for over a decade, a steady and loyal companion. He’d grown up next to the old shire horse, spending each weekend competing around the Seven Kingdoms, bringing home medals wherever they went. Despite being a notoriously picky mount, she had accepted him almost instantly when he approached her as a small boy with a chronic lack of confidence. 

He liked to believe she saw something in him. Just like he saw something in her. 

When the moment came, and he stroked her mane for the last time, the tears came unbidden. 

He hated himself for it, trying to swallow the lump of grief in his throat, but it felt impossible. He was too weak. 

When he exited the stable, wiping away a stray tear from his cheek, Aegon had been there, leaning against the fence with a joint between his lips, 

“Are you seriously crying over a horse?” he’d jeered, shaking his head in amused disbelief, 

“She was practically ancient. You should be thanking them for putting her down” 

Aemond didn’t dignify the remark with a response. Aegon’s words stung, but they couldn’t lessen the hollow ache of loss thumping inside him. 

“This is only another lesson”, he’d told himself. 

Play your cards close to your chest. 

Lie if you have to. 

No one will look out for you.

Don’t let them in. 

After giving his family a half-hearted excuse about needing some time to clear his mind, he finds himself overlooking the lake again, his dance partner securely in his arms. 

At first, he’d felt awkward, every step a battle against his own hesitations. 

Even as he gets used to the sensation of her body pressed closely to his, the tension between them stays palpable; igniting something within him he can’t shake off. 

Her presence is magnetic. It draws him in with every subtle sway of her body. 

“You’re not as stiff as before” she remarks, voice low and with a hint of playful teasing.

Aemond feels heat rise in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper stirring in his gut.

He does not feel as suspiciously distrustful as yesterday, fuelled by some spiteful misconception that her praise was simply disguised taunt, belittling him by treating him like a child. 

Indicating that he does not know how to move his hips, like he’s never had to use them before. 

Now he knows she did not mean to mock him.

Her praise had been genuine. 

The thought makes his cheeks even hotter. 

He searches for a reply, but before he has a chance to speak, drops of rain join their evening dance. His partner quickly grabs her bag and speaker before wordlessly lacing her fingers with his, and drags him into the empty boathouse.

They set up there, finding a corner of the dust-covered wooden building hosting the boats Red Lake Resort owns. She turns on the speaker again, but the sound is drowned out by the heavy rain pattering on the worn tin roof. 

They find their positions again, standing so close he almost thinks he can hear her heart. The dimly lit space feels intimate, and so does her praise,

“Yes, just like that”

“Good”

“Great posture”

“Exactly! You're such a quick learner!”

With every compliment, something stirs in Aemond. Her approval ignites a fire within him, pushing against the boundaries he had set for himself.

His mind tries to ignore it, yet his hands seem to hold on to her with an even tighter grip. They’ve become greedy; reluctant to part from her warmth. She allows it. 

Something shifts in the air between them; thick and electric. 

He looks into her eyes, desperately trying to gauge if she can feel the sparks flickering between them. 

Does she feel it too? 

Steered by moronic desire, he ducks his head down to close the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that is both fervent and tentative; a burst of heat travelling directly from the desire inside of him. 

To his delight, she does feel it too, and the kiss he thought would be fleeting only grows more heated with each second that passes. 

His hands, which had been dutifully placed where she’d instructed, begin to ardently wander, smoothing over each inch of her clothed body. 

When she moans into his mouth, he feels a shiver travel down his spine, and reaches for the button-up shirt she’s wearing. 

His hands try to skillfully unbutton her shirt but they tremble too much. There’s too much desire inside of him, eager to leave from his fingertips and escape into her as he touches her skin. He just wants to feel her; feel everything that lies hidden underneath her clothes. His desire is impatient, and so he rips the final two buttons obscuring her flesh from him. 

The warm softness of her skin is his reward, and he fervently touches anything that he can get hold of; any part of her she allows his hands on. 

She pulls at the hem of his t-shirt impatiently, and he helps her by pulling it up and throwing it off. 

His hands, still trembling clumsily with need, reach down to undo his trousers, uncomfortably snug against his rock-hard cock. He can’t even recall the last time he’s felt this intoxicated by sensual desire.

She pulls the short skirt she’s wearing up to reveal her underwear, sticking to her damp skin. 

She wants this too.  

A ravenous wave of want rips through him, and he surges forward, capturing her lips once more. His finger begin to stroke her, but she matches his impulses more than he knew, and pushes his fingers away,

“Aemond”, she moans, pulling her underwear down, “Just fuck me”

Another wave ripples through him, so fierce he has to stop and inhale before he grabs her hips and pushes her up against the grimy wall, creating space for himself between her thighs, 

He doesn’t know what to do as he pushes inside, high on the sight of her, so willingly accepting anything he gives. 

His sweaty palms grip her hips harshly as he feels her hot, wet cunt greet him, and he has to close his eyes when she throws her head back and moans. The sight, paired with how tightly her walls squeeze him, causes the desire within him to rush towards freedom. 

Fuck. 

I won’t last long. 

The pleasure only doubles as he begins to move. 

It’s not just from how tight she’s squeezing his cock. It’s her sighs of pleasure in his ear, drowning out the rain that harshly hits the roof above them. 

It’s how wet she is; seeping down and making a mess on the trousers he’s still wearing. It all goes to his head, and he feels warm and fuzzy from the realisation that she wants him so much. Her body aches for him. Just like he does for her. 

I’m making her feel this way. My touch is her command. 

His grip on her hips matches the tightness enveloping him, so intense he can’t stop, even when he knows the end is near. A conflict erupts within him, between wanting to savour this moment with her, and wanting to succumb to the pleasure tickling the base of his spine, waiting to be released. 

His hips move on their own, determined to chase pleasure. He wants to stop, but can’t, it feels too fucking good. 

He’s sure he can withhold for just a little longer; savour this for another fleeting moment. Until,

“Ah-, you feel so good, Aemond”

With her words, his desire wins. The force of it nearly prevents him from pulling out, but he manages, just in time. He spills on her thigh with a loud grunt; a strange, throaty noise he’s never heard himself make before. 

She looks at him with wide eyes, pupils still blown out in desire, stunned by the abrupt ending to their tryst. Aemond, still vibrating with lust, wastes no time as he gets down on his knees and buries his head between her thighs, eager to taste her. 

He still craves more. 

A/N: I am a confirmed “Aemond ‘One Eye’ Targaryen has a praise kink”- truther 😤 thank you for reading! 🩷

[pedropascallme]

Stars Above

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!Reader

Summary: "Perhaps sensing your discomfort, he smiled, and the thin remnants of his lips cracked open to display yellow teeth. 'You ain’t never seen a ghoul before, vaultie?'"

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) canon typical violence and lots of it, threatening language, angst, description of a panic attack, descriptions of cannibalism and dead bodies, age gap obviously (Cooper is canon 200+ years old; reader is written as early 20s), guided masturbation (f receiving), themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism, a ton of dirty talk, very mild degradation, phonetic spelling of Cooper's accent because I can, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: This is the longest thing I've ever written for this account. Originally it was going to be one super long fic, but I decided to split it into two parts for simplicity's sake, both in layout and reading. That being said, part two will be up later this week and it's even longer...Hehe!!

You had miscalculated just about everything about the surface.

You’d underestimated the ability people had to be cold and calculating in their cruelty. You’d underestimated the difficulty of navigating the endless Wasteland. You’d underestimated the effects radiation might have on you, leaving you fatigued and nauseous despite the Rad-X you’d been sure to pack away safely in your satchel.

Maybe you should’ve read the warning label.

What was worse, you thought, was how badly you had overestimated yourself. You were so certain you would be able to make a name for yourself—make a name for those you would meet; find kindness in the sand and friends in low places.

But you were just a small drop in the bucket, and nobody wanted a name. They wanted to survive in silence and safety.

You were out of rations, and nearly out of water. You’d sweat gallons through your vault suit, making the fabric itchy as it clung to your skin, and causing you to shiver sporadically as the setting sun invited a chill over the landscape. You dragged your feet over the sand, leaving a path behind you, and part of you wondered if you should just drop dead right there. The sand was soft, warm, and maybe dying on your own accord would be more comfortable than dying by the hand of someone who would kill you simply for the sheer rush of spilling blood.

You stopped moving, slumping down to the ground and coughing. There was a deep ache in your lungs, and heaving up dry air did little to quell the overall discomfort.

You wove your hands through the sand, letting it fall through your fingers.

Could you just go home? Had you ever really had a home?

You pushed down a wave of nausea, swallowing the bile that pushed up against your throat, Tumbledown buildings crumbled around you, and for once in your life you felt truly small. Once, when you were young, you had been sent to your room, and in a moment of frustrated panic you’d felt as though the walls were caving in on you. You’d stood on your bed, pushing up on tiny tiptoes, pressing your hands to the ceiling, refusing to let the walls squeeze you into a cube of yourself.

You smiled at the memory. You wished now more than ever that you could stand on your toes and push against the sky.

You heard something echo in the distance, and, flinching, squinted up into the horizon. Metal rooves reflected against the fading burden of the sun; another echo sounded, something like spurs on scrap, and you sighed, heart heavy in your chest.

Maybe this town would be the one to offer solace.

You stood on tired legs, making haste in the direction of the noise.

~~~

The tinny sounds had ceased long before you walked through the broken arch announcing the town. It was desolate, as if everybody had vacated the area before you’d made contact. Part of you took it personally, and you pouted rather childishly.

In the dimly lit dusk, you roamed the empty paths under flickering lights, stepping over caps and carts that had been turned over. When you came across a body, it became apparent that the clamor you had followed was the result of a gunfight.

You stepped over the body, too.

You had never stared at death before making your way to the surface, and it had come as a shock to you that it didn’t bother you more. Blood wasn’t as bright as it was in the movies, nor did killers give any heated last words before pulling the trigger. Any executions you had seen thus far were dull and hurried. You thought back to an old movie you watched once, one that ended with a cowboy executing a rowdy criminal, and you wondered if anybody bothered to monologue their slaughters the way he had.

You’d long forgotten the title of the film and the name of the actor, but you remembered finding him handsome.

You stooped on bent knees to pick up a piece of fruit that had fallen from one of the overturned carts. You sat there, gnawing at it, feeling the sour bites you took fall into your empty stomach. You made it to the core, tossing it over your shoulder and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. But you paused, remnants of the bitter juice still on your lips when your head shot up to analyze your surroundings.

Someone was watching you.

The sound of footsteps approaching were made all the more unsettling when paired with a boisterous, ugly laugh. Still on your knees, you squared your shoulders, looking up to meet the eyes of a man in bloodied garb and a gun on his hand.

“Saw you eating that,” his teeth were sharp, and his voice high, “Not good to litter, vaultie.” He stopped in front of you, hands on his hips as he scrutinized you. “Why don’t you go crawl over and pick that up.”

You didn’t move. He put his hands on his knees to lean over you, fumbling with his revolver.

“No,” you tried to sound confident, though your voice was quiet and didn’t carry far, “I don’t want to. Thank you.”

He howled, and it made you wince. “Thank you, now that’s sweet,” his gun came up to poke under your chin, “Thank you…I wasn’t asking, girl.”

You tried to find your voice again, but the barrel of the gun was pressed into your neck, and you knew he would seize on any reason to pull the trigger. You inhaled through your nose, trying to buy yourself some time.

A shadow came up behind you, wrapping you in darkness as something approached soundlessly. The man in front of you faltered, and you watched as the confidence drained from his eyes.

“Ain’t that sweet…” A drawling voice, almost saccharine, came from the source of the shadow, and you knew then that it was someone. “Find y'self a toy there, Otis?”

The man—Otis, maybe—who had previously seemed so cocky with his demands, retreated into himself slightly, straightening back up to his full height to meet the eyes of whoever stood behind you.

“You’re not welcome here, Ghoul,” he scowled, “Finders keepers.”

“Well, now, I don’ think y’really in any position to give orders.” It was only now you that wondered whether you were being fought over not out of any sympathetic, weeping heart on behalf of the person behind you, or whether this was a battle for who got to see your blood flow.

“Yeah?” Otis chuckled, “Why’s that?”

You saw the man behind you gesture with his gun in your peripheral. “You got a hole in yo’ neck.”

You watched Otis squint in confusion in the split second before a shot whirred above your head and hit him clean through the throat. He crumpled to the ground, gagging on death, before he let out a damning noise and ceased all movement.

You took deep, shaky breaths, finding the courage to stand up, to turn around and get a good look at your savior.

When you did finally came face level with the man called ‘Ghoul,’ you felt that your initial instinct in referring to a thing behind you had been more apt after all.

His skin was reddened and chapped, marred with scars that covered his face and ran down his neck. He was hairless, as far as you could tell, and his eyes were sunken deep below the ridge where his eyebrows should’ve been. He was decked out in a cowboy costume, long duster to match his Stetson, gun strapped to his hip that paired nicely with his ammo belt.

He had no nose.

Perhaps sensing your discomfort, he smiled, and the thin remnants of his lips cracked open to display yellow teeth. “You ain’t never seen a ghoul before, vaultie?”

You continued to scan his face, and after a few fleeting moments you met his eyes; you couldn’t tell what color they were, if they were hazel or brown or maybe just yellow, muted by the evening, and the shadow cast over his face by the brim of his hat.

No matter the color, you thought they were pretty all the same.

You hesitated, shaking your head.

“Well, ain’t you lucky. Now yo’meetin’ The Ghoul.” His eyes widened, menacing but amused, and you took a step back, nearly stumbling on Otis’s lifeless feet.

“Th—um. Thank you,” you ignored his grandiose introduction, “For…” You gestured behind you.

The Ghoul tipped his hat forward, “Not a problem.” He took a step back, mirroring your movements, “C’mon now. S’dark.”

You made a face, “Oh—no, I…Thank you, for, you know, for helping me out, but I don’t—I’m not really looking for—”

He whistled, and the shrill cut you off, “You really don’know a question if it hit ya in the ribs, sweetheart.” He smirked, “I wasn’t askin’.”

“But I don’t,” you started, watching as he unraveled a rope from his side and tied a knot into it, “I would rather not go with you. I’m—you caught me at a bad time, really, I’m usually just fine by myself.”

“Well…” He tightened the knot, “you keep tellin’ yourself that while we walk.” He swung the rope over his head, and you realized too late that he had been tying a lasso. It came down around your midriff, trapping your hands at your sides when he pulled.

“Hey!” You tried to fight, moving your elbows beneath the constraint and burning your skin in the process.

The Ghoul circled you, stooping down to pick up the gun that had fallen off of Otis’s person, before his face came to peek over your shoulder, cheek to cheek with you. “Hi, there.” He smirked, tugging your restrictions.

~~~

You were used to endless roaming by now. It’s all there was to do; outrun the danger before it could find you, then do the same again when faced with a new conundrum. But the Ghoul walked fast, long strides made tuneful with the help of the spurs on his boots. There was a nice consistency, the metal almost sounded like a lilting voice, though you wished it was less frantic.

You had lost feeling in your fingers, unable to grip your belongings properly, and in a kind gesture that you hadn’t expected from him, the Ghoul hoisted your bag onto his shoulder. You were stiff and sore, and maybe the rope was keeping blood from rushing to your brain, because you couldn’t stop staring at him from behind, watching the way his gloved hand pressed into the bag—your bag—on his hip.

“Where are we going?” You piped up, breaking the silence you’d been stewing in for the past hour. You got no response, so you pushed on. “Where are you taking me?” He didn’t break his stride, pulling you along like the lost puppy you were. You pulled your body against the strain of the rope, digging your heels into the ground and stopping in your tracks. “And what’s a ghoul?”

You watched his shoulders slump as he, too, came to a halt. He let out a sigh, turning around to face you. “Nowhere,” he counted on his fingers as he began to answer your questions in order, “Wherever I go. Me.”

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “So…you’re the only one?”

“Never said that.” He turned his back to you again. “Y’see that clearin’ there,” he pointed into the distance at a group of rocks sunken into the sand. “That’s your bed t’night.” He started walking again, and you followed suit.

The night cast long shadows over the expansive nothingness, and the air made you shiver. The wind pushed at your hair, which in turn clung to your temples with the excess sweat of the day.

“You aren’t the only one, then,” you kept talking, “Are you—is it the radiation? Or are you a…a people?”

He let out a short chuckle. “The only people left. Far’s I’m concerned.” He skirted around your question, leading you around the rocks and finding a comfortable spot that left you hidden in the darkness. He dropped the rope, tossing your bag to the side as he did so, and you grumbled about how he shouldn’t be so careless with things that weren’t his own. He ignored you, walking over with an expressionless face and deftly tugging the knot from the rope. It fell in a heap around your ankles, and you let out a thankful, happy noise. He tossed a glance your way, eyeing you almost curiously, before beginning to make a small fire at the center of your open-air hideout.

You fell to the ground, exhausted, and addled by the events of the past few hours. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back. The rock behind you may well have been a pillow, the ache in your bones finding comfort in even the most unyielding of resting places.

You opened your eyes tentatively, reluctant to see any more of the Wasteland that you had so callously thought would welcome you with open arms. When you finally blinked up, the blackness of the night blanketed you, and with it, there were stars.

Not stars like the ones on a TV screen. Not stars like the ones behind your eyes after staring into your lamp for too long. Not stars like the ones you drew on your ceiling as a child. Not stars like the ones projected in the common area during a dinner you were told was meant to authentically replicate a Fourth of July celebration.

Real stars.

Gaseous beings that reflected against the sand, lightyears away but close enough to touch, if you could just reach out and grab one; cradle it in your cupped hands and let the fire permeate your palms.

Treat it like a child. Treat it beautifully.

“What’re you lookin’ at,” the Ghoul’s rasp broke you from your existential musings.

You looked forward, finding his sunken eyes across the light of the fire that paled in comparison to the light above you. “If you…if you wanted to kill me, I’m ready now.”

You watched weathered skin stretch taut across his yellowed teeth. You knew it was, perhaps, a bit inappropriate, but for a moment you couldn’t ignore the way the word ‘beautiful’ bounced around your head when you looked at him.

“Not gonna kill ya,” he poked at the fire with a stick, “No good t’me dead.”

“Well then, what?” You lost your filter, uncaring. There were stars in the sky, there was air on your skin, and you didn’t care if you died in the middle of the barren land your ancestors would have once called home. “What good am I to you alive?” You let a laugh out, thin and strained, “Are you just keeping me around so I—so I don’t get lonely?”

He tossed the stick to the side, and the sand caught it with a pathetic thump. “How long you been in them vaults?” He leaned forward.

You made a face, searching for a tone in his gaze. “My whole life,” you scoffed. He knew that.

“’N how long you been up here for?”

You looked away, embarrassed, and tried to hide how you attempted to count the days on your fingers. “I…don’t know…” You gave up.

“You don’ know,” he stared into the fire, “Don’t know shit about lonely.” There was a beat of silence, and the whisper of the wind filled the gap in conversation. He straightened out, meeting your eyes again and smirking as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just been thrown back to a time when he would’ve come home to a freshly cooked meal and his daughter on his hip and his dog circling his feet. “Plus,” he rustled a hand in his pocket, pulling out an inhaler and taking a puff, “You’ll make good bait.”

“Good bait?” You interrogated him.

“Ya noticed how bad news seems t’follow you round here?” He stretched his arms behind his head, and you felt a sudden heat on your cheeks that you chalked up to sunburn. “Pretty thing like you pro’ly has a whole army o’folks after her. ‘N I’m guessing them folks ain’t the kind you’d like t’hang around.”

“Like you?” You raised a brow, throwing his words back at him.

“You’d like that,” he huffed. “Darlin’, I’m playin’ the oldest game there is: set a trap ‘n the critters will fall into’t.”

You mulled over what he’d said, narrowing your eyes and looking at your hands as you came to your conclusion. “You’re talking about—you’re a bounty hunter…” You looked back up at him, and he was grinning. “And you’re talking about using me as a decoy!” Your posture straightened, and you stared daggers into him.

“Guilty as charged,” he tilted his head at you.

“You can’t do that—I’m not just going to let you do that.” You fumed.

“Don’t have to,” he shrugged, jutting out his lower lip, “Can leave right now, ‘f’ya want.” His features morphed into a grim smirk, “But I don’t think a li’l vaultie like you knows a goddamn thing 'bout what’s waitin’ round the corner.”

You swallowed, trying to form a biting response, but he continued.

“But, hell, f’you wanna risk it…” he put the inhaler back into one of his pockets, “Be my guest, vaultie. Free t’go.”

You huffed, and he smiled. He was right, and you both knew it; left to your own devices, you'd be dead in that town he found you in. You settled into your fate.

“Don’t call me vaultie.” You muttered, tired of the way the seemingly derogatory title had been hurled at you since you first emerged from the safety of your life underground.

“Gonna have to tell me y’name, then,” he tilted his head, waiting. You told him your name, and he laughed. “Look’it that. Friends already.”

“You’re not my friend,” you didn’t know where the venom was coming from; somewhere between him helping you out and him sitting in front of you now, you’d decided he was attractive, charismatic, maybe not the worst company you could be stuck with. But after learning what your new role was, you felt more than a little cheated.

“Damn right I’m not.” He whistled, and you turned away from him, curling into a ball on the ground.

“’M going to sleep,” you grumbled. “Wake me up if you decide to go fishing,” you raised your head for a moment, “You’ll need your lure.”

That got you a real laugh, the first genuine sound you'd heard from him.

And you liked it, despite the ire you felt towards him now. 

~~~

You woke up under the blazing sun with sand in your hair. You blinked hard, trying to remember where you were, how you got there, and what had happened to your bag.

Your questions were answered when a shadow engulfed you from above, and you looked up to face the Ghoul.

He had his hat off, letting you gather more evidence to support your belief that he was completely hairless. He stayed quiet, looming over you and watching you groan under the misfortune of wakefulness.

You grunted at him, pushing yourself up to stand, shaking the sand from your body as you did. “You didn’t wake me up last night.”

“You complainin’?” He knit his naked brow.

“No…just, I figured you might want me to keep watch,” you dug sand from your ear, “You trying to tell me that you’re fine just going without sleep?”

“Succeedin’, by the sound of it,” he smirked, and you pursed your lips. “You can stay up as late as ya want next time, darlin’. Don’ let me stop ya.”

“I won’t.” You snatched your bag from his hand and turned to find a way out of the maze of rocks you’d slept in.

He grinned. “Lead on, then.”

And you did, spending several days on a loop; walk, rest, walk, sleep, wake up, pick a direction, repeat. He shared rations and water, he let you sleep when he could’ve forced you to take watch, but he was quiet. It was as if he was so used to life as a predator that he couldn’t even toy with the idea of letting his guard down when there was nobody but you around for miles upon miles. And it wasn't as if you were any threat to him.

It drove you crazy. The benefit that came with having someone like him, skilled and sharp, was greatly dampened by the lack of any real socialization.

You were grateful, at the very least, that it had only taken him a night to decide you no longer needed to be constrained; you liked being able to carry your own things, and, even more, being able to use your own hands. Your arms still felt raw, fading rope burn wounds licking shallowly at your skin under your sleeves, but at least you were free to stretch them now.

The Ghoul stayed several steps behind you when you walked, always keeping his distance but watching closely as you struggled to pretend to know where you were going.

Now, you wiped sweat from your forehead, stopping momentarily to let a cool breeze whip at your face.

“Hell are you doin’ now?” The Ghoul’s dry voice was carried to you by the wind. It was the first thing he’d said to you, unprompted, in two days.

“Feels good,” you sighed, turning to him with your eyes closed and holding your arms out beside you, “The wind. It’s nice.”

“Won’t be in a second.” You opened your eyes to green clouds in the distance behind him. “Because that,” he motioned back at the clouds with his head, “s’a radstorm. And you,” he tipped his hat at you, grazing the brim with his fingers, “Ain’t gonna do too well out in it.”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot down, followed by a loud clap, emphasizing the Ghoul’s words.

“Better have some Rad-X in that bag, sweetheart,” his lips were parted, and you noticed that, although his teeth were yellowed by years of chewing on god knows what, they were remarkably straight. “Oughta get ya under cover.”

You’d heard about radstorms, and assumed, in your naivete, that you’d be able to make it through one without any problems. But the speed at which the disagreeably green clouds approached, and the tone of voice used by your companion, made you feel as though this, too, was something you’d been wrong about.

Maybe you went pale, looking as nauseous as you felt, but then there was a guiding hand on your waist. You jumped, unprepared for any contact and ready to gripe about it, before following the man’s gaze beyond a small sand hill.

“C’mon,” his eyes stayed trained on a ramshackle house just a short distance away, “Can wait it out.”

You nodded, falling over your own feet when he began walking at a brisk pace. The hand he’d placed on the small of your back worked as leverage to get you to hurry up and match his stride.

You closed the door just as the wind started to pick up.

“Woo,” the Ghoul raised his arms above his head, stretching. “S’a nice place we got here.”

You looked around the building; some remaining wallpaper clung to the walls for dear life, there was a couch that looked to be more sand than cushion, and a single table, overturned, in the corner.

“Is it?” You questioned.

“Ya wanna go check outside, see f’ya prefer that?” He challenged, and you backed down, scowling at him.

“How long will the storm last?” You trailed your eyes over the cabin, trying to see if there was anything worth looking at.

There wasn’t.

“An hour,” the Ghoul situated himself on the sofa, “A day. Maybe two.” He took off his hat, fanning himself with it.

“So…we’re stuck here?” You finally let your eyes wander over to him, finding yourself oddly enamored by the way his high, hollow cheekbones framed his face.

“You got somewhere you wanna be?” He stretched his arms over the back of the couch, leaning back and spreading his legs. You blamed the pulse that went through you on radiation, turning away to rummage through your pack for Rad-X.

“Just not much to do.” You swallowed the pill, kicking at a pile of sand that had found its way onto the wooden floor.

“Welcome to the surface, darlin’,” he gestured vaguely, and you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile that etched itself onto your lips.

“Doesn’t help that you don’t talk.” You tried to fill the silence that you knew was imminent.

“Talkin’ now,” he shot back, moving his hips from the couch to get properly settled, and you knew you couldn’t blame radiation for the way you squeezed your thighs together.

“Yeah, but,” you acquiesced to your urge to join him on the old sofa, “I’ve known you for less than a week, and even I can tell it’s a rarity.”

“Maybe I just don’t like you,” he smirked, putting his hat back on, and you frowned at him.

“Then you wouldn’t be keeping me around for company.”

“Bait,” he corrected you.

“Call it what you want,” you let your head fall back onto the couch, “Still choosing to keep me around.” You waited anxiously to see if he would point out that it was you who had taken the opportunity to stick with him, after his vague threat of what loomed in the wastes made you back down from your plan to run that first night.

You closed your eyes, listening to the storm batter the house outside. He took the moment to look at you, analyzing your features. He took in the positive glow that reflected off of you, yet to be rubbed off by the experiences you were sure to have.

Maybe he’d be able to buy you some time. Maybe that glow wouldn’t fade.

“Sure,” he nodded, “Whatever y’wanna tell yourself.”

You nudged his knee with yours. It was an adolescent approach, something you would’ve done during classes; playing footsie with the boy you thought was cute, with his hair slicked back and his vault suit pressed and tidy. Something done for attention, in the hopes that maybe he’d take even the smallest of hints and return the childish gesture of affection.

The Ghoul was not pressed and tidy. But, and you were slowly admitting it to yourself, he was cute.

You couldn’t see yourself ever admitting it to him.

“You never answered my question yesterday,” you realized now was as good a time as any to quiz him, stuck with you while the storm raged. “What’s a ghoul?”

“Yes, I did,” he had let his eyes close, too, “I am.”

“That’s not a good answer.” You tsked, “I wanna know—I want the real answer,” you moved to sit on your knees, “Give me the real answer.”

He opened his eyes, scanning you up and down. “Yer damn good bait, sweetheart,” he nodded, giving in and facing you. You thought maybe he was paying you a compliment, but you swallowed the urge to ask him what he meant. “I don’t know what to tell ya other than I am a ghoul.”

“Why?” You pressed.

“Why’d’ya think?” He countered, “Case you didn’t notice, we ain’t in one o’your underground lairs. Radiation’s gonna get us all, and when it does,” he leaned forward, “Y’gonna look just like me.”

You swallowed, unsure if this was a threat or a warning. You looked down at his gloved hands, then back up at him. “Does it hurt?”

His expression was blank. You continued.

“Your—is it your skin?” You tried to clarify, “Does it hurt?”

His expression gradually changed to one of confusion as he processed your words; nobody had ever asked him something as simple as that. “Don’t hurt. f’I get shot…stings for a sec, but…y’get used to it.”

“So, you can’t really feel it?”

“Oh,” he let out a low chuckle, “I can feel it. Where it counts.”

You stuck out your tongue, and heat crept over the back of your neck. “Don’t be crude.”

“Ain’t try’na be,” he smiled, “You’re the one whose mind’s wanderin’.”

“So it just feels like skin?” You changed the subject, “Or is it more like muscle…or scar tissue?” Without thinking, you raised your hand and extended it forward, curiosity getting the best of you. He caught your wrist in his hand, the leather on his fingers pressing softly into your bone. You gasped, and he looked at you, cautious, fingers shifting on your skin. As if in slow motion, he raised your hand to his face, and you stretched out two fingers to ever so gently graze down his cheek.

His breath caught in his throat, startled by the intimacy of having someone touch him just to touch him. To feel him.

Similarly, you’d stopped breathing all together.

His skin was ridged and rough, but the small grooves between the scarred flesh were smooth, almost downy. You didn’t look him in the eyes, though you could sense his as they bore into you. You chose to examine the rest of his face instead, the bumps and scars and jagged edges that your hand ghosted over. Finally, you gave in, looking into his eyes for only a brief moment.

He had eyelashes. Small lashes, barely noticeable beneath his hat and the sunken hollows of his eyes, but they were definitely there. He looked pretty, this small part of him capturing some kind of hidden essence of humanity underneath his daunting character. The tiny detail had caught you off guard more than the act of being allowed to touch him had, and your fingers faltered, stuttering against his skin.

You let your hand go limp in his grip, and he let you retract it.

“So?” He questioned after a beat.

“What?”

“What’d’t feel like?”

“Oh,” you remembered what had led you to the opportunity to touch him in the first place, “Scar tissue.” You landed on, easier to say that than trying to explain that you thought his skin was as comfortable as velvet to drag your fingers across.

He lifted a brow, nodding in approval.

“How come you don’t have a nose?” More questions bubbled from your throat before you could stop them, eager to force the tension in the atmosphere to dissipate.

“God almighty, y’ask a lot of fuckin’ questions,” he wiped a hand down his face, “Decades of radiation ain’t forgivin’ on cartilage.”

“Decades?” You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“Don’t you go askin’ more, now,” he chided, “Ain’t polite to ask someone their age, they not teach you that down there?”

You dropped it for now. “You still have ears. Those are cartilage.”

“Not part of the original model.” He smirked, and when he saw you tilt your head, confused, he took a deep breath and continued, “Sometimes, darlin’, ya gotta use what ya find.”

Your eyes went wide, “They’re—you stole body parts?” Your eyes narrowed again, “You’re lying.”

He didn’t answer verbally, just shot a devious smile your way.

“How come I can’t see your brain?” You bounced to your next question.

“Would ya like to?” He shot back, and you cringed. “Didn’t think so.”

“But how come—”

“Jesus Christ,” he dipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his inhaler and taking two short puffs, “Can I get a word in, here?”

You let your next question die in your mouth, shelving it for later. You nodded.

“Why’d you come up here?” The Ghoul’s voice took a softer edge, and you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or if he had some genuine interest in your case.

Either way, you thought it was improper, and you shook your head, barely enough for it to be noticeable. You’d been trying to ask the obvious questions, things you were certain he was asked all the time, that he’d have answers for at the ready. You hadn’t asked about his life, how he got out here or why he dressed like a goddamn gunslinger. You could’ve, but you were trying to be at least a little bit polite.

“That’s not fair.” You said simply.

“Alright, how come you got a nose,” he smirked, letting his words hang in the air before they dropped at his feet when he saw the way your demeanor had changed on a dime. “Now, look—I didn’t mean to make y'upset, sweetheart—”

“I, uh…” You took a long breath, gearing up for the challenge of communicating a logical answer. “…Do you ever sit somewhere so nice for so long, and then after a while you start thinking that it’s too good to be true?” You looked up at him, and the tears in your eyes were evident, “Like, maybe you sat on something, or the whole time there was a snake in the grass right next to you...or something?”

The Ghoul watched your face intently, hardly nodding.

“And even though the snake didn’t lunge at you, or, you know, you got to enjoy the peace and quiet before getting up and noticing you sat on something, it’s like, you’re flooded with these what ifs about what would’ve happened if you’d been sitting just a second longer…” You were looking at him, but you weren’t, really; your eyes went right through him, and you pictured a time when you thought nothing could ever go wrong. “Or if you’d never sat there at all.” You blinked, shaking your head, and you wiped a tear that had dared to breach over your lash line. “I had to get up, right? Outfit was stained…and I could see the snake getting ready to…make quick work of me.”

You cradled your chin in your hands, trying to control your breathing so you wouldn’t have to subject yourself to the embarrassment of crying in front of someone that likely wouldn’t care.

Your explanation echoed in the Ghoul’s mind. He thought about his divorce, that dumb fucking suit he’d been conned into wearing without really knowing what it meant.

A snake and a stain. He understood.

“Ain’t no snakes up here,” he tried his hand at reassuring you, “Can’t promise y’won’t get dirty, though.”

“I know,” you sniffed, “Got blood on me already.” You knew it was stupid to complain about, but you didn’t even know whose blood it was.

“There’ll be more,” he sighed, “But you’ll care less.”

You let yourself laugh softly. “Yeah,” you wiped your eyes, “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

“I tend to be.” He smirked, back to his carefree, cocky demeanor. You rolled your eyes weakly, laughing quietly, and you found yourself leaning against him. His shoulder was stiff beneath your head, like he wasn’t sure how to hold himself in the situation that you’d put him in. You turned your head slightly, nosing his neck, and he didn’t stop you, though he stayed rigid.

You let yourself breathe him in; arid and smoky, the leather of his clothes mingling with the scent of sun that clung to his skin. There was something else, a note of iron buried under the warmer scents, the cold bouquet of dry blood. Having death flood your nose like that, you recognized, probably should’ve been alarming, perhaps even petrifying. But it wasn’t—not on him.

You liked it.

You sat back up, your face close to his, and if he had a nose, you were sure it would be touching your own. He didn’t look upset as his eyes darted over your face, which felt reassuring, even though you already knew you hadn’t really done anything wrong.

“Y’hear that?” He muttered.

“What?” You turned your head, trying to listen for whatever he was hearing.

“Storm stopped,” he cracked a small smile at you, and you breathed a sigh of relief. He stood up, making his way over the floor. “C’mon, darlin’,” he gestured to the door, “See if we can catch ourselves a rainbow.”

You let out a real, honest to god laugh. It gave you a hint of whiplash, how the Ghoul had managed to save your life, make you hate him, and then make you want to kiss him in such rapid succession over the course of only a few days.

You found yourself suddenly aloof to the idea that he was threatening to use you as a lure for unsuspecting bounties. He was keeping you around, keeping you safe, and you liked him just fine.

Maybe even a little more than that.

~~~

How far, at this point, had you walked? Miles of ground in front of you, miles of ground behind you. It felt like you’d gone nowhere, despite the thousands of steps you’d taken over the course of the week. You were going nowhere, you reminded yourself; aimlessly trekking across the Wasteland and finding what there was to find, looking at what there was to look at.

The Ghoul didn’t seem to have a job at the moment. He’d made it clear that he was employed—if you could call being a bounty hunter a regular nine-to-five—but he hadn’t made any moves to imply that he was searching for anybody, or anything, unless you were to count the vials and chems he ransacked from every hole and hovel he came across.

He continued to surprise and delight, and occasionally disgust, you. You’d seen him eat the raw flesh of dead and desiccated creatures—some that looked human—off the sand. (“Remember what I said, ‘bout usin’ whatcha find?” “That’s disgusting, you don’t know what kind of germs could be crawling around there.” “Think someone that looks like me’s worried ‘bout germs, sweetheart?”) You’d seen him draw a weapon faster than you could take a breath; you’d seen him kill a man without blinking.

But you were wowed by him all the same, the rasp of his voice and the way he whistled through his teeth, the life behind his eyes that teemed with stories of a past you hadn’t been able to shake out of him yet. You hadn’t touched him, had barely closed the often yard-wide gap between the two of you that had become the unspoken norm, since the day the radstorm hit.

Maybe it was for the best. What would your family say about him? They'd be disgusted, horrified by the mere thought of him.

That just made you want him more.

“Can we stop soon?” You withdrew yourself from your thoughts, tired of the way your muscles tensed with every step. The Ghoul didn’t respond, side-eyeing you from beneath his hat. “I’m tired. My legs hurt.” He smirked, and you thought you heard him huff a laugh, but the distance between you was too vast to pick up on the smaller sounds. “Don’t laugh at me, I can’t help you if I can’t move.”

That got his attention. “Y'think you’re helpin’ me?” He smiled. 

“Not burdening you…” You argued about what he’d left unsaid.

“Not doin’ much work, either.” He grunted, and you shot him a dirty look. “Keep on walkin’, darlin’.”

“I don’t want to.” You stomped your foot, regressing into the same shielded, spoiled vault-dweller you knew he thought you were.

“Then how ya gonna get over there’?” He nodded forward, and you followed the direction of his gesture, squinting to see a large, semi-burnt down storefront. “C’mon, sweetheart.” He kept walking, picking up his pace and forcing you to speed up after him. “Y’wanna break, or what?”

The building was in alright condition, as far as the other spaces you’d seen; the windows were broken, the glass finding its way to the ground and becoming sand after what must have been centuries of effort. Someone had started a fire, and ash flaked off the brick. You forced yourself on tired limbs to close the distance between yourself and shelter.

“Go on,” the Ghoul leaned against the doorframe of the store’s entrance, “Check it out.”

“You’re not coming?” You whispered. You knew he wasn’t. This, too, had become common: you were sent in—bait—and he followed behind you at a distance to keep an eye out on who- or whatever might jump out.

He stayed quiet, showing his teeth, and you pouted at him, making your way deeper into the old store.

There was no electricity, but the sun seeped through the cracks in the walls as it began to dip in the sky, creating an almost cozy ambiance. It was huge, the ceilings were high and the store itself must have once housed a near infinite amount of material goods.

You’d be lucky now if you could find a corner that hadn’t already been raided.

Everything was bathed in grays and blues, and you couldn’t tell if it was just the way your eyes adjusted to the dim light, or if the building had been standing for so long that the color had drained out into the desert. Either way, it was eerie, and your finger trembled on the trigger of the rusted pistol the Ghoul had given you as a means of self-preservation. You didn’t really know how to use it, but it was the principle of the thing, you figured.

You maneuvered your way around spent bullet casings and glass, trying to stay silent despite the echo of your footsteps. You heard spurs behind you, the Ghoul following your trail at a safe distance. There was a clamoring, something further into the building down a dark hall that sounded like machinery groaning. You jumped, and the gun in your hand slipped from your grip, sliding across the floor with a harsh skid.

You froze, wincing, and listening for any sign that you’d been heard. The sound of the Ghoul’s steps behind you had also stopped, and you knew then that you’d fucked up—if he was listening, waiting the way you were, then there was cause for alarm. With your heart beating in your ears, you bent forward, fingers creeping across the floor until you managed to get a grip on the tarnished metal of the gun. Standing with a sigh, you worked on regulating your breathing, trying to ease the way your heart beat in your ears.

And then you heard the snap of glass shattering, the rhythm of voices without any real words besides grunts and snarls. You jumped, and your back hit a wall with an unceremonious thump before you fell to your knees.

The sources of the noise approached, surrounding you and leaving you with no route out. You looked straight ahead at withered limbs, clothing torn around ankles and skin peeling off of bone.

And when you looked up, it was him.

Except it wasn’t, not really; the Ghoul was only one man, and before you stood four. All similarly scarred, with broken teeth and missing noses, but there was no individuality—no light in their eyes to tip you off as to who they may have been, once upon a time. The sounds they made were inhuman, screeches that seemed torn from their lungs, maybe due to pain, maybe due to joy, you couldn’t tell. And as they circled you, you didn’t want to find out.

You fumbled with your pistol, unsure of whether the safety was on or off. Your aim was unsteady, and the darting movements of the figures that crowded you made it even more difficult to find a proper target. You winced, aiming at a leg and pulling the trigger.

There was a bang, but it didn’t come from your weapon.

“Gotta do all th’fuckin’ work,” you heard the Ghoul, snide and confident even despite the gravity of the situation. He shot to kill, quick to find weakness, and chuckling when they fell in heaps atop their own feet.

You watched him kick at a corpse. The noise subsided as he holstered his weapon, but you had covered your ears and were unwilling to remove your hands.

“Hell was that?” The Ghoul was standing in front of you now, his voice muffled through your palms. You stared past him at the bodies on the ground, at one point daring to let your eyes dart from the deceased to the man who killed them and back; the similarities were glaring, and it made bile rise to the back of your mouth, fighting your throat’s constriction as you choked down tears.

And suddenly you were sobbing, pulse beating hard against your skin and sweat collecting on your back. You felt sick, you felt scared—maybe even betrayed. You were panicking, unable to breathe or speak or think, only aware of the fact that you were utterly terrified.

“Well, now—hey,” You’d uncovered your ears, wrapping your arms around your knees and squeezing them to your chest, letting the Ghoul’s voice travel to you with more ease.

“Y—” you felt like you were hyperventilating, “You.” Trying to voice your concerns proved difficult in this state.

The Ghoul watched on, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he debated what to do.

He didn’t like you like this. He liked you feisty and stubborn, chatty and glowing. In the dark light of the building, splattered with feral blood and choking on your own breath, you were far from what he’d gotten used to. It startled him a little, not the image of you crying—he’d seen you cry before, and he'd seen far worse from others—but the knowledge that, to an extent, it was his fault.

And he could blame his response on the part of him that still felt shame, something that morphed into a nagging urge to defend himself against accusations of being a downright monster. But he knew, deep down somewhere, that it was because of the part of him that still felt compassion; empathy, even fondness, for you.

That’s why he sat next to you, sliding his back down against the wall while you spluttered and coughed through tears.

He eased the old pistol away from you, pushing it into a crack in the wall and cursing himself for letting you have it in the first place. You’d be better off without it; he’d do all he could to keep you protected.

“Not me, darlin’,” he kept his voice low, “Ferals. Of which I am not one…” Yet, he could’ve mentioned, but even he could choose denial.

“They look—had your face.” You heaved, rocking back slightly.

“You really think I’m that ugly?” He laughed, but you remained despondent, painted with a thousand-yard stare. He took on a different approach. “Listen, now. C’mon, sweetheart, look.” He draped a hand over your shoulder, and despite the loose, open-ended nature of the touch, you felt significantly more grounded. “’Member how I said this face’ll be everybody’s someday?”

You nodded, remembering his jab at your question during the radstorm. Your heartbeat wailed against your skull.

“’N then, someday…” He hadn’t experienced difficulty in picking his word choice like this since trying to answer Janey’s question about where babies came from. “Someday it all turns to shit. You turn into a—a nameless drop in the bucket.” He said, frankly. “But it’s, uh…it’s preventable, to an extent.”

“You don’t have a name.” You stared at him, skin blotchy and eyes swollen. It broke his heart a little. “You already don’t have a name.”

“Happens to the best ‘f us.” He tamped down the stutter in his chest, finding a way to circumvent your unspoken question. "All ghouls, eventually...go a little feral."

“All ghouls turn feral…” You repeated the moral of his story, and he nodded.

He fished a vial from him pocket, holding it out to you. “Long as I got these, I’ll be jus’ peachy.”

You let him drop the vial in your hand, looking at the off-color liquid inside of it and squeezing it in your palm. “I don’t want…” You let go of the glass, holding it back out to him. “I don’t want it to happen to you.”

“Makes two of us,” he put the vial back into his pocket, sighing. “But I got plenty o’these, ‘n there’s always more t'be found.”

You stayed quiet, letting your limbs finally relax and spreading your legs out in front of you. There was a long pause that you spent calming your heart rate, letting your lungs relax.

“I like you the way you are.” You whispered, and it was those words that finally made him own his feelings; the way you are. Not the way you were, not who you could’ve been or who you were meant to be. You appreciated him as he was, and it was the first time in more than two centuries that he had felt any sense of warmth from another living thing. It was the first time in just as long that he’d felt like a man and not a monstrosity.

It was why he didn’t fight it when you wrapped yourself around him, arms tugging him down into a tight hug. He scoffed at the display of what he assumed—hoped—was affection, but he let his arms circle your body.

Your face pressed into his neck, firmer than the brief moment you’d shared on the couch, and you breathed him in now just as you had then; the heat and the tin of his skin, the leather of his duster, and the iron of his ammo belt that dug into your front. He was softer now, malleable to your touch, unlike the stiff, unmoving man he’d been when you leaned up against him all those weeks ago.

He rested his chin on the crown of your head, taking a long, deep breath. “’N I like you much more when you ain’t blubberin’ like a goddamn newborn.”

You giggled, knowing that it was the closest he'd get to telling you that he cared, even a little bit.

“The stars,” you mumbled against him, and he pulled back, trying to look down at your face.

“What’s’at?”

“That first night, outside. You asked me what I was looking at,” you explained, “And I told you that you could kill me if you wanted, instead of just answering you. But I was looking at the stars…” You sighed, settling back against the wall.

He scoffed. “Jus’ stars.”

“No.” You argued, “Not just stars. They’re everything.” You tilted your head at him, and he accepted with a shrug.

He let his head loll back, removing his hat and scanning the surroundings. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral, a wide crack in the upper part of the wall that let the night seep in. He elbowed you, nodding his chin in the direction of the hole that opened the building to the sky.

“Look‘t that.” He smiled at the way you lit up next to him, and he followed your gaze to appreciate the view in silence with you.

Comfortable next to him, centimeters replacing the usual feet between you, you saw life in the stars the same way you saw life behind his eyes. And he didn’t understand your excitement, until he looked hard enough and saw the same shimmer in the sky that he saw in you.

“Cooper.” He mumbled, still looking at the stars. You turned to him, lips parted in preparation to ask what he was talking about. “My name. I got one—Cooper.”

You smiled, an inexplicable sense of tranquility washing over you as the new knowledge settled in your brain. “Cooper.” You said, testing the weight of the letters on your tongue.

“Don’t go usin’ it up. Make me regret tellin’ ya,” he smirked, trying to hide his satisfaction upon hearing you say his name behind a veneer of callousness. “Got a reputation t’keep.”

You breathed deep, not quite a yawn but more than a sigh. “I know, Cooper.” You rested your head on his shoulder, not to test the waters or attempt a romantic gesture; it was just pleasant to experience something quiet, personal, like this. “I know.”

~~~

“Christ, you sleep like a fuckin’ rock.” His voice was the first thing you registered when you opened your bleary eyes. Your neck was stiff, your cheeks felt crusty with the residue of dry tears, and the floor was crooked. You’d fallen asleep on him, perched just under his shoulder, and he’d let you. “Snore, too.”

“Yeah, well,” you sat up, rolling your neck and wincing at the cracks that sounded from your joints as you stretched, “Sleep comes easy when I have my guard dog watching out for me.”

He scoffed, a small smile forming on his lips. “Don’ expect me to bark for ya, sweetheart.”

“All you do is bark.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to find the motivation to stand.

“S’not true,” there was a glint in his eye that you couldn’t read into fully, “Could bite ‘f’I wanted.”

You’d seen him land a shot without so much as glancing at his target. He was telling the truth.

You sighed, finally standing. You folded yourself over your front, touching your toes and trying to loosen the knots in your back. “Well, Coop,” you straightened, “Can I call you Coop?” You second guessed your courage, unsure of whether or not he’d take kindly to you shortening the name he’d only just entrusted you with.

“You my fuckin’ publicist?” He quirked a brow up at you, recalling the dozens of conversations he’d had that had begun just like this.

“I should be,” you straightened out, rolling your shoulders and shooting him a grin. “You could use one.”

He scowled at you. “Y’gotta question or what?”

“What now?” You shook out your limbs lazily.

“What now?” He echoed your words. He stayed on the floor, legs in front of him crossed at his ankles. “What’ya mean, darlin’?”

You didn’t really know what you meant; usually it was him calling the shots, but he seemed to be waiting for some kind of prompt. “You know, I mean…what should we…do…today?” You spoke slowly.

“Today?” He laughed, “Today…sweetheart, today’s come ‘n gone.”

You knit your brow, confused, and he pointed in the direction of the crack in the ceiling. It was still dark—dark again if you understood him correctly.

“You let me sleep all day?” The notion made you feel a bit frantic for some reason, having grown accustomed to sleeping for barely four hours at a time over the past few weeks. His constant need of movement made it hard to rest easy.

“You needed it,” he shrugged, picking at a spot on his duster.

And you had needed it, but the idea that he had let you doze for what was, as far as you could tell, close to a full twenty-four hours was more than a little puzzling; that he had let you sleep on him for the duration is what really threw you for a loop. Maybe the fact that you knew him by name made him nervous. Maybe it made him nervous enough to let you make decisions for the both of you now, for fear of the fallout.

Or, and much less likely, you thought, but much more appealing: maybe he just wanted to let you rest. Because you needed it. And he didn’t mind acting as a placeholder for a pillow.

The butterflies in your stomach made haste upwards in your body and settled in your heart.

“I did.” You deflated a little. Regardless of any reason behind why this had happened, you still felt guilty about making him lose the span of an entire day that could have been spent wandering in whatever direction called to him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Ain’t got a reason to be.”

“I made you—”

“Didn’t make me do a goddamn thing, sweetheart.” He ground his teeth together, jaw swaying back and forth.

“We could be somewhere else by now.” You tried to argue, squaring your shoulders.

“Got nowhere to be.”

His words were spoken with a sense of finality, and you knew when to back down.

“I been thinkin’,” he piped up again when you got quiet. He finally made the move to stand; he winced as he bent his knees, his body having grown accustomed to staying in the same position for so long.

“About?” You watched him stretch.

“You still wanna wear that?” He waved his chin at your figure, forcing you to examine the tattered sleeves of your vault suit that were caked in dirt and debris—and more than likely a few pints of blood from various donors. “Just—seems like more of a hindrance than anything.”

“It’s fine.” You sneered at him, unsure of why you decided to get defensive. It was a creature comfort, of sorts, and while it certainly got the wrong kind of attention out in the open, getting rid of it felt like stripping yourself of the only identity you’d ever really had.

And he knew that, which is why he had voiced his thought. Not only was it something people would use—and they had used it—against you, but it was obstructing your ability to move on completely. He felt a sense of responsibility in ensuring that you managed to maintain a level of dignity in your soul searching.

“It’s hangin’ off o'you in shreds.” He continued, and you shifted on your feet. You couldn’t deny that any emotional connection to your outfit was outweighed by discomfort of the holes and tears it had collected. You bit your cheek, looking down at the floor and back at him in silent acknowledgement of his point. “Y’gotta change o’clothes in that bag?” He grinned, and you frowned.

“No...” There was no use now in coming up with any snark retorts. He licked his top teeth, staring at you “So, what?” You tried to find his point, “You want me to strip down and wander around naked?” If he asked you to, it was more than likely that you would obey without a second thought. By now, you knew better than to feel disgust for confessing things of this nature to yourself. But even so, you knew this admission was probably not a good reflection of the unrelentingly self-contained attitude you tried to show him.

Not to mention that nobody had ever so much as seen you without a shirt on, let alone the whole nine yards.

He bit back any response that might expose the interest he had in your suggestion, though he raked his gaze up and down over your body, smirking, before sucking his teeth and shaking his head. “We’re in a fuckin’ store.” His eyes finally met yours, and you stared back at him blankly. “Full ‘f clothes.” He continued, and you understood.

“There’s nothing left,” you spread your arms out for emphasis, gesturing to the run-down remains of gutted shops.

“Ooh, I bet ya there is.” He turned on his heels, taking long strides that had you jogging to catch up with him as he made his way down a corridor and towards a defunct escalator.

The sound of his boots against the tile floor echoed across the building, and even despite your long period of rest, you felt sluggish and unprotected; your back was an easy target, and with every click of his heel you found yourself turning your head, peering back into nothing, just in case.

“Nobody here,” Cooper noticed the constant swivel of your neck, “Relax.”

“How do you know?” You tried to cement your gaze forward.

“Would’a heard.”

“That’s—you can’t expect to hear people coming in this building, it’s huge.”

“Can hear you,” he gave you a pointed look, and you quieted yourself. “Here we go.” He nodded to a heap at the far end of the open space you’d found yourselves in. You squinted at the pile, and you could make out individual shapes and parts.

Bodies. Stacked atop one another as they wasted away into soggy organic matter. You began to make out whole people, some fresh enough that they could still leave an identifiable fingerprint.

“Cooper,” you froze, shoulders rigid and eyes wide in fear and disgust, “I don’t—”

“C’mon now, sweetheart,” he walked right up to the collection of putrefying bodies, bending down to peel a strand of flesh from a bloated arm that flopped out of the mass. “Clothes for you, meal for me.” He smirked, rolling the loose skin in his fingers before putting it in his mouth.

You sucked your lips into your teeth; the primal actions he often displayed made you feel pure in a way you wanted to rinse yourself of, shower in the wild side.

But only if he was the one scrubbing.

You shook your head. “This is the best you could do?”

“Tailor’s outta town,” he sneered, “Could’a just said thank you.”

“I—no, I respect the…attempt…” You dug your toe into the worn floor.

“But…” Cooper tilted his forehead at you, picking skin from his teeth with his tongue.

“But this is gross. Come on, even you know this is gross.”  You crossed your arms, peering up at him beneath knit brows.

“Use what’cha find.” He said simply, reiterating his mantra. You huffed, letting him have the final word.

You rounded the pile of bodies, looking out from behind Cooper as he sorted through the gore to find a suitable mark for his next move. He let out a triumphant noise when he turned over a man who was yet to begin the latter process of autolysis, providing the ability to smoothly undress him.

“This feels wrong.” You grit out when Cooper had removed the corpse’s overshirt. “This goes against—this is unethical.”

“You wanna change o’clothes or not?” Cooper rolled his eyes, and you piped down.

Despite your protests, spoken and cringed, you continued to watch as the body was stripped of its earthly possessions. Shirt, shoes—lucky bastard even had socks. Cooper tossed them all your way, throwing the clothes over his shoulder and at your chest. When he reached to undo the man’s belt, you felt your chest tighten; it wasn’t discomfort, per se, but it wasn’t anything pleasant, either. Something about seeing someone naked for the first time in this context made you feel melancholic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, both in the sense that you felt that you were invading the privacy of the dead, but also in the more selfish sense that you felt it would be ruining something for you.

You turned around, trying to find something else to stare at instead of following the Ghoul’s hands as they roamed over the corpse for any hidden gems. He didn’t notice your movement, holding the jeans he’d unfastened from the dead man behind his shoulder to pass on to you.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” He turned to face the back of your head after a minute of shaking the denim at you. “Don’ tell me you decided t’get squeamish now, darlin’.”

You turned around to swipe the pants from his hands. “Not squeamish,” you started walking away, scouting out an area that would offer some seclusion, “You’re just being gross.”

“Me?” He feigned shock.

You stopped walking, turning to face him, rolling the skin of your cheeks between your teeth. “Come on…smells bad.”

Cooper waved you off, unsheathing a dagger and butchering a nearly unidentifiable limb off of a corpse. He flopped the meat over his shoulder, putting the dagger back into the sleeve it had been pulled from. After fiddling for a few more moments with the bodies, discovering two more vials of his precious chem in threadbare pockets, he held the carved appendage out to you; he swayed it as if it were part of his own arm, urging you forward. You scoffed, turning to walk away, staying several steps ahead of him.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

~~~

You had to hand it to him, Cooper knew how to scavenge; the clothes he’d taken off the body were only slightly too big on you. It was nothing rolling the cuffs up and tearing off some excess fabric couldn’t fix. You felt less constricted—free to move about without the limitations, both physical and mental, of your ruined vault suit.

“Couple holes.” You ducked out of the old storage room you’d found to change in and made your way back to the Ghoul. He’d started a campfire on the linoleum flooring, and you didn’t question how or why.

“You’ll live.” He tore chunks of flesh from the decomposing arm he’d procured. “Better than what ya had.” You watched as he rotated the meat clumsily over the fire with his hands, barely giving it enough time to rise back to living temperatures before taking it off the flame to gnaw from the bone.

“Yeah,” there was no point in arguing. He was right, and you felt silly for finding issues with what you supposed he might consider a gift.

You sat next to him in silence, knees grazing but not creating any real tension. Something about him was so much more reassuring now, a sort of consolation to being stuck in a world so far from what you’d imagined, than just the mysterious man with no nose or empathy that you’d pegged him for that first day.

Even if he was noseless, you tried not to laugh at your internal monologue, he definitely had more feelings than he let on—he cared and commiserated and let you sleep for way too long.

And you felt safe in a way you’d never felt safe before; far from any made-up threat you’d been taught to watch for in the vault, faced with genuine danger for the first time in your life, you still felt that, somehow, by his side, no harm would come to you.

It was more than a feeling. It was a fact.

You stared, unashamed, as he continued to take bites out of the disembodied arm. Cooper glanced at you from his peripheral and slowed his chewing, daring you to say something.

“What’s it taste like?” You finally gave in.

“We playin’ twenty questions again?” He shot back, swallowing what was in his mouth and throwing what was now mostly bone and muscle to the side.

“Is it like regular meat?” You pushed on, ignoring his quip.

“Y’ever had reindeer?” Cooper leaned back on his hands, and with his face only a few inches from yours, the position felt oddly intimate.

“No…” You tilted your head.

“Gamey,” he explained, “Like beef.” He smiled, “Course the flavor, it varies…person to person.”

“Funny.” You stuck your tongue between your teeth. You still thought it was gross, but you couldn’t deny that he made even cannibalism a light subject.

“Yeah? My turn now.” He sat up, “Why’d you get weird ‘round the bodies back there?”

“I was weird with the bodies?” You tried to play dumb.

“Got all prissy.”

“Did not.”

“Oh, yes y’did.”

“You were being disgusting…”

“When am I not?” He pointed out, grinning, and you conceded with a small smile and a nod of your head. “Cmon sweetheart…did it really bother you to see me doin all’at?” He seemed genuinely puzzled by you in this moment. You looked away, staring at your thumbs as you twiddled them in your lap. He took a chance, gloved fingers coming up to your chin and brushing your skin ever so gently. He refocused your gaze on him. “…Cause I won’t do it no more if it makes y’feel…weird.”

“No. it’s not…” You took a deep breath. Maybe it was stupid to get sensitive about it, maybe it was stupid to feel strange about the situation in the first place. You doubted that anybody in the Wasteland ever thought twice about seeing another person’s body—dead or alive. “I’ve just never seen anybody naked before.”

Cooper’s hand dropped from your face and into his lap. “Y’fuckin serious?” He grinned, “You’re kidding.” He was clearly on the verge of laughter, whether from amusement or shock, you couldn’t tell.

“No, I—look. I know it’s not a big deal, it’s probably not something people even think about up here. But it felt—something about seeing another person naked when they’re not…like, when they’re completely lifeless and unaware, it felt wrong to do that.” He didn’t respond, so you continued, “And honestly, it probably sounds insane, or, at the very least, maybe, a little selfish, but I felt like it was wrong because it would be stripping them of a choice, but it would also be stripping me of any choice. You know? Like, maybe it doesn’t matter to everybody else out here, but I’d like to…I mean, I want it to matter as much as it can, at this rate.” You sucked in a breath, deciding that you were done with your rant.

The Ghoul stared at you, his eyes wide but his bald brow knit in an obvious combination of delight and curiosity.

“You never seen a naked body before?” He tried to make his voice come out evenly, hiding his amusement.

“I…never like…” you failed to think of something that might lessen the blow of your revelation, “Not really, no.”

He let out a whistle, shaking his head. “Hell are y’all doin’ in the vaults if you’re not fuckin’?” It was rhetorical, you knew that, but you still felt defensive.

“There’s plenty to do.” The words came out flat, and you laughed nervously to lighten your tone.

He chuckled. “I bet.” He sucked his teeth, letting his eyes flicker over you again. There was a pregnant pause. Dead air hung between the two of you while you tried to ignore his gaze, opting to pick at a loose thread on your new shirt.

“Plenty to do…” You tried to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—that would help ease the tension.

“Yeah,” Cooper let his head loll back, “Let’s hear it, then.”

You scooted back on your hands to give yourself the room to properly face him, situating yourself a foot away to allow for the physical space to think.

“Movies to watch and…chores to do…” You tried to think of anything worthwhile you’d done growing up in the vaults but found yourself coming up dry. “Sometimes there were, you know…events.”

“’N you never found yourself at one o’those events with some arm candy?” He was taunting you, and he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit that he was getting a sort of sadistic thrill out of seeing you squirm under his playful interrogation.

“Slim pickings.” You huffed, staring into the fire.

“I’ll be,” he smirked, “For someone so sure of herself, you ain’t seen nothin’, have ya?” He was thinking out loud, analyzing you to your face.

You felt the need to correct him, both out of self-preservation, but also because, and this was a bigger reason than you cared to own up to, you wanted him to know that you weren’t scared of anything—especially not the thing he was implying.

Maybe you were naïve, but you weren’t stupid.

“Don’t really need another person to have a good time.” You made a point to catch his line of sight, eyes holding his as you tilted your head against your shoulder.

The Ghoul whistled, long and low. “Well, now. Talk about self-sufficient.”

You felt heat rise in your face, dappling your neck with a rosy veil. “I’m not stupid, Cooper. I know what you’re talking about.”

“What am I talkin’ ‘bout, darlin’?” He goaded, fingers toying with a button beneath his collar.

“Just cause I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I’m some sort of—I dunno, some sort of…poor shrinking violet who can’t figure it out,” your heart was in your throat now, afraid to take the conversation too far but so desperate to get a reaction out of him. “I know how to…to, you know…” You let your voice fade, chickening out when he failed to change his facial expression.

There was another long stretch of silence. Cooper let his head fall forward, arms coming to rest, folded, over his stomach, as he anticipated the end of your sentence. When you didn’t come out with it, he prodded you verbally.

“Know how’ta what?” He grinned, yellow teeth on display and tongue darting between them in a movement you were sure he wasn’t even conscious of. He leaned forward further, moving his face towards you without actually budging an inch from his spot on the floor. “You don’t know how to deal with death, how t’use a gun—y’barely even know when you’re too tired to stand…” His tongue pushed through the crack in his top and bottom rows of teeth, wetting his lips. “But ya expect me t’believe that y’know how to make yourself cum?” He let his tongue rest on his bottom lip before closing his mouth, sneering mischievously. There was a bright speck of something in his eyes that seemed to be fighting with the more devious glint brewing in him, and paired with his brazen statement, it tugged at your core.

And despite it all, you felt completely at ease; the sudden suspense and the violent thrum of your heartbeat aside, you were almost entirely calm. You knew you were safe, that the solace he cloaked you with spanned to even the most random and uncertain situations or conversations.

So you continued on.

“Took some trial and error,” you felt nervous laughter bubble up from your throat, “But I got the hang of it.” You smiled, before quirking your brow and addressing yourself more so than him, “I think.”

“You think…” He repeated, eyes narrowing as his gaze turned inquisitive.

“Just, you know…” You squirmed under his gaze now, “Not really a how-to manual on touching yourself…”

He exhaled, laughing through the hole where his nose should’ve been. “Maybe not in the vaults.” He dug in his pockets, unsure if the lightheadedness he was feeling should be blamed on a lack of chem in his system or on the topic of conversation. He took a puff before settling again. “Plenty o’guidance up here.”

“You mean, like…porn?” You smiled, shooting him a knowing look.

“At one point. Not anymore,” he sagged a little, “Lucky if ya find a fuckin’ playboy mag up out here.”

“You seem disappointed by that,” you prodded, teasing.

“That’s cause I am,” he shot back, stretching his shoulders.

“Well, all I’m saying is I know what I’m doing.” You rested your back against the wall, hands clasped in your lap.

“And I’m sayin’ that I sincerely doubt it.” He put the inhaler back into his pocket, deciding it was definitely the conversation that was to blame for the way his head swam.

You let his words hang between the two of you momentarily. Then, on a whim, figuring that you’d had plenty of chances before, and being unwilling to let another one slip away: “I could show you.” You didn’t look up at him, but he stiffened, his eyes unwittingly falling to stare at your hands. “How I…how I touch, I mean.”

You braced yourself for rejection, looking up sheepishly and letting your hands fall to your sides. He was already looking back at you, lips parted and eyes half-lidded—he could say no, and he thought about it for a moment. But, Christ, it had been a long time. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t say no.

Not to you. Not when it came to something like this, a vision, a woman untouched by the grit and grime of the surface, offering up something that now seemed so holy.

He sucked in a breath; he had never been a church goer. He thought maybe now was a good time to make up for all the sins he’d committed—worship at the shrine of you, talk you through your own wrongs and absolve himself of the thoughts he’d been having since he’d first encountered you all those weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, sweetheart…go on ahead…”

You exhaled shakily, not even realizing that you’d been holding in a breath. You scrambled to lose the jeans he’d gifted you, eager to expose yourself, immensely grateful for the chance that had dropped in your lap.

“Hold’t,” his voice cut through your motions, and you froze. You’d gone too far, surely. He recognized the error he had made by giving you the go ahead and was now taking it all back. “Y’gonna listen when I say you’re doin’ it wrong?” He sucked on his lips.

“I won’t—I don’t do it wrong.” There was no bite to your argument.

“I asked ya’a question,” he continued, “Y’gonna listen t’me? Gonna fix your mistakes ‘f’I tell ya to?” He bent one knee, resting his hand limply between his legs. “Do what I fuckin’ say to do?”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to hide the impact his words had on you. “Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, Coop. I will.”

You thought maybe you heard him growl, but any noise coming from him was muddled by the sound of your zipper finally coming undone.

“Good,” he nodded, “Knew you could be a good girl. Just need’a blow off some steam, huh?”

This time, you couldn’t avoid the soft moan that slipped past your lips. Cooper let out an amused exhale in response, eyes trained on your hips as you wiggled your way out of the pants.  

“Yeah, you like this,” he got comfortable, resting one arm behind his head, only nearly knocking his hat off. “Like gettin’ bossed around more than you let on, darlin’.”

“Shut up,” you tried to keep it together, kicking the jeans off your legs and tossing them to the side. But your words were unconvincing, especially with the way you barely smiled, breath hitching already and eyes wild and blown out. You did like it—but only because he was doing it.

He tsked at your response. “Not very nice. Big talk from someone with no panties on.”

In such a short time span, you’d already forgotten that you’d ridded yourself of your underwear. It was gross, and you’d had no change, and it wasn’t as if you’d be thrilled to peel the undergarments off a corpse. You figured commando was the most obvious way to go.

“That a bad thing?” You goaded him, running a palm down your naked thigh and seeing how long it would take to break his collected demeanor.

“Never said that,” he drawled, following your hand on its path down your leg. “Y’gonna keep puttin’ on a li’l show f’me, or ya gonna do what’cha promised?” He licked his lips.

“You don’t like a little showmanship?” You squeezed your thighs together, not missing how his chest rose.

“With my killin’,” he found your eyes, “Not with my pussy.”

If this was a competition to see who could keep it together the longest, you’d be losing by a landslide.

“Spread those legs f’me, baby.”

And with all the pet names he’d given you in your time with him, something as simple as the word baby falling from his lips and landing on your skin had you flooded with arousal.

You did what you were told, straightening your legs and feeling the tile of the floor cling to your skin as you opened them. The Ghoul’s gaze flickered between your face and your core, both positioned perfectly towards him.

“C’mon,” he nodded, “Show me how good ya make yourself feel.”

You knew what he wanted to see. Even after his claims of disliking the display you were putting on, you could tell that he was just being impatient for show. You wanted to draw this out, watch him come undone in sync with you despite the physical distance.

You let your hand roam over the tops of your thighs, feather soft touches making goosebumps erupt on your skin in anticipation for what was to come.

“How y’feel?” He disrupted the otherwise silent escapade you were undertaking.

 “Soft…” you mumbled, “Warm.” You didn’t know if he was asking about your emotions or for the physical description of what your skin felt like on your fingers, but your mind was blank with adrenaline, so you subconsciously chose to focus on the latter.

He took a deep breath, afraid that if he were to blink, he would miss something. “How ‘bout you drop that hand a li’l lower.”

You sighed as you followed his instruction. The pads of your fingers brushed your clit, and you squeaked out a moan.

How long had it been since you’d gotten any time to enjoy yourself? Certainly longer than the month or so you'd been on the surface; with Cooper, you never had the solitude or time to let yourself unwind, and even before joining him, you were more focused on surviving than you were on unwinding. 

You let your fingers circle your clit, building the pressure with every swipe. The friction made you buck your hips gently, sweat-slick skin sliding on the floor. You could feel the way your cunt began to drip, and you spread your legs wider, wanting to give him a proper view. You looked up at him, your face painted with an underlying uncertainty behind the overarching pleasure.

“You got it, sweetheart,” he reassured you, briefly biting down on his tongue when he saw the way your slit glistened, “Show me.”

You relaxed into your own body; fingers dropping lower to tease your entrance were met with a backing score of delicious wet sounds as you let the pads graze beyond your folds and kiss at your hole. You moved your hand at an angle to allow one finger to push into your cunt down to the first knuckle, but Cooper tsked at you.

“Not yet,” his breath was already becoming labored, “Show that pretty pearl a li’l more love first.”

The timbre of his voice made you shiver despite the heat that engulfed your skin. You nodded, staring up at him for guidance, just as you always did—though this circumstance was far different.

Your fingers came back up to toy with your clit, and you let out a breathy sound. He had been right to tell you to slow down, to continue to enjoy the friction instead of diving straight into the penetration; you felt light and malleable, like your body was taking a natural route towards the apex of pleasure without needing the frantic thrust of your finger.

Another moan slipped past your lips, and the Ghoul groaned in front of you, eyes glued to your center as you massaged gentle shapes onto your clit.

“Knew ya didn’t know what y’were doin’,” he chastised softly, voice uncharacteristically tender given the state of events unfolding. “Impatient thing like you just needs some instruction. S’at right, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, bending a knee, “Needed someone to tell ya how t’do it so it feels real good?”

You bucked against your hand, in the midst of discovering something new about yourself; maybe you did need it—maybe you liked it. It could have been the simple fact that it was him taunting you, telling you what you wanted and how you wanted it, but his words had you keening, and you let go of any remaining inhibition.

“Yeah,” you mewled, “Yes…” Your movements were getting sloppy, fingers frantic against your swelling bud. “Like—like it like this.”

He growled, pushing air through gritted teeth that formed a menacing smile meant only for you. “Slow down there,” he wanted to grab your wrist, to replace your hand with his own, but something about the chaste, urgent nature of how you touched yourself made him all the more eager to watch how your own movements played out. “Don’ gotta rush it, baby.”

You knew you'd been right—he did like a little showmanship.

“But—” You wanted to argue; it felt good, and the thought of stopping made you squirm harder. But with his eyes on you the way they were, and his hat tipping forward to emphasize his demand, you let the response die in your throat, slowing your fingers.

“Atta girl,” he praised, and your smile was paired with a small whine. “You like the way I’m talkin’?” He was playing with you, flirting while making sure the waters were still welcoming.

“I do,” you responded with a whimper, thrilled by the noises you made, having only ever touched yourself in silence for fear of getting caught.

“Good. Cause I’m’a keep goin’,” he leaned back once more, shifting slightly to ease the tightness that had sprung up in his trousers. “Give that pussy what she needs—slow, now.”

You pressed a finger into your hole, watching it soak in the wet that dripped from you. You wanted to go faster, to push it in completely and fuck yourself on it, but you refrained from the urge to do so and went leisurely as instructed.

“Fuck,” you breathed when the webs of your fingers stretched over your lips, as deep as you could get inside yourself. “Been a—it’s been a minute since I’ve done this.”

“Easy, now—s’why I’m goin’ slow.” He spoke as if he was the one touching you, as if his finger was buried within you in place of your own.

“Can I…” You fidgeted around your hand, “What next.”

“So fuckin’ eager t’please,” he chuckled, “Where was’s obedience out there, huh?”

“Had to make you work for it,” you smiled, your words carrying no malice as your hand became more saturated with your juices.

“Curl’at finger up,” he ignored your retort with a blunt demand, “Like yer callin’ me over.”

You did, and the spot your finger grazed made your limbs buzz and your core tighten. Your face must’ve changed to display your sudden pleasure, because Cooper let out a proud grunt.

“Didn’know’at was there, did’ya?”

“No…” You didn’t bother to explore the shameful feeling that nipped at your heels for being so unfamiliar with your own body after talking such a big game, too focused on exploring the tantalizing feeling that traveled through you when you nudged at the spot again. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“I know,” he looked smug, clearly impressed with himself for teaching you something new about your own body. “Add another.”

“Another finger?” Your skin flushed.

“Go on.”

“I—I’ve only ever done one.” You explained, more embarrassed about this fact than you had been to strip and fuck yourself in front of him.

 “Y’can do it,” he shot you a jagged grin, “Would I ever lead y'astray?”

You swallowed your reminder to him that he used you as a lure in any situation he could get away with. Your head drooped, and you watched as you pulled your hand back enough to press a second finger to the one that had been nestled inside of you. You prodded your entrance, sinking them in slowly as you had with the first one. You hissed, unfamiliar pressure filling your abdomen, though not in an unwelcome capacity; it was a warm tension, weighty and grounding, and you quickly found pleasure in the new sensation.

The way you stared down at yourself, legs spread and lips parted, nearly made him snap; you were so curious, so hungry for instructions to follow—so deeply trusting of him. Cooper’s mouth went dry, and his hand fell to his crotch, palming at the growing tent there.

“Look’t that,” he licked his lips, “Y’feel the stretch, sweetheart? Feel nice?”

“Mm,” you whimpered out an answer, remaining focused on the way your hand met your cunt, swallowed to the last knuckle and still wanting more.

“Curl ‘em again f’me,” he muttered, squeezing his cock through the fabric of his pants.

You did, throwing your head back and hitting that same spot he’d directed you to earlier. The sound you made was desperate and primal, coming out husky from deep in your chest.

“God!” You felt like crying happy tears. Something built inside you that you couldn’t stop, and it felt good—it felt right.

“He can’t help ya now, darlin’,” the Ghoul’s mouth hung open, hypnotized by the urgency in your sounds and the way your body contorted as you tried to keep up with your own pleasure. “Now pull ‘em out ‘n’do it all again. Fast, now—you got it.”

Hurriedly, you pulled your fingers back, then pushed them back in with equal haste, bending them upwards and grazing the delicious spot you’d been missing out on for god only knows how long. You did it again, and again; your repeated movements helped you chase the high you were looking for, hurtling you towards the finish line, and you wanted him to see it as badly as you wanted to feel it.

“Look’t me,” his voice was gruffer now, a dominant edge finding its way in by way of his own lust. “Lemme see y’feel good, sweetheart.”

“C—ooper,” his words hit you exactly where you needed them, finding his gaze with your own and falling apart completely. You pulsed around your fingers, gluey and hot, your skin pricked with gooseflesh despite the humidity and the rush of warmth you felt all over. You moaned, loud and long, but your ears buzzed and your eyes screwed shut so that not even your own sounds could distract from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over you.

When you opened your eyes, squinting in the light of the fire while you took heaving breaths, you expected a blanket of embarrassment to wash over you, some type of mortification for what you’d just done—exposed to another person for the first time, allowing him a view you’d rarely ever even given yourself.

But when you peeked up at him through heavy eyelids, gulping down air, he looked dazed, his mouth agape and eyes wide. And suddenly you felt pride more than anything—you’d managed to leave the most feared man for miles at a total loss.

His hand was still on his crotch, raking his eyes over you, your form illuminated by the campfire. His throat felt dry, and he coughed a few times, hunching over to collect himself before he made eye contact with you again.

“Goddamn,” he gasped, swallowing his coughing fit, “Fast learner.”

“Good teacher,” you grinned, toeing at the discarded jeans that had been left in a heap at your feet.

“Pretty when you cum,” he rolled his shoulders back, still foggy with arousal after seeing you whine and writhe for him.

That made you blush, not out of embarrassment, but because it was the first real compliment he’d paid you. “Never done it like that before.”

“Never had a ghoul teach ya how t’do it right.” He joked, and you smiled at the way he returned so quickly to his usual snark.

“Never cum that hard, that fast.” You admitted, shooting him a glance before leaning forward to grab the wrinkled denim off the floor.

“Had me fooled,” he took out his inhaler, “Needy fuckin’ thing.” That sent a buzz through your body, and you pressed your thighs together to alleviate the ache in your cunt.

“You liked it.” You quirked a brow, dropping your gaze to your legs and pulling the oversized pants back on.

“Never said I didn’t,” he pointed out, “Almost made me cum my pants like some fuckin’ schoolboy.”

“Never done that either,” you yawned, “Made someone else cum.”

“Don’t think it’d be a hard lesson for y’t’learn,” he smirked, “Natural’at you are.”

“It’ll have to wait,” you didn’t know why you assumed it would happen at all, subconsciously hoping that this wouldn’t be forgotten in a day’s time, “Tired.”

“Course y’are,” he offered no explanation, shifting in his spot. He raised an arm and beckoned to you, encouraging you to come closer.

You did, no stranger to doing what he told you to do, and found yourself curled against his side. He smelled like smoke and sex—musky and dewy in a way that made you feel at home.

“I got first watch, y’fuckin—” he cut is taunting short when he looked down at you, seeing you fast asleep.

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ JUST A TOUCH ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary | when you ask your husband to help you dress, he uses the strings of your stay — and his fingers to his advantage.

warnings | 18+, porn without plot, breathe play/ slight choking kink, fingering, pet names, mentions of love bites/marks, not proof-read

a/n | just some smut that wouldn't leave my head no matter how hard I tried to dismiss it lol. i did some research and GRRM mentions stays a couple of times throughout the novels, even though it's not that important to the plot.

“Help me tighten my stay, dear husband?”

He should’ve known better.

Aemond Targaryen should’ve known from the mischievous glint twinkling in the depths of your irises, that you were no good for him.

But then again, he was no good for you either — maybe that’s why it was hard to leave you so soon. He’d never let the words spew past his lips so early, but he enjoyed your presence. Thoroughly. There seemed to be an invisible force wrapped around him, warping his constant state of distress, numbing it to the furthest extent — better than any expensive wine he could fill his belly with.

Here, in the confines of what small duration of privacy you had hugged by the thickness of your comforter filling his nostrils with the scent of lemongrass and citrus. He could mold you, shape you into whatever he wanted for the night, and there would be no protest from your end.

So, Aemond became prey when he cautiously moved to your position in front of your vanity, gently raising his left hand. It rested on your shoulder blade, just a couple of inches above your collarbone, his clothed chest pressed firmly against your back. From the way your breath hitched, he noticed you were in no mood for teasing; needy, starving as if you were an animal malnourished of food and attention. He’d take care of you; his little pet.

 All his to nurture, to bring to the brink of pleasure, to devour as if you were the ripest of fruits, quenching his thirst with your saccharine sweetness on the most sweltering days of the summer months. It showed in the way his cock tented against the fabric of his trousers, head buried in the space under your jaw, hot, open-mouthed kisses peppered just against your pulse point. 

“You look ravishing this evening, nuha raqiarzy.” my beloved. 

A low hum sounded in your throat as you stared ahead, removing your earrings as his nose continued to poke around near your neck, inhaling the subtle scent of sweat and the rose petals you often bathed in. 

“Thank you, my prince.” Voice faltering when his tongue licked over a particular spot on the expanse of your throat, you sighed once again, craning your neck as a means to give him better access; to take you as he always did. 

“Mhm, always so submissive, aren’t you?” The flesh of his lips moves against you with such haste, that you can’t help the way your fingers twirl the material that made up the skirt of your dress, distracting yourself from fully drowning in his touch. The hand lingering at your collarbone moves painstakingly slowly, a single finger ghosting up your larynx, trailing his uneven fingernail across the flesh there. 

You savor his touch. The way his lips part to suck at your chest the best he could from his angle, rubbing against you to rid the uncomfortable friction that had developed. Aemond was growing painfully hard, and there was only one way to fix it. 

You. 

He could live in your cunt — make more of a home in it than any other man could. Perhaps, this is what he would pride himself in for the rest of his days; pleasing you with the little time he had on this godforsaken realm was something he’d have little to no trouble finding joy in.

Having yet to hear a response from you, he kept his violet eye locked onto your figure under his chin, and he groaned lowly at the sight of your head lulled to the side on his shoulder, hands balled tightly to your side in fists, chest rising and falling rapidly. The effect he had on you was otherworldly — even more so when the same hand had circled the width of your throat, squeezing lightly. 

“I need an answer from you, sweet wife.” Aemond’s tone was one of faux innocence as the corner of his lips quirked in a half-smile, the other hand trailing to your midsection, clutching at the dark blue silk. 

Nodding as best you could, you opened your eyes, focusing on a crack in the ceiling, right hand gripping his clothed thigh. “Only for you.”

His grip tightened, restricting air from passing through your lungs only for a second before he removed it, satisfied with your response. “Much better.” 

He darts the muscle of his tongue out between his lips, coating them in a layer of saliva. “Stand straight.”

Without hesitation, you intake the surrounding air of your chambers, adjusting your posture as his hands fiddle with the strings of your dress, looping them through each hole. “What if I kept you here all to myself today, hm?” 

You smiled lazily, taking in the delighted expression painting his usual stoic features as he pressed a kiss to your temple before resuming his work. “I’m sure Helaena wouldn’t enjoy that much.” 

“Mhm,” Without warning, his fingers tug at the strings, causing your ribs to ache slightly at the sudden action of your clothing restricting your ability to exhale as deeply. This was something Aemond did often. 

Toy with you right before an outing, willing you to abandon your excursions for the day and spend the rest of the sun under the sheets with him, losing yourself in the depths of all the pleasures you weren’t sure were possible.  Yet, to you, anything that involved his subtle touches — his caresses — was like being blessed by each of the seven themselves. 

Maybe that was why you had winced, facial muscles contorting into that of discomfort before you blew a breath through your lips, sucking your stomach in as he pulled tighter. 

“This is a nice little toy.” Aemond frowns slightly as he leans in closer, the fabric still pressed between his palms when the heat of his mouth touches the shell of your ear. “The way you gasp when I pull these tighter actually might be my favorite sound.” 

At his words, you struggle not to moan aloud, opting to rub the fat of your thighs together, desperately trying to ease the dull throb between your legs at his husky tone. 

“Do not tease, husband, please.” The utter defeat in your voice was as clear as day, mingling with the heavy tension weaving between your bodies. 

He pulls at your stay once again, holding the frayed fabric as tightly as he can for one second… two …. three before letting them fall from his clammy palms.

“Lift your skirts.” 

His command was one you were quick to obey, leaning down to ball the ends of your dress up to your waist, revealing all of you to his watchful eye.

The dim candlelight did nothing to dwindle the curiosity that piqued within him as he dipped his head from behind you to stare at your naval between bunches of silk fabric, unashamedly trailing his gaze down to the smoothness of your thighs — that which were littered with an array of different shades of blues, purples, and yellows.

It was a mural; his canvas that he got to decorate almost nightly in the comfort of his bed, rewarded with a gentle bask in a nice afterglow that he found himself becoming attached to. 

“Such an obedient little thing.” With that, he let his right-hand slap against your thigh, gripping the flesh there tightly as you hissed between clenched teeth, pressing your backside to the tent rising in his trousers.

You could feel the need in his touch, how his thin, calloused fingers danced their way to your core before gently tugging your underwear to the side, index finger prodding at your folds almost immediately. 

“And so wet for me, too.” 

There was a thin sheen of saliva coating your teeth, warm as you glossed your tongue over the top row before biting down harshly on the muscle to suppress your whimper of surprise.

His finger continues to toy with your folds before he parts them, gathering up your arousal before pressing said finger into you, sighing lightly at the way you immediately clench around his digit.

He pumps it in and out of you, bending it in such a way that this time, you let out a mewl, rocking your hips into his hand as best you can. If only you could see the way his eyes darken ever so slightly, pupils blown wide as his cock throbs, a patch of wetness growing at his angry tip the longer he waits. 

By the end of the night, he was sure those in the Red Keep who had the misfortune of walking by your shared chambers would discover just how much your husband had you writhing as he did now. The lewdness of your moans and the intrusion of yet another finger spitting your walls sent him into a frenzy, picking up his pace as your juices dripped down his knuckles. 

It grew cold as it decorated your thighs when you’d trap his hand, only separating them when he’d use the other to dig his nails in the bone of your hip, creating light indents that’d disappear with time. 

“Aemond, f-fuck.” You rode his fingers with such vigor that although his thumb pressing down to rub eagerly at your clit only intensified the feeling, it wouldn’t have been needed. 

It was welcomed nonetheless, as his digits finally brought you to your high the minute they came in contact with that certain spot buried deep within you. 

“Come on my fingers, sweet girl.” He cooed, watching the way your chin wobbled, how your eyes screwed shut as you shudder in his arms. 

The knot in your stomach unravels, snapping abruptly, mind growing hazy when he pulls them out of you. 

“I think you have somewhere to be now.” 

“Damn you.” 

[kingkatsuki]

Living Each Day Like You’re Already Dead | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬.

Kinktober masterlist.

Happy Halloween everyone!💕 This is my submission to the Bump in the Night collab. I hope you enjoy it, and that it kinda makes sense ahhh!

Summary: Moving into your dream home should’ve been an idyllic experience, until strange occurrences begin to happen. It seems like the former occupant doesn’t want you living here, or does he?

Pairing: ghost!Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, spectrophilia, intoxication, choking, blood!mentions, allusions to death/murder (not reader), cunnilingus, spanking, creampie, degradation, not proofread!

Word Count: 6.7k.

“Babe, where’d you get the creepy hologram in the bathroom? It's so realistic I literally thought someone was watching me pee.” Tatami scrunched her nose in distaste as she reached for another shot glass, pouring whisky into it before throwing it back with a shake of her head.

“What?” You raised a brow as you placed your drink on the kitchen counter.

“The dude in the mirror,” She slammed the shot glass down, “Right by your walk-in, I didn’t even wanna stare in the mirror when I was washing my hands.”

“You’re just drunk,” You laughed it off, shaking your head as you watched her refill the glass, “You screamed when the guy dressed as the killer clown came in.”

“Listen” She held her palm in the air, “That costume was way too fucking realistic and clowns are creepy okay?”

You tried to brush it off, but this wasn’t the first time that someone you’d brought home had complained about seeing things. The day you moved in, the removal company had only been working for a few hours before you heard stories of them seeing dark red eyes in what was going to be the master bedroom. One man was so spooked he dropped his end of your couch going up the stairs so it knocked into the wall, damage that the company were more than happy to compensate for but the man still refused to step back inside your home. You weren’t even upset about the damage to the wall, but you appreciated the hefty discount.

The next happened a few weeks later when you invited a date back to your home, a few glasses of wine led to heavy petting on the couch. His hand slowly slid beneath your dress when he stopped cold, wide eyes staring at the corner of your living room as you looked back to see nothing.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” You teased, trying to pull his lips back to yours as he stood from the couch.

He didn’t even utter a word before he was shouldering his way out of your new house, forgetting his hoodie in his haste as you tried to call after him. He never did call you back.

It made you not want to bring men home anymore, the embarrassment of being left high and dry after three dates had you feeling pathetic. The loneliness began to permeate your heart again as you stood alone in the hallway, wondering what it was you had done that would make him want to leave so abruptly.

You’d also noticed things had started to move around the home, certain you’d left a towel out for your morning showers but when you’d go to grab it, it would be gone. Your mug had d from his dedicated spot beside your kettle to the other side of the kitchen, sometimes even finding drawers or cupboard doors open. The creeks and whines that came with an old home helped ease your mind when the sounds began to echo at night, telling yourself that ghosts aren’t real as you tried to calm your racing heart and lull yourself to slumber.

“What if my house is haunted?” You murmured, thinking about the events that had occurred since you moved into the home.

You hadn’t discussed the history of the property when you’d started your lease, excited to find such a large house in such a nice area within your budget. Working with a third party meant you hadn’t had the opportunity to meet the previous owners, and you hadn’t bothered to ask.

But even after living here for a few nights, you’d begun to have vivid nightmares that had you waking up in a cold sweat, chest heaving as you looked around the room to see if the killer was there. As though you’d really been there— you were her in the dream, lying back against satin sheets as you watched a man towering above you. Wielding a knife as he sent it plunging into your chest, over and over. But no matter how many times he stabbed you, and how damp the sheets became with your blood. You never died.

You’d chalked it down to being alone in a new home, so used to the dingy apartment you used to live in that was barely a box. With more space, and it being an older building the floorboards creaking and the wind howling managed to scare you more than it would’ve in your old home. Telling yourself shadows were a trick of the light, and nightmares were a trick of the mind.

But something always stuck out in every dream, something between the sea of blood as you fought to make out her face.

“Don’t trust him, he’s not what he seems.” A girl's voice would call out at the end of each nightmare, the precise moment before you’d jolt awake.

“Who’s drunk now?” Tatami scoffed, “You shouldn’t be trying to scare me when you’re dressed as an Angel. Isn’t that immoral?”

“I’m being serious.” You stroked the condensation from the side of your glass as you tried to think of something that would’ve indicated that something else was here.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tatami laughed, “Trying to shit me up on Halloween, I get it. Well, it won’t work this time-”

“Tatami, honestly-” You held your face in your palms as you whined childishly, hoping that recent events had just been a coincidence and there was a logical explanation for each one.

“We can burn some sage tomorrow or something if it’ll make you feel better.” Tatami smirked, “But first— shots.”

“I’m going to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” The thought of another shot has your stomach whirring as you slipped past your best friend.

“Say hi to your friend up there for me,” She laughed as you weaved your way through the sea of people.

You blinked beneath the harsh fluorescent light of your bathroom as you stood in front of the sink, your hands clinging to the countertop as you tried to stop the room from whirling. You hadn’t drunk that much, so you were confused as to why you felt as though you were experiencing vertigo.

Glancing into the mirror there were no apparitions, no shadows, no eyes except for your own staring back at you. Your racing heart began to lull as you realised there was nothing here, releasing a sigh as you moved to leave your en-suite and go back to the party. Stepping back into your bedroom which was currently illuminated by your bathroom light as you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

“The bathroom is downstairs, you’re not allowed up here.” You shouted, thinking that someone had gotten lost in their drunken stupor on the way to the bathroom.

But then the shadow flickered past your eyes again, a cool chill swirling past you even though the windows were shut as you felt your body begin to seize up with fear.

You wanted to call out, thinking it was Tatami or another partygoer trying to spook you. But it felt as though you were frozen, your legs felt like lead as your eyes roamed the room. The shadow moved closer as you felt it begin to loom over you, blinking frantically as you began to make out features.

Red eyes.

“Shit,” You hissed.

This couldn’t be happening, there was absolutely no way. You had to be drunk, there was no other explanation as you were unable to take your eyes off the man as he came closer.

“I’ve been watching you, sweetheart.” The sultry rasp of his voice had goosebumps creeping up on your skin, your heart hammering against your chest as the sight of him came into view, “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

The room grew cold the closer he came towards you, your eyes flickering towards the full-length mirror in your bedroom but there was no one else in the room. There were no reflections other than your own as you began to blink frantically, the alcohol in your system clearly impairing your consciousness.

“I’m so drunk, this isn’t happening.” You murmured to yourself before you gasped from the shrill cool of his hands against your hips permeating through the sheer fabric of your dress as he pressed you back, feeling your legs hit the edge of your mattress as you were shoved down on the bed.

“You think it’s not happening, sweetheart?” The man scoffed, “I’m heartbroken.”

“Who are you?” You mumbled, surprised when you felt the weight of him on top of you. The cold continued to permeate your body as you felt his hands ghostly against your sides.

“You don’t know me?” He whispered, “I know you— I feel like I’ve known you a lifetime.”

“How do you know my name?” You murmured, trying to mask your fear as you looked up at his face. He wasn’t someone you recognised, certain you’d never seen him before but something told you that he wasn’t being deceptive.

That he knew exactly who you were.

“You look like someone I used to know.” His thumb traced the curve of your jaw as he curled his fingers around your neck, ignoring your question.

“Who?” You asked in confusion.

“Just someone-” His pupils dilated as he felt as though he was staring directly into your soul, his hand tightening against the column of your neck as you shifted beneath him.

“The girl that used to live here?” You hummed.

The man gripped even tighter at the mention of her, the girl you’d seen in your dreams. Trying to connect the pieces of the puzzle as you thought back to the last dream you’d had, the one where she was laying down in a bed covered in blood.

“Yeah, her.” He smiled almost wistfully as you felt a rush of cool air against your lips as he came closer.

“Did she die in my house?” You were scared to ask the question, but you wanted answers.

“Your house? You mean my house, sweetheart.” He grinned, “I never left.”

The words had your blood running cold, he’d always been here, ever since you moved in.

“Did she die in here?” You tried again.

“Yeah… she did.” He mumbled.

“Did you kill her?” You regret the words as soon as they left your lips, his red eyes narrowed as he squeezed your neck tight.

“Me?” He snarled, “Did I kill her?”

“I know you think she-” You began, but he was quick to cut you off.

“You don’t fuckin’ know shit,” He snarled, moving closer to you as he looked down at you with dangerous eyes, “You’re just like all the rest, but I’ll show you the truth, you’ll see-”

You felt the energy begin to darken at your question, clearly hitting a sore spot inside him as for the first time you realised how much his hulking frame towered over you. Making you feel completely helpless.

“She tried so hard to make me into a villain, so I became the monster.” Bakugou rasped.

Thinking back to all the dreams you’d had where you’d been beneath him, trying to remember the eyes staring down at you but all you could feel was pain. Your eyes roamed the scratches that covered his body, scratches left by his lover before he’d murdered her.

“He’s the devil in disguise.” The girl in your dreams would call out to you before you woke up.

“My sweet Angel,” His hand reached out to touch the halo that sat above your head as part of your Halloween costume, “She wore a similar costume the night she died.” He murmured, watching his jaw lock at the memory as he pursed his lips.

That had to have been the girl in your dreams, the one dressed in white and covered in blood. The thought had your heart racing as you tried to decide if there was enough time for you to run, but could you really outrun a spirit?

“What’s your name?” You mumbled, watching his lips curl into a smile.

“Bakugou.”

You tried to place the name, but it felt like one that you’d never heard before. Even in your dreams, the girl would never address the man by name, so you wondered whether it was Bakugou she was talking about.

“Were you the one my boyfriend saw that night?” You thought back to your date with Monoma, where he’d left your apartment screaming, his face deathly pale as he ignored all your texts moving forward.

“Boyfriend? He didn’t deserve you, none of them did.” Bakugou continued, “You’re perfect, too perfect...”

His hands smoothed over your dress, his thumbs stroking against the curve of your breasts as your nipples began to pebble beneath the cold chill of his touch. A soft gasp left your lips as his hands travelled lower, slipping beneath the sheer fabric as he began to push it up your thighs.

“My perfect Angel.” He hummed.

“What’re you doing?” You mumbled, your palms reaching up to push him back to find with surprise you could touch him. It was like a cool wall of muscle as you pressed against him, but he didn’t move an inch.

“What I’ve been thinking about doing for weeks,” He growled, “Having to watch all those other pricks put their hands on you when it should’ve been me.”

“You— you were the reason they left.” The realization dawned on you that he was the one that was making all those men leave, your boyfriend, friends, the movers—

“Course, I was. You think I was gonna stand around watching those fuckers do whatever they want to you? They weren’t good enough for you. You’re mine now.” He scoffed, your blood ran cold at the tone of his voice, “You were mine from the second you stepped into my house. You won’t leave me like she did—”

“But you killed her?” You mumbled, scrunching your nose in confusion as you stared up at him.

“I didn’t kill her, sweetheart.” He shook his head, “She sealed her own fate.”

But if he didn’t kill her, what happened? He was covered in her blood and she was bleeding to death in the reoccurring dream you’d been having since entering the home.

“I was stupid back then, I let love cloud my judgement. But I’m not the same man anymore.” He snarled, “I don’t ask anymore, I take.”

His palm cupped your sex roughly, causing you to gasp in surprise at the cold chill, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to conceal the heat beneath radiating from you as Bakugou groaned low and deep in his throat.

“You can’t escape now,” His palm squeezed slightly in warning, smirking as he felt your body curve into his touch, “Your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into this house.”

“Please,” You gasped as you felt him press against your clit, your body betraying you as slick began to dampen the fabric.

“Don’t act shy now, princess.” He cooed, his thumb pressing soft circles against your clit through your panties, “I know you could feel me watching you,”

You thought back to the times in the property when you’d convinced yourself it was a trick of your eye or paranoia taking over when you were home alone, ignoring any signs that there could’ve been something else in the house.

You didn’t believe in ghosts.

“When you were showering, walking around the house in these pretty little panties.” He pinched the elastic as it snapped against your hips, “When you were touching your sloppy little pussy. You sound real pretty when you cum, you know?”

Your eyes widened in surprise as he mentioned he’d always been watching you, embarrassment flooding your system and making you feel scorching hot even beneath his cool touch at the realisation he’d seen you completely vulnerable already.

“But I couldn’t reveal myself to you, not yet.” He growled, “Not when she was still here.”

The vivid dreams you’d had each night of her death had your tummy swirling, wondering if this was the night where you’d suffer the same fate. She’d tried to warn you in those dreams, she told you to leave the house, but you didn’t listen.

You should’ve listened.

“You’ll never leave me, will you?” He whispered, finally closing the gap to press his lips to yours in a salacious kiss, “You’re mine now forever.”

“She said you were the devil in disguise,” You murmured weakly against his lips, watching the wild fury appear in his eyes as he snarled down at you, his hand tightening its grip around your neck as you felt him squeezing roughly.

“She paints me as the devil when all of this is her fault, she did this. Not me—” He growled.

You wondered what he meant by that when he was the one that murdered her.

“We were going to get married, start a family, grow old together but she fucked it up. She did this.” He continued, “I know you’ve been talking to her. Fuckin’ bitch.” He spat.

You felt the fear continue to grow inside you the more irate he became, his grip tightening as the air slowly began to leave your body, feeling yourself becoming lightheaded as your lashes fluttered.

“Don’t believe a fuckin’ word she says,” He loosened his grip, “You’re nothing like her, are you?”

You began to cough and splutter as he let go of your neck, sucking in gulps of oxygen as you felt yourself coming to.

“You’d never leave me.” Bakugou’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of your panties as he pulled them down your thighs, letting the fabric drop to the floor as he moved his thumbs to your outer labia. Spreading you open as he caught sight of the messy slick stringing against your folds as more leaked from your tight entrance.

“You wanna say you don’t want me back when you’re fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart?” He grinned, “I don’t like liars.”

Bakugou pressed his thumb to your tight entrance as he watched it disappear inside you to the first knuckle, curling it inside you as it brushed against your inner walls. Pulling the air from your lungs as you bucked into his touch, the dull ache began to brew in your pelvis as he watched with intrigue.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He cooed, “I know you like it, sweet girl.”

He began to lower himself onto the mattress as his cold breath fanned against your slit, cooling your slick against your skin as you shivered. Bakugou’s lips curled into a grin as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your clit, your body jolting in surprise as the cool chill hit the sensitive nub.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” He hummed, “I thought you were like her, but you ain’t.”

Groaning as he inhaled deeply, surrounding himself with the scent of you as his tongue slipped out to drag through your slit, tasting you as he felt your walls clenching around his thumb.

“You’re so much better.”

Before you had a chance to respond to him Bakugou was already devouring you like a man starved, his lips wrapped around your clit as crude slurping noises began to fill the room. Overpowering the noise from the loud thrum of bass from the party downstairs as you wondered whether Tatami might come to find you and if she’d even be able to see him like you could.

This had to be another dream, there was no way that this was real.

This was wrong, you didn’t want this. There was something about his cold touch on your skin that made bile rise at the back of your throat as pearly tears began to leave silvery lines against your skin as they trickled down your temples and onto the soft sheets beneath you. Clinging to your lashes and obscuring your vision as the spirit of a man so callous used you for his own pleasure. You hated the way your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as you willed him to touch you more, to have you coming undone in his arms.

But you couldn’t deny the ache he caused between your thighs, the ferocious desire brewing inside you at how badly he wanted you, needed you. The knowledge that he’d been the one watching you all this time, warding off any other men that may come between you. Your body burned at the thought of him watching you in your most intimate moments, trying to get yourself off as you furiously rubbed your clit, working yourself towards your climax. You wondered whether he touched himself while he watched you, whether he met his own end to the thought of you.

“Oi,” Bakugou growled, pinching your clit roughly as your body jolted to bring your attention back to his, “Stay with me, sweetheart.”

His teeth nipped your clit as your body spasmed in surprise, thighs clamping down around either side of his head before you pulled back from the shrill cool of him. His tongue slid through your slick lower until he came to your tight entrance, moving his thumb so he could push his tongue inside you as deep as it could possibly go. Crudely flicking it so it nudged your sensitive walls as you reached your hands down to thread through his messy spikes, surprised you could feel the silvery wisps through your fingers as you tugged.

“Please stop, don’t—” You whimpered. A feeble attempt to try and get him to pull away from you, to stop. But your body betrayed you, rolling your hips into his touch as he gathered your fresh slick on the pad of his tongue.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it when your pussy is this fuckin’ honest,” He snarled, spitting down onto your slit as he moved to run it through your folds, “Told ya I don’t like liars.”

He moved his attention back to your clit as he wrapped his lips around it, lashing the tip of his tongue against it as he began to suck hard. Catching you off guard as he pressed two fingers deep inside you to the hilt, not allowing you a moment to adjust before he began a brutal pace. Curling the digits as they pressed against the spongy spot inside you, as though he already knew the exact spots and places to touch that would have you slipping into ecstasy. His moans sent pleasurable vibrations directly to your clit as he worked you towards your climax.

Bakugou should’ve felt guilty, ruining your delicate body with such little care, watching as you allowed fear to consume you as you submit yourself to him. His fingers pressed sultry circles against your clit as you made more saccharine sounds for him, your creamy sex dripping with need because of him. But there’s no way you’d want anyone else after him, it’s selfish, but he wouldn’t allow it. You were his now, and you would always be his.

“You’re so easy,” Bakugou scoffed as you whimpered when he pulled away from your puffy nub, “Thought you’d put up more of a fight, but I guess you’re just desperate to get yourself off, or are you scared?”

You were. You were petrified. Your soaked cunt clenching around nothing at his callous words as he pinched your folds together,

And yet at the same time, you were completely mystified by this entity. He’d made you feel more wanted and desired than any guy you’d been with before, and the fear that he could harm you with ease only seemed to add to the allure.

The sensation was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, your eyes flickered over to the full-length mirror as you seemed to be alone on the bed, the man above you held no reflection as you tugged at his hair. Trying to gauge whether this was all just another one of your vivid dreams or if it was really happening. Bakugou snarled against your clit at the movement as his teeth grazed the sensitive nub, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“You want everyone to hear what a slut you are for me, hah?” He grinned, “Too bad they wouldn’t live to remember it, you’re mine.”

The threat, even though it wasn’t directed at you, had your walls throbbing in a mixture of excitement and fear. A movement that didn’t go unnoticed by the supernatural being above you.

“You like that?” He scoffed, “Cause you know I would— I’d kill for you.”

And there was something in the tone of his voice that told you he was being completely truthful. Especially when he’d done the same to his previous lover, the fact that you believed even now that he could watch you take your final breath.

You gasped as he brought your attention back to him, curving his large palms around the fat of your thighs as he pulled you closer to him, keeping you spread wide open as thick fingers dug into the meat of your skin. Sliding the flat of his tongue through your folds as he gave a long, languid lick. Your hips bucked erratically as he deliberately avoided your clit, repeating the motion again and again as every so often he dipped the tip of his tongue inside your fluttering walls. His teasing was driving you insane, as fresh slick began to ooze from your overstimulated cunt, feebly trying to use the grip on his hair to pull him towards your clit. Your halo fell off against the plush pillows as he smirked up at you from between your thighs.

“I thought you didn’t want this, sweetheart.” He spoke against your folds, “But here you are practically begging me to get you off.”

Here you were beneath him, so compliant and responsive. It had his cock throbbing with desire as he subtly rolled his hips against the mattress, continuing to feast on your cunt as you writhed beneath him.

“Do you want to cum?” He snarled.

“I— oh my god,” You couldn’t think straight, still unable to believe this was really happening as Bakugou bullied two thick fingers inside your dripping hole. Immediately curling them towards the spongy spot inside you as he waited for your response. His cool breath fanning against your sensitive nub as your slick cooled and dried against it, making you squirm beneath him as you tried to form the right words.

“Answer me,” He spat, his other hand tightening its grip against your thigh almost painfully, “Do you want to cum?”

“Yes—” You cried out abruptly, the fear still prevalent inside you, “Yes, yes. I want to cum. I need to cum.”

You could feel tears beginning to cling to your thick lashes as Bakugou dove straight back into your messy cunt, his lips immediately latching on to your puffy clit as he sucked hard. The sudden movement had you thrashing beneath him as you let out a shrill cry, your toes curling in the heels you were wearing as you came undone. Your climax was earth-shattering as you could only feel blinding pleasure coursing through your veins, even with the cool chill of Bakugou surrounding you, you still felt scorching hot.

“That’s it,” He growled, pulling his fingers from your slick heat to delve his tongue back inside you for a taste. Collecting your juices against the flat of it as he groaned deep in his throat, cherishing the feeling of your walls continuing to flutter around him in the aftermath of your climax.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty when you cum, has anyone told you that?” Bakugou murmured as he pulled away from your slit, pressing wet sloppy kisses on the apex of your thigh as he pulled back, “I could go another eternity with only that image in my mind.”

You thought that was it, that he’d disappear and you could leave. But instead, he moved onto his knees, translucent hands moving to unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans down his hips. You watched as he slowly revealed his thick cock to your eyes, the mere thought of him fitting inside you had your cunt swirling in anticipation. No longer a way to tell whether this was a dream or reality as rough hands flipped you over as though you weighed nothing, something that terrified you as he pulled you up onto your knees as you leaned on your forearms.

“Oh fuck,” He groaned, hands ghosting against your ass as he pulled your cheeks apart, “Everything about you is better than her. It’s as though you were what I was waiting for all this time.”

What did he mean by that? You still were unaware of the reason why his spirit was trapped inside this house, why he hadn’t been able to move on and whether the girl he spoke about was the one covered in blood you witnessed in your dreams.

“Fuck,” Bakugou snarled, smoothing the fat tip of his cock through your messy folds as you felt it catch against your tight entrance, pushing forward as he failed to breach you as his tip nudged against your clit. Your fingers fisting the sheets beneath you at the motion as he pulled his hips back to try again, “You’re so tight.”

A dull ache began to ebb inside you as he pushed more of himself inside your slick walls, stretching you out around his cock as large palms gripped your plush ass. Squeezing roughly as he reached back to land a resounding smack on your cheek, watching it ripple beneath his touch as the movement had your body moving forward, pulling yourself off his length as his grip sought to pull you back.

“Shit, this fuckin’ pussy is perfect.” He groaned, giving you a moment to adjust before he began a rough pace.

The sensation was indescribable, like nothing you’d ever felt before as you felt the heat of your most intimate place mix with the cold of him. His thick cock pressed against the ridges of your walls perfectly as he filled every inch of you, moving deeper and deeper with each rough rut of his hips as you felt his tip hitting the barrier inside you, heavy balls knocking against your clit with every forward motion.

“S’too much,” You slurred, wincing slightly as you felt the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, “I can’t.”

“But yet you are,” Bakugou snarled, rough hands reaching around your body to tug the top of your dress down, “My perfect little Angel.”

Bakugou’s hands groped your bouncing breasts, pinching your taut nipples between thumb and forefinger as you cried out beneath him, turning your face to the side to see the slightest flash of red as he continued plunging into your tight cunt.

“That’s it,” He groaned, “Watch those pretty faces you’re makin’ for me.”

He gave a particularly hard thrust to watch your face contort in pleasure as he smirked down at you, the crude slap of skin against skin filled the room and it made you wonder whether this was really a dream. Maybe you’d drunk too much and you were sleeping with a cute guy from the party— but you couldn’t fool yourself, this was different, supernatural.

“Bakugou,” You gasped, his thick cock dragging against your inner walls perfectly as he knocked against the sensitive spot inside you with a harsh thrust of his hips. Already feeling the first signs of your impending climax as you began to tremble around his length.

“Katsuki,” He grunted, squeezing your hips for emphasis, “Want you to call me Katsuki.”

“Katsuki,” You repeated, the name sliding off your tongue as you broke into another sultry moan.

“Fuck, just like that, sweet girl.” He choked back a moan as he increased his pace.

It was all you could do to lay there and take it, fingers curled into the sheets as the thrusts you tried to make were no match for his brutal pace.

“I know you want to cum, sweetheart.” He grinned, his chest swelled with pride as he heard more of the pretty noises that spilt from your lips, “Can feel ya squeezing my cock.”

One of his thumbs pressed against your tight asshole as large palms kept you spread open for him, feeling the rim flutter against his touch at the foreign sensation as you began to shake beneath him.

“Oh fuck,” You felt your body give out as your legs shook violently at the height of your climax, “Katsuki.”

“Fuck, that’s it.” He grunted as he felt your walls begin to convulse around him, collapsing onto your chest on the mattress as he followed you down. His body was heavy on top of yours as he continued his harsh pace, his rough movements helping you to ride out your climax as he began to send you hurtling towards another.

The cool sensation of his chest pressed to your back was almost comforting as he pressed soft kisses against the apex of your neck, shifting his hips to change the angle as you continued to moan beneath him.

“Got no damn idea how good this pussy is,” He groaned, lifting himself off your back as he wrapped a hand back around your neck to pull you up with him.

The rough movement had you throbbing around his cock as he began to piston his cock in and out of you. Your eyes flickered to the reflection where you could now see the man behind you, his body completely covered in blood as you noticed the thick, deep scratch marks on his arms. As though someone had been clawing at him to get away from him, blinking as the sheets turned a dark crimson beneath you.

“Please-” You gasped, trying desperately to move your body forward, to get away from him as he kept his hands tight against your neck.

You tried to scream, but only a dull sound escaped your lips as his hand tightened around your throat, feeling his lips curl into a smirk beside your ear as he used your body for his own pleasure.

“I know you’re gonna cum again, princess. I can feel you clamping down on my cock.” He grinned, “You love this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t respond, the mixture of pleasure swirling in your pelvis and the lack of oxygen was making you lightheaded again. With nothing you could do in this position except take it as he fucked you towards another climax. His other hand slid down your tummy to slip between your thighs, pressing rough, sloppy circles against your puffy clit.

“Oh shit, that’s it.” Bakugou groaned as he felt you fall into pleasure, continuing to fuck you through it, his fingers consistent against your clit “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You allowed yourself to succumb to the white-hot pleasure coursing through you, your climax crashing down around you in a sudden tsunami as you thrashed beneath Bakugou. Your pliant cunt gushing around him like the waves against the shore as he continued to keep his rough pace. Your walls burned from the abuse as he worked himself to his own end, each forward motion had Bakugou fucking his cum deeper inside your creamy pussy until he came to a slow stop. His hands splayed against your sides as he leaned down to press a soft, sweet kiss against your pouty lips.

Your body convulsed as you rode out your climax before you became slack against him, your head lolling back against his shoulder as half-lidded eyes continued to stare into your reflection in the mirror.

“Been thinkin’ about filling this sloppy pussy with my cum for the longest time,” He groaned, his cock throbbing inside you as he neared his own release, “Had to stop myself from doing it while you slept. I wanted to see those pretty eyes when I was doin’ it.”

You couldn’t argue, already submitting to your fate as you felt Bakugou give a few more sharp thrusts of his hips against your ass, his fingers flexing against your jugular as he came inside you with a grunt. A swift burst of something cool erupted inside you as you felt it stick to your inner walls, surrounding you with the sensation as Bakugou’s pace began to falter as he filled you with his release. Rough grunts left his parted lips as his cold breath against your skin made you shiver, leaving a trail of goosebumps against your skin.

“You’re mine forever now, Angel.” Bakugou whispered as you felt yourself beginning to pass out, the last wisps of oxygen finally leaving your lungs as your body went slack against him, “We don’t need anyone else, it’s just you and me-”

You woke up the next morning sore, the early morning sunlight blinding as it shone through your windows, the blinds completely open as you held a hand up to shield yourself from the harsh rays. A harsh cough left your body as you reached over to your bedside table to grab your water bottle as you took a huge gulp of the tepid liquid, feeling it burn as it flowed down your throat.

A dull ebb throbbed between your thighs as you began to remember the vivid dream you’d had last night, starting to wonder whether it had really been a dream at all or whether it had actually happened. Shaking your head at the foolish thought as you got yourself up enough to sit on the edge of your bed. You were still dressed in your clothes from the night before, wondering whether instead of the dream the throb between your thighs had been caused by a drunken fumble at the party last night, wondering if the man was still somewhere in your home or had at the very least left his phone number.

Standing up from your bed as the whole room began to spin, as you took a second to ground yourself. Holding onto your dresser before you began to pad into your en-suite bathroom, moving towards the sink to splash some soothing water onto your face.

Standing back up straight is when you noticed it— the darkened bruises around your neck, almost seared into the skin as you reached up to press against them. Gasping in surprise at the painful pulse from them as you began to try and piece together what had happened last night, you’d never been so drunk you’d blacked out before, and you definitely hadn’t drunk enough to make you pass out.

The same name you remembered from your dream began to echo in your mind as you clutched the side of the bathroom sink, replaying the previous night's events.

Bakugou Katsuki.

Padding back into your bedroom you grabbed for your cellphone, ignoring the low battery warning as you unlocked it to pull up your search engine, typing the same name into the search bar as you added your location after it. Bleary eyes glanced down at the bright screen as you waited for the results to load before clicking the first article at the very top.

Gasping in surprise when the image loaded of the same man that you’d seen in your dreams last night, a messy mop of rusty blond hair with piercing red eyes. Scrolling lower as you began to read the article.

Jilted lovers end in murder on Halloween.

Police attended the home of Bakugou Katsuki on the night of October 31st 1985 after neighbours filed reports of arguing inside the home. The body of Bakugou’s girlfriend Uraraka Ochako was found in a pool of blood in the master bedroom with the cause of death being determined as asphyxiation after being strangled to death. Bakugou, who is thought to be the victim's boyfriend, stabbed Uraraka thirteen times before fleeing the scene. Later the police arrived at the house of Midoriya Izuku, an acquaintance of the couple, to find Bakugou Katsuki dead at the scene.

Midoriya is said to have killed Bakugou in self-defence, driving to the scene of the original murder to try and save the life of Uraraka but unfortunately, he was too late. Musutafu News has reached out to Midoriya Izuku for comment on what might have made this loving boyfriend of six years murder his girlfriend on Halloween, but we have not received a response.

Was it jealousy that turned this young man to murder? Or was something more sinister afoot?

Bakugou Katsuki may have taken this truth to his grave.

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Eight)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: reader has been given a second chance after meeting a mysterious entity, as aemond watched reader die. Or so he thought.

a/n: half of aemond’s pov during chapter seven, then up until recent events.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

Chapter Eight: The Escape

~Aemond’s POV~

~During the coronation~

The people are dreaded. Dreaded and perplexed by the animosity of the attendance. Under the King’s orders, and King’s sudden awake, the audience made haste, hoping there would be some sort of celebration. But never expect their King to summon the announcement of an unknown woman standing by the steps of the Iron Throne, bestowed and dubbed by the name of Lady Greenstar.

Greenstar.

Who was this Greenstar, as the King anointed, and why does the King expect the common folk to be blatantly generous and idolize Viserys’s vision of regaining to strength to the Iron Throne with both factions becoming as a mighty house for generations? What does Lady Greenstar served purpose as? Aemond knew the purpose of her presence, but as of yet, the conflict has shaken the core of a young woman; she looked at Aemond for a minute, the next her stare dipped below to the steps decorated in iron swords, once held by Aegon’s enemies.

A private ceremony should’ve been suffice. After all, Lady Greenstar shared agreement with Queen Alicent the night before.

Hesitant she may look, but, the glowing beauty did not stop Aemond to admire at. You, the glowing figure, stood before him. In toned colors of black and green, the white shade of gown and round jewel.

The scream materialized and broke the quietness in the great hall when the man had his knife on Helaena’s throat. Needless to say, you stepped in. Although with appease, anger flamed in your eyes and offered the man to unhand Helaena. Until chaos pursued. Tackled and suffocated in the crowd, Aemond managed to shove the rest to aid you. Although surrounded, you managed to free and defend yourself in quick proficiency, which impressed Aemond. However saving Lucerys was a mistake—at least in Aemond’s view. Though he understood that it’s your duty to serve them.

Albeit, somehow….

Aemond hated it.

You should’ve killed Lucerys. Kill him for taking out his eye since he claimed Vhagar in nightfall—let him at die at the hands of an intruding foe. A quick mercy to his lifelong of his bastard in his boyhood.

Aemond rushed to your side, without realizing that a flying knife tossed at your direction, with his one lucky eye, Aemond deflected the flying blade with his—briskly taken out from a knife scabbard. It was close.

For a moment, his heart skipped when your eyes met his, before lunging a blade attack on another foe. By then all factions fled to a safe corridor. And by the great hall, all relaxed, yet afraid of the outcome—it was an absolute failure. Alicent and Rhaenyra quarreled, men watched afar, as you rested by the pillar far behind, clutching your red-stained belly.

Aegon stood beside Aemond, nonetheless, observing your reaction. Although you were dazed in lethargic condition, you held your hand up near to your face and kissed it. What were you were kissing?

Helaena stood by your side and tranquil you with her patting hand, urging to braid your (h/c) locks. It was an endearing moment, for the princess never touched or braid anyone’s hair. It was reasonably certified, since you’ve displayed nothing but as a protector.

While watching two ladies shouting, your eyes shifted to Aegon’s, then Aemond’s, dipped your head to a soft bow. Aegon gestured back, but Aemond is unsure; his heart lanced in misgiving observation.

When the altercation grew louder, worsened, your rasped voice told them to “stop”, and collapsed into Jace’s arms—another bastard. And before Aemond knew, you told him that they’re safe and your eyes fell onto Aemond’s and veiled, body stilled.

Ser Criston saw to your fate, and immediately reported the two monarchs of both factions and briskly faded into a panic. Alicent gave the order for you to see the Maester again, as Jace lifted your body in his arms, but his knees wobbled.

For a Strong bastard, he’s undeniably weak. He’s spent too much time staying on his mommy’s side for an extension of time in Dragonstone.

Annoyed, and somewhat discouraged of the outcome, Aemond’s motivated and masked anger, trudged his way through and retrieved you in his arms. But as soon as you under Aemond’s strong arms, he couldn’t sense whether you’re alive or not. All Ser Criston said that you “collapsed”. Collapsed could mean many things. Sickness could mean many things.

And Aemond was hoping for a better option—a better poison than a fatal one.

~~~

Incense wafted in the room—your room. Hot coal scorched, mingling against a soft, chilled wind.

“How is she? Will she outlive?” Alicent interrogated, clutching her sheer fabric that was clinging onto her shoulders, frantic eyes aimed at your body.

Otto, on the other hand, was displeased, fingers massaging his nose bridge. Behind the brick walls outside the room, Aemond leaned his back as his arms crossed, awaiting. Silence was drowning him with countless questions and heated debated locked inside his heart.

“The girl is…” Maester began, removing the cloak of your stained dress—corset loosened and heavy long skirt descended down passed to your smooth legs. The conflict in your body has shown. The poison seeped again, only this time the green spot spread quicker.

The Maester’s breath stopped for a second before resuming his medicinal work. “I must cater to a young woman. Her condition has been in a tangled moment betwixt the bridge of life and death once again. We mustn’t let it happen.”

“The ceremony has been anointed not too long ago, and this occurred,” Alicent rasped. “Then again, nothing life comes decency in Westeros.”

“Let us repose for now, Alicent,” Otto calmly said. “We have much to discuss in the council room. They’ve been expecting on our early arrival.”

All left except Aemond, who they never noticed him from quitting the room. Thank the gods nobody has noticed his subtlety of depravation. When the Maester hissed; the missing ingredients for the healing procession, he hasted to gather more.

Aemond slipped inside and approached, eyeing on your naked body, splayed with soft hills of your breasts, and silk of your slender waist. The maidenhood shielded with rosy pink fabric, and your red dragon markings across your limbs appeared as dwindling—though under a heated light of sun pooled your skin.

Aemond’s eye flicked below your lower arm.

On your hand, it veiled a gold ring twinkled on the fourth finger, not only that, a metallic bracelet rested on your wrist. Your (h/c) splayed across the table, visage dulled as lips parched despited painted in red.

Fingertips stroke against your smooth face and glimpsed at you one last time before the Maester enters to resume his work.

~~~

Later, with agitation filling up in his chest, like a dragon, he urged to rage, blazing the Red Keep with fire—with Vhagar at his side, for a lack of protection and proficiency of strength. The air struck him, tingled in his chest, simmering down.

At sundown, and until sundown, Aemond did nothing but abide in his room, reading and gathering the calamity on his jumbled thoughts, pacing back and forth in the room.

You were stabbed again. You’ve been stabbed before, maybe things would be under a familiar result—you’ll outlive the poison just as the first.

Just before long, he visited to your chambers—only to find you gone. The maids fixed the linens bedsheets and your tainted ceremonial dress.

“Where is she?” Aemond entered, watching the maids bowed to him in a coiled, shy fashion.

Lady Greenstar, his heart called.

“She’s dead, my prince,” the maid answered. “Queen Alicent escorted Lady Greenstar’s body down the grounds with the Silent Sisters.”

And the world collapsed on him, like the world without dragons, dragons without wings, shredded, it plunged down and anchored into the darkest oblivion.

~Your POV~

In oblivion, the unknown being have spoken to you, showed the ugliness and manipulation of your past life, as an act of self-interest. The contract between you and the unknown entity has been sealed, ending with your senses blocked with drained blood onto your eyes, ears and mouth.

What do we say to God of Death?

Not today.

Those are the words to pump and enliven your stilled chest once more.

A cold blade pressed against your flesh.

Hastened, your left hand seized the warm neck. Your eyes snapped open, your back sat up straight as you leveled yourself onto your knee, resting on the brick table, your palm squeezing the life of a Silent Sister. The Silent Sister gasped for air. As the others gasped, in quiet dread, trying to hold you back. Round kick them at once, you fled from the undergrounds. Though by the time you fled in a vulnerable naked state, you trudged on with little cloth strapped on your figure, tied it up as much as the knot can hold under your movement.

Somewhere at the grounds, your head pounded with ache. The voices inside your head felt like wind breezing. But these incoherent, cryptic voices guided you.

This way, it said.

Nonetheless, you followed.

How will you tell the Targaryens of your sudden revival? More importantly, how will you tell the Targaryens, and Hightowers, of escaping from The Stranger.

Rushing inside the Red Keep, anger boiled inside you, and the guards, who immediately averted their gaze at you, caught off guard. Their swords are at hand, unsheathed, prepare to fight. But one guard did not aim his weaponry against you.

Ser Erryk.

“Notify them at once,” said Ser Erryk, “I’ll escort Lady Greenstar back to her chambers.”

And so, they fled, but you had other ideas. Realization dawned upon you when the cloth strapped on your body is gone. Ser Erryk, ripped his cloak off and veiled you. Little did he know, you went straight to the Targaryens. With anger rising so much it strengthened your palms and feet rushing the halls and hands shoving the heavy oak doors, unveiling yourself before them.

The Targaryens flabbergasted at your presence, seeing anger wrinkled on your youth-like face, marching in menacingly as if a predator stalked its prey.

“My lady,” Alicent said, an intake of small breath drawn in.

“I thought she’s dead,” Jason Lannister whispered.

As your eyes darted to Aemond, you sensed that relief hinted upon his princely visage—his long, silver-gold hair gleamed under a hearth, as Aegon bemused at a scenery—something that Targaryens hadn’t received before.

“Here I thought I was early to the party,” you remarked, striding with assurance as Princess Helaena stood up, excitement written on her once timid expression.

“Lady Greenstar,” Helaena chirped.

~ Aemond’s POV ~

Five words summoned across the blackened mind.

His fair Dragoness is alive.

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved.

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[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 12/34 - empty suitcase

[Read on AO3]

His only thought as he holds her in his arms while they wait for the police to arrive, is just how much he’s failed her as a husband already. Sure, their marriage is mostly for show, but replace “husband” with “partner” and the statement still rings true.

He almost lost her. Again.

He knew something wasn’t right the moment her phone went to voicemail. He had been the one to assure her that things were okay—that the case was over. It was his fault that she let her guard down, and look what it got her.

When Pfaster’s body hit the floor, the first thing he did was take the gun from her hand and pull her away to where she couldn’t see him anymore. She was in shock, that much was obvious, and he scarcely had the time to take in the wreckage of her apartment in his haste to make sure she was okay. He cleaned the blood leaking from her nose (an unpleasant reminder of days past) and applied some cream to the burns on her wrists, and they waited.

The only thing he tells the police when they arrive is that she acted in self defense. If they want anything more than that from him, he has a shiny new ring and some spousal privileges he’s more than willing to wave around and refuse to testify. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. It seems the police are happy to believe whatever it is that wraps things up as simply as possible—no one will miss that wretched creature of a man.

It’s well into the night by the time the detectives clear them to go, promising to follow up soon. Arrangements have been made to get her apartment back in order in the next few days, and until then…

“Excuse me,” Mulder says, giving a parting nod to the local law enforcement officers. They wave him off, returning to their various duties around the living space, cataloging every shred of evidence.

Evidence that, when he looks at it, shows how Scully had been forced to fight for her life again, all alone and hopeless.

When he turns, she wanders out of the bathroom like a specter, a white knit blanket flowing behind her in an almost ghostly form. The door to her bedroom shuts behind her unceremoniously, and his heart constricts.

Sucking in a deep breath, Mulder glances up at the ceiling, willing the angry tears forming in his eyes to go away. Scully needs him. His wife needs him. Not his self-directed anger and loathing, or thoughts of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.  

He starts toward her room, knocking lightly on the door before opening it.

“Scully?” he says, poking his head in. He finds her sitting on her bed facing the wall on the far side of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He swallows past the lump in his throat and enters. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

She doesn’t react, not that he’d expected her to. He finds an empty suitcase in her closet and splays it open on her bed, tossing in a few items he knows she’ll need. Her comfy slippers. Silk pajamas. A blanket. A few of her medical journals from her to-be-read pile.

Her Bible.

He leaves the shampoo and hair products where they are. She can use his, tonight.

“Scully,” he tries again, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder and bending to meet her eyes. She flinches, but softens at the sight of him, which is an immense relief. “They’re letting you go,” he says. “Can I take you home?”

She nods wordlessly, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. He lets her keep the blanket wrapped around her for comfort, hoisting her now packed bag into one hand while guiding her gently with the other. The officers spare him a glance and a nod as they make their escape, an odd sense of understanding and respect passing from one man to another.

He’s not sure if he’s just that obvious about it, or if it’s some innate caveman sense of duty that has activated in their brains, but either way, he’s thankful for the ability to attend to his partner without judgment or pushback. A few neighbors peek their heads out their doors at them as they pass, and it causes him to pull her closer, shielding her from their wandering stares.

She rides in silence in the passenger seat of his car, kept warm by the blanket she wears. The night is crisp and clear and way too quiet, but he’s used to that by now. Life changing events happen, and the world goes on none the wiser, that’s just how things go. The pinpricks of stars in the sky shine whether you want them to or not. It’s not like the movies (or like Kroner, Kansas). It doesn’t rain just because you’re sad, or storm because you’re upset. Sometimes the night is as beautiful as ever and you just have to face the fact that you’ll never be the same again.

He wishes it didn’t have to be that way.

When they arrive, he unlocks the door to his apartment for her, pushing open the door to number 42. The keys get tossed on the kitchen table, to be dealt with properly another time. Right now, there are more important things to take care of, like the woman standing in the middle of his entryway as if she had never stepped foot in there before.

Recognizing that she’ll need him to take the lead, Mulder guides her further into the space, wordlessly ushering her into the living room where he sits her down on the couch. He disappears into the bathroom to get things ready for her; a clean towel, a brand new toothbrush, a disposable cup for water. He gives the small room a once over to make sure none of it resembles Pfaster’s preparation of her bathtub hours earlier, and nods in approval.

“Dana,” he says tenderly, crouching in front of her at the couch. She looks up at him, and he nods toward the bathroom. “You want to get cleaned up?”

“I– yes,” she agrees, nodding feebly. He offers his hands to help her up and pulls her to her feet. 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says, sending her off on her own while trying not to hover or act too worried about her.

He hears the heavy wooden door shut behind her and lets out an exhausted sigh, his shoulders slumping. He takes a moment to gather himself before trudging into the bedroom, digging some rumpled but clean sheets out of his closet and starting the process of stripping and remaking the bed for her. He leaves a lamp on, just in case she wants it, and sets her suitcase on the bed.

Only then does he notice that there hasn’t been any sound of running water since she went in there.

“Mulder?” he hears, her voice muffled through the closed door. He nearly trips over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom, stopping halfway through shoving a fresh pillowcase on a pillow. He stands outside the doorway, his hand hesitating over the knob.

“I’m here, Scully,” he says, holding his hand up to the door. His forehead almost presses against the wood, and he listens intently for her to speak again, wondering for a moment if she even will.

But then he hears her uncertain voice come through again. 

“Can– can you come in here?”

His hand finds the doorknob and turns, the door creaking open slowly so as not to startle her. She’s wrapped in a towel and standing in front of the shower, but that seems to be as far as she’s made it. Her clothes are neatly folded on top of his sink, splatters of blood still visibly dotting the hem despite her attempt to hide them. Her feet are bare and probably freezing on the cold tile, but that isn’t what’s bothering her.

She stares at the bathtub like she’s seeing a ghost.

“What can I do?” Mulder asks. Not ‘what’s wrong?’ because he knows. That’s plain enough to see.

“Stay– stay in here?” she asks, sounding shy and ashamed, all things she doesn’t have to be. Not around him.

“Of course,” he says, because of course he will. He’ll do anything—whatever he can to make this easier for her.

She gives a shaky nod, not even casting a glance back in his direction, and takes a bold step forward.

Mulder finds a seat on the closed toilet seat lid and closes his eyes, offering her some semblance of privacy despite the circumstances.

“Talk about something,” she says, the sound of the shower coming on audibly marking her progress.

He thinks, frantically filing through a list of safe topics in his brain before finally settling on one.

“I had a dream,” he starts, picturing it in his mind as he speaks. “Skinner was holding up a piñata on a rope, shaped like an alien. And there was this kid, maybe four years old? I knew it was her birthday, and she started yelling about how the alien was the wrong color, except it was supposed to be rainbow colored, not gray. It was completely unrealistic.”

Scully doesn’t respond, but the scent of his body wash wafts through the curtain, so he knows she’s doing okay so far. 

Encouraged by this, he continues. “Suddenly she has a baseball bat—a real Louisville Slugger one, not a cheap one. And she takes this massive swing and lands one straight in Skinner’s– well, you can imagine where.” 

He smirks at this, the memory just as amusing as it had been when he woke up that morning. 

“Skinman obviously drops the rope, and Mr. Alien goes for a dive. It practically explodes on impact, and there are sunflower seeds absolutely everywhere. I’m talking way more than can feasibly fit into a piñata, Scully, not that anyone in their right mind would put seeds into a piñata.” He’s not sure why this detail is important, but it seemed like it at the time. 

In any case, it adds to the absurdity of the dream, which is the whole point of the story. Distract her from her troubles by sharing something utterly stupid and meaningless. 

“And then we all just laid down and made sunflower seed angels on the ground until I woke up.”

He lets his tale trail off there, the bathroom returning to silence save for the constant trickle of water down the drain. He can’t tell if his distraction worked or not, but he listens anyway, hoping for some sign that she’ll be okay.

And then:

“That’s ridiculous, Mulder.”

The tight squeeze of his heart loosens immediately at the sound of her voice. Her voice. Laced with the usual loveable skepticism that he’s come to expect from her. 

He’s never been so happy to be called ridiculous in his life.

“I didn’t say it was a reasonable dream, Scully,” he teases back carefully, smiling in spite of himself.

She doesn’t ask him to speak again for the rest of her shower, but the mood has lightened significantly, and for that he’s grateful.

Eventually, he hears the sound of the curtains getting pulled back, the faucet dripping now that the shower has been turned off. He’s getting tired, if he’s being honest. The sound of the water combined with the darkness of having his eyes closed for the past ten minutes has combined to form the perfect conditions for sleeping, not to mention the bone-deep exhaustion the day had leveled on him. It’s only the responsibility of looking after Scully that keeps him lucid. Otherwise, he might have conked out right there on the toilet seat before she was even done.

She asks for pajamas to borrow, the silk ones he'd packed in her bag too close to what she wore when Pfaster attacked. He gladly hands over some sweatpants and a t-shirt, helping her to roll the hem to fit her much shorter frame. It dwarfs her, but she doesn’t complain in the slightest.

“I, uh– I made up the bed,” he says, hovering awkwardly around his bedroom, fussing needlessly with the sheets. “I'll just be out there,” he adds, pointing to the living room. “If you need me.”

He starts toward the doorway, ready to collapse on his leather couch for what is sure to be a fitful night's sleep. She'll be fine, he tells himself. He'll just throw her clothes into the washer before bed, then leave her be.

“Mulder?”

He turns, worry creasing his brow. 

“I need you.”

She sits on the bed, looking so small and helpless in his oversized clothes. Even during her cancer treatments, she found it hard to admit her need for help. But things have changed since then. 

He sets her bloodied clothes aside and crosses to her, his eyes searching hers, asking what she wants him to do.

She pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed, and suddenly, he understands.

Glancing down at his own bloodied clothing, he sends her an apologetic look. “Give me a few minutes,” he says, his eyes meeting hers intently, as if she might disappear the second she's out of his sight.

Reluctantly, he tears himself away long enough to take a quick shower and slip into some comfortable sleep clothes. He wonders if this is wise, if having a man in bed beside her will trigger some kind of post traumatic stress, but she asked him, so he will gladly do it anyway. He'll just be cautious, let her take the lead. Give her as much or as little space as she needs.

He exits the bathroom, taking his clothes and hers and tossing them in the washer along with the blanket she'd worn on the ride over.

He re-enters the bedroom as quietly as possible, and can tell by the uneven rise and fall of her chest that she's still awake. With a boldness he doesn't quite feel, he slides onto the bed beside her, adjusting the sheets over his chest.

He doesn't want her to think he's uncomfortable with this, because he's not. He just worries that he'll scare her, that the unfamiliar surroundings will be too much, too soon, and she'll panic or run screaming away from him.

He stares listlessly at the ceiling for a few minutes before she speaks.

“Can I ask one more thing of you?” she says, her voice a whisper in the dark.

He turns his head toward her, staring at the back of her hair. Her shoulders are hunched in on themselves, her body stiff and unmoving.

“Anything, Scully,” is his answer. If she asks him to get lost, leave her alone because she changed her mind, he'll do it. But that's not what she does.

Instead, she turns and faces him, her expression defeated. Her request isn't spoken with words, but instead in the way she inches toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

It takes his brain a second to catch up with his body, but when it does, he circles his arms around her, burying his nose in her freshly cleaned hair, potent with the scent of his shampoo.

She doesn’t cry, like he might expect. But she doesn’t pull away, either. He holds her close, reveling in every second of being allowed to comfort her in this way. If this is his only opportunity to hold his wife in his arms, he’ll make the most of it. His fingers tangle in her hair, cradling her tightly to him in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. She’s safe here, he needs her to know that.

They lay there for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sound of a ticking clock and the heater kicking on. He starts to wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but then he feels her hand brush up his chest, palm flat against him. Her fingers pause over the circular object tucked beneath his t-shirt, tracing the outline of it thoughtfully.

Oh, Scully.

Though he’s loath to part with her, he leans back a little, creating some space between them. With one arm, he pulls the chain from around his neck, unclasping it and removing the ring from its hidden place.

His eyes meet hers, heavy with meaning, as she lays back on the pillow looking up at him, and he slides it on his finger, his gaze never wavering.

A single tear slips from her eye, dissolving into the fabric of the pillow.

Tonight, she doesn’t need her partner. She doesn’t need her friend.

Tonight, Dana Scully needs her husband. And that’s exactly what he’ll be.

Without a word, he scoops her back into his arms, this time pulling her so his front is curled around her back, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Her hand finds his left one, her fingers taking a moment to brush over the cool metal band before resting atop it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” he says into her shoulder, his voice straining against the emotion constricting his vocal cords.

“Why did I do it, Mulder?” she speaks, whispered like a dark secret into the night. 

He doesn’t have an answer for her beyond what he’s already said.

“Because you are good, Scully,” he says. “That kind of evil doesn’t belong in this world.”

He knows his words won’t be enough to put her mind at rest. Not yet. But he’ll keep saying them until she believes him. As many times as it takes.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment falling easily from his lips. He presses a kiss to the side of her head and curls in tighter, providing much needed comfort and security to the both of them.

She does, and he follows soon after, drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

-.-.-

He wakes the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room. It’s cruel, to be forced to leave the warmth of the bed without getting to savor the last few minutes of peace while she sleeps, but he drags himself away anyway, creeping out of the room as quietly as possible. With one last glance back at her, he sees her roll into the divot he’d left in the mattress, wrapping her arm around the pillow he’d vacated.

His heart tugs painfully. Go back to her, it says.

The phone call turns out to be Skinner, asking after Scully and wanting to know how she’s doing. He’s not sure whether the Assistant Director had guessed where she was, or if the police had said something to him, but either way, it doesn’t seem to surprise him that he’d taken her home with him.

Their boss is generous, giving them a few days off to recuperate. Scully needs it, whether she’d admit to it or not. He thanks the man and hangs up the phone, contemplating how best to fill the free time they both suddenly have.

He starts some coffee brewing in the kitchen and moves their laundry into the dryer, then drifts back to the doorway leading into his bedroom, pulled like a magnet back to her side.

He hates to wake her, but it’s been hours since she’s eaten anything. He perches on the edge of the bed and tucks her hand into his, holding it gently as he sits mesmerized by the soft fluttering of her eyelashes.

“Scully,” he says softly, running his thumb over her knuckles. He repeats her name and she shifts slightly, slowly coming to consciousness.

“Mmm—Mulder?” she asks, her brows furrowing, eyes still closed.

He smiles softly. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says. “How do you feel about breakfast?”

-.-.-

It feels dreadfully normal to be sitting across from her at his kitchen table, the newspaper open to the funny pages while they nibble on slightly rubbery scrambled eggs and steaming coffee. He’s still not used to the clink of his ring against the ceramic mug when he picks it up, but it just adds to the perfect picture of domesticity, one he’d never thought he’d experience again after Diana left him, and that was never so perfect in the first place.

Scully is doing well, this morning, all things considered. He tells her that Skinner called, a gesture he knows she’ll appreciate. Now the question is what to do with the rest of their day, and the days that follow.

He has some ideas about that. The only concern is whether she’ll be receptive to them.

The television is tuned in to a channel playing reruns of I Love Lucy when he approaches her on the couch, setting a stack of flattened cardboard boxes on the floor by the coffee table.

He can’t believe he’s about to suggest what he’s about to suggest, but he can’t deny that it makes sense. Pfaster was the final straw, the one that pushed him over the edge. Bad things happen when they’re apart. If the last seven years with her have taught him anything, it’s that.

He’d told the adoption agent he was planning to take a step back from the X-Files. The events of yesterday merely solidified his belief that it was the right decision. He’s ready if she is.

He sits beside her on the couch.

“I was thinking,” he starts, focusing his eyes on the scene playing out between Lucy and Ricky Ricardo on the screen. “It might be good if I move in before they do a home visit—hypothetically, of course. If we get approved.”

She turns to look at him, surprise—not unpleasant—lacing her features.

“I mean—” he fumbles with his words. “I have a good feeling we will get approved. So, if you want…”

“Yes,” she says simply.

He blinks, astonished that it was that easy.

The home visit ‘deadline’ is just an excuse, and both of them know it. But she still says yes, and once again he feels a thrill at all the drastic life changes they’ve made with comparatively little thought in the last several months.

It’s all worked out well so far, so why shouldn’t this too?

He fights back a grin, nodding calmly in response.

Okay.

“Uh, I figured we could start with the small stuff first,” he says, focusing intently to keep his voice from shaking. “Decide what to donate, what to keep, what to throw away…”

“Sounds fun, Mulder,” she says, a hint of the old Scully finding her way back into her speech.

Oh, yes. This is the right decision. He’s sure of it now.

Armed with packing tape, permanent markers, and bubble wrap, they take to the apartment with gusto, smiling infectiously whenever their eyes meet over the top of cardboard boxes and piles of his belongings, on their way to a new home.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[foxyanon]

To Love A Dragon: Part 1

Summary: “Two children, born of cruelty, one of fire and one of ice. Of old and new, by fire and blood, a story unfolds.” -prophecy spoken by Visenya after the birth of her granddaughter

Notes: I am incapable of writing one part fics anymore, so here’s part one of a miniseries about Sihtric and Rhaenerys that takes place during season 2. It’s short but I have more planned for it.

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Rhaenerys Targaryen

Word Count: 1722

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: N/A

Part 2, Part 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom or A Song Of Ice And Fire nor do I own any of the images used. I only own my OC, Rhaenerys and the AI image of her.

Dividers by @arcielee and @zaldritzosrose

Sihtric had heard tales of the lands beyond the ocean, where old magic and dragons rule the land. When he was younger, he thought of them just as stories, tall tales to keep young children in line. But now he sees that they weren’t just tales. They were real. Very real.

Dunholm was a flurry of activity, his father even more on edge than usual. Kjartan wasn’t one to let many things get under his skin, but his tense stance and shifting eyes betrayed his fear. Scouts had returned claiming there was a dragon in the area, the men so damned terrified they could hardly speak. Sihtric had been keeping out of the way, before rushing to the ramparts when everyone else started to crowd the high walls.

He heard it before he saw it, the thunderous beating of wings before a massive dragon swooped down out of the sky, a deafening roar rolling across the land. He stood there, frozen in place as he watched the black and purple beast fly towards his home, his fear giving way to a sense of awe. It was only then he saw a saddle strapped to the dragon, the scaled beast flying close enough to the ramparts that Sihtric could just barely make out a woman in the saddle, her white hair blowing wildly behind her. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her laughter and by the gods did he want to hear it again.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, an actual Targaryen in Northumbria, but he couldn’t linger in his thoughts for too long, the sound of Tekil calling him pulling him from his reverie. Before he even made it to the old warriors side, he was told to pack his things and be at the stables to leave before nightfall to find where the dragon and its rider were camped at. He kept his head down and did his tasks quickly, knowing that Kjartan and Tekil were in rare form after the sight of a dragon flying over the fortress. The wooden walls could hold back a decent army, but they wouldn’t stand a chance against a dragon if it decided to attack.

The small scouting party left shortly afterward, the dust being stirred up as they made their way along the road with haste in the direction the scouts claimed the dragon flew from. Everyone was on edge, the arrival of the Westerosi royal could mean anything. Traveling merchants had spun tales of the conquest of Westeros, enrapturing Sihtric ever since he was a small boy and now, he may have to live those terrifying tales. He wasn’t sure what he would prefer, a fate to remain at the hands of his father or hope the dragon rider would show him more mercy than he’d known if conquest was their mission. He should’ve known better to put the choice to the Norns, because they always spin your fate in ways you wouldn’t expect.

They rode for a day, finding the camp with ease due to the size of it. After stashing the horses where they would camp for the night and finding a place to hide out and observe, Sihtric noticed the camp was a flurry of activity. There were people everywhere, men in metal suits wandering around while servants of all kinds hurried about to do their tasks. While the young Dane wouldn’t say it out loud, the sight of the three headed dragon banners fluttering around the camp and the idea they were spying on one of the more powerful and well known royal families deeply unsettled him, and he couldn’t foresee an outcome where they walked away with their lives.

The party made camp far from the royal retinue, Tekil and the older warriors coming up with a strategy to infiltrate the camp and learn what they could before heading back to Dunholm. Sihtric sat quietly, sharpening his axe as he listened to the words they spoke. Something in his gut told him they would have a much harder time blending into the crowd here, that this would not be a simple scouting mission. In the short time since he laid eyes on the encampment, the amount of armored and armed men patrolling the area was more than expected. This was no Saxon guard they were spying on, this was the Targaryen retinue, and there were easily more guards in this one’s household guard than all of Northumbria combined. He fell into an uneasy sleep, praying to the gods they would survive this endeavor.

Dawn came sooner than he would’ve liked, the small campsite packed quickly while Tekil pulled Sihtric off to the side and informed him what the plan was. He was to sneak into the camp while Tekil and the others caused a distraction, locate the command tent, find out who and why they were here, then meet the rest of the crew at the village a half day’s ride from there before they would all return home. If Sihtric was caught, he was to say nothing about why he was there and if he didn’t make it to the town before noon, they would leave him. A simple enough task, but one that had Sihtric nervous beyond belief.

Once Tekil’s distraction was in motion, a large smoke signal that sent just enough guards off to investigate, Sihtric was able to sneak in with relative ease. He slipped between the tents, steady avoiding those awake and working as the sun began to crest the horizon. He started to panic the longer he snuck around, walking deeper and deeper into the heart of the camp until he found the largest and fanciest tent. Assuming that was where he needed to look, he deftly slipped through the entrance, narrowly avoiding being seen by a large older man in the brightest armor Sihtric had ever laid eyes on.

The tent was separated into sections, a desk covered in correspondence and a plush sitting area in the front with wooden screen dividers hiding the big bed and a copper tub in the back. Sihtric stopped breathing for a moment, noticing that there looked to be a person asleep on the mattress and deciding to make it quick before he got caught. He carefully stepped towards the desk, suddenly very grateful that Tekil had made sure he could at least read or he would’ve been done for.

He quickly searched the mess of papers, locating a letter from the newly crowned King Guthred to a one King Maegor, talking about a potential marriage alliance with Maegor’s daughter, Princess Rhaenerys. While there was no mention as to what all the alliance would entail, there was a location for them to meet in person to discuss the details. Satisfied with the intel he collected, Sihtric stuffed the letter into his leathers just as the sleeping person started to stir. With the noises at the front of the tent getting louder, indicating the arrival of more people, he knew time was up and he needed to leave now.

Keeping himself pressed against the wall of the tent, Sihtric tiptoed past the divider and around the tub, keeping his eyes on the shifting form of the waking person. When they sat up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, Sihtric nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of the beautiful woman. Her long silver white hair was unbound, tumbling over her eyes as the silk sheet exposed her fair skin, covered by some fancy nightgown that he knew was not made in these lands. He knew he needed to keep moving, that Tekil was waiting for him and lingering here any longer was a death wish. As he reached for the opening at the back of the tent, his eyes locked with two deep purple ones, a confused look spreading across the young woman’s face. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, Sihtric’s heart beating rapidly within his chest as some strange feeling took hold of his heart in that moment.

He nodded once, before rushing out and not looking back, sneaking back through the camp before breaking into a run where his horse was. The journey to the rendezvous point went briskly, Sihtric’s mind a whirlwind as the adrenaline of being seen and seeing that stunning woman took over. He couldn’t explain it, but it was like something clicked into place for him. He had no words for his emotions, but they were stronger than ones he’d felt before. As he rode hard along the dusty road, he knew his fate had changed drastically.

Rhaenerys sat in her bed for a few moments, trying to determine if the strange, albeit handsome, man was another figment of her erratic dreams or if he had been real. Her ladies maids entered the tent, pulling her from her thoughts as their familiar voices filled the air. She could hear them talking about some false alarm the guards investigated around dawn, a fire having been set by some locals probably but it had the knights on edge now. Rhaenerys rolled her eyes and got ready for the day, the mismatched eyes she had seen never leaving her thoughts for long.

They looked familiar, reminding her of a wolf she used to dream about when she was younger. Once, her grandmother said that her dream was an omen, one that meant she would meet someone who embodied a duo eyed wolf and that she would know when the time was right. As cryptic and vague as that answer was when she was a child, she couldn’t help but think how correct it was in this moment. It meant he had been real and she wondered if their paths would cross again.

Her ladies finished dressing her in her riding leathers, tying the last knot when Rhaenerys noticed a letter missing from her desk. A wry smile formed on her lips, the knowledge that she would likely see that man again when she arrived in Cumberland to determine whether or not King Guthred was worthy of her hand, filling her with a new sense of determination. As she greeted the bustling camp and new day with a smile, ready to finish this long journey and discover that strangers place in her future.

Tagging: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @gemini-mama @mrsarnasdelicious @synintheraven

@zaldritzosrose @alexagirlie @legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @fallingintoyourlilaceyes

[bruisedboys]

SATURN — send me a character + an au and I’ll write a blurb! (e.g rockstar!eddie, modern!steve, rugby-player!james)

um i cannot resist rugby james so uh

rugby player!james + praises and kisses before he goes onto the field xxxxx

gosh I’m obsessed with him. I want to have his kids fr. thank you for this godsent request ily <3

summary: james is nervous for his rugby match. luckily, you know just the cure for nerves.

gn!reader 900 words

James was nervous. Unusual for him.

He couldn’t help it. This was his first real game where you would actually be in the stands, watching him play in person. You’d been to a couple of his trainings, and definitely heard a lot of overly detailed play-by-plays from him of previous games, but this was different. You would actually be there.

He honestly felt like he was going to throw up.

“James, stop pacing for a minute, would you?”

James stopped, because it was impossible to say no to you, and was left standing in the middle of the locker room aimlessly. He ran both hands through his hair aggressively.

You sighed. “Oh, Jamie,” you said, all sympathetic and sweet and fucking adorable.

You stood up from your spot on the bench, approaching James until you were so close he could smell your perfume, the one he’d bought you barely two weeks ago. Your feet slotted in between his like they were meant to. He stared down, your black converse in between his rugby shoes.

“What’re you so worked up for, hm?”

Your hands found James’s waist, arms pushing under his until your hands were splayed across his lower back. The movement bought you even closer to him, your stomachs pressed together. James felt dizzy — it had nothing to do with the nerves. He put his hands on your hips, thumbs dragging over the curve of your hip bones.

“I dunno,” he lied. It wasn’t easy for James to lie to you. His voice went all jumpy and weird.

You hummed knowingly. James got the feeling you could read his mind. When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, you were looking at him with all the fondness in the world — he almost melted on the spot.

“Is it because I’m here?” Yep. You could definitely read his mind.

James tried not to look like he’d been caught red-handed, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Well—“

“Because I can go wait in the stands, if you want. Maybe if you just pretend I’m not here, then—“

“No!”

You started and blinked at him owlishly.

“Sorry,” James breathed. He hadn’t mean to yell out like that, but he thought he might die if you left him now. “I … no. Don’t leave. That would make it worse.”

“Oh,” you said, looking thoughtful. Then,

“Would a kiss help?” You asked, shy as you rocked gently on your heels.

James nodded so fast he was worried he’d hurt his neck. Not that it mattered, not that he cared, because now you were tilting your chin up, getting on your tiptoes to press your lips into his. What was meant to be a short kiss turned messy when James reciprocated rougher than he’d meant to — he couldn’t help himself. Your teeth clashed, your noses bumped, and in his haste James accidentally caught your bottom lip in between his teeth. He went to keep trying but then you were smiling against his mouth, huffing a soft laugh through your nose.

“James,” you chided, his name drifting from your lips and into his.

James made a sound halfway between a grunt and a whine. His brain was a little scattered. You giggled further, pulling away but keeping your hands fitted to his waist.

“You’re gonna be great,” you said surely. Your hand rubbed up and down his side soothingly. James felt your touch like a blazing trail of stars.

“I’m gonna be great,” he agreed with a firm nod, half to make you stop worrying about him, and half because you were actually starting to make him believe it.

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead, Jamie,” you said cheesily, a corny line that James should’ve groaned at. He didn’t, because you were smiling so prettily he’d hate himself if he made that go away.

James gave your hips a squeeze. “Fuck yeah, I am,” he affirmed.

You beamed. “I’m excited to watch you,” you said bashfully.

James knew it was cruel but he couldn’t help teasing you. He pinched at your side, quipping, “Why, because I’m such a hunk?”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, pushing yourself off of him and wrinkling your nose. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You are so full of yourself,” you complained, though you weren’t really complaining, not one bit. James could tell by the heat in your cheeks that he’d totally hit the nail on the head.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said, not sounding very sorry at all. He moved towards you so he could take you in his arms again. He missed you, even though it had been exactly five seconds since you’d stepped away. Bringing his hands to your waist he pulled you flush against him. “‘Nother kiss?”

He didn’t really give you any time to answer. He just leaned down, slotting his lips to yours so your half-hearted protest got lost in the clumsy kiss. He breathed you in, your familiar scent, your hands squished into the space between your chests, your lips that made his own buzz with electricity and sticky fondness. He deepened this kiss by a notch and you sighed, matching his energy without missing a beat. James thought he could stay like this forever.

A trio of James’s teammates passed through the locker room, talking loudly. When they saw you and James, one of them wolf-whistled. The others laughed.

James flipped them off and kept kissing you.

[photmath]

Comme Les Fleurs - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Birthday Bleus

Summary: Left with no other options, Kylian must rehab his newly injured leg at a stranger’s home for the next month and she isn’t at all what he expects. Meanwhile, Aurèle has to deal with easily-irritated and sullen Kylian as she opens her home to him.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: cursing, fluff!, angst kind of, mommy issues

Note: Happy readings! *wink*

Kylian lets out a grunt and then a shaky exhale. Sweat lined the sides of each temple and Aurie could only smirk as she watched his shoulders tense through his sweaty tank.

“Who knew massaging your thigh could work you up such a sweat?” Aurie teases and then squeezes the lower end of the back of his thigh. The bruising had gone down tremendously through the last weeks. It was still there but was starting to blend in with his skin more, and for that reason, Aurie still hesitated to massage his calf. She only ran her fingers against the skin softly, not wanting to irritate the already exhausted muscles any further.

His head rolls into his folded arms, “You had me walking back and forth in here like a mad man, and then complained every step that it wasn’t correct.”

Aurie ignores him, wiping the back of his sweaty thigh with the towel. She didn’t realize that the abundance of sweat was from Kylian’s nerves. Not only from her hands, but from his own progress in his healing process. He was walking without his crutches and he found it relatively pain-free. He was surprised by the first couple of steps, expecting pain to shoot up his leg but none came. He felt giddy from the idea of finally being able to walk normally again, and listening to Aurie repeat over and over that he wasn’t allowed to run or ‘speed-walk’ only made him want to drop his head to lay a bashful—and thankful—kiss on her lips.

Aurie taps the back of his leg, “Okay, you’re done. Now, hurry and shower if you want to come with me to bingo. Can you believe some of the residents actually missed you?” Kylian turns around and sits up in front of Aurie who now holds a spray bottle and a different yellow towel. He gives her a sheepish smile. “What are you doing? Move so I can clean the table.”

He shakes his head, “Thank you for making me walk again.”

“You say that like you were never going to walk—”

“Take the compliment, Aurie, it won’t kill you,” he says, standing up. He slips into the space between her and the table just inches in front of her. He lets his neck fall down to look at her, entranced with the way her eyes peered up at him carefully.

“You’re welcome,” she exasperates. He smiles, pulling her into him to kiss her forehead. “Kylian—” she pushes him off but he’s already let go of her, walking away to the restroom. She shakes her head as she cleans the table, biting onto her lip to suppress her smile.

Kylian had briefly checked his phone for a message from the nursing home. His plan was haste, but turns out Aurie’s coworkers were already in the process of having something planned for her. All Kylian had to do was bring the cake—which he got the aid from Estrella and Maria to bake because they did not trust him to make a proper one.

There’s one message on his phone: Everything’s ready. Another from his dad but he ignores it.

---

“I should’ve known Angie was in on this,” Aurie scowls at the blindfold in Kylian’s hand. He can only smirk as he steps towards her. “How much did you pay Angie to do this?”

He feigns hurt, “Pay her? You really think I’d pay her to blindfold you?”

“Yes,” Aurie crosses her arms. “I don’t think my coworkers would willingly blindfold me so I say this is your idea.”

Kylian shrugs, pressing the blindfold against her eyes, and then ties the back of it against her hair. He grins next to her ear, “200 euros.”

She gasps, “No way!” Kylian chuckles in her ear and she has to move away from him to stop the visceral reaction of growing goosebumps on her neck.

“No, Aurie, why would I do that?”

She raises her shoulders, but she isn’t sure where he’s standing. Kylian grabs a hold of her hand and leads her to the ballroom where the residents and Aurie’s coworkers were gathered. She follows him silently, bumping into his arm occasionally but neither of them are bothered by it.

“No more blindfolds after this, okay?”

“Okay,” he promises. The small smile on his face only grows as he watches Aurie’s nose swing around the room searching for something. He chuckles quietly because all he wants to do is grab a hold of her cheeks and kiss her.

“It can’t be that big of a surprise if I already know what’s happening,” she comments.

“Shh,” he presses his pointer finger against her lips and she quiets down, shocked with the feel of his finger and breath fanning across her face. “I’m about to open the doors okay, and then you’re going to pretend that you’re super shocked.”

“Okay,” she nods.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He opens the doors for her and leads her into the room with his hand pressed against her lower back. “You can take off your blindfold now.”

She takes it off swiftly, her jaw immediately dropping at the different orange colored balloons around the ballroom. There was a table of a giant card that was signed by each of the residents. Aurie was able to make out the smaller messages from a distance but she was transfixed with the cake. There was an abundance of strawberries on it, and a beautifully cursive message that read: Happy 25th Birthday, Aurie!

“Ahh,” she turns towards Kylian, “this is so beautiful!” She rises up to give him a hug and he chuckles within it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The bubbly excitement has her pressing her lips against his cheek before she can stop herself and Kylian gapes at the contact of it. Before he can relish in the feeling of it, she’s off to greet her residents and coworkers.

His breathing quickens at the sight of her, enamored by her gratitude towards them and him. He doesn’t notice Claude until he says something, “She looks a lot happier now that you’re back. She was still pretty chippy but she was missing the glow.”

Kylian couldn’t be at the last bingo session because he was with Martin for his progress check up. Kylian smiles, “She’s great. She makes me happier if anything.”

Claude tips his hat towards him, “Don’t break her heart now. She’s too pure for someone like you.”

“She might be too pure for anyone,” Kylian retorts.

Claude agrees, “That may be true. You think you have it in you to keep her?”

Kylian shrugs, staring at Aurie from a distance, “I don’t think so. I don’t think she’s made for my kind of lifestyle that her trying to fit into it will only be a disaster, but I would be an idiot to let someone like her go without a fight.”

Claude groans, “I forgot you are the French man! Oh no, you must stay away from her. You can’t take her from us.”

Kylian chuckles to ease the tension from growing. He didn’t want to think too far ahead of himself, certainly not about what the future held for his own career. His still vibrating phone was a sign of how much he was ignoring it.

Claude reaches out to grab a hold of Kylian’s wrist, noticing the smile on his face falter, “You should try because what’s the worst that can happen?”

Kylian nods his head slowly. The possibilities were endless. Getting someone like Aurie into the spotlight would only diminish her spark. “I’m trying.”

“Keep going. It would be unwise to throw away something great because of the ‘what ifs’ so don’t think about them,” he advises, patting Kylian’s wrist and then rolling his wheelchair away.

It was easier said than done, but Claude was right and Kylian knew it. Either way, he was waiting to see how Aurie was holding up. He didn’t want to rush her with anything, and he didn’t want to come off too strong. They weren't in a rush to label their relationship.

---

“Just answer the question,” Aurie pesters, slightly annoyed that Kylian isn’t indulging in her game. “Anywhere in the world, where are you going?”

Kylian rolls his eyes, “I’ve already been to many places, Aurie.”

“Okay then which is your favorite?” The car jostles as it passes the gravel road of her driveway. Kylian’s nerves had started a few kilometers away when he noticed the lack of cars in Aurie’s driveway. Where were they? They were supposed to be here before they returned and here Aurie was oblivious to what she was missing.

His hands clutch around his phone as it vibrates. He looks down at it, hoping it’s Camille, having had to go through so many hoops to get her number. Thanks to Angie, the lady at the front desk of the nursing home, he now had her number.

“Kylian?” Aurie peers over, shutting the car down.

“Tokyo,” he answers quickly.

She raises her brows, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs defeatedly. His second surprise had failed in front of him, even if Aurie knew nothing about it. “C’mon, I’m about to crash from all that cake.”

She chuckles, “You did eat a lot of it. Wait, is that—” Aurie rushes to open the door and Kylian tries to see what’s suddenly got her attention but he can’t. He steps out of the car, each step a little more frantic now that he can’t see Aurie standing next to the car. His fear calms down with the sound of her laughter. “Bleu!”

Aurie is crouched down, scratching the sides of a black, fluffy German Shepherd. Kylian smiles at Aurie trying to push Bleu off of her, but he wants to attack her face with more excited jumps. “Look over there, Bleu!”

Bleu notices Kylian, raising his ears suspiciously. Kylian freezes and strains out a smile towards the dog. Bleu sniffs the gravel as he walks towards Kylian and Aurie can only laugh as Kylian grows more noticeably worried.

“He’s not going to bite you,” she promises. She walks behind Bleu as he sniffs at Kylian’s shoes, scoffing as he moves up to sniff his legs. “He probably smells me all over you.”

Kylian lets out a breath, “He’s a lot bigger than I thought he would be.”

“Oh yeah,” she rubs her hands on her thigh, whistling for Bleu’s attention. Bleu licks Kylian’s hand before finding his way next to Aurie. “Are you scared of dogs?”

Kylian shakes his head, “I wasn’t sure if he had heard me coming behind you and the last thing I wanted was him thinking I was trying to attack you.”

Aurie smiles, leaning her head against his arm as the two of them walk to the front of her house. “He would’ve attacked you way before I noticed him if so. I wonder why he was out here alone. Maybe Camille dropped him off at my mom’s place and he wandered here.”

Kylian nods, looking down at Bleu’s wagging tail. He was growing more antsy as Aurie fumbled for her keys to unlock the door. She coos at Bleu to quiet down but he isn’t bulging. As she opens the door, Bleu runs inside and Kylian peers around, noticing the streamers and birthday banner before Aurie does.

“He’s so happy to be back,” she turns around, waiting for Kylian to move so that she can lock the door. He chuckles and she looks up at him, “What?”

He shrugs but his grin deepens. As she turns around, Camille and the rest of her family jump from behind the hallway and stairs, “Happy birthday!” Aurie jumps and crashes into Kylian’s chest. His large hand against her waist steadies her.

Simone runs to Aurie’s legs, holding out a flower for her, “Tatie Aurie, a daisy for you!”

“Ahhh, this is so pretty,” Aurie gushes.

“Happy birthday,” Simone cheeses and Aurie pulls her in for a hug. Simone goes up to Kylian and wraps a fistful of his shorts into her hand, “Bonjour, Keelan.”

Kylian laughs, “How are you, my little rockstar?”

“Mama says I have to be nicer to you,” she rocks on her heels. Her hands play with the ends of her skirt. “But I think I’m already nice to you and instead you have to be nice to me.”

Kylian only laughs harder, bending down to her level as Aurie goes and greets her family. He notices the way her mother hugs her tightly. He looks back at Simone, “I’m nice.”

Simone places a finger to her mouth, “Hmm…okay. I have an idea, how about we go outside and play with Bleu?”

He shakes his head, “And not eat the food your Mama made?”

She crosses her arm, pouting, “I don’t want to eat right now.”

He looks up to see Camille standing next to him, a small smile on her face, “Thank you for doing this for Aurie. I can see how she’s been working herself up these past two weeks.”

Kylian furrows his eyebrows. He knew she had been running around relentlessly at the beginning of his arrival, but she was still doing that? What had been tirelessly occupying her mind?

Bleu comes by and sniffs Simone’s face, earning a screech from her. The two of them wander off into the living room; Bleu is following closely behind her as she waves a lollipop in his face.

Camille nods at his leg, “I see the crutches are gone, that’s good at least.”

“This morning, Aurie says to take it easy.”

“She should take that advice for herself sometimes.”

Kylian looks at her, confused again at her comments about Aurie, “What is that supposed to mean?”

She simpers, “I’m worried she’s been stressing herself too much. I know they cut off funding for the Summer Gala, but some projects are okay to delay. Maybe a Fall Gala would be better.”

“A gala?”

“For her residents at the home.”

Kylian’s eyes search for Aurie, who’s deep into conversation with Raphael and Simone.

Camille’s smile saddens, “I just hope when finds out this doesn’t break her like her last job. And the one before that.” She pats Kylian’s arm as she leaves because Simone is beckoning her over.

Kylian only grows more puzzled as he stands there. How did Camille know this before Aurie? Before he can gather more answers, something furry and fluffy rubs against his leg. He looks down and sees a gray cat pressing her weight and wrapping her tail around his leg. He moves his leg as Maple’s bright brown eyes look up at him.

“Nope,” he mutters, walking off to the kitchen.

It wasn’t that he hated cats, he didn’t understand the fame around them. They aren’t large. They don’t go on walks like a dog. They scratch up the furniture and knock down everything in their path, and their litter boxes smell so rancidly every time they have to use the restroom. It didn’t make sense to him why someone would give up their house willingly for their feline.

Kylian helps Raphael pull a couple of chairs to Aurie’s small dining table. It was only going to fit four, but he and Aurie were going to be squished on one end while Simone sat between her parents. Aurie comes beside him, cheesing up at him. His legs go awry and Aurie expects it, nudging him towards the back of his chair.

“Clumsy boy,” she whispers and heat rushes to his cheeks. He ducks his head down bashfully as she chuckles, sitting down in the seat beside him.

He takes a seat and then Simone steals most of the conversation at the table. She talks about Bleu’s and Maple’s escapades while they were at her house and how the two of them would wake her up every morning.

Aurie snickers, knowing all too well what Simone meant. Her animals were relentless in the morning, especially whenever they entertained themselves, which consisted of the two of them wrestling each other until one of them let out a cry and they separated. Aurie rests her thigh against Kylian and he gives her a wink when she looks at him innocently. He smirks, shoving his thigh against hers playfully.

After the lunch, Simone steals Kylian from the table and the two of them sit on the floor and play with her dolls. Aurie catches his attention as she walks into the rehab room with her mother behind her. She sends him a smile as his brows only furrow, but then cringe at the sudden screech Simone lets out.

“Araignée!” She stands up quickly and hides behind Kylian’s shoulders, grasping onto them as Kylian looks for the spider in question.

He smashes it with his shoe, “It’s gone.”

“Thank you, Keelan,” she wipes the imaginary bead of sweat on her forehead and Kylian snorts. “Hmm, did Aurie fix your leg?” She stands in front of him, examining his outstretched leg.

“She fixed it a little bit.”

Simone pinches her fingers together, “A little bit? So you can’t kick a ball yet?”

“No.”

Simone nods and then runs away to her toy box outside, getting what Kylian can only assume is some other game of entertainment for the both of them.

---

Aurie chews on her bottom lip as she watches her mother touch the different equipment in the rehab room. She already knew by the look on her face that she wasn’t happy and she hated that Kylian and Simone were just right next door. She didn’t want little Simone to hear the two of them arguing, so she could only hope that Kylian was occupying her attention diligently.

“I mean look at this place,” Elina starts, waving her arms around the room. Aurie sniffles, quickly wiping away the tear that threatens to spill out. “Are you going to keep rehabbing broken boys forever, Aurèle? Is that your plan? That’s Kylian fucking Mbappé out there!”

“I know,” Aurie says. It’s taking everything in her to hold in her anger.

“Do you not understand the problems that can cause? What if you don't complete a proper treatment on him, then what? You face a lawsuit—”

“That’s not going to happen, Maman. Besides, that can happen anywhere I work.”

“He’s a superstar, Aurèle. I know I said to get back into the football world but I didn’t mean for him to be your first.”

Aurie bites her tongue from spewing the first words in her head. She shakes her head, “Is that what you brought me in here for? So that you can criticize him and me?”

“I’m not criticizing him. He didn’t choose to do this,” she points out. Aurie scoffs, looking away from her. Elina steps closer to her, “You’re 25 now. You’re not a kid anymore. You need to get a real job; one that is stable for both you and your future. I’m not telling you to find a husband because you saw where that got me and your father, but a real job at least. Go back to PSG or the hospital because that damn nursing home is holding you back.”

Aurie steps away from her, “It’s not, and it’s a real job. I work there five days a week just like you did. I’ve never had problems before with money and I’ve always been overly-cautious. This? What I’m doing right now is a favor for Martin. I didn’t ask for any of this, but I’m doing it either way—”

“That man is in love with you!” Elina glares. “Everyone can see it, Aurèle. What are you going to do when he wants to tell you to the public?”

Aurie chokes on her own breath, coughing hoarsely to catch it. Kylian’s poor attempt of hiding his longing glances had caught up to them. Only a fool would miss the looks between them, and her mother was certainly no fool.

Elina crosses her arms, “Is that why you haven’t gone back to PSG or the hospital? Because it will only complicate things?”

“No!” Aurie yells. “I’m not going back there, okay? I still do everything I was taught and more at the nursing home. They’re a family there and everyone is always happy to see me—”

Elina raises her hand to stop Aurie from talking, “I hope you’re able to sustain it and that you don’t run away from this job like the last. What are you going to do when one of your patient’s passes away?”

Aurie’s eyes widened, “How could you say that?”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re being inconsiderate,” Aurie replies. She didn’t like talking back to her mother, but sometimes it was better to speak than wallow in the conversations of what she should’ve said.

Elina opens her mouth to speak but Aurie beats her to it.

“And I have lost patients already,” Aurie continues, “you’ve never asked so I never said anything. It’s hard, but I move on because I have a village supporting me. Treating Kylian like the ‘superstar’ he may be is undermining his entire character. He is a lot more than that, just ask Simone. He is also someone I have to heal, not you, me. I know what I’m doing with him just like how I knew what I was doing with you.”

Elina gapes but Aurie is fed up. She shakes her head and turns away from her, hoping that she takes the sign to leave the room. Aurie knew that her mother was always going to have doubts about her profession but it was her life to live. It was her life. She knew how easily her mother could control her mind because she had done it her entire life. She always tried to appease her mother in whatever way that meant, even if it went against her own interests. Aurie played football for years as a child and teen even though she absolutely despised playing. The only way she finally stopped was by faking an injury, which may have been her biggest regret, especially after watching the disappointment on her mother’s face grow as Aurie showed her her actual interests.

The door shuts and Aurie lets out a shaky breath. She squeezes her eyes closed to stop the tears, but they only want to flow more freely. She gives herself a moment to cry for the loss, and spark of courage she felt for speaking her mind against her mother’s wishes. It needed to be done. She would reach out to her mother in a week after it all simmered down.

Aurie dries her eyes and makes sure she looks presentable before stepping out into the main room again. Kylian gives her a concerned look from the ground while Simone pats his head. She flashes him a smile and then finds Camille, needing comfort from her sister.

---

Aurie scrambles to wipe away her tears as she hears a knock on her door, while Maple sleeps quietly in her cat tree. Kylian on the other end of the door can hear the sudden movement and her sniffles. His heart pangs, “Aurie?”

“Are you okay?” she asks, glancing into the mirror to check how red her eyes are.

Kylian wants to gawk at her audacity of asking him if he’s okay when he’s able to hear her sobs across the hallway. His knuckles rap against the door again, “Can I come in?”

Her shoulders sink at the inability to hide her puffy cheeks and irritated eyes. She twists the doorknob slowly and opens the wooden door to a worried Kylian who starts pushing the door harder to be let in. His eyes scan her legs in her pajama shorts, and then rake up towards her black tank top until they land on her tear-stained cheeks.

“Chérie,” he whispers. His hands find their way to both of her cheeks immediately, her frown is squished between his palms. “What’s wrong?”

“Today was a lot,” she laments. Kylian’s heart is crumbling by the second as he listens to her wobbly voice. “I don’t get it.” Aurie’s voice chokes as warm tears drip down against Kylian’s thumbs. He’s quick to wipe them away and then pull her close to him, wrapping his arms tightly against her head.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I thought it would be a good idea to invite them—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she sniffles, pulling away from him. “My mom is just…a lot.”

Kylian dejects, “Do you want to talk about it?” He guides her to her bed and he pushes her to sit down, but she doesn’t. Instead, she moves out of his grasp and walks the stretch of her bedroom. He plops down on the end of her bed to watch her. He notices Maple arching her back to stretch, then hopping down and jumping onto her bed, loafing at the other end.

He wants to whisper ‘useless’ towards her, but Aurie’s grunt grabs his attention, “She isn’t happy with me. She hasn’t been for years and I don’t understand why she has all these expectations of me. I mean I’m happy, I’m doing what I love—working at a place that I really care about, but somehow it’s not enough. Ever since her accident, she has always looked down at me this way. Like I should be doing more.” She huffs, sitting down next to Kylian and crossing her arms. “As if what she’s doing is any better.”

Kylian watches her silently. The tension between her eyebrows only grows and a scowl grows more and more.

“She’s upset that I didn’t continue at Marseille or PSG for that matter. That I quit working at the hospital and am now working at a nursing home that pays significantly less. She says I should’ve fought harder, that I’m wasting my years doing this, but I’m not.”

Aurie walks to the end of her bedroom, swinging her body around to walk towards the other end. Kylian stands up, and then takes small steps towards her.

“And I mean she acts like I don’t have a heart,” she spits. “That I quit because I stopped caring, or that I was scared of commitment. I mean are you kidding me? I had her in my home for two years! Two years of listening to her complain, and then also having my dad scream at me about her treatment. I had to kick my own dad out of the house so she could progress because he kept thinking I was too hard on her. Like what? I’m supposed to go ‘easy’ on a spinal cord injury? As if I wouldn’t know that?”

She spins again on her toes, her voice trembling with both rage and exhaustion. If she had known stepping into that rehab room with her mother was going to be a lecture, she would’ve never followed her into that room. It was debilitating to live her life knowing her mother was right behind her, criticizing every move of hers. How she was able to hold herself up for the rest of the night surprised her.

Kylian crosses his arms, looking down at the teary glow of her eyes, “How was her treatment?”

She huffs, shrugging, “It was hard. I mean, a spinal cord injury is delicate. It’s everything all at once. It’s learning how to live again, not knowing what the progress will actually be like.” She sits down on the edge of her wooden bed frame. “My dad and her moved in here together. My dad didn’t trust himself to be able to take care of her so I offered to help. I offered to do everything. And then once the rehab portion of it started, my dad would watch us, despite me telling me that he probably wouldn’t like it. It was stress-inducing. My mother is an impatient person, so she would get frustrated when she couldn’t grasp the shapes and squeeze them into their correct spot. I would encourage her but sometimes it wasn’t enough.”

Kylian sits down next to her and Aurie plays with the hem of his shorts, tracing the French emblem.

“There were days where she got it; the shapes were easy and matching the colors didn’t phase her. But then there would be days where she would regress, where she couldn’t carry the one kilogram weight she had to. Where she would scream that it was too much and that she wanted a break, but we couldn’t take a break because everything she learned would be gone the next day if so. My dad got so upset at listening to us that he finally yelled at me one day to stop,” Aurie wipes the tear that rushes out of her eye and then caresses Kylian’s fingers. “Somehow, my dad yelling at me only awakened my mother’s will to continue. She woke me up the next morning by telling me how bad she wanted to get better. How grateful she was for me helping her, and that she wanted me to help her get better, even if she was begging me to stop.”

“And?” he runs his finger across her ear, trying to delicately soothe her.

She shakes her head wistfully, “I pressed on. My mom and I got far but my dad was still there, watching us closely. There was a day where she had to pick herself up from the ground in the event she fell. She was already starting to gain most of her control in her arms and upper body, but she still had trouble moving her legs, so we were working on picking herself up from the ground to her wheelchair. It was difficult because her legs still vividly shook and trying to get back up was hard for her. She started to groan, like it was hurting her, but it was just her trying to will herself up. My dad heard the noise and walked in and absolutely lost it. He yelled at the both of us for doing the exercise when my mother was ‘clearly in pain.’ But she wasn’t.”

Aurie looks at the door, already hearing the pitter patter of Bleu’s paws coming down the hall. He bumps the door open, sitting right in front of her and resting his head on her thigh for comfort. Aurie pets his folded ears.

“Anyways, the next day I realized I couldn’t continue on with the both of them in the house, so I told him he had to leave and go back to the house across the field. Him and my mom got into this big argument and then shortly afterward he moved to Spain…only visiting a couple of times for the next two years. My mom chose me that day, but sometimes it feels like I’m the one who was left. Like she blames me for leaving him.”

Kylian shakes his head, grazing her chin so that she looks at him, “You aren’t the reason he left. That was their own relationship, it had nothing to do with you”

She shrugs, wishing it was true. She looks away from him, “As if her and I’s relationship is any better.”

Kylian purses his lips together, meanwhile Bleu whines as Aurie sniffles again. I know, Kylian silently says to Bleu.

“She didn’t want me to leave the hospital. I worked at the hospital as the in-patient therapist, working with different age groups but I mainly did pediatrics. Kids. My first patient was a boy from the Netherlands,” Aurie leans her head against Kylian’s shoulder while he wraps his arm around her. “He was seven and loved to play football. He was really good and apparently played for the U10 Netherlands team and everything, but he suddenly couldn’t keep his legs straight. His knees kept knocking into each other that they finally got it checked out. Once they realized it was a lot more serious than they thought, he and his mother took a train to Paris. So here I was, having to rehab a boy who suddenly couldn’t walk but only wanted to run.”

Kylian kisses her forehead, wanting her to continue but he can hear the sorrow in her voice. Wherever this was going, it wasn’t going to be easy for her to say. He grabs a hold of her hand, clasping his fingers with hers.

“His disease had progressed too long before he had come to us. I mean, his thigh bone—the top part of it—was dying a little every day. Blood had stopped flowing to it, perhaps a year before they initially came to us. The bone had been decaying since then. He would walk with a limp because the bone didn’t fit into the hole of his pelvis anymore. And so we had to wait. Wait to see if the bone would fix itself as he grew, or if he would have to have surgery. It was restless, he just wanted to play football and I had to sit there and get creative with his healing process. I helped him with his school work at times because he wouldn’t be in the mood to do his rehab. Talking with his mother was depressing because she would tell me how the little boys on their street always played ball and he couldn’t join him.

“Eventually, as his thigh bone was starting to regrow, the damage had already been done from him fighting through the pain and discomfort for the last year while playing. He had to have surgery and came out defeated. It was difficult to initially help him out and it hurt. It hurt watching this boy go from being so bright, a laugh that filled the entire room to just this sad, battered boy that lost all the hope in him. He was going to be eight soon, and it was like all the life was already sucked out of him. It was to him at least, because once you tell that same boy that he can play again, you see the hope go back into his eyes, but I knew he only had a couple of years. I knew that it wasn’t going to last long. By the time he’s fifteen, the arthritis in his hip will be so bad that he’ll have to give up the sport. But he doesn’t know that. I never had the guts to tell him.”

Kylian’s frown grows the longer she speaks. He couldn’t imagine having a disease that stopped his ability to play. One that suddenly occurred without a warning. “What’s his name?”

“Stefan.”

“How old is he now?”

“Ten. His birthday was in April. I worked with him for years, and once he was finally released, I quit. I couldn’t bear to have another kid and strip away their dreams.”

Kylian’s hand squeezes hers while his other turns her head to look at him. His chest aches at the tiredness of her eyes, but most of all, the confusion. The confusion from her mother’s attitude towards her and wondering when it will finally change. He gives her a small smile, “You didn’t strip away Stefan’s dreams. You gave him a couple of more years.”

“He doesn’t even know, Kylian.” He’s quick to wipe the tears away that follow her trembling voice.

“You gave him a couple of more years, Aurie. Years that he wouldn’t have had,” he whispers. “You also gave him answers to what was happening with his body. He may hate it now, but as he grows up, he’ll be thankful for how hard you tried to fix it.”

Aurie chews on her lips, listening to the sounds of Kylian’s careful breathing. His thumb pinches her bottom lip, tugging it, and she groans, “Stop it.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m okay.”

He sighs, “Don’t bite it.”

“It’s a force of habit,” she mumbles. Her tired body slumps against his chest, relishing in the feel of his chin resting on top of her head and his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hand plays with the small hair on the back of his neck and he purses his lip at the ticklish feel.

“How about you get some rest?” he asks. His voice vibrates the rest of his body as she sighs comfortably against him.

“Sleep with me.”

He looks down at her, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We could put a pillow between us if—”

He chuckles, kissing her forehead, “I don’t want a pillow.”

“I don’t either,” she smiles. Kylian presses his lips against her eagerly smile, excited that he could cause her to smile.

She lets out another breathy sigh as she pulls away, “I’m super thirsty…I don’t know why.”

He pecks her forehead as he stands up, “Stay here, I’ll go and grab you the glass.”

He’s quick to fetch her a glass of water, wanting to be in her arms again comforting her. He didn’t care if Aurie would probably knock out the second he returned with the glass. If he could hold her while she slept, he would die happy.

As he makes his way up the stairs, he hears Bleu letting out the same whine he had whenever Aurie was crying earlier. He quickens his pace, grimacing as his calf reminds him to slow down. He nearly drops the glass on the floor when he hears Aurie’s mewl of pain.

“Aurie!”

“I’m okay,” she rasps. She’s holding onto the right side of her pelvis while laying on the floor. She wasn’t on the floor when he left him so he could only imagine that she must’ve fallen.

“You don’t look okay,” he kneels down next to her, handing her the glass.

She shoos it away, “You’re going to hate this.” Her hand presses deep into the spot of pain as she grits her teeth. She whines as another spasm of pain occurs and tries her hardest to muffle the sound through her closed lips.

“What is it?” Kylian tries to move her hand but her death grip won’t allow him. “You’re scaring me.��

“Don’t be scared,” she cries. “I think my appendix is about to rupture and we need to go to the hospital now.”

“Your appendix?” he shrieks. Bleu barks at him and Kylian frets, looking back at Aurie concerned.

“Don’t panic because you’re going to scare him.”

“I’m really fucking scared right now,” Kylian whispers quickly. “Are you going to die?”

“No,” she groans. “But this hurts a lot, Kylian, and we need to go before this actually does rupture and becomes a bigger issue.”

Kylian lets out a groggily noise, “Bigger?!”

She presses her hand against his cheek, trying to rub the worry away, “You need to breathe, okay? Just breathe. I’m going to give you ten seconds to freak out and then you’re going to pretend you know how to drive and take me to the hospital, okay? It’s a five minute drive, and there aren't any cars on the roads right now. The hospital is right next to the nursing home, right before it, you’ve seen it before. Okay? Ten seconds starts now.”

Kylian rapidly shakes his head, “I can’t drive you!”

“Four, five—”

“Aurie, listen, I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Seven, eight—”

“Fuck, chérie,” Kylian curses as he watches the sweat drip down her temples. Her breathing was starting to get more ragged the longer she counted and he couldn’t handle listening to her moan in pain. It was like nails on a chalkboard to his ears.

Tonight was going to be his first time behind the wheel of a car, albeit with someone he cared deeply about.

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[aizawasbrattyprincess]

l a t e  n i g h t  m e t r o

f!reader x vinsmoke sanji (op)

tw: nsfw + non-con + chikan + public sex + breeding + stalking + voyeurism 18+ MINORS DNI

word count: 1.4k

a/n: Shhh I know this is late + I know I said every Friday (sorry!). Anyway, our man Sanji will never violate a woman but in this modern AU Kinktober #3 fic, he just can’t help himself. As usual, don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with this! Thanks for all the support and hoped you guys have a great Kinktober.

⋆ Kinktober Masterlist

buy me a ko-fi?

゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋。゜*゜。゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋

00:27

Checking your wristwatch, you heaved a sigh of relief. You had made it to the station to catch the last train home with a few minutes to spare. Usually, you wouldn’t have left the office after midnight, always having to squeeze in between all sorts of nasty and inconsiderate people during the rush hour. If it wasn’t for your idiot boss who dumped a stack of last-minute paperwork on your desk, leaving you no choice but to work unpaid overtime, you would’ve been in bed by now, all snuggled and ready to get some sleep before your alarm rang promptly at six a.m. You needed to quit your job fast, and you were tempted to write your resignation letter as soon as you got home. Your mood further soured when the sudden gust of wind made you shiver. In your haste to leave, you had forgotten to wear your jacket left hanging on your chair, and your short pencil skirt wasn’t helping much. You knew you should’ve worn pants.

Your eyes wandered around the station platform, noticing a few others waiting while glued to their devices. No one stood out, but the same uneasy feeling returned. It was as if someone was watching you from afar. This had been going on for two weeks, at the same station every time you got off work. You had confided in a trusted friend, but that was it. There wasn’t any evidence that someone was watching you, and even if they did, you couldn’t report them to the police for staring. Reaching into your shoulder bag, you pulled out your phone and pretended to text. It was dead, and you didn’t have a portable charger. Hopefully, you won’t need your phone. With the train approaching, you shook it off and took a deep breath. There was no use overthinking; you were probably imagining things from being tired and paranoid.

Stepping into the nearly empty train carriage, you decided to stand near the opposite doors and watch the moving skyline, hoping it would calm you down. It did, for a little while, until you felt stray hands lightly touching your hips. Shit, shit, shit, why did you let your guard down? Alarmed and tensed up, you tried to push the hands away, only for them to snake around your waist, holding you tighter. You caught a whiff of strong cologne and cigarette smoke from the body pressed against yours.

“Finally, I was worried I didn’t see you today. You didn’t tell me you were getting off work this late. It’s not safe, darling,” a male voice whispered.

You timidly looked at the reflection in the windows. The male, his blond hair covering the right side of his face, was much taller than you and dressed elegantly in a black, double-breasted suit with a pinstripe shirt underneath. He was handsome and a hundred per cent your type; you would’ve easily said yes to a date with him. However, his eyes were glazed with nothing but lust. There was no denying he was your stalker, and you needed to get yourself out of there.

“Let go of me,” you demanded, but your voice sounded small over the sounds of the moving vehicle running along the tracks.

He let out a chuckle. Letting you go would be the last thing he’d ever do. He had been waiting to get you for so long — the endless nights he spent thinking about you, dreaming of having you in his arms. He knew he had to have you the minute he laid eyes on you. 

“You look so pretty today, wearing a little skirt like this. You really do know what I like, hmm?”

His right hand slid between your thighs, spreading them open and then caressing you slowly. You frantically tried to squirm out of his grasp but to no avail while trying to get the attention of someone else who could help you. However, the only other passenger was at the far end of the carriage, sleeping in his seat with headphones on, his heavy metal music on blast. You felt helpless as he continued to hike your skirt further up, his fingers running along your clothed slit. You were wet, though you’d never thought you’d be. Shaking your head in raw panic and denial, you begged him to stop as tears began to prick the corner of your eyes.

“Shh, hey, no crying now. Just relax for me and listen to your body,” he coaxed, pushing your panties to the side. “I’ll make you feel good. Promise you that.”

You bit your bottom lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of entertaining him. However, at the first feel of his long fingers dipping inside you, you arched your back involuntarily, and a sweet little cry escaped your parted lips. God, you were so intoxicating. He thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His fingers moved in and out rapidly, wanting to see you come undone before him. Unable to hide his impatience, his other hand practically ripped the top buttons off your blouse before unclasping your bra to fondle your breast. He softly sucked on your nape while his fingers pinched and twisted your sensitive nipple, bringing you to the edge and back. You could barely register anything, the overwhelming euphoria beginning to fog your mind. This man was violating you, yet you enjoyed it, willingly submitting to him. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me- Shit, I can’t take it any longer. I need you. I need to feel you.”

He took his fingers out of you, leaving you empty for a brief second before his thick cock sunk inside you. He had been so excited that he had forgotten to use the condom he had brought in his trousers pocket. You screamed out in pain and pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He was too big for you, but he assured you with endless praises and kisses that you could take him. All you could do was press your palms onto the windows for support, legs trembling and your walls clenching tightly around him as he drove hard and fast into you. Deep, guttural groans filled your ears while his fingers circled your clit skilfully. 

“Sanji,” he said suddenly, starting to pant. He was reaching his limit, and he knew you were too. “Fuck, darling, need you to moan my name.”

He flipped you around, clumsily pulling down your panties before hoisting you up, your bag falling to the floor. His pace remained unrelenting, and you instinctively wrapped your arms and legs around him, needing to feel closer to him. Pleasantly surprised that you had kissed him first, Sanji returned your kisses with more passion and hunger. And then, you shamelessly cried his name as you both orgasmed, his cock pulsing within your walls as his warm seed filled you up completely. He stayed inside you for a good minute, ensuring his cum wouldn’t spill out before helping you wear your stained panties. He then removed his blazer, letting you wear it to cover up your body.

“I don't want to let you go, but that’s all the time we have,” Sanji said, reaching to caress your cheek. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at five. Don’t be late again. All right, darling?”

You hadn’t realised that you were almost reaching your stop and that the man in the carriage had woken up long ago, no longer listening to his music. Looking up at the blonde, you found yourself nodding obediently, not knowing what else to say or do. Did you really want to see him again? And were you actually looking forward to the next meeting?

There was a brief automated announcement, and the train doors opened. Giving you a peck on the cheek, Sanji wished you good night and a safe trip home before handing you your bag and gently pushing you out. You awkwardly stayed on the platform, adjusting your clothes as you watched the train leave and disappear into the night. The ache wouldn’t go away no matter how much you tried to ignore it, and you hated yourself for that. Your mind was hazy, but the answer was clear: you wanted him.

Back on the train, the satisfied Sanji plopped himself in the seat next to the other passenger with a loud sigh, unable to get you off his mind. Perhaps he should’ve followed you home after all.

“She’s that good, huh?” the other man asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, I told you she’s perfect. I bet you enjoyed the show, jerking off to how cute she sounds. She’s irresistible and so needy. She’ll be begging for more, I’m sure of it.”

The man shrugged. “Well, I guess I’ll see for myself how good she takes my cock tomorrow.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Marimo,” Sanji laughed dangerously, barely suppressing his anger. “I’m not planning on sharing what’s mine.”

゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋。゜*゜。゜。+。゜゜。*。゜゜。＋