#WRINGING HIS NECK WHAT THE HELL

[petrichorium]

Literally someone put me out of my misery what the FUCK

[planete777]

BAD INFLUENCE 2・⁠｡♪ LN4 [+ OP81]

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri)

READ PART 1!

IN WHICH. oscar never knew getting high with lando and y/n entailed... this. but he's not complaining.

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, threesome, oral sex (m & f rec.), referenced tit job, face sitting and anal (m rec.), a bit of sub!oscar because it's my roman empire, high hotness pt. 3574144, unprotected in v sex, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, squirting, realisations (they love each other, your honour), they're just nasty omg what have i written 😭

NOTE. PART 2 HAS ARRIVED!!! many of you asked and so i have to deliver amirite?!?!? credit to @mariahcarreyyy for the main smut scene!! i hope it's good enough for ya <3 enjoy luvss.

has now been edited.

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu @multifandomwhore-003 (use askbox if you'd like to be added!)

"gonna suck you off so good, osc," lando moans in his ear, breath warm and words dirty, "you like that?"

and as oscar begs him to, he thinks that maybe getting high with lando and y/n isn't so bad afterall.

-.-.-.-.-

oscar feels fucking spent.

his cock lays limp, yet tingles with the undercurrent of arousal, and honest to God, if he fucked once more, he may never cum again.

thing is, he had thought the same 2 orgasms ago, and roughly an hour prior, but, as if the weed trickled a steady flow of dopamine into his bloodstream, the more they fucked, the more he hungered for another orgasm.

had his cock sucked completely dry by his teammate (how the fuck is lando this good at giving head?) as y/n sat on his face and he had all his prayers answered, before another climax was scooped out of him when y/n gave him a good tit job. never had he thought seeing his cum drizzled upon a girl's boobs like icing would be that cathartic, but it only gets worse when lando, the fucking nerve of that man, licks every drop like it were the remnants of a melting popsicle.

"your mouth, lando," oscar had whined out in absolute despair because, one day, it's gonna wipe him out like he never existed.

his teammate only smirked, lips oiled with spit and cum, before dragging his tongue up his girlfriend's neck, eyes hooked to oscar's, and shoving his tongue down y/n's throat. the noises were downright pornographic, pumping more blood to oscar's dick, and they ended up fucking, reverse cowgirl, as the girl wanked oscar off. he swore his dick would fall right right there and then, everything felt too good that there had to be a compromise, but he was yet to figure what that was. if there even was one.

wished he could say they were done, sated to the point where alarms for their flight tomorrow would be like whispers in a rainstorm. however, no matter how many breaks in between they took (consisting mostly of getting more high and sharing one spliff, which made it all hotter), a seemingly innocent make out would lead to one's mouth on another's crotch, or one's cock deep inside another (oscar had never, you know... bottomed, but fucking hell, lando's got some cock on him).

with a throbbing hole, and an equally throbbing dick, inert just minutes before, oscar has the dire need to squeeze one more orgasm before he allows himself to lay at fate's mercy.

a clammy body, flush against his own pink skin, wrings themselves out of his gentle hold and sits up, "you're hard again, baby?"

it's not really phrased as a question, but rather an interesting observation, and y/n trails a hand to grab his dick. it hurts, a dull pulse of ache bouncing through the skin, but it feel so so good and oscar's head is thrown back, mouth open as a heavy moan breaks through.

lando, from y/n's other side, watches intensely as she slowly jerks oscar off. his sternum elevates and sinks in a rapid succession, legs open wide to fully accomodate the hand working between them, and lando is fully mesmerised by it all.

shy, quiet oscar, who could have a man compelled by his hole alone, and besotted by the wonders of his mouth. lando wouldn't mind a throuple, not at all.

a sloppy kiss is left on the skin of y/n's jugular, "you want him?"

he can see the curve of his girlfriend's smile, pushing against her smooth cheek, and she knows what he means.

you want him for us?

"yeah," her hand slows, and oscar whines, lando giggles at that. so desperate. "not letting him go now."

then she's taking her hand off oscar completely, pushing her body into his to whisper, "wanna fuck me while i suck your mate off?"

and oscar's eyes glitter as they snap open and his head nods so fast, it nearly tumbles off his neck, lando's sure.

he's moving, sitting up and looking at the both of them with red, lidded eyes, and they hold so much, that lando wonders how one could retain it all.

y/n is smiling and wiggling onto her front, and it galvanises lando to bare his legs wide, cock hard and weeping precum. she gives it a small teasing lick and sparks zap through his dick, causing a hand to fly to her hair. he pulls ever so slightly, just as a warning, and she's smirking, giving the head a kiss.

"how do you want it?" oscar asks from behind her, calculative. she opens her legs more, pussy glistening, "any way you want to, baby."

he hums, kneading the flesh of her ass softly in confirmation, and grabs his dick to prod at her hole. it's tentative, almost adoring, before he slides in fully, soft and slow. he's so sweet, so gentle, as if it's his first time doing such a thing, and y/n can't withold the moan that pushes past her lips.

"oh fuck, oscar."

he's whining, hands tight around her waist.

lando pushes her down on his dick, saliva lathering his skin beautifully, y/n's nose deep in the tamed bush of hair. she allows herself to breathe, eyes shut tight, but then oscar's moving, so slow and slow deep that she choking on her moans, and lando's cock.

he pulls her off just slightly, but she slides him back in, dick thick and hot in her throat, and lando's moans are whorish.

"yes, baby," he's whining, "just like that."

oscar feels his orgasm creep on him too quickly, tries to think of anything that would slow it down, but the sight before him is so nasty, he loves it. lando is completely gone, fucking into y/n's throat like it's his last ever head, two hands in her hair. he's redder than oscar's ever seen him, curls stuck to his forehead like glue and muscles straining as he pulls his girlfriend on and off his cock.

"fuckkk— shit, i'm gonna cum," he groans out, hand moving to rub into y/n's clit. she's writhing, legs shaking as she slobbers all over the dick in her mouth and lando's face turns pained with pleasure, unmoving, as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

oscar can't stop his orgasm anymore, and it tumbles over him like a tsunami, hips snapping as he fills y/n deep. the sound of high pitched moans cry from lando's mouth, body trembling with the intensity of his climax and just as oscar slowly dwindles from his high, y/n is clenching around him so tightly and a gush of wetness splashes against his thigh.

his head whips down to see his legs drenched and oscar— he's mesmerised.

"shit, y/n," it's an awed whisper, "you're squirting?"

his voice sounds fucked out, and lando's eyes are sliding open, curious. the sound of liquid falling onto the bedding is so damning, and oscar pulls out to watch as her pussy clenches and pushes more out.

it's beautiful, what he's seeing.

"oh my God."

lando gently pushes her mouth off his dick and y/n's sobbing, back arching as she convulses.

"let it all out, baby," lando caresses her cheeks, "look at you being so good for oscar."

and at that, oscar figures he could get used to this, for as long as times wills.

[celtic-crossbow]

Skin You With My Tongue

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Poorly written smut, p in v, fingering, oral (fem rec), brief hand job

Summary: What has gotten into Daryl? It doesn’t matter because you like it!

A/N: I haven’t been feeling great but I wanted to finish this before taking a break. Then I’ll work on my last request. Once again, I don’t think it’s great but ah well. I’m trying to just be thankful to be writing again. I hope some enjoyment comes from it!

You had no idea how you’d ended up in your current predicament: flat on your back, naked, with an equally naked Daryl Dixon devouring you like a man starved. You weren’t complaining by any stretch of the imagination. Though he had claimed to have little experience, the man deserved medals for the sounds he was wringing out of you with his tongue.

Anyway, back to the question of how did you end up here?

The day had started like any other. Your group was still new to Alexandria. While most had been given jobs, you and Daryl had not yet been set to work by Deanna. So, Rick had easily agreed to letting you both go hunt. Daryl had refused to give up his crossbow when you had first arrived in the community, but you had to sign out a weapon.

“Bullshit.” Daryl growled from where he leaned against the doorframe of the armory. You couldn’t say that you didn’t agree with him.

Regardless, you played by the rules, got your gun, strapped the weapons to the back, and climbed onto Daryl’s bike. He had decided the two of you could go further out today, not having much luck the past couple of days in the direct vicinity.

Daryl was your closest friend in your tight knit group and had been since you all had been forced to wander around in the cold before the prison. He was difficult to read and his emotional walls were high and thick. Somehow, you had been able to scale those walls, if not shatter them completely. You accepted him without question but you didn’t take any shit from him either. You weren’t afraid to call him out. In fact, the first time he had willingly come to sit next to you by the fire was just after you had asked him if he was “violating the Georgia sodomy law by having his head that far up his own ass.” You’d been close ever since.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his stomach and rested your chin on his shoulder, making kissy noises at him when he glanced back at you.

“Stop.” He grumbled before starting up the motorcycle. You simply gave his midsection a squeeze and could practically feel him roll his eyes as you headed through the gate.

The first part of the day was uneventful. Daryl stashed the bike before you walked and walked, finding nothing to track. About midday, the two of you came across a gorgeous lake. The water was clear and having only crossed two walkers on your trek there, you decided that a swim was an excellent idea after lunch. You didn’t ask Daryl, truly figuring he wouldn’t mind and that, hell, maybe he’d even join you.

You didn’t look at him as you stripped down to your bra and panties, mismatched as they were. If you had, you would have seen him comically fumble and drop the piece of dried meat in his hand.

“The blue hell ya doin’, girl?” He snapped after righting himself.

“Cooling off.” You gave him a smile over your shoulder before mimicking his frown with added exaggeration. “Maybe you should do the same, you old grump.”

He scoffed, keeping his eyes averted. “You’re bein’ careless. Careless gets ya dead.”

“I’m not going in unprotected!” You spun toward him, drawing his gaze toward you before pointing to the small knife tucked securely between your breasts. You couldn’t help but laugh when his face reddened and he looked away so quickly that you could swear you heard his neck crack. “I won’t be long.”

And you weren’t. Barely twenty minutes later, you were sitting down next to him, fully clothed albeit damp, but feeling much better.

“Ready to head out?” You asked cheerfully.

He did not share your enthusiasm, scowling as he stood and secured his crossbow to his back. “Been ready.”

“Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine?” He had already stalked off by the time you gathered up everything. You had to sprint to catch up.

After a couple of hours, Daryl finally caught the trail of a deer and began tracking it. You followed quietly, watching his methods and learning everything you could. You knew how to hunt, thanks to him, but you were always eager to sharpen your skills. When the animal was finally within sight, the archer kneeled after signaling for you to stand still just beside him. He was lining up the shot when something caught his eye to the right of where you stood.

“Get down!” He whispered sharply, grabbing your arm and pulling. The sudden jerk caught you off guard and you were thrown off balance, crashing into him. He fell flat on his back with you on top, your palms on either side of his head with your chest almost directly in his face. With half a dozen walkers shuffling into the area, you couldn’t move lest you be detected.

The deer sensed the danger and ran, the group of undead following mindlessly. As they passed where you and Daryl hid, you instinctively lowered, feeling his breath against your shirt. It took several minutes for the threat to move far enough away that you felt comfortable to lift yourself up and sit back, effectively placing your ass on his stomach.

“Well, that sucks. That was a big doe.” You complained. When he didn’t comment, you looked at him. He was propped up on his elbows, looking anywhere but at you. His face and neck were flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “You okay?” You queried with general concern.

“M’fine. Can ya get offa me?”

“Oh. Right.” You stood quickly, as did he. His back was quickly turned to you.

“We’re done. Let’s go.”

Your head tilted, brow creased in confusion. “We’ve got hours of daylight left. Shouldn’t we—”

“Said we’re done.” He was already walking away, leaving you staring at his back and wondering what you’d done wrong.

The ride back was tense and silent. You even chose to just lightly place your hands below his ribs and keep some space between your bodies instead of how you would usually have a tight hold on him.

When you entered Alexandria, Daryl parked the bike and got off, leaving you there, confused and more than a little upset. He passed Rick by without a word, the former sheriff turning to look at you with an eyebrow cocked. You gave him a shrug.

“I have no idea.” Shaking your head, you grabbed the gun from where it was secured to the back and went to sign it in before returning to the home you shared with Daryl and Carol. He was nowhere to be found on the first floor, leaving you to assume he had retreated to his room in the basement. With a heavy sigh, you went upstairs to shower.

Evening was upon you before you knew it, the sun having only set a few minutes before Carol invited you to walk to the other house for dinner with the group. You weren’t feeling all that hungry so you told her you’d be there in a few minutes. It was a lie. You had no intention of leaving your room.

Turning over onto your side, you closed your eyes. You had just drifted off when there came another knock. “Ugh.” You groaned and threw back the blankets, remaining in just your tank top and underwear since you didn’t plan on leaving with her. “Carol, I really don’t—” Once the door opened, you screeched to a halt, meeting the impossibly blue eyes of your favorite bowman. “Daryl.” You blinked at him blankly.

“Hi.” He nearly whispered. “Can I, uh—?” He gave a vague motion toward the inside of your room.

“Right. Uh, yeah, right, sure.” You stammered while stepping aside. He stepped in and you turned to push the door closed, a gasp leaving your mouth when you felt him press himself against your back. “D-Daryl?”

“First, the lake. Then your tits in my face when the walkers came. An’ now—this?” His finger was tracing the outline of your panties over your hip.

“What? I didn’t—”

He growled, a low sound in his throat, as he spun you around and pressed you back against the door with his body. He grabbed your chin to force your gaze on him.

“Didn’t what? G’on. Tell me.”

“Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by any of that.” You gulped, though you weren’t afraid. Exactly the opposite. Heat and wetness was pooling at your core, your skin feeling electrified where he was touching you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t lie to him. “I really wasn’t trying to fuck with you, I swear.”

There was an instant change in his eyes and it broke your heart. He released you with a muttered “shit,” his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. The dim light of your bedside lamp was enough for you to see his face reddening and the slight tremble to his frame.

“Y/N, I—fuck—m’sorry.” He quickly attempted to sidestep you and reached for the doorknob, but you were faster and blocked his path. His head shot up, eyes wide and panicked. He had absolutely misread the day’s happenings but he wasn’t wrong on one thing.

“I wasn’t intentionally fucking with you.” You repeated, your tongue snaking out to wet your lips before you continued. “But I would have if I had known it’d end with you here like this.” His arm dropped away from the knob and you entered into his space, pressing your chest against him to hover your lips over his. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Daryl Dixon.”

And now you were here.

“Fuuuuck!” You moaned, pressing the back of your head into the pillow before raising it to look down at the man between your thighs. Your fingers twisted and tugged his hair as your hips rolled, grinding your cunt against his tongue. Daryl growled against your clit, the sound vibrating against the swollen nub. His large hands pressed down on your inner thighs, holding you open while also effectively rendering you immobile.

A whine slipped past your lips when his tongue once again pressed tightly against you, sweeping up and down before he closed his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You tried to lift your hips but he pressed down harder, his nails biting into your skin. He removed his mouth from you, dark eyes glaring from just above your mound.

“Be still.”

His gravelly voice was even lower, darkened with lust and demand. You found you couldn’t help but obey. Breathing through your nose, you nodded eagerly. He kept his gaze locked on your face while his right hand lifted from your thigh, fingertips whispering over your flesh to dance down to your core. He ran a single digit through your slick once…twice, never breaking eye contact.

Your hands left his hair and fisted into the sheets of your bed, but otherwise, you remained frozen in place, panting through the pleasure of stretching around his middle finger breaching your opening. He slid in to the first knuckle, then the second, pausing only briefly before pushing in all the way. The sound that left your throat was positively sinful. You dropped your head back to the pillow and focused on not moving.

“Good girl.” He praised you, rewarding you by drawing his digit almost all the way out before sinking back inside, thus beginning a steady rhythm of which he continued. When you remained unmoving, he lowered his head once again to lavish attention onto your clit.

Who was this man? This was a completely new Daryl. In control, demanding, vocal, and positively panty-dropping. A new part of him for you to accept and adore. A part of him that, to your knowledge, only you had seen. One that you definitely hoped you would see again and again!

“Daryl, fuck!” You cried out when his index finger joined the first. You shivered almost violently when you felt him smile against your pussy.

“In a minute.” He purred, pumping into you faster.

Your hands moved from the sheets to the headboard, palms flat to keep the thrusts of his hand from pushing you upward. The moans and cries were constant, his mouth and fingers igniting a fire low in your belly. The knot was twisting tighter and tighter, and you grit your teeth when you felt the sparks of it begin to shoot down to your toes and up into your chest.

“Nngh, Daryl! I’m—” You panted, eyes screwed shut and legs trembling. He curled his fingers, driving them against that soft spot inside you mercilessly while his tongue and teeth tortured your clit. Just when you thought you might die from the pleasure of it all, that knot in your belly pulled taunt and snapped. Wave after wave of euphoria traveled through you, broken moans of his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra. You had grabbed his hair again at some point, holding him against your center with your thighs attempting to trap him there. He didn’t seem to mind, too busy eagerly lapping at the nectar you spilled while riding your high.

When you went limp against the mattress, he pulled his fingers from within you, leaving you to whine at the emptiness they left behind. You were still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm when he pressed one last kiss against your sensitive clit before sitting up on his knees. You blinked away the haze in your vision to watch him suck on those two fingers that had just fucked you senseless, your juices still glistening on his face.

You weren’t sure what came over you but you dove forward almost clumsily while he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He caught you easily with the other arm and pulled you against his chest, your arms encircling his neck to pull his lips to yours. The kiss was desperate, all tongues and teeth. The absolute need to be close to him in that moment was something you couldn’t explain. When you pulled back to look at him, your pupils blown wide and lips swollen, it was as if he understood before your sex-addled brain could form any words.

“I gotcha, girl.” Daryl said softly, a contradiction to how he had commanded you only moments prior. You nodded and let him kiss you again. It was tender this time, slow and deliberate. The archer began to lay you back. He caught himself with one arm while the other stayed behind your head to control your descent until you were once again on the pillows.

His mouth left yours and began to roam across your jaw. He nuzzled his cheek against yours in a way that you found absolutely adorable but then he was pressing open-mouthed kisses below your ear. Large hands traveled to your chest to cup both of your breasts, calloused fingers exploring the supple mounds before settling to roll your pebbled nipples between them. He kissed his way down, that sinful mouth eager to take over worshiping that part of you.

“Daryl,” you gasped, arching up into him when his mouth closed around your right nipple, “mmmm, Daryl, please!” You could feel his erection against your thigh, hot and hard and yet completely ignored. “Please—” you tried again, the plea coming out more like a pathetic whine.

“I know whatcha want.” He murmured against the skin between your breasts. He latched onto your left nipple with his teeth while his left hand took over stimulating the right. “Whatcha need.” You did the only thing you could and twisted your fingers into his hair, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth with a quiet whimper. His touch left you suddenly and you opened your eyes to find him directly above you and lowering down until his lips were just barely touching yours. “But I wantcha to say it anyway.” You felt every syllable against your mouth, the simple action enough to make your cunt clench around nothing. Goddamn, this man knew how to play your body like an instrument.

His fingers were ghosting down your left side only for his hand to maneuver between your bodies. Grasping his cock, he slid it through your folds, gathering your juices in agonizingly slow strokes. Each time the tip of him grazed your clit, your back arched from the mattress with a cry on your lips.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Daryl.” You whined, anchoring your legs around his hips. You dug your heels into the skin just below his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him into you. Too bad he was much stronger than you.

He hummed in response but only began to stroke himself, spreading your slick along his shaft. “Tell me whatcha want me to do, girl.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were going to literally combust if he wasn’t inside you at that moment. You weaved your arms underneath his and pulled at him. “Fuck me, Daryl. Please, please, fuck me!”

He chuckled. The asshole actually chuckled but you didn’t care because he then immediately entered you in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt. His arms nearly gave out as your wet heat welcomed him, stretching and molding to his cock as if your body was made just for him. He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder but you were too far gone to notice. The pleasurable burn of accommodating him brought you to new heights. You almost came right on the spot.

“Fuck.” He breathed against your neck, fighting to keep himself in check.

After you both had a moment, Daryl pushed himself up onto his forearms, drawing back his hips slowly before snapping forward and earning a broken moan from you. The feeling of him moving inside you was overwhelming, the push and pull driving every thought from your mind to leave only the ability to feel. And you wanted more.

You clawed at his back, each thrust forward tearing a cry from your throat. You barely registered that his mouth was on yours, but responded immediately, craving the taste of him. The smoke and pine mingled with the taste of your cunt on his tongue and you couldn’t get enough. You swallowed his delectable moan when your hips came up to meet this thrusts, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing off the walls of your room. Bringing a hand to his hair, you pulled his head back, pussy clenching when the action made him hiss between his teeth.

Teeth met his skin, biting down just above his collar bone. The salty taste brought a moan into your throat. You marked him there, sucking hard until you brought blood to the surface and then you released him. “You—feel so good.” You panted before your mouth was back on his. He pulled back suddenly and you whined at the loss of his weight but then he was sitting back on his knees, grabbing your hips and fucking into you so hard that you saw stars. It was just on the good side of painful, your cunt spasming around his cock as the familiar heat began to build in your belly.

Daryl didn’t stay that way way long. He released your hips and leaned forward to use the headboard as leverage, pounding you with such force that you again had to brace yourself with your palms. Your cries mixed with his moans and grunts and you prayed that Carol was still away. The angle was intense, each thrust had his tip pressing roughly against your sweet spot, building your pleasure at a pace you wished would slow.

“Daryl, I’m—I’m gonna—” you couldn’t get the words out between breaths and moans, but he knew from the way you tightened around him that you were nearing the precipice. And he was determined to throw you over the edge first.

He released the headboard and grabbed your arms, yanking you up while he sat back on his heels. You grabbed for his shoulders and then encircled his neck, resting one hand on the back of his head and the other on his shoulder blade. He moved his hands to your hips, helping you to bounce on him, spearing yourself on his cock and driving it deeper. Your moans became pleas and then a chant of his name, mouth hanging agape between words and breaths and eyes screwed shut.

“Cum for me.” He grunted against your jaw and that was all it took. You were almost certain you screamed but you couldn’t hear it, vision blacking out as euphoria swallowed you. You came back to yourself as the waves began to ebb, Daryl continuing to fuck you through. Your body felt heavy and uncoordinated and you pulled back a bit to clumsily seek out his mouth, greedily drinking down each sound he offered as he chased his own release. His grip on your hips would leave bruises, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

His movements grew sloppy and you could feel him beginning to twitch and pulse inside you. You pulled your mouth from his and watched him until he pulled you from his lap. You moved quickly, aware of his actions, and wrapped your hand around him, pumping him fast and hard. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your thighs while he fought to breathe through the sensation. His teeth were clenched and his eyes tightly closed, sweat shining on his skin and you were sure it was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

Half a dozen more strokes before you twisted your hand and he cried out, muscles freezing and face contorting into a grimace of pure ecstasy. He breathed out your name, hips jerking and ropes of cum painting your hand and both of your thighs. No, that was the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

You pulled his mouth to yours before he could come all the way down, relishing each twitch of his muscles. When you pulled away, he finally opened his eyes and swayed on the spot. He seemed dazed but when his gaze met yours, he leaned forward to kiss you. It was gentle, almost hesitant. As if he didn’t know whether or not you’d welcome it.

“That was amazing.” You whispered, finally catching your breath.

“Yeah.” He replied quietly.

You brought a hand to the side of his face, watching all the courage melt away. His already flushed face was growing impossibly redder. You couldn’t help but smile. He had been dominant and commanding only to morph right back into the Daryl you had fallen in love with.

Your eyes widened.

Shit.

You were in love with him.

You were actually in love with Daryl.

You didn’t move when he got up to grab a towel, slipping on his boxers while he was at it. You still didn’t move as he cleaned you up, his mouth moving once he was done but no sound registering. He snapped his fingers in front of your face and you flinched.

“What’d you say?”

“Ya okay?” His brow was drawn inward in concern. He looked so, so nervous and you just wanted to pull him onto the bed and hold him.

“Yeah, I’m great.” You beamed.

He nodded and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, glancing over at his clothes. “Guess I should go.”

Your face fell as he reached for his pants. “Why?” Daryl froze and looked at you, head tilted. “You could stay. Here. With me.” You offered, your own face reddening. He stayed in the awkward position of halfway reaching toward his shirt but was obviously considering your words.

“Ya want me to stay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.” You smiled sincerely. He nodded and straightened, coming back around to the other side of the bed. He sat stiffly against the headboard, chewing his lip again. You started to lean against him when there came a soft knock at the door. You both looked up and then at one another.

Busted.

You both scrambled to get dressed and it would have been comical had you not been thinking of who could be on the other side of the door. Carol. Rick. Michonne. Oh god, Carl! You looked back at him just as he pulled his shirt over his head, an apologetic expression on your face. Turning the knob and pulling the door open, you smiled innocently at—

No one.

“What the—” You leaned out and looked down each hall to find them empty. However, at your feet were two wrapped plates of food. One with a note addressed to Daryl and the other to you. In Carol’s handwriting.

You looked around for the woman once more while picking up the plates and stepped back into the room, kicking the door shut. Eyebrows raised, you crossed the space to hand Daryl his and then placed yours on the bed, removing the note and unfolding it.

“Good for you. Now tell him that you love him.”

You almost laughed but held it, simply folding your note and putting it in your bedside drawer. Daryl was looking at his own with a raised brow before he folded it and put it in his pocket.

“M’starvin’.” He announced, plopping onto your bed while unwrapping his food. He watched you smile and follow suit, gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

His note?

“Don’t be stupid, Pookie. She loves you too.”

[catharsisfire]

caught in the spider’s web (m.) 18+

Simon “Ghost Riley x Reader

 “I’ll let you have sex with me.” It’s stated so plainly and so forwardly that it sounds less like a negotiation offer and more like a proclamation. 

“Fucking hell.” Ghost shoots back, his tone barely containing the hint of bewilderment in his voice.

 Warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, inappropriate relations with your superior, orgasm denial, degradation, teasing/taunting, Ghost being kinda mean, also slight!Soap x Reader (just some flirting tho)

Word Count: 5004

A/N: i’m down absolutely bad for this man, so down bad i cant stand up, also thinking of making a pt. 2 and maybe a Soap version tbh so lemme know if you’re interested in that!

Inspo taken from this tiktok audio by dxcrxpit

Gif is not mine

She’s got to blame someone for this; Graves will take the fall for now, until she finds the Shadow that shot her in the thigh and she’ll personally take the fall for being stupid and diving off the road onto a muddy cliff, tumbling the entire way down. Ungracefully, one may add. It’s unfortunate, truly, the turn of events that have now left her alone and in the pouring rain, leaking blood onto the pavement, but life is nothing if not one shitty plot twist after another. 

The comms had been radio silent since she fell, with no one calling or checking in, no sign of Ghost or Soap anywhere, so she finds an empty alley, mind set on damage control. It’s nothing to reach behind her and grab the back of her balaclava and pull it over her head, but it’s the feeling of the wet fabric sliding and sticking to her face as she pulls it off that makes her grimace. “Gross,” she mutters lowly with her hands wrapped tightly around the fabric, wringing out her sweat and the rain. Her back braces on the stone wall behind her and she slides down slowly until she’s sitting on the cobblestone road. [Y/n] lets out a shaky exhale as she reaches her hands down and begins to undo her belt, sliding it off in a quick jerking motion and then proceeds to fold her balaclava into a makeshift bandage before laying it over the wound on the outside of her left thigh. The belt is then used to tighten the balaclava down, applying pressure to keep bleeding to a minimum while she finds her way out of this shit fest. It takes her a second of sitting and fidgeting with the tightness of the belt before she decides to slink her way back up the wall again to stand.

“Alright,” She breathes heavily, talking to no one but herself, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” She laughs lightly under her breath and her hand makes its way to where her sidearm had been just moments before her tumble, only to find it gone. “Fuck me,” she whines, head falling back onto the stone wall behind her dejectedly, “hard way it is then.”

[Y/n] makes quick work of pushing off the wall and beginning to limp slightly farther down the alleyway, clicking through the channels on her comms as she goes, until Ghost’s voice pierces through her ears causing her to stop.

“Soap- This is Ghost. How copy?” There’s a moment of silence that registers for a second too long and she feels her blood run cold when there’s no response. “Johnny…?” No response. “Johnny… How copy?”

“Solid.” Soap’s response comes quickly and she lets out a relieved exhale. [Y/n] is quick to glance around, trying to find the easiest way down and out and she thinks for a second too long before throwing caution to the wind and her legs move into a slight skip before picking up into a run into a shop across the road. 

“You injured?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Life or death. Keep your blood in, you’ll need every drop.”

“Thanks for the tip.” 

“Spider. How copy?” She hears him, vividly so, but her mind is too sidetracked to reply. To focused on finding a way out whilst sneaking up to the Shadow in front of her. She quickly grabs onto the knife that's strapped and sheathed to her lower back and imbeds it into the juncture of the Shadow’s neck, twisting and pulling harshly to retrieve it from his skin as she moves to lay the body to the ground silently.

“Kid,” His voice more demanding now, “how copy?”

“Alive.” She pants evenly through the receiver.

“Thought we lost you there, kid.”

“Never. I’m gonna live forever L.T, remember?” She laughs breathily.

 Sometimes she catches Price staring at them with some far off solemn look in his eyes. A certain softness laced with ‘what if’ that you could only catch if you were genuinely looking for it and it startles her every time, making her feel a bit guilty that he cares so much for them. Guilty to know that if one of them died he’d be heartbroken.

“Stop staring at us like that.” She lowly speaks to him, her words taking on a teasing edge as she stares at the Captain.

“Like what?”

“Like we’re terminal cancer patients.”

“I do no-“

“I’m gonna live forever, Captain.” She interrupts so matter-of-factly before lifting her left hand and jamming her thumb in the direction of Ghost to her left, “And you can’t kill a Ghost.” Her thumb falls only for her index finger to point over at Soap who’s sitting on her right side, “And Soap,” she begins, “well Soap can’t die because we fuckin’ told him not to.”

“Copy that, Sergeant.” Price responds with a tilt at the edge of his mouth. Almost a smile, she notes.

Ghost peers down at her from where he’s seated next to her and she looks up at him with a smile present in her eyes and nods once in his direction in confirmation. Her black balaclava does nothing to hide her emotions, not when they’re always written right there in her eyes, and he vaguely wonders if she wears it because her face is more of an open book than her eyes appear to be. Yet it’s a thought he buries deep when she winks up at him, her eyes still dancing with humor and he’s turning away, not wanting to be drawn in by her gaze.

 “Where are you?”

“There's a church. I’m heading to it. Let’s RV there.” Ghost declares. “You’ll need to improvise to survive.” 

“Oh, joy.” comes Spider’s quick retort. She makes hasty work of digging through the dead Shadow’s pockets, taking his knives and his gun before taking a quick once-over glance over him. An idea toys in her mind for a second and she reaches forwards, unclipping the helmet on his head equipped with night vision and immediately puts it on her own and clipping it down, adjusting the strap to fit. The rifle she picked up is then slung over her chest and it rests heavily on her back on top of her armor and she begins her journey away, crouching low and moving to the next building. 

“Welcome to guerilla warfare.”

Ghost and Soap continue talking, but [Y/n] had taken to tuning them out, too concentrated on taking down the Shadow’s in her path. One after another they each fell easily from the blades she kept stealing off of their associates corpses and her hands made quick work of ripping the ammo clips from their pockets and depositing them in her own on her vest. It was messy work and the realization that it was no longer sweat and rain wetting her face, but blood as well, did not go unnoticed by her. Her arm was quick to reach up every so often in an attempt to clear her face but it felt only as if it just smeared everything on her face, making a bigger mess.

“Gimme a sit-rep.” Ghost’s request digs her from her concentration, her decision making stopping momentarily and she goes to reply first but Soap beats her to it.

“Outside… Gated alley.”

“Kid, sit-rep?”

“Outside… Alleyway with a few dead Shadow’s.”

“Your handiwork?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Atta girl.” Ghost's quick reply is all she hears and [Y/n] feels her face heat from the praise.

“What can I say? I live to please.” And then she's back to radio silence, she wants nothing more than to get the upper hand here, but she still feels like she’s failing at it. Moving on the ground amongst the Shadow’s hoping to not stumble across one didn't feel right to her, didn’t feel smart. She was a sniper. She yearns for the high ground and distance and she’s been robbed of the one thing she feels like gives her the tactical advantage, so her brain is working overtime to fix it. It’s a mumbled ‘fuck-it’, that has her chancing it and she decides to take to the rooftops. It’s not without difficulty, climbing up to get to the roofs, but the real bitch comes when she has to make the jump from building to building. Each impact making her wince and gnaw at her lip to stop her from groaning at the pain in her leg. But she feels better from here, being able to survey the land and pick the Shadows off from above, thanks to a silencer she klepted off one of them.

“You’re gonna owe me for this.” Came Soap’s voice from the comms but Spider takes note that it echoes, if only slightly and her mind begins turning. No, not an echo. He’s nearby, close enough for her to hear with her ears and the comms piece.

“Why?”

“We’re fixing each other’s problems.”

“What’s my problem?”

“The mask… Take it off…”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.” Smug bastard. He’s smirking, she just knows it.

“What about you, Spider?” Soap questions, shifting the conversation to include her.

“What makes you think you deserve to see me, Johnny?” She teases back in response, prompting Soap to huff back a simple, “Cold.” into the comms.

“Tell you what,” she propositions, “come find me and I’ll show you anything you want.”

“Both of you, get to the church. Now.” 

“Yes, sir.” They both echoed. 

It’s not hard for her eyes to catch Soap’s movement, pinning him in her gaze as he maneuvers the alley to her left. Her eyes leave his form as they glance forward to the Shadows ahead of him and she makes the decision to take them out for him. Opting that this was the way to gain a favor for him, having not forgotten how he constantly volunteers her for first watch whenever he can. His reaction is immediate, dropping behind cover and glancing back when he hears the heavy thud of the Shadows bodies hit the ground and he’s looking around to try and find where the shots had come from.

“Who the hell was that?” Soap’s distressed voice rings through the comms.

“It was your guardian angel.” 

“Spider? Are you on the roof?”

“Affirmative.” Was Spider’s quick reply, “I’m coming down… Wait for me?”

“Yeah.”

“By the way,” her voice cracks vividly through the receiver, “you get first watch next time Soap. Consider it my payment for saving your life.”

 “Spider, you’ve got first watch.” Soap shouts across the room to where [Y/n] is sitting, propped up against a wall with her eyes closed.

“What?” Her eyes fly open in surprise at his statement, “No, I had first watch last time. Switch with me.”

“No.” He tries to sound stern but laughter seeps through the word as he watches her throw her head back into the wall with a thunk and groan lowly at his lack of negotiation with her. After only a few seconds she sighs deeply before lifting her head from the wall and locking eyes with Ghost. 

“Switch with me, Ghost.” She whines back exasperated.

“No.” It’s short and curt and she doesn’t let his vague hostility deter her. She wants second watch at least, because right now her eyes feel like someone put sand in them with how horribly tired they feel, with how heavy she is with want for sleep.

“I’ll let you have sex with me.” It’s stated so plainly and so forwardly that it sounds less like a negotiation offer and more like a proclamation. 

“Fucking hell.” Ghost shoots back, his tone barely containing the hint of bewilderment in his voice, which is almost completely drowned out by Soap’s loud and shocked, “What!?” from across the room. But [Y/n] watches Ghost’s eyes closely, noting the change that happens within them. His normally cold eyes had taken on a flicker of heat and the burn of his gaze in that moment made her skin itch with want. It had been a joke, a joke with a bit of truth behind it, yet a joke nonetheless, but the fact that he almost seems to consider her offer makes the hair on the back of her stand up and her mouth parched. Price’s cough of disapproval rips through the air, but [Y/n] decides to dig herself in further.

“I’m kidding…” Her easy, nonchalant laughter bounces off the walls of the small room, “Unless… unless you actually will trade with me then maybe we can work something out?” Her voice trails off taking on a slightly higher tone as she shrugs her shoulders and gestures her hands between the two of them vaguely. 

“No one is trading sexual favors for watch times.” Interrupts Price’s loud voice, hellbent on stomping out whatever the hell this is that’s going on right now.

“What?” She questions, mildly defensive with an all too innocent tone, “I don’t have anything else to really offer right now. Unless you want my knife,” She adds, shifting her gaze from Price’s scolding and directing the offer solely back to Ghost with a hopeful tone, “Then I’ll give you my knife for second watch.” Her eyebrows raise up beneath her mask and her head tilts slightly forward into Ghost’s direction as if to imply that the deal was getting better.

“No.” Price answers in Ghost’s stead, although the fire behind Ghost’s eyes still does not quell as he continues to stare at her motionless. [Y/n] releases an empty sigh, sliding her eyes closed and throwing her head back into the wall.

“Fuck!” She exclaims roughly in defeat, “Fine.”  And Spider picks herself up off of the floor and her hands move to grab the sniper rifle propped against the wall next to where she’d just been sitting. “If any of you need me I’ll be on the roof.” She groans out as she makes her way to the stairs, only stopping to call over her shoulder, “Try not to need me.”

‘Try not to need me.’ It rattles around the empty air downstairs after she’s gone until it sticks in Ghost’s mind. ‘Try not to need me.’ Too late.

It’s well into over an hour of her watch shift when she feels the hair on the back of her neck standing up in defense, when she feels like she's not alone anymore. So she turns her head from where she had been laying prone with her rifle watching the streets below between two cinder block openings on the edge of the roof, just in time to catch sight of Ghost making his way over to where she was, sitting next to her with his back to the cinderblock wall.

“You should be sleeping.” Spider mumbled out to him.

“You should be paying attention.” He motions his head slightly to the roads behind him in direction. He catches the way her eyes roll and he can tell she makes a face beneath her balaclava by the way the skin on the bridge of her nose crinkles up slightly.

“Really useful advice L.T,” She mumbles out deadpanned, he can hear the exhaustion clear in her voice, “you ever thought about writing self help books?”

He only hums absentmindedly in response and an empty silence fills the air between them for only a few seconds before he adds in, “You look tired.” 

“Be still my foolish heart,” Spider remarks sarcastically,  releasing her hand on her gun and grabbing at the center of her chest, “Ghost, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you just invited me to bed.”

“Obviously you know better.”

Spider hums limpidly in response.

“Go get some sleep. I’ve got the rest of your watch.”

Her head shakes and a simple reply of “no”, is immediately followed by a yawn and she turns her head over to look into Ghost’s eyes again to scold him limply. “Stop talking about sleep, you're making me yawn.”

“You look like you’re gonna fall asleep on watch. A punishable offense if you do.”

“Maybe I wanna be punished,” Spider teases in a tired voice, “help keeps the brain awake.”

“Can’t punish you if you’re dead from falling asleep on watch.”

“Sounds like you have to be proactive, L.T. Punish me in advance.” The fire is back in his eyes and [Y/n] realizes how deep she’s dug herself in this time, and so she does the only thing she can do. Dig deeper. “Are you going to punish me, sir?”

“It’s not a punishment if you enjoy it.”

“A morale booster, then?” She offers instead, “Promoting healthy team relations and engaging in bonding activities with your soldiers can have a positive influence on their morale and mission performance.”

“You think wanting to fuck your superior is healthy?” 

“No. I think of it as an investment in the betterment of the team, Lieutenant. I stay awake and they stay alive. A win in my books, if you ask me.”

“Yet I didn’t ask.”

“No sir, you didn’t.” [Y/n] takes her time sitting up onto her knees from the position where she lay and moves over easily to sit next to Ghost, back pressed into the cinderblock wall. She reaches over him, torso pressing dangerously into his thighs as she grabs her bag and begins to riffle through it with a leisurely pace, before drawing out her heartbeat sensor. Within a second she is sitting back upright, hands moving to grasp firmly around the device before powering it on and placing it where she had just been laying watching the streets. She peers back up at him, something burning deeply behind her gaze. The smile normally dancing around in her eyes now gone completely, replaced by something altogether darker, and her voice is serious when she tells him, “But all you have to do is say the word.”

“Fucking hell. You’re a minx, you know that.”

“One of my finer qualities, I believe.” She whispers out breathily. [Y/n] makes slow work of invading his space, leaning in until their faces were only inches apart and throwing her leg across his lap, straddling him. Yet she doesn’t lower herself down, opting instead to reach up and release the latches holding on her body armor effectively slipping it off and dropping it to the side.

“Now, what are you going to do if you get shot at?” His question is fair, but it’s simply meant to tease her so she takes the bait.

“Pray they’ve got bad aim.” She states to him as she sits herself down onto his lap.

“And if they don’t?” He presses further into the hypothetical and his hands move from his sides to rest on the outside of her thighs in a teasingly light grip.

“Then I hope you take mercy on me and save my life.”

“I’m not a merciful man.” He states matter-of-factly, hands working up from their spot on her thighs to start moving up to her belt, where they make slow work of undoing the buckle there. Her exhale is shaky at the motion and she breaks eye contact to glance down as his hands work at their agonizing pace. Taking his time as if he had nothing better to do than make her wait for him.

“Then I hope you’ll make my last moments worthwhile.”

“Hmm,” He ponders curiously, fingers popping the button of her pants open, “do you really deserve that?” 

“I’m hoping to win your favor.” She mutters back hopefully as Ghost leisurely pulls down her zipper.

“How do you plan to do that?” Ghost questions her evenly, not a single emotion betraying his voice.

“My dazzling wit and charm?” She’s ready to burst, almost shaking with anticipation as she watches him remove his glove to trace the skin above the edge of her panties.

“Hmm… Try something else.” He remarks mockingly. 

“I’m useful.” She declares in a whine, hands reaching forward to braces on his shoulders as her eyes close with frustration.

“How so?”

The air is silent for a second too long and when he feels as though she has no intention of answering back he captures the elastic band of her panties and lets it snap back harshly against her skin. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m… I’m good with a rifle.” She stutters out quickly, “One of the best.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m light on my feet, quick,” She’s trying to think, her mind reeling trying to remember notable attributes of herself but her brain short circuits and she begins tripping on her words the moment he slips his hand into her pants, cupping her heat through her panties. “I-i can get in and out of places without detection.”

“Keep going.” He presses her, hand moving to pull her panties to the side so his finger can run through her slit, collecting the wetness there.

“I’m good under pressure. Rational.”

“Is that right?” He seems to contemplate her statement, weighing the validity of it given the current circumstances as his finger begins to circle roughly on her clit. Her response is almost immediate, choking out a sobbed “yes” as her breath quickens. 

“Go on then.” He continued plainly, his voice just as even and level as it always was, even as he slips his finger from her clit down to her entrance and plunges into her.

“I’m…” And she has to stop to take a stuttering, stabling breath before lifting her head up from where it watches his hand work into her so that she can lay her forehead on his and stare into his eyes. “I’m damn good at my job,” her left hand moves from his shoulder to fist into the mask at the back of his neck for support, “you know it's true.”

“My intelligence.” She yelps out before he can even tell her to say another thing.

“What about it?”

“I’m. Very. Fucking. Intelligent.” [Y/n] enunciates between panting moans and gritted teeth, “One… one reason Price wanted me in 141.” Her chest is heaving as she shakes her head lightly to clear her thoughts, a poor attempt to get a cohesive string put together. “He found me as a Private. Fuck me,” She whines, “I was exemplary. The goddamn best at everything. I won him over.”

“How’d you manage that? Your dazzling wit and charm?” Ghost teases her with her own words as his thumb moves to rub at her clit in time with his hands sliding in and out within her. [Y/n]’s eyes flutter for a second at the added pleasure and her hand clenched tighter on his neck, twisting the mask fabric in her grip as she leans forward further into him, pressing her hips down to seek his hands movement. Their noses are touching now, barely any space between their mouths as they share each other's breath.

“The spider spins her web to catch what she wants.” She mumbles out through a shaky keen. “I’m soo useful Lieutenant. M-more useful than you could ever know.” Her eyes looked pleadingly into his as her hips moved in time with his hand, “Please don't stop.”

“You get off on praising yourself, Sergeant?” His voice is so goddamn taunting and the slight shame of it burns her face. There’s no other sounds in the air outside except their back and forth, and the sound of his hand moving within her and the slick wet sound of it has her mind reeling with longing and want.

“You’re m-making me.” [Y/n] counters back, “I’m doing what I’m told.” Ghost makes a noise in acknowledgment to her statement before adding a second finger in, working faster as she begins to drip down his hand. 

“Then we’ll add that to the list. The good girl can do as she’s told.” His words of praise are met with her clenching down tightly on his fingers.

He’s startled when he feels the cool, trembling grip of her hand grasping desperately into the bare skin of his wrist beneath his sleeve. There’s something exhilarating about the feeling of her skin on his in this desperate attempt to ground herself to him, with him, when they’re both so covered. And God it feels like fire, feels like every nerve in his body has just been sent into overdrive because all he feels is the cool skin of her hand wrapped firmly around his wrist as her nails dig in sharp and the wet heat of her cunt dripping down his hand.

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you wanted, Ghost.” She rasped back in confirmation, throwing her head back.

Ghost’s free hand shoots up from where it had been holding tightly to her thigh, capturing her chin in a bruising grasp and pulling her head down roughly until her forehead rests back on his. Holding her there until they’ve returned to sharing breath and air and there's almost no space between them, before continuing its journey downwards to her neck. Her eyesight falters then and her eyes slide shut when he squeezes at her neck just right and she preens at the motion.

“Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.” He demands and he squeezes her throat slightly harder at the command and her eyes slide open, teary and tired. “Atta girl.” And she can’t help but whimper lowly at the praise, panting heavily and tightening her hands grip on the wrist working between her legs. “See, that's not so hard, now is it?” He taunts lowly.

“No sir.” Her head is dizzy and her eyes are swimming with tears and pleasure each time he squeezes his hand around her throat, throwing her that much closer to the edge. [Y/n] can't help the choked, “oh God” she releases when his hands decided to speed up, the movement of her hips failing to keep up with his ministrations. The arch of her back makes quick work of closing the space between their bodies as she gets closer and closer, and her hand leaves his wrist in favor of bracing her forearm onto his shoulder for added support.

“You close?” Ghost asks, and had [Y/n] been in her right mind she would have noticed the glint of something devious slide though his gaze, but instead she just nods back with a tender “please” in response too focused on chasing her budding release. Ghost’s hand doesn’t relent in its hurried pace fucking into her, but he seems as if he’s waiting for something. Holding out on something until the last second and as she begins to spasm around his finger he seems to find exactly what he was looking for, exactly what he’s been waiting for.

His hand leaves from within her and off her neck in an instant and before she can register what's happened she hears her zipper being slid back up. It sends a panic straight through her when the thrumming of her body catches up to her brain and she realizes that she’s been left high and dry. He didn’t let her finish.

“Wh-what? Why?” [Y/n] wants to cry and for a second she’s very close to it. She wants to scream at the fizzling out of her high, shaking from denial she looks down just in time to catch Ghost’s hands thread her button back closed and slip her belt through the buckle tightening it. She lifts her eyes up for a second searching desperately for his and she sees a smug laughter swimming behind them before she draws her line of sight back to his hands. Hoping that if she stares at them long enough she can will them back to work, back to finishing her. 

“You should go get some sleep.” He declares, adding a firm slap to her ass before holding onto it, and he sounds like he’s genuinely on the verge of laughter, like this was some kind of game he’s playing with her that he’s enjoying just a bit more than she is.

“But-but I didn’t…” And she stutters over her words, unable to form anything reasonable in her denial.

Her hand tries to reach down to where Ghost’s had just left, anticipation and her denied release eating at her bones telling her to finish the job, only to get intercepted before she can complete her goal. Ghost’s hand grips at her wrist tightly, bringing it up to rest in the air between their chests. At the same time his other hand rushes up to grasp harshly at her chin bringing her face up in front of his and he slowly peels his eyes away from her hand after a second to look into her own. The heat in them is different now, taking on a chilling burn that leaves her frozen on the spot beneath his gaze. 

“What makes you think you deserve it? This is a punishment, remember? That is what you wanted. What you asked for.”

“Please… ” It’s a pathetic whine, one that he laughs at and her face burns dangerously beneath the fabric on her face.

“Go get some sleep.” Ghost orders again.

“I-i don’t think I can anymore.”

“You will. Consider it a test of your self control.” And when she makes no effort to move from his lap, he cocks his head to the side slightly, adding a taunting, “That’s an order, Sergeant.”

“Th-this isn't over.” [Y/n] states heatedly behind furrowed brows and heavy pants, “I’ll get you back for that.”

“Doubt that.” He husked evenly behind his mask.

Ghost finds her a few hours later when his watch had ended, next to Soap. Both of them sleeping on their backs with her head laid on his shoulder and his arm loosely wrapped around her neck with a light grip on her shoulder. 

“He’s got the kid in a headlock.” Ghost remarks to Price.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

[koolades-world]

Random Obey Me! Headcannons

Lucifer really likes human world blue cheese but refuses to admit it because he knows he will be made fun of for it by his brothers

Mammon has his first dollar he made in the Devildom framed and when Mc found it while looking for condoms he was really embarrassed

Idk it’s so funny to me to think of Mc and Mammon about to have sexy time and they need to go look for a condom. Mammon swears he has some so Mc goes digging though a drawer and finds a framed dollar bill while butt naked

“Mammon what is this-”

“SHIT UNSEE THAT HUMAN”

Levi has neck and back pains from all the gaming he does and really loves massages but is too scared to ask

Satan once stole a pair of Lucifer’s underwear and hung it from the RAD flagpole

Asmo made it a point to introduce Mc into his nightly routine as his face mask buddy, even to the point of doing it over call if they’re separated

This also sounds funny as shit imagine someone like Levi walking in on that

“So anyways, I stomped their skull in and got blood on my new boots. My hands also hurt from wringing the neck of that-”

“Asmo, Lucifer wants to know- HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU”

“A face mask, Levi. You could use one”

Beel loves kids and likes it when they use him as a jungle gym

Belphie always kicks people in his sleep without fail. Mammon swears he does it on purpose but knows he doesn't

Simeon does the best hair braids and is regarded the best in the Celestial Realm

Luke hates girl scout cookies since he thinks homemade cookies are so much better

Solomon can be seen leaving Asmo's room at any point during the day but nobody ever sees him going in. Imagine hanging out with Asmo and Solomon just fucking appears and then disappears just as fast

Diavolo's favorite color is pink

Barbatos has a succulent garden and Mc will bring him a new one every time they come back from the human world

Thirteen definitely loves Mexican food and spice in general

Raphael is convinced soft blankets are the best thing to ever exist

Mephisto once accidently knocked over one of Luke's cakes and felt so bad that he sent Purgatory Hall a buttload of money and wrote an article in the RAD newspaper about how great the angels were at baking

Mammon and Lucifer openly hate white chocolate (because it's not chocolate). Satan does too but pretends to like it because Lucifer likes it

Whenever Satan needs a parter to go to the events he gets invited to, Mc and Asmo are his first choices. He's closest with Asmo (Belphie is a second close) and doesn't mind the fanfare

Asmo and Beel often travel around the Devildom together. Asmo can't eat everything he orders since he just wants pictres so Beel is the ideal companion. Beel is also the perfect body guard

Solomon's current favorite liquor is Fireball and always has some on hand, but Luke always hides it because he thinks drinking is a bad habit

Barbatos definitely listens to heavy metal but everyone thinks he listens to classical music

If my grandmothers met the brothers, Beel would be their fav because he would clean his plate but if it was everyone, Simeon would take it home because he’s so charming even though he’s barely clothed

Everyone is so downbad for Mc I think it might scare off other people how much they hover. Like, a lower demon bothering you? Literally anything could happen to them, like they could be thrown in an endless loop of suffering, they could be made dirt poor for eternity, or they could be torn limb from limb <3 gotta love it

Asmo and Belphie make a deadly duo when to comes to trapping people/demons/angels. They both have the power to lure you in, and would probably take turn luring in victims for an evening as some sort of strange brother bonding. They both remind me of angler fish in a way. Asmo lures them with the pretense of sex and Belphie with relaxation, two things people can’t get enough of and they can stay calm enough to pull it off

Solomon has definitely made the brothers swap bodies or something crazy like that, on accident or not, you decide

Whenever Mc is feeling down, Diavolo offers his man titties as a nice pillow to relax on because he read somewhere once humans liked that

Beel is like a bull in a china shop so do not take him anyway where you need to be delicate. Belphie knows this, and will put him to sleep and carry him when they need to go somewhere like an antique shop by promising him a snack afterwards

Beel thinks Satan, Belphie, and Mc make the best weights out of everyone. Satan will just read, Belphie will just sleep, and Mc is like his personal cheerleader. However, he can and will lift all his brothers and Mc and the same time if he wants to, it’s just difficult to get them all in the same place at the same time

Thirteen, Belphie, and Satan got in a prank war once and it had to end in a draw since one party could not best the other. In the end, they made a final, collaborative prank and pulled it on Solomon

Mc once fell down the stairs in the human realm, ended up in the hospital, and sent the entire cast into panic so much that they took turns watching over them

Mephisto and Mc once had a night out drinking together and (somehow) returned to the HoL but were totally smashed. Lucifer forbid them from doing it again, but they still sneak out together and just crash at Mephiso’s place instead

[angelfoxx]

Coddling Keegan while giving him a handjob😖😖he’s cuddled up to you, head buried in your neck while your hand pumps his cock slow nd sloppy, whines a little when you pay attention to his tip, rubbing it with your thumb, “feels good, baby? Hm?” While ruffling his hair❤️❤️

“You wanna cum, sweet boy? Yeah?” You murmur, practically babying him🫶🫶

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ SWEET BOY? ❞

…in which a very tired keegan gets special treatment.

FEATURING: keegan p russ (duh)

WARNINGS: obviously nsfw. mild overstim. mentions of crying. whoopsie

NOTE/S: hi anon hope u know i read this and my stomach clenched up. sorry just thought u should be aware

“Feel good?” Your voice is just a soft murmur, sickeningly sweet and practically dripping in endearment. “Is that good, Kee?”

The only response you get is a breathy half-groan.

Poor Keegan. Genuinely. He’d come back from what he dubbed a shit mission this past afternoon; nothing too risky. Just a job that the “regular” recruits hit a wall with. A job that he had to go finish, because apparently the general force couldn’t get the fucking thing done.

His next assignment? Tomorrow afternoon. Approximately twelve hours from now, he’d be out again.

The poor guy was fucking exhausted. Hell, he’d called you that morning from the bed of the truck, and…you know why he had to go, you know that it’s his job and all, but…Christ, he’d sounded so tired. Tired and strained and done. Every nerve in your body had been screaming at you to fawn over him the minute he got home; a warm bath, a hot mug of tea (black). Some soup, bowl steaming. Hell, you’d been wringing your hands together at the mere thought of washing his hair. It had become a regular practice at this point; whenever he came back from an assignment, you’d be there to give him a soft landing upon arriving home.

This time around, you didn’t have the time for that. Despite his arguments, you’d probably have a word with whatever shit-for-brains commander had been in charge of putting him on back-to-back assignments.

To focus on the task at hand. Or in hand, rather. Keegan had told you he didn’t want all of the fancy stuff; tea, sure. Soup, sure. The bath and everything? No, he’d just shower.

He wanted a hot mug of tea, a bowl of soup, and then he wanted you to make him feel better in the best way you knew how.

Hence; your current position.

You hadn’t even made it to the bed. Keegan hadn’t even finished his fucking soup. He’d been staring into it like a ghost; gaze vacant, face empty, eyeblack staining his skin charcoal-gray. Hell, the man had just thrown whatever clothes he could find on; just a plain white tee and sweats. For once, he hasn’t been careful with his gear; he’s got it slung haphazardly across the chair beside him. His fucking rifle is sitting on the thing like it’s also eating soup.

He didn’t have to say much. He just kind of shifted and looked you in the eye; sat back, opened his legs a little wider.

Upon swinging a leg over him and sitting in his lap, Keegan had all but deflated.

He’d smelled like soap. Kind of tasted like it, too. Either he had scrubbed off a layer of skin in the shower or he’d just neglected to fully rinse all of the shampoo out of his hair. Either way, you didn’t mind; the fact that he smelled vaguely of vanilla (because for some reason he continued to take your shampoo and not use his own) and he was just slumped back in the chair, weakly holding onto your head as you littered a trail of little marks along his throat…

…oh, sweet boy.

He thought the pet name was stupid. Usually. He’d laugh at you if you called him by it in most situations; the day he’d apparently decided it was safe enough to kiss you goodbye before he boarded the plane to head out on an assignment, you’d called him a sweet boy and Keegan, fully geared up in his vest and helmet with probably five different weapons strapped on around his waist, had just whistled and hummed in response.

Sweet boy, carrying a rifle and a knife and god-fucking-knows-what-else.

Now, though, he doesn’t complain. Either because he’s too tired to or because, right now, even he knows that it’s fitting. Big, beefy soldier, pretty blue eyes rolled back, pretty pink lips parted and pretty little mouth too tired to fight the quiet little noises that would normally remain buried under his tongue. His brow knits, and his nostrils flare, and — oh — his chest rises and his breath hisses in through his nose.

A fat pearl of pre swells up on his tip for a moment before you run your thumb over it and spread it across the blunt round of his cockhead.

It’s not fair to him. Maybe. You’re going so slow and you’re just lazily stroking him but he doesn’t seem to mind. Oh, not at all. His brow knits and his mouth opens a little further; he lets out a short, hoarse breath, chest puffing up before it shudders back down and the muscles along his neck flex.

“Deep breaths, Kee.” You lean forward, kissing the side of his cheek and biting back a grin when his entire body shudders. “Easy.”

“I’m ff…fffuckin’ trying.” Keegan’s voice is rough, strained breathlessly thin. “I’m ff…uhhhckin’ trying, princess, but…”

“Can’t?” You smile, body shuddering. “Aw. Sweet boy.”

Keegan tries to shoot you a glare. He tries. One squeeze of your hand closing over his cockhead has him tensing up again, head tipping back and jaw clenching up as he bites back another groan.

You don’t say anything. You could tease him more (hell, you’d be jumping at the chance any other time), but right now he’s almost pitiful. Sore, exhausted, run-down and on a tight deadline to head back out tomorrow.

The man deserves a break. He doesn’t deserve to be mocked. So you keep your mouth shut (at least, in regards to taunting him) and you tease your thumb over his slit in slow little circles.

Keegan’s body shudders. From somewhere deep in his chest, he groans, brow knitting and eyes squeezing shut. His hips buck up; his cock slides through your grasp, swollen and slick. He’s aching for release, aching for it; it’s like his self-control has been put out to float on a raft and is just drifting towards total euphoric collapse. His head lolls on his neck; he’s in a daze, exhaustion and pleasure mixing like a dreamy cocktail in his system.

“I’ll get a nice bath ready for you after this assignment. Sound good?” You grin as you swish your thumb over his tip and he stiffens, body wound tight and eyes rolling back in his head. He doesn’t give you a verbal response; he just groans, one of his hands pawing uselessly at your waist. His big hands, gloved hands, rough and callous…

The throaty auh Keegan lets out brings your head back into reality, just in time to see his jaw drop and his pretty lips form a pink O as his eyes squint and his lashes flutter. His cock jerks in your hands, and a dribble of thin pre runs down the joints of your fingers. His hips buck up; under that thin layer of cotton, you feel his abdomen flex tight.

Apparently embarrassed at his own sound, Keegan turns his face towards you. Messily, he thrusts his lips at yours; when your body ripples and your hand flexes, he groans, low and tired into your mouth. His skin is hot; he’s flustered, but he’s too tired to do much about it.

“You gonna fall asleep on me after this?” You manage a quiet laugh. “No real rounds?”

Keegan groans. His voice, when it does manage to come out, is throaty and hoarse. There’s a sort of grumble in his voice, a sort of sleepy drawl that has your knees weak. “Shit, if you want…”

You giggle, biting your tongue when you skim the tips of your fingers over the ridge of his head and he tenses, teeth sinking into his lip. “I don’t think you can, Kee. I really don’t.”

“Shut it.” Though his tone is gruff, a tease of your finger over his leaking slit has Keegan’s head lolling back and his eyes, pretty pools of sapphire blue, roll back as his lashes flutter. “I’ll just lay there. You…nngh…you can just get on top an’…”

Keegan’s body shudders. His shoulders lift off the back of the chair; there’s a tremor deep in his belly that you can feel under your hand as he slumps back again, stomach rolling forward and hips rolling up. His abdomen clenches and sucks in so hard you can see the outline of his abs through his shirt, despite the loose fit.

Close.

You’ve learned his bodily cues by now. He tenses, starts to breathe hard — you can hear air rasping in and out of his nose — and, yeah, he paws around until he can grab onto your wrist, fingers wrapping around the spot right under your hand. He’s funny like that; you wouldn’t catch him dead pitying himself, telling you he was nothing but your little play-thing — but god, the quiver in his hand and the tremor in his breath is so, so far away from dominant. It’s so far away from being in control. If anything, he’s feeling your control; he’s feeling your pulse pick up as you shift on his lap, he’s feeling your arm tense as you bite your lip and stroke quicker, faster, twist your hand, and — oh — he’s gripping tight as you swipe your hand at just the right angle, pull it flush against the base of his cock and pump up and —

The strangled cry that comes out of Keegan’s mouth is strained and loosely contained. His jaw snaps shut, his lips seal; his hips buck up, and there’s a soft scuffle as his feet shove against the ground and his socks give him no traction to hold on.

You see the corded muscle of his neck swell at the same time that you feel a ribbon of something hot and sticky squirt up your forearm.

Five times. Five times, Keegan’s hips jerk up; his head turns either way, and his eyes squeeze shut for the first two jolts. They start to open; they flutter, roll back. Close again for the third. The same goes for the fourth. The fifth, though, his eyes open when his hips twitch, and when you try to meet his gaze you look into bottomless blue hues lidded and vague with euphoria.

The blunt edges of his nails dig into your wrist right under a streak of cum. The stuff strings your arm and webs beneath it, threatening to drip onto his thighs. Not that he’d mind, probably. Not now, at least. He’s too weak and tired to really care. Too busy groaning, sound contained deep in his chest, body rippling as pleasure tides over him. Over…and over…and over.

“Feel better?” You prompt the question in a soft voice after a long moment of silence for him to recover. Not that he had any performance issues — just tired, like this, pushed flat-out for too long…he has this worn, beaten look on his face. Barely lifted after everything.

“Yeah.” Despite that, Keegan’s response comes quick; breathless, but quick. His eyes shift over to meet yours, and Christ, if he looked tired before…

“Kee.” The note of pity that leaks into your voice is entirely instinctual. When you lean forward, his breathing staggers; he sort of half-laughs when you run your thumb over his three-fourths lidded eyes, weakly turning away from the contact. “Don’t touch me right now.”

“Kee.” You repeat his name, more seriously this time. “Kee, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m not.” Keegan shakes his head; as if to prove his point, he shifts a little in his seat, pulling himself slightly more upright.

“You look like it. You look so tired.” You lean forward, this time; it’s an effort to push his hair back, and one that he leans away from. “Keegan. Let me take care of you.”

In response, he only laughs. It’s a tired laugh, one that rasps in his chest, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. When he replies, his tone isn’t serious. “You’ve got it on your hands.”

so sorry for my absence. my cod hyperfixation chilled the fuck out a little whoopsie anyways

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! Reader [vol ii]

Summary: you were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

W.C 3.8k

Trigger warning: enemies to lovers trope, eventual smut, language, crude behavior, Eddie is a fucking menace 🖤 this will be a series 💋

{a/n} I probably should have added this when I originally posted it. But I’m a little dumb— anyway, this is my submission for @newlips ’s milestone of love hope you all enjoy it 💋 I truly enjoy writing and I wouldn’t be here without the support you all as readers/ fellow writers bring to me every single day! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart ♥️

He wasn’t your first option for a roommate, in fact he was so far off your radar for a potential housemate, you damn near shrieked when you saw him. But when nobody had showed up besides him to view the small two bedroom house that you were forced to sublease after your roommate got married— you didn’t have a fucking choice. It was too expensive to run another ad in the Hawkins Post and summer was coming to a close. You were fucked.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you snarl as you throw open the door to see his stupid grin. Always too toothy, too goddamn endearing. Made your stomach bind up. “No, no way.”

Standing in all his sadistic leather glory was Eddie fucking Munson. He’s taller than he used to be, still a long haired asshole, reeking of weed and cheap deodorant. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Did you really piss off mother karma that bad that you have to live in a separate, more fucked up layer of hell? Fuck you Dante, and your inferno. There’s not a single other person in this town who needs somewhere to stay?!

He pushes his way into your home, leaning forward with a shit eating grin, eyes hooded and winking as your lips curl in disgust. “Nice to see you too sweetheart.” He taunted. Licking his lips as he stalked past you, his filthy work boots tracking dirt onto the carpet.

“Yuck — do not— call me that,” you hissed, you stand with your hand still on the knob, not fully committing to wanting to shut the door— praying that he was some sort of a hallucination.

“You gonna show me around, or should I raid your panty drawer while you sulk?” A dimple dips into his cheeks as his stupid grin grows wider on his face.

You slam the door with a thud, “kitchen, living room, my bedroom, the other bedroom, bathroom, garage, laundry in the basement.” You’re practically shouting, as you stomp around the small space, pointing to the direction of each room, taking a grand total of twenty seconds to point everything out, not giving a fat rats ass if he was following you or not. His laugh echoes off the walls, taunting you, making your skin crawl and your ears itch. You turn around to find him quick on your heels, your face almost smashing into his grease covered work shirt.

He doesn’t move, or make any attempt to step away from you, forcing you to put the space between you both, stepping back and smoothing down your hair. His eyes kill to yours, dark swirls of muddy browns searching your own, he asks, “Why do you get the bigger room?”

The fucking audacity of this man. You could wring his neck right now and nobody would even know.

“Excuse me?” You question, peering into his chocolate eyes, waving a finger in his face, “maybe because It’s my fucking house, you’re lucky if you’ll get a room at all.”

He leans his head back with a laugh, letting it slam forward as he deadpans, creeping forward and stepping around you, waiting til he’s behind you to whisper in your ear, “I’m lucky? That ad was in the paper for over a week,” he seethes, “I bet I’m the only one who showed up to view the place, so nice try, Tooty— but you’re desperate for the cash.” He wasn’t wrong, you were desperate, the salon paid okay but Josie just upped the price on your rental chair, making your mortgage almost impossible for you to pay on your own.

“…I’m doing you a favor. So, if you want me to pay rent and utilities, then I’ll, so graciously, be taking the bigger room.” His breath fans across the back of your neck, making the hairs stand up, and goosebumps riddle your skin. You turn to face him, hands on your hips trying to show how serious you are.

“I know it took you like four times longer to graduate than anyone in United States history, but you can’t possibly be this damn dumb.” It was a cheap shot and you know it, but who does he think he is? Barging in here with demands like a fucking A list celebrity. Not today, mother fucker.

A comment that would have normally made anyone else burst into tears, or at least leave hollering ‘bitch!’ as they stomped out to their car, only fuels Eddie’s perverted fire, “Ooo, an insult and a scolding, what’s next a spankin’?”

Your hard-ass facade drops, your face faltering to one of disgust instead of stern, don’t-fuck-with-me, boss lady, “Get out, Munson.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay.” He saunters towards the kitchen table and pulls out his wallet, of course its a chain wallet, you roll your eyes as he starts forking over an impressive amount of bills and sets them down, one by one.

“Here’s my first month, last month and deposit.”

The total is way more than what you’d even told him but you're still tongue tied from his comments, he lives for this shit and you had fallen for it—rookie mistake.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to start moving stuff in.” He smiles widely, moving towards the door, “See you then, roomie.”

His figure haunts you for the next few hours you have left of peace. His smell lingers around the house, you shove open every window you can, including the one that was painted shut by the previous owners. He was so fucking annoying. Is that supposed to be charm he was throwing at you? Fucking barf. The only thing you were feeling was rage, and that you needed to shower after feeling his breath on your skin. Lighting every scented candle you can find, Sugar cookie and beach sands will do— the smell slowly wafts out of the windows. You shower quickly, figuring better do it now than after he arrives, the dreaded walk in a towel from the bathroom to your room was something you hadn’t thought of until this second. Hot water sprays against your skin, assaultingly hot, almost blistering the skin on your back.

You are seething, raging mad. If you were a cartoon, smoke would be funneling out of your ears. Mocking him, you think of better comebacks than you had thought up earlier. Scrubbing your skin until you resembled a lobster, and angrily scratching your scalp. “What’s next a spankin?” GOD he’s so nasty, the sheer nerve of him makes you want to throw a toaster into the shower with you. Nothing a few volts can’t fix. You towel off, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you wipe away the condensation. The stress of the day slowly melted off as it was rinsed down the drain.

You’re applying your eye cream when a—loud as fuck— knock on the door shakes the walls.

“Honey, I’m home!” Eddie hollers as you peek through the glass. He’s carrying a duffle bag and a 30 pack of Busch Light. 3 smiling idiots are behind him, two passing a joint back and forth while balancing a very worn mattress, the other swaying on the sidewalk holding a guitar, most likely already drunk.

Tucking the tail end of the towel wrapped around your head into itself, you fling open the door, “Jesus Christ Eddie, will you shut up! I have neighbors you know!”

“Oooo— first fight!” One of the idiots with shaggy blonde hair preens.

Your glare could compete with lasers against his skin, prying through his epidermis and burning the vessels.

Eddie lets out a laugh, “aww sweetheart, I didn’t know you were planning a slumber party!” he says gesturing to your towel and pink robe. “Give me about 30 minutes and I’ll be braiding your hair and you can paint my nails, give me all the hot gossip!”

You turn with a huff half closing the door behind you. The gaggle of idiots roaring with laughter at Eddie’s joke.

He pushes through the door into the house, tossing his bag onto the table, knocking over the napkin holder and the stack of mail, letting out a loud sigh. He rips the thirty pack open on the side, making the beers crash to the floor. You still your eyes and cross your arms, unamused by his stupid antics. He cracks one open, slurping up the spray of suds as it puddles around his hand and down onto the carpet. He kicks a beer towards you and raises his up in triumph. “Here’s to you roomie, Home Sweet Home!”

You’re so fucked.

-

“Robin, I’m seriously going to kill him. I don’t care if I have to go to jail—anything would be better than this!” you whisper-yell into the phone, you watched Eddie and his band of misfits bring in box after box, most of his stuff was in black plastic garbage bags. They formed a line throwing the bags to one another and the last one haphazardly tossing them into his room.

“Oh relax! A hunk like him moving in and you don’t even have to pay him? You just hit the jackpot!” She giggles on the other end of the phone, smacking through her licorice.

“More like jackass with all the shit he’s moving in.”

You’re hunkered in your room, between the wall and your bed, twirling your bedroom phone cord through your fingers, “Seriously the place smells like weed so bad I’m probably getting a contact high as we speak.”

Robin lets out a throaty laugh, “Might do you some good, you’re so fucking tense all the time.”

“Sorry—” you say, twiddling the blue carpet fibers through your fingers, “I’m just stressed after Nancy moved out is all.” It wasn’t a lie, Nancy moving in was a huge relief to you, she took care of almost everything. Organizing bills, scheduling pest control when needed, she even wrote the garbage pick up days and hung it on the garage door. With her gone, this all falls on you. “What if he steals my stuff in the middle of the night and bails?”

She curses your full name, “He may be a lot of things, but a thief is not one of them—seriously you have nothing to worry about, calm your boobies!”

“Boobies!” Steve yells, joining the room Robin was in, “it’s Eddie, he’s a total nerd, you’ll be fine.”

“If he’s so great Then you can live with him Steve!”

“Nope, no can do,” he says around a mouthful of food,

“I gotta keep this clumsy oaf on a short chain”

“Oh, you’re dead Harrington.” The phone drops and all you hear is squealing and thudding of feet running around.

“Robin! Not my shampoo! ”

“Steve? Robin?” You wait in silence as the line goes dead, “Uhh!” Slamming the phone into the receiver you hear Eddie and his leather clad Barbarians holler goodbye to one another. One too many “see ya later man” ’s and you’re practically puking. You open the door to your room and poke your head out. Watching closely as Eddie tears through garbage bags, unloading heaps and heaps of clothing, an entire bag dedicated to just band shirts, another revealed bedding that was quite literally rolled up and thrown into the bag. A quick sniff test has him turning up his nose.

The kitchen is taken over by Eddie’s stuff, more bags, more boxes, a cookbook titled: The Dungeonmeister Cookbook is sitting on the stove. A stack of Burger King collectible Disney cups is cluttered around the microwave. Along with an impressive amount of neon twisty straws and a bowl with a straw connected to drink the milk.

It’s like a small child moved into your home instead of a grown ass man.

Opening the fridge to get an apple, you can’t help but notice Eddie also moved some refrigerator items with him as well. Two big bottles of hot sauce, more beer than the local bar probably holds, a half drank carton of orange juice, and a giant jar of pickles, without a lid. Huffing with annoyance you step over Eddie’s bags of shit and get a knife from the drawer to slice the apple. The loud shrill screeching of 80’s metal almost makes you cut your finger. Stomping into Eddie’s room with your fuzzy slippers you don’t bother on knocking before you look for the plug to his cassette player, unhooking it from the outlet and pointing the knife in his direction, you all but scream in his face, “I almost cut my fucking finger off! Turn it down or I’ll cut the goddamn cord!”

He’s sitting crossed legged on the floor, cassettes littering his lap, his eyes almost bored, “aww Tooty I’ll play with you in a little bit, daddy just has to get some things done first, ‘kay?”

You roll your eyes in disgust, did he seriously just refer to himself as ‘daddy’?

“God you are foul,” you retort, throwing the cord down onto the carpet and placing the knife on a nearby box, “wouldn’t surprise me if you were a dad.”

Eddie throws his head back with a chuckle, “why? You into dad bods? Listen sweetheart, my metabolism will slow down eventually, gimme three—four years max and I’ll be all gut.” He flashes his pearly whites towards you and winks.

Ignoring him completely, your nose scrunches. “Stop calling me that!” your heart is pounding in your chest fury on high, “what the hell is that?”

“That,” Eddie says batting his eyelashes, “would be my masculinity wafting from my aura to yours, why does it turn you on?”

You fold your arms over your chest, and shift your slippered feet beneath you, “Do you have a certain amount of disgusting phrases you have to get out throughout the day or are you just naturally this nauseating to be around?”

“No idea, anyway,” Eddie continues, standing to his full height and shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, “I’m gonna order a pizza you want in?”

“Maybe you should finish unpacking,” you say taking a quick glance around the clothes strewn everywhere around the room, “it’s a fucking mess in here.”

Eddie leans in close eyes ghosting over your features as they gawk over your lips, “well, sweetheart, maybe if you had given me the bigger room— like I had asked for— I would have enough space to put my stuff, besides,” he says, standing up and leaning backwards to crack his back, a small trail of hair peeking out from his waistband makes your breath hitch in your throat, “I bought dressers and they’ll be delivered on Monday, so my clothes don’t have a place to go right now, unless you wanna split your closet?”

“I’d rather drop dead.”

“Aww don’t do that, far too pretty to be dead, and what would the neighbors think?” He strips off his shirt and throws it in the corner of his room, your eyes dart away but not before catching a glimpse of his pale skin.

The small tattoos he had in high school are slightly faded with time, new ones are inked down his arms, across his chest and down his side. You can’t help but notice the silver hoops pierced through his nipples as they reflect light and draw you in towards his chest. He’s lean but built, no defining abs but the muscles in his arms could be carved from a sculptor, replicating a greek statue. Surely minutes have gone by but in reality it has only been seconds, you don’t even realize he’s still talking.

“…don’t need to give the cops more of a reason to watch me more than they already do.” He drops his eyes to your face, seeing you peek at his body. A grin is plastered to his lips as they curve upwards, he stretches his arms out wide, the veins in his arms protruding further out, oh what you’d give to just touch it with your hands, your tongue— wait what?—“Shit,” he says, drifting forward, your body pulling away from him, “looks like you aren’t into dad bods after all.”

Your cheeks flare red as you stomp out of his room, his joker laugh vibrates the walls as you slam your door. Throwing yourself on the smooth purple cotton of your comforter, and screaming into your pillow.

Nobody ever got under your skin the way he is. Why are you allowing him to frustrate you this much? He’s a boob. A pimple on your ass. That annoying twitch that your eye sometimes does when you don't have enough sleep. Yes, the festering wound, the bad rash that kept coming back, the burn in your belly, the thorn in your side— is now your roommate. Fuck.

A knock on your bedroom door, brings you back to your current state of throwing a hissy fit. You launch your cup of pens that adorns your nightstand at the door.

“Does that mean you don’t like pineapple on your pizza?”

-

Thank God you showered before Eddie started unloading his stuff, because he has been in the bathroom for at least a half hour. You’re sitting on the couch, the same rough, itchy upholstery that used to take up way too much space in the Wheeler’s basement. But a $20 bill and Nancy promising her dad that she would mow the lawn for the entire summer of ‘91, and it was now yours. Karen would sigh with relief that the ugly furniture was leaving, meaning her living room would get an upgrade as their now living room furniture would find solace in the basement. No longer stinking of cheesy pizza farts and bad B.O., or screaming threats from middle school boys about the inner demons of DnD, Mrs. Wheeler would come to miss the yelling, and the rotten stench of boys running amuck in her house. Nancy parted with the under stuffed, well loved, hideous piece of furniture when she moved in with Jonathan. So now, the outdated, wagon wheel patterned couch, was all yours.

The smell of finger nail polish fills the living room as you attempt at painting your toenails a shimmery blue that you had gotten at the mall with Robin. A fuzzy navel wine cooler tucked between your legs, you’re trying hard to get it finished before a new episode of “The Nanny” comes on. Eddie is singing in the shower, loudly. You recognize the tune as “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. Not that you were admiring the way his voice sounded. You were just surprised that a twenty six year old weirdo actually knew good music. The doorbell rings, snapping you out of, yet again, another strange spiral of thinking about Eddie Munson.

“Eddie!” You holler from the living room, “door.”

“Money’s in my wallet, just pay the dude quick and I’ll be out in a minute.” He yells back from the shower.

“Eddie, I’m busy— get the fuck out here and do it yourself.” There is no way you are walking around with wet toenails, what the hell was he thinking?

“I’m in the middle of washing my ba— “

“Alright! Fine!” You walk on your heels to the door, opening it quick to find a Hawkins High student in a red hat with the pizza logo on it.

“That’ll be $19.50,” he says with a less than enthused remark.

“Hang on,” walking back to the bathroom on heeled feet you knock on the door, “where’s your wallet?” you ask in a hurry through the door.

“Uh, my jeans I think,” Eddie yells back. You cross into Eddie’s room, looking around the mess he made, realizing the only thing he managed to make an attempt at organizing was his never ending cassettes, a few records, and an old record player. Posters decorated every wall. Metallica, Nirvana, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, and White Zombie. The clothes were piled high in a mountain of leather, flannel and white cotton socks. Not a single pair of jeans that you could see. His bed sat on the ground, cluttered with notebook papers, dice, and tightly rolled joints.

“Eddie!” You yell from his room, “where the hell are your jeans?”

A chuckle echoes in the bathroom, muffled slightly by the spray of the shower head, “they’re in here, sweetheart.” His voice dripped with smugness and sweet notes of laughter.

Fuck it, we don’t need pizza. I can eat cereal. I’ll just tell the pizza kid to leave and Eddie can fend for himself. Fuck this.

“Tooty?” He calls from the shower, enunciating every syllable. “Come on,” he sings, laughing to himself, “I promise I’ll stay behind the curtain. You won’t see a thing— unless of course— you want to.”

You barge through the door, fumbling through Eddie’s jeans pockets, finding the black leather of his chain wallet and yanking out $25. An idea crosses your mind and you can’t help but go through with it. A flick of the lights had Eddie cursing every word imaginable as he was cast into darkness.

Thrusting cash into pimple head’s hand and shutting the door, you walk into the kitchen to get some plates. Eddie emerges from the bathroom. His hair is dripping in long strands, and your robe is wrapped right around his body, barely covering his southern region. The pink terry cloth material lined with lace looking absolutely ridiculous on his tattoo covered body.

Oh— this mother fucker.

“Are you seriously wearing my robe?” You ask, hands on your hips, nails digging into the cotton pajama shorts you’re wearing.

Eddie does a spin and swings his hips in a circular motion, his dick swinging like a helicopter.

“Well sweetheart, when you so rudely turned the lights off on me, I was forced to find the first thing I could to dry off with, and besides— you can’t deny how good I look,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, smiling the widest smile you had ever seen from him.

A lump of anger and sheer rage catches in your throat, “you’re repulsive,” you say, turning away from him and tossing pizza onto plates.

“And you,” Eddie says sliding beside you, his breath fanning your cheek, the cold drops of water from his curls pressing into your shoulder as he grabs a greasy slice of pizza straight from the box, “are extremely uptight.” The whites of his teeth bite into the cheesy triangle and chew loudly as he smacks his lips, licking the orange grease from his lips.

Anger boils in your belly, filling your veins with agitation so thick they’re bound to clog up. “I. Am. Not. Uptight,” you seethe through clenched teeth, and closed eyes.

“Yeah, sure sure,” Eddie says, mouth full of pizza, and his eyebrows raised, “whatever you say.”

You weren’t always this high strung. But having everything ripped away from you, would make anyone pretty goddamn bitter to the lemonade life had to offer.

vol ii

volume ii

A/N: thank you to everyone for reading this and continuing to support my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone I had beta this story—@agentmarvel @pinkrelish + @sweetsweetjellybean you all push me to be a better writer and I am forever grateful for that ♥️♥️🖤💋

Taglist: @luna-munson83 @tlclick73 @idkidknemore @joejoequinnquinn @newlips (omg, they were roommates)

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter Three

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, ptsd/ flashbacks, profanity, age gap, sexual tension, size difference/kink, praise kink, jealousy, scenting, fingering, recollection of non-con trauma (for the plot), alcohol consumption/drunk character, let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Sorry this one took a while, been a hell of a week. It's got a lot of angst, so prep yourselves guysss. Ends with smut, ofc. I hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

<- Previous Next ->

“Y/n. For the love of Christ, you better tell me that the storm held ya up last night.” Jakes voice rings in your ear, waking you up.

Oh shit.

You look to your left to see the first rays of sunlight shining on Ralak’s sleeping, naked body, chest heaving slowly from his unfaltering breaths. Perched on his side, his face sits in his palm, as if he’s fallen asleep partially sitting up. Two fingers still nestled inside you, his facial muscles are slightly tensed, like he’s ready wake up any minute and tend to your every need, just like he’s been doing all night long. 

“Get your ass home. Now.” Jakes irate voice brings you back to reality.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What were you going to tell Jake? That the storm did keep you up? He’d never believe that. Not for a second. Either way, if you didn’t go now, this man would skin the love of your life. Unmated, in his bed, all before your second iknimaya? He’d try, at least.

“Sst-ah.” you let out a shaky breath, grimacing as you pull his fingers out of you. They’re covered in your cum, so much so that a thick string of slick connects you to his fingers when you pull your pelvis away. You scramble to your feet, wiping yourself up with the already damp cloth next to his bed.

I’ll be back, my love. You think, looking over at him one last time before rushing out of his marui.

On your way to the cave, you try to assess your state. It’s hard to tell, given the fact that your heart is pounding at a speed only an ikran could attain. Anxiety streams through your veins, but otherwise, you feel fairly normal. Maybe a little bit like you did after your first iknimaya, when you passed your dream hunt and had one too many glow worms. But nothing unmanageable.

Guess it’s over.

Finally arriving at the cave, frantic eyes search the body of water for your loincloth. It’s floating at the far end of the lake, so you dive in. As you’re swimming, you catch a whiff of your own scent, mixed with Ralak’s. You bring your arm to your nose and take a deep breath. “Fuck.” you curse under your breath, submerging your entire body in the water, trying to bathe his scent off you.

You knew you scented each other, but you didn’t know that it would linger this long. You scrub your body, paying extra attention to your chest and neck. Time is going faster than you can move. But it’s like the more you scrub, the more you rub it into your skin – into your essence.

“Forget this.” you huff, grabbing your loincloth and swimming back to sand. You wring it out, slip inside and tie the knot hastily. One last look back on his marui pod, and you’re gone like the wind – quick and silent.

The trek back home is nerve-wracking, you feel so uneasy that you could feel something in your throat. A lump. You swallow repeatedly, trying to get rid of it, but it grows a little bigger for every step you take. By the time you’re at your marui door, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Neteyam smells you first, wreaking of a male na’vi, nose scrunching at the odour. He huffs a harsh breath through his nostrils, attempting to rid the lingering scent from of his lungs. He examines your condition – clammy skin with little colour left in it. Eyes trailing up to your face, he could see the fear written all over it, along with something else. Something like –

“Jesus, what the hell were you thinking?!” Jake hisses through clenched teeth.

“D-dad. I-I can explain.” you stutter, throat so tight you can barely speak.

Jake pulls his head back, eyelids blinking furiously. It’s as if the scent quite literally hit him, square in the jaw. With his suspicions confirmed, his lips stretch into a thin line, his go to expression of disapproval. The type that makes your ears lay flat against your skull, and bottom lip jut out.

“I can smell him on you.” Jake brushes past you. “Stay with your brother.”

“Dad, please.” your voice is strained, fighting against the lump in your throat. “Where are you going?”

He stops dead in his tracks, back still turned to you, a hand flying up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “To Tonowari, kid. Tsireya will teach you from now on.” He heaves a heavy sigh and walks away.

The anxiety quickly morphs into anger, bubbling in your veins and sizzling your skin. Your short fuse blows. How could he take this away from you? You weren’t a ‘kid’ anymore. You had passed your iknimaya back home, and you’re on the brink of passing it here, too. Despite that, he always treats you like this, like the late bloomer you are. He didn’t even care to know what really happened.

“Not a fucking kid!” you shout after him, only for him to shake his head and continue walking.

“Sis.” Neteyam mutters, gently guiding you into the marui pod by your arm.

You shrug him off, storming past him to dive into your bed, burying your face into your pillow – damp from last night’s tears. It only becomes wetter as your fresh tears stream down your face. You couldn’t help it, you cried whenever you felt overwhelmed with anything. Sadness. Happiness. Anger. Frustration.

The sound of your privacy curtain being drawn back snaps your head up from your pillow. It’s Neteyam, standing over you with a face of concern, a bowl of steamed fish in one hand and a cup of water in the other. He sighs quietly, crouching down to come eye to eye with you. “You were in heat, weren’t you?” He states, already knowing the answer. “You should eat and drink something.” He places the bowl and cup on the floor next to you.

You sit up, supporting your torso with your arms behind your back. Neteyam. The older, caring bother, always looking out for everyone but himself. Of course, he would be the one to care enough to find out what you’ve been through the past day. “Yup. Late bloomer finally got her heat.” you speak of yourself harshly, taking the cup of water and chugging it.

“You smell gross.” he chuckles breathily, nudging the bowl of fish closer to you.

“Thanks, big brother. Appreciate it.” you giggle between cries, nudging it back to him. “Not hungry.”

His arms rest on his knees, braids swaying in his face as he looks behind him before dropping his head. “Agh.” he lifts his head, staring at you for a few seconds, as if he were contemplating something. “You should not have done that. Not before your iknimaya.”

“I didn’t! Nothing... like that happened, Tey. Ralak isn’t like that.” your head hangs low as you utter the words. “He’s... a gentle giant.”

Neteyam scoffs, straightening his spine. “Gentle giant? He looks like he eats na’vi for breakfast.”

“Hey –” you sniffle, glaring up at him, “I like him, Tey. A lot. He’s good for me.”

Neteyam’s features soften. As if hearing your words plucked a string of sympathy in his heart. As much as he wants to help you, he can’t. Not with a direct order from his father. He shakes his head, eyes closed, and brows furrowed.

That’s his way of saying, ‘Sorry. Can’t’.

You sigh, bringing your knees to your chest to hide your face. You can smell Ralak’s scent now that your nose is near your thighs. It fills your lungs with every breath you take. His pheromones. His aphrodisiac. His arousal. He left it all on you, rubbed into your skin so deep it seems to have altered your own scent.

Is this what scenting does?  

Soon you’re breathing heavily, trying to savour what left you have of him – of last night. It makes you heavy in the head, like all the strength has left your body. You feel your face warm up, the heat spreading to the tips of your ears. You’re tired. Defeated.

“Neteyam! Neteyam!” Lo’ak’s faint voice sounds frantic.

You hear Neteyam shuffling to his feet to go and check what his brother is on about. “Stay here, got it?”

“Mhm.” you hum, too tired to even lift your head.

The sound of Lo’ak yanking back your privacy curtain makes you jump out of your skin, nearly knocking over the bowl of steamed fish. You stare up at him wide eyed, to see him motioning over to the door of your marui. Your brows kiss in confusion, unsure of what’s going on.

“Heard you were in... hea-a situation. Just gonna borrow big bro for a second, cool?” he raises his brows, nudging his head towards the door in an emphasized manner.

A smile pulls at your lips once you realize what he’s doing for you. You wipe your puffy eyes with the back of your hand and shuffle to your feet. “I owe you, Lo’.”

Ralak’s POV

Ralak rouses to an empty bed. He sits up quickly, scanning his marui for any sign of you. Nothing. The only thing that remains is your potent scent flooding the room. The only proof that you were ever here. “Oh, y/n.” he groans, head slumping into his hands.

You were gone. Gone like you were never here to begin with. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he tried not to assume the worst. But what if – what if it was the worst? To be used and discarded like an object. All over again. Surely, there’s no way that you would do this to him, not after opening-up to you like that. Not after last night. Not after the words you uttered to one another before going to sleep –

‘I love you’.

But why does it feel the same? The same as that day. The day he was in a marui pod like this one, young, bare skinned and short haired, kneeling before his own karyu. His chest tightens, the walls of his throat closing in on one another. He can feel it creeping up his spine. The flashbacks. The tremors. The nausea. Rushing to his feet, he makes his way over to the shelf well-stocked with bottles of ‘fermented fruit’ – pxir [beer; alcohol].

A poison to many, but an antidote to him.

Dust had settled on the bottles since the last day he reached for them. The day you became his tanhì. That’s why he had never brought you up here, he never wanted you to see the truth. The way he copes with his emotions – bottling them up and then chugging it down when they became just too much.

The bottle opens with a pop, strong, bitter scent wafting up his nose, replacing the scent of you in his lungs. He takes a quick swig, baring his teeth from the sting of it trickling down his throat. “Ahh.” He sighs a breath of relief, feeling the alcohol already taking effect, loosening his chest, and clearing his throat.  

Yet he can still feel the shiver of his spine, and the churn of his stomach.

“Shit.” he curses, taking another swig. Cursing himself for trusting another after he made the vow to never trust again. Another swig. For facing the part of him that he’s denied since he came into adulthood. Another swig. For letting someone in. Another swig. For allowing himself to love you.

Alas, a clear mind and body – rid of the memories of his past.

He readies himself for his bath, something he often did to relax. Just like he did last time you left him.

----

Time is of the essence. With no idea of when Jake will be back, you move quickly. You weave through the webbing of the mangrove roots, ducking and dodging those that jut out. You take a short cut, bouncing over the netting of a cluster of marui pods on the way to Ralak’s.

Eyes guardedly stuck to your feet, you bump into Ka’ani, the man who replaced Ralak’s role as fisherman – faceplanting into his bare chest. Arms instinctively wrapping around you, he holds you close until you regain your balance. Admittedly, he’s a little too close for comfort, his face nestled in the crown of your head. You hear quick, nasally breaths, muffled by your hair.

Is he... sniffing me right now?

You shove him off you, probably a little too rough to be considered friendly, and take a few steps back. “Sorry, Ka’ani.” you mutter, gingerly walking around him.

“No problem, at all.” he smirks, raising his hands and making space for you to leave.   

With a quick shake of your head, you continue making your way to Ralak. The closer you get, the more a giddy smile spreads across your face. Though you were the bearer of bad news, you can’t ignore the flutters in your stomach. The same flutters you had when you first laid eyes on him – the day Eywa herself told you he’s the one.

Your mate.

Your legs move faster, as fast as they can go, until the sand slackens your steps. Silky, fine sand – always the first thing to let you know that you’ve arrived. You can’t help the excitement bubbling from your tummy and up your throat. “Ralak!” you blurt out, eager to find your love.

A tall figure in the distance catches your eye, it looks as if he were going into the cave. You wave your hands above your head, shouting his name as you lope towards him. “Ralak!”

The figure stops, turning around to acknowledge your calls. He stands still for a minute, before walking towards you with a stagger in his step. Tail perking up instantaneously, your hand flies to your bare hip, searching for your medicine pouch. You’re running on the tips of your toes again, concern and worry replacing the flutters low in your belly.

“Wha-t is it?” you shout, voice wavering as you close the distance between your bodies.

You crash into him with a smack, making the typically sturdy giant wobble. Now your ears art alert, perturbed by his odd behaviour. Gently pushing you away, his large hands grip your upper arms, fingertips touching once another. Blue, hazed orbs peer down at you, extra glossy and lidded.

“Are you sick? Wounded?” you question, resisting his gentle pushes to search his body. 

Nostrils flickering above his pursed lips, he leans into your neck. He pulls back with a huff, blowing hot air through his nose, onto your face. Your eyelashes flutter, face of concern quickly morphing into one of confusion.

Everyone is sniffing me today.

Head snapping to the left, his eyes search the webs of the mangrove roots off in the distance. A guttural growl rumbles deep in Ralak’s chest, thinned lips curling over his canines, flashing them before your eyes. You watch in awe as his brows lower, knotting together to turn his eyes beady. Ears flat against his skull, the scent of another na’vi scrunches his nose.

That’s a new look.

“Ralak.” your voice is breathy and small – laced with fright.

His growl grows louder, coming from the pit of his stomach, deep and powerful. Lengthy fingers tightening around your arms, he spins you around and tucks you behind him in one swift move. His name slips off your tongue once more, quick, and unsure. He has one hand perched on the dip of your waist, holding you close behind this towering frame.

“Come out.” he growls gruffly, straightening his spine to present at his full height.

The two words double-knot your stomach, sending you wiggling into the sink of his back, face peeking through the crack of his arm and side. Your eyes flicker from side to side, looking for whatever – whoever he’s talking to. Meanwhile, your fingers grip the band on his loincloth, the only thing available on his body to hold.

Silence.

“Or I make you.” He rasps the warning through his four, pointed fangs.

Perhaps if Ralak wasn’t here the knots in your belly would have tightened by now, to the point where you would feel queasy. But the hiss fizzling from the back of his throat puts your nerves at ease – your body sensing its safety in his presence.

Out comes a brawny, wide na’vi, from behind the large, thick roots of the mangroves. His hands are splayed out, representing something of caution. No – surrender. He approaches Ralak slowly. Warily.

“Sorry, brother. I did not know she was yours.” Ka’ani says impishly.

Jaw snapping open, his hiss comes out full force. It’s loud and thick, almost grating. Much like a roar. Though you knew it wasn’t for you, it shook you up, tugging at the string in your grip as your body jolts forward into his.

“She belongs to no one.” His top lip twitches as he spits the vile words, stinging your heart in the process. Am I not his? What about last night? You think, tightening your grip on the band of his loincloth.

“It looks as if she belongs to you, Tak.” Ka’ani leans to the left, chin jutting out as he tries to catch a glimpse of you. “Look at her, holding on to your –”

“Lewng! [shame]. Tracking her scent.” Ralak hisses, turning his body to hide you from his predatory eyes. “Leave.”

“Ah. Come on now, brot-” He spreads his arms wide, walking around Ralak towards you.

Ralak takes a step forward on his last word, nearly coming chest to chest with the shorter na’vi. A moment of silence passes between the two, as Ralak stares him down with vengeance in his eyes. A hand flies up to his hip, gripping the knife sheathed in its casing. “Now.”

Ka’ani straightens his back, eyes flickering between Ralak and yours that peek from behind him. His hands retract, hovering either side of his head as he retreats. Ralak maintains his position, with a hand keeping you tucked away whilst the other rests on his hip. Once Ka’ani’s figure is no longer visible, Ralak sighs, and turns his heel to make his way back to his much-needed bath.

“Thanks...” you huff, walking close behind him.

“You women and your heats.” he mutters as he walks faster, ripping his loincloth out of your grip.

“Ex-cuse me?” your words bounce as you try to keep up with him. “You have no –”

“Do you understand what would have happened had I not been here? Do not be so reckless.” He tsks, as his feet come to a halt, balling his hands into fists.

“Reckless? All I did was walk here!” you shout, almost bumping into him again.

“Because you left to begin with.” he whispers through clenched teeth.

“What?” the question is breathy, hands perching on your knees to rest.

He turns around quickly, prompting you to stand at full height. Breathing heavily, he presses his warm body against yours, chin tucked into his chest to peer down at you. Instinctively, you perch on the tips of your toes, eyes lidded in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, he brings your wrists up to his nose, heated lips pressing against your supple skin.

“He scented you.” he mumbles quickly, lips pulling into a thin line before letting go and backing away.  

“Why? How? I only bumped into him.” you walk towards him, watching him turn his heel again. “Hey –” you reach out for his arm to pull him back around.

First you leave him this morning, then come back scented by another na’vi. He shrugs you off, hands now fiddling with the knot above the base of his tail as he nears the entrance of the cave. The knot of his loincloth comes undone, heavy, sheathed hunting knife silently making impact with the sand.

“Because he wants everything that’s mine.”

So, I am his. You think, one corner of your mouth curling upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, Ralak.” You stand at the cave’s opening, waiting in silence for a response.

He continues to keep his back turned to you, dips of his clenched glutes on full display. Despite last night, seeing him naked still makes you shy, cheeks turning red and hot from the blood that rushes to them. You watch him hastily put his hair in a sloppy bun as he submerges himself in the water.

“I need to speak with you about this morning” you mumble, eyes locked onto the ripple of his back muscles.

“No need. I understand.” he answers lowly, shimmying over to the bottle of fermented fruit propped on a rock in the cave.

“Understand what? It’s about –”

“You made a mistake. It was your heat. It is fine.” he mutters quickly, taking a swig at the last word.

A mistake? My heat?

The realization hits you, hard. You’d been so out of it, so delirious from your heat you hadn’t given a second thought about his confession. His trauma that he confided in you, in this very cave. It’s like stones in your heart – no, boulders. Weighing it down so heavily that it feels like there’s a pulse in your stomach.

How could you be so cruel? So thoughtless? So insensitive? To not even wake him and utter the words to his face. To allow him to wake up to an empty bed after letting down his walls and being so vulnerable to you. To be so caught up in your own head you couldn’t even bat an eye at the man who helped you through your first heat.

“Oh. Oh, Lak. No. No, it’s nothing like that.” you sputter out a trembling voice, sliding into the water to rush over to him. You rest your hand on his upper back, taking in the warmth of his skin. He feels feverish – hot to the touch.

What is he drinking?

You rub his back gently, bioluminescent freckles dancing from your caresses. Yet, he’s rigid. Cold. Distant. He’s not the Ralak you know, swaying side to side as he brings the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

“Stop, my love.” you coo, sliding your hand up his raised arm as you walk around him.  Pulling the bottle away from his lips, you cautiously place the pxir on a nearby ledge. “Ralak.” you whisper, staring up at him with worried eyes.

The sound of his name falling from your lips tilts his head back ever so slightly, like it pained him to even look at you. Curly, loose stands of hair frame his face, accentuating his angular features. He attempts to fix his mask of indifference to his face, but you can see through it. You see the anguish glossed over his lidded, inebriated eyes.

Ocean blue eyes.  

tw: flashback

His mind is elsewhere, dissociating back to the day of the incident. The night of his iknimaya celebration, where his own karyu cornered him in his family marui, engulfing him with her pheromones. Manipulating him with her heat to take care of her. To touch her.

He can hear the waves crashing into the shore, the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of the marui, the roll of the thunder – her whispers in his ear, ‘I’ve been waiting too long for this. You are officially a man now. Make your karyu feel better, right here...’.

The smell of her pheromones is suffocating, more potent than any fermented fruit he’s ever had. It frightened him, feeling like he had no self-control. No way to stop his movements, no matter how much he screamed at his body to move, run – anything.

It is what made him vow to never lose control of himself. His composure.

He can feel the heaviness of his body. The lethargy. The way his lungs refused to fill, no matter how hard he tried to breathe. When he woke, he was alone, sitting in the corner in a pool of his own sweat, curled in on himself. His karyu left, to never return. Leaving nothing but the lingering smell of her heated scent behind. 

tw: end of flashback

“My karyu” you hum softly, placing his hand on your chest.

When you first called him that, he almost grimaced. But as time passed, you made the word bearable. You gave it a new meaning, a new feeling. Eventually filling him with eagerness to hear it fall from your flushed lips. In tones of excitement, frustration... pleasure.

You hold his thumb, and give it a squeeze, trying to bring him back from wherever he is. Your heart weighed even heavier, seeing him drift away and detach when he’s right in front of you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. Feel me. Feel my heartbeat. Focus on it and come back to me.”

The words echo in his skull, reverberating between the thick bone. He can hear you, feel you. With each thump of your heart, the heaviness of his body lifts, the scent of her fades, the pitter-patter of the storm subdues until nothing, but that thump can be heard. His eyes finally flicker down to yours, ears and brows twitching at the pulse of your heart.

Only a bottle could do that for him. Bring him back. Yet, you did it with the mere sound of your heart.

“I’m sorry, Lak. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I was so thoughtless. I’m sorry... that happened to you.” the words are shaky, flowing over your quivering bottom lip. “I would never. Ever. Ever. Ever –” you blubber, shaking your head, “Ever, do that to you. I-I had to leave because of my father. He’s punishing me. Forbidding me from seeing you. Having Tsireya teach me instead. I should have woken you.”

Another arm snakes around his waist, bringing him in closer to you. You slump your head into his chest, letting the tears flow and stain his skin. “I don’t regret a thing. I meant everything I said. I-I see you, Ralak” you sputter, breath hitching from the crying.

“Tanhì” he croaks, kissing the crown of your head as he wraps his arms around you to hold you closer.   

“I love you” The three words are said in unison as you cling onto one another.

Alcohol still coursing through his veins, Ralak’s heavy body slumps into you, slowly shifting you both against the cave wall. He presses your back against the rocky surface, unwrapping his arms from your waist to support his body weight with a hand on the wall. He leans in, brushing his cheek against yours.

“I will miss you.” he whispers huskily next to the shell of your ear.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you whisper back, head pulling back to meet his gaze.

Your eyes lock for a moment, an undeniable tension now budding in the air and making your breaths quicken. He inches even closer, lips brushing against yours as you exchange the same hot breath until you’re light in the head.

He kisses you roughly – sloppily.

Tongue slipping into your mouth, you get a taste of what he’s been drinking all day. It’s a little sweet, with undertones of various fruits native to the reef people. But once the sweetness wears off, the bitter aftertaste makes your brows gather. He pulls away, revealing heavy-lidded eyes with thin blue rings for irises, flickering side to side as they stare into yours.

Chests heaving in synchrony, you both struggle to catch your breath. Hands cupping each other’s face, your lips crash into one another again, body language hungry and desperate for each other’s touch. Ralak shoves his knee between your legs, providing you with the friction your body has been begging for. Your body moves on its own, humping at his thigh as best you can in the water.

“I-I want... you.” The desperate words part your bruised, flushed lips, hand sliding up his back to caress his kuru [queue].

He shakes his head, brows gathering tightly. “Not now. Not here. We do it the right way.”

“Then...” you pant, voice laced with desperation as your hands make their way to his hips, dainty fingers wrapping around his hardened girth, “...give me something else.”

Breath turning raggedy, he struggles to maintain his composure. The influence of the alcohol surging through his body proves it to be an even more difficult task. He takes a deep breath, withdrawing his knee from your legs to spin you around in one quick motion. Ralak tries his best to be gentle with you, shoving you into the wall to press his aching cock against you.

A soft moan parts your lips; thin, fuzzy tail wrapping around his thigh in attempts to bring you closer. Eywa, did that push him closer to the edge. Your tail had been one of his favourite things about you from the day you first locked eyes, so slender and delicate. Nothing like his. It not only fascinated him. It aroused him.

It makes him push into you even harder, tip of his cock throbbing against your lower back. He craves to be even closer to you – to be inside you. To rut into you until your voice becomes so hoarse from screaming his name. Over and over. Again, and again. Fingers hurriedly fiddling with the knot of your loincloth, he pants a few greedy, rough kisses along your upper back.

“Oh! Ralak, I-I think –” you moan lowly, his touches throwing you into a daze.

“What?” he huffs, fingers coming to a halt in fear that he’s being too rough with you.

“I think I’m still in heat.” you lie, or maybe it wasn’t a lie. You feel so woozy in the head that you’re not even sure what’s going on anymore. All that sits at the forefront of your mind is him claiming you as his.

“Is that so?” he lets out a breath of relief, a chuckle if you will.

“Yes. Can you help me?” you pant, trembling voice feigned with innocence.

“Ah. Let me check, little one.” He buries his face into the nape of your neck, pulling back with a loud sigh through his nose. A growl rumbles in his chest and up his throat. “I can still smell him.” The scent of another so deep into your skin makes him want to mark you. To sink his lengthy canines into your neck for the smell to seep out, only to be replaced by his.

“Then fix it.” you breathe, head dipping forward to open yourself up to him.

“Oh?” he smiles open mouthed, brushing his pointed fangs against your silken skin, making your back arch on instinct. Submitting to him and his touch. Open mouth lingering over your neck, his jaw closes to graze his teeth against you. He sucks lightly on your skin, puckered lips pulling off with a pop.

Of course, he’d make you wait for that too. He was only ‘helping’ you, right now.  

He kicks your feet apart, spreading your legs for him to settle in closer behind you. A string of your slick connects your thighs together, breaking apart when he rubs his cock against your bare cunt. He begins rubbing his face into the back of your neck, scenting you as his.

“Mine. Yes?” he growls, thrusting himself against your slippery slit.   

“Yes.” You spread your legs further apart, standing on the tips of your toes to provide him with better access. “Please.” You let out a pathetic mewl.

He grunts in frustration. He wants nothing more than to thrust himself inside you, stretching your pussy out with his huge cock. And with those little, sweet pleas, it’s almost too hard to resist. But he does. He pulls away, gaze snapping down to the rope of wetness connecting your most intimate parts together.

Cocking a brow, his hand comes between your sticky pelvises, fingers coiling around the string of slick before they glide over your pussy and spread your folds. Your wetness drips down his digits, pooling in the palm of his hand. “So wet. Maybe you are in heat.” he mumbles, pressing his lips against your back, peppering kisses down the curve of your shoulder.  

Ralak fondles with your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles into it with his slickened fingertips. Your hips squirm around from the white-hot pleasure tightening your core. It’s just not enough. Perhaps it’s just residual heat, but you feel so, so empty. A yearning deep in your womb, to be filled and stretched. Your hips buck forward, slipping his fingertips to prod at your entrance, before pushing back on him to try and sink them inside you.

Needy body language riling up the giant behind you, his harsh kisses move their way up to your ear. “Say it, tanhì.” he groans lowly, positioning his finger at your tight hole.

“I n-need you inside of me!” you cry desperately, shoving yourself back into him.

“You listen so well, paysyul.” he exhales a hot breath into the shell of your ear, sinking his thick finger inside you, twisting his wrist so that he can curl it right into your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit.” you moan breathily, cheek pressed firmly against the rocky wall.

“That is why you learn so quickly.” He fingers you roughly, expertly working out a squelch with each curl of his digit.

The feeling is like heat, shooting down your spine and pooling in your pelvis. It makes your hips spasm, chasing the fiery sensation in hopes to put it out. His finger brings relieve, satiating the itch as your sweet spot swells from pure bliss. He knows exactly where to touch, and how to touch.

Yet, it still isn’t enough.

“More! ‘ts not enough!” you cry, writhing underneath him.

He finds your little cries amusing, letting a chuckle evade his lips. How could something so small act so mighty? He slides another digit in, feeling your tight pussy walls stretch to accommodate him. He hears the little whimper bubbling up your throat, letting him know you need a moment to adjust.

“Taking my fingers so well, hm?” he praises you with a shaky voice, planting a gentle kiss behind your ear.

“Mmmn! Please!” Another plea falls from your lips, a plea for him to move – to make you cum. He sets a relentless pace, stimulating the sensitive spot in your gummy, hot walls, working lengthy moans and mewls from you.

With the way he’s fingerfucking you, it feels as if your nerves are on fire. The coil tightly wound in your core ready to snap any second now. Your brows pinch together in fervour, mouth falling open to allow heavy, hot breaths to escape.

“Close! So close! Gonna! Gonna –” Your words catch in your throat, leaving you breathless and tense around his fingers.

“Make yourself cum.” he orders gruffly, stopping all movement once he feels you tighten around his digits.

You gasp, hips moving on their own to chase the orgasm he just took away from you. “No, no. You know I can’t. Please.” you sputter, pushing against the wall to ride his fingers.

“You can. And you will.” he growls, bending his fingers as encouragement.

You quickly accept your fate, holding on tightly to whatever pleasurable feeling remains and running with it. You push back on him, squirming around as you try to make yourself cum. Closing your eyes, you tune into your body, feeling what feels good and where. But the position that you’re in makes it even harder to do it yourself.

“Just fuck me!” you cry desperately, frustration so pent up you couldn’t help the outburst.

“Language.” he hisses, shoving his fingers so deep inside you that your slick coats his knuckles.

“Fuck! Please.” you beg, reaching behind you to grab his wrist.

“No.” he smirks, looking down at how your cunt sucks in his digits, listening to your pleading and begging.

He just wants to hear a little more. To hear how badly you want him. He loves the way you squirm around, sputtering nonsense from being so fucked out by just his fingers. He loves the little noises your pussy makes for him and can’t wait to hear how they’ll sound once his cock is stuffed inside you.

“Ralak. Please. Please make me cum!” you cry, using his wrist as leverage to fuck back into him.

He slides his hand down your stomach, fingers playing with your swollen, neglected clit. He’s pumping his digits in and out of your dripping cunt, feeling your slick dribble down his hand. It doesn’t take long for you to near your climax, pussy walls clamping down around his fingers.

“Let go. Cum for me.” he groans, swollen tip of his cock oozing beads of precum onto your lower back.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck!” you let out a hoarse cry, entire body shuddering underneath him “Cumming! Cumming!”

“That’s my girl.” he hums proudly, scissoring his fingers open to stretch you out.  

You let out a high-pitched whimper, hint of pain making your eyes water. Then a wave of ecstasy ripples through you, leaving your legs trembling beneath you. He snakes his arm around your waist, holding you up while you ride out of your high, sprinkling your shoulder with kisses.

Once you come down from your high, you lean back into him, resting your head against his chest. Huffing and puffing, you try to catch your breath as you turn around to cup his swollen balls. “My turn to make you feel good.”

To your surprise, he rests a hand on your arm, pulling it away from him. He looks down at you through blown pupils, arousal plastered all over his face. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples, wet strands of curled hair stuck to his cheeks, he sighs the words. “Not today, tanhi. I must get you back, now.”

[shidouryusm]

✿༝༚༝༚ Satoru: 1 You: 0 ✿༝༚༝༚

content -> fluffy fluff, banters, teasing and touching, making out, mentions of hickey at the end, implied sexual innuendo at the end.

w/c- 1.6k

a/n -> Happy birthday to my blue eyed goober, I love this lil shit till infinity. @pastelle-rabbit to answer your ask more thoroughly hehehehe. And to every Gojo fucker, hope y'all enjoy this once again extremely self indulgent piece with me and let's celebrate our pookie's birthday. Gojover? hell nah what's that

dividers by @/cafekitsune

“Babyyy, I’m hereee. Stop looking at your phone”, you hear Satoru’s whines muffled in your sweater. Your arms wrap around his neck as you hold the phone above his head, which in fact you were using to post for his birthday.

“Just a min, ‘toru.” you murmur softly, using one of your hands to thread through his cloud like hair. Your nails gently graze his scalp, starting from his undercut, as they smoothe over the prickly skin, reaching to the tufts of white candy floss that sits atop, repeating the circling motion again and again. Satoru hums satisfyingly at the feeling of your hands combing through them, comfortable enough to shut up momentarily and nuzzling himself further into your chest. You smile at his clinginess, dipping down to press a light peck on the top of his head. 

Your nostrils fills with the sweet scent of shampoo, the fragnance carrying undertones of candy and molten marshmallow. You wonder where he even gets these and how much do they cost? 

His hands envelopes your back as you half lay on the couch with him plopping himself right on top of you, his tall frame settles between your legs while his head nests snugly on your chest. You tangle one of your leg around the back of his shin. A mess of limbs under the thin blanket that covers both your lower bodies. 

Outside, the sun shlyly peeks from the greyish clouds that wrings out sudden downpours every now and then, forcing both of you to coop up inside the house. 

Not that Satoru was complaining at all, until now, when you shifted your attention from your grown ass boyfriend to your phone. He scoffs mockingly at you, still immersed deep in your phone. What even is there in that godforsaken phone? His blue eyes maliciously eyes that rectangular device. He lays on your chest, silently devising plans on having you all to himself, till the cogs of his brain click.

He shifts, raising himself slightly under the pretext of  “just getting comfortable” so that his face now nestles the crook of your neck. Warm breaths tickles the skin under your ear to which you squirm a little, 

“Toru-” you warn. From your peripheral vision you see him curled up over you, pulling the warmth of your body towards him. His face painted with an expression of serenity as if the only thing in his mind is to be bask in your silent embrace. 

“Hmmm? What did I do?” faux innocent laced his words. You roll your eyes, one of your head still tangled between his locks. He waits for a while, letting you fall into a fake sense of security before  his hands that were wrapped around your lower back start their journey to explore the expanse of your back. His touch is soft, leaving an electrifying sensation through your thin sweater. Almost ticklish and tantalising. One of his hands reach below, long fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, daring to slip underneath it. 

You try your best to not give into whatever mischief his brain has cooked up. Even though, you know, you should have given him the attention, considering it’s his birthday. 

But, since he had to be a menace, two can play the game, right? 

Your attention has now fully shifted to your phone, the cat reel that was playing became ten times more interesting to watch. You even decided to up a notch, removing your hand from his hair to grab the phone with both hands. 

“So, this is how it’s gonna be?” you hear him challengingly mutter, the removal of your hands acting as a declaration of silent war between you two. You dared not to look at him, although you were certain that his face is curled up in his trademarked smirk, plotting to win. 

But if he’s Gojo Satoru, you are Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend. No way in hell you are backing out from this little game you both started literally out of nowhere. 

“Gonna be what, ‘Toru? What did I do?,” you parrot his words back at him, feigning innocence while still peering at your phone. Your jaw muscle twitches, a smile threatening to break out. 

Satoru quirks an eyebrow, amused by your witty banter. One of the many things that made him fall head over heels for you – your ability to match his energy at any given moment.

 Little challenges sparking up between you guys often, keeping the ultimate fire of passion alive. 

“Well, if you say so then,” Satoru breathes, his hands now fully getting into work, as they roam around your body. his other hand trails down to your hips, studying the way his palm bumps over the dips and curves. 

The hand that was fiddling with the hem has slipped inside, resting over the waistline of your sweatpants. You feel your heart race as his blunt nails scrape over your skin ghostily, hooking one finger under to pull the elastic. He snickers against your skin before releasing the fabric, letting it snap against your skin. 

You let out a small gasp at his ministrations. From the corner of your eyes you can make out this insufferable prick grinning at you, still resting his face on your neck. 

“Low blow, ‘toru.” you narrow your eyes, determined to still not make any eye contact as you whisper under your breath, which apparently he caught on. 

You hear him hum, “hmmmm? should have known before removing your hand, baby,” his satirical voice vibrates through as you scoff.

“Should have kept your hands to yourself in the first place.” 

“Shouldn’t have ignored me in the first place. Y’know it’s impossible for me to not touch you, why demand such a thing?” with that, he lets his fingertips place fluttering touches all over your skin, without the obstruction of your sweater. You hiss, trying to squirm away from his cold fingertips but this sturdy, 6 foot giant had you locked under his hold, causing you to fail horribly.

“You’re cold! Get your hands off me.” you grumble. Satoru pretends to not hear anything, continuing to draw random lines with his fingers all over your lower back and sides. At times, fully planting his palm on your back, the frigidness making you gasp and falter. 

“More the reason for me to touch you. You’re hot, baby.” he quips, to which you fall silent. How does he have the answer to everything you say? 

“I’m not gonna leave my phone nor will I react now. You’re gonna lose the challenge”, you huff to which he shrugs his shoulder,

“Nah, I’d win.” Satoru says coolly, resuming his exploration with his hands.

You fall back to your phone, finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever is playing on the phone with the way Satoru’s hands glides over your skin. The pads of his fingers skim through your stomach. Even though they are cold, the lingering touch leaves wamr blaze in its wake. Your heart races sporadically as you anticipate where his hands might move next. 

Although, your face says otherwise, making the most sour expression possible as you stare daggers into your phone. Satoru has always noticed every minuscule details and changes in your body, so this definitely didn’t go under his radar. 

He decides it’s time to dial it up a bit. Afterall, he’s the birthday boy.

With his left hand which was already underneath your sweater, he continued tracing over your skin, while his right hand snaked up to the neckline of your sweater right where his face is currently planted to tug it down, exposing more of your skin in front of him. The veil of cold from the weather outside causes goosebumps to flesh out in your skin, catching Satoru’s eyes as he admires them with his piercing gaze before his mouth puckers in a “o”, cool air slid over your skin from his mouth. 

“T-toru, stop it.” your resolves crumbles like your voice. 

“Are you denying the birthday boy, baby? Don’t hurt me like that.” He whispers against your skin, a mocking bent in his tone as he feigns sadness. You debate whether to succumb to his touches or strangle him.

You breathe through your mouth, attempting to gain composure which you are notoriously failing to do. Satoru’s lips presses against your skin, his lips etched with a grin as he places countless pecks throughout the crevice of your neck and shoulder.

“So fucking pretty, still can’t believe you’re like all mine. Why were you ignoring me, baby. Need you always so fucking much.” Satoru’s gravelly voice vibrates through your skin, the tingles straight shooting down your spine. His hand has now gripped your side like a vice, fingers indenting deep into the skin.

 He groans against your shoulder as he press a kiss there, finding his way back to your neck again, millions of kisses littering your skin. He reaches under your ear, his teeth nipping lightly at the lobe.

Meanwhile, his hands push your body up, towards him, grinding his lower body against yours.

A soft whimper dares to escape your lips before you suppress it. Hands turning a little wobbly, and you hate how heat courses through your veins as Satoru turns your whole being into a mushy puddle against himself.

“Give up, darling.” Satoru whispers in your ear, before his mouth catches hold of your skin. His teeth scrapes the skin, sucking it fervently, while his back pushes you flush against him, letting you feel all the ridges and contour of his skin. His heart rhymes with your, palpitating with galloping beats. A soft whine escapes Satoru's throat at this steamy turn of events.

This had to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back as your phone slides from your hand, falling somewhere on the floor. Your head tips back and a breathy moan ricochets the room as Satoru duly runs his tongue over the hickey that prickled a little.  

You hear Satoru’s simpering resonating around the room as he pulls you up, now seated on the couch with you straddling his lap

“See, told you I’d win.” his hand caresses the newly formed mark that will definitely take a concealer or turtleneck to hide.

“You prick. Fuck you. You did that on purpose.” 

“Tell me where it says I can’t do that.” he muses, shutting you up once again. Your lips jut in a pout as you stare at him. 

His eyes are so blue, glossing with the reflection of the rain pouring outside. His forehead veiled with your most favourite part of his body – those fluffy tufts of hair and his lips curl into a toothy smile. The eyes brimming with love and admiration for you.

Even as he weaseled his way out with an upper hand, you don't feel any of it. Rather, you drink in the way he looks so haphazard. So messy. So homely.

Your hands reach to cup his face, feeling the physicality of his beauty before you lean down to press a kiss.

“The least I can do for you birthday is to let you win, I guess. Happy Birthday, sexy.” you murmur against his lips, taking them between your own.

 He returns the kiss with the same vigour, his hands are now out of the sweater, holding your back for support, whilst pulling you close to him. 

The flavour of your strawberry balm etches itself in Satoru’s mind and he never wishes to stop from relishing the taste of your soft lips. A calm havoc wreck his insides as he thanks whatever lies above for granting him the biggest gift of his life – you.

You break apart from him, his eyes deepening their shade of blue and his face carrying a lingering expression of passion. His chest heaves from deep breaths as you stare at him with confusion. He motions his eyes downwards, making you realise what’s the issue.

“Mind helping me out?” 

a/n -> God I'd commit felonies to experience this especially with a 6'feet, white haired, blue eyed, freakishly handsome and annoying blockhead.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

*calmly*

Bestie, I'm gonna need Logan to invite Alex and Lily over to Florida for a big Sargeant family Thanksgiving 🙊

Thanksgiving in the 305 || LS2 {3}

Pairing: Logan Sergeant x fem!reader Summary: You have lots to be thankful this holiday and get to share the special occasion with even more people this year. Warnings: 18+ only, implied smut, fluff, lots of fluff WC: 3.4K F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Monday, 20th November 2023 You had just walked through hell and it had been an absolute nightmare. By hell, you meant Walmart during the week of Thanksgiving. With another point scored on home soil Logan’s popularity seemed to explode overnight and the shopping trip had taken longer than expected after he signed some autographs and took photos with fans. Shopping wasn’t something you enjoyed on the quietest of days but knowing the amount of food prep you needed to do only left you more stressed.

“Relax, honey,” Logan soothed as he rubbed your shoulders with a smile. “We can do this. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

You eventually made it to the checkout with two laden trolleys and Logan did all the heavy lifting of the bags into the back of his Range Rover. Unfortunately you lost more precious prep time to the traffic that swarmed the city and the stress had you wringing your hands together until Logan took one in his.

“Sweetheart, I think you might be going a little overboard.”

You looked up from the pastry you were rolling out to weave into a lattice topping for the pumpkin pie. “What? No. No, I’m not. This is perfectly acceptable.”

“There’s twice as much as last year,” Logan stated, his lips a shade of deep purple from the berries he had stolen.

“We have more guests this year - special guests too.”

Logan’s lips perked up as he laughed. “I’ll let Dalton know you think he’s not special.”

“That is not what I meant,” you gasped, only forgiving him for the joke when kissed you sweetly. “I’ve never seen your principal outside of the races, or Alex and Lily. I’m nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about. They are exactly the same outside of work.”

You chewed your lip as you nodded, hoping he wasn’t just trying to ease your worry. If he was right then you knew you would get along with them just like you had when you went to the races with Logan. You had been lucky enough to make it to most of his races after the summer break and Sooty even joined for the Triple Header rounds, but he missed out on the Vegas trip. The schedule was just too busy to have a dog in tow.

Since everyone was on the same continent, for the moment, you had invited Logan’s team mate and his team principal to join you for an early Thanksgiving. James was bringing his wife and daughter while Alex was coming with his girlfriend Lily. They had all been so supportive of Logan throughout the year that you wanted to show your appreciation before making your way to the final race in Abu Dhabi.

It was going to be the first year since being with Logan that you wouldn’t be at home on Thanksgiving but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to slack on hosting the event. If anything you were going to make it more special to make up for having it on a Tuesday. 

Logan knew one thing that would help you relax while you were busy in the kitchen and after disappearing into the living room you heard the stereo system click on and Logan’s playlist filled the room. The upbeat intro to Hold On, We’re Going Home started and Logan reached you before Drake’s voice could, his hands finding your hips as he rested his chin on your shoulder and watched you work the dough. 

All too soon he grew bored of just watching and his lips started to tease kisses along your neck. “You need to go for a run,” you murmured as you found your progress slowing. “I can’t concentrate with you doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, the curve of his lips on your skin giving him away. 

“Distracting me.”

“But it worked, look how relaxed you are now.” His arms curled around your waist as he swayed to the music and you joined him until his hand dipped beneath your shirt and warmed the soft skin on your stomach. 

“Lo…” you groaned as you pushed him back with your hips. “Behave, please.” 

“Cause you’re a good girl and you know it,” he teased in your ear with the song. “You act so different around me.”

You turned in his arms with a smile that he reflected and placed your palm over his chest. “You are going to ruin Thanksgiving dinner.”

Logan looked around the kitchen, every surface full of the food you just had to make final touches on in the morning. There was already more than enough to feed an army. “I don’t think you have to worry about dinner.” He reached behind you and placed a spare cover over the unfinished pie before pulling you flush against him. “And the pie can wait an hour.”

“An hour? I was thinking 10 minutes max,” you giggled as he grabbed your hips and picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist naturally.

“Is that a challenge?” he dared as he carried you out of the kitchen. “I don’t mind spending the rest of the day proving you wrong, sweetheart.”

“Yes, wait, no, any other time, baby, but not today.”

Tuesday, 21st November 2023 - Thanksgiving Dinner You had never been happier that Logan had insisted on buying a house much larger than anything the two of you needed. Built for a large family, the kitchen had two full sized ovens and both were currently in use. The giant turkey filled one oven on its own and the other had its racks full of different dishes to keep them hot. 

The other great thing about the home was that the stacker doors folded back in the living room to give a massive open space that flowed out into the patio and pool. You needed all that space with the guests that had arrived. Logan’s parents had come first. Mallika had insisted on arriving early so she could help you with the fresh food that couldn’t be pre-cooked and Michael had been ordered to help Logan stock the bar.

Next to arrive had been Dalton, Logan’s older brother, who came with a very happy Sooty after dog-sitting him while you were in Las Vegas. You had rushed out of the kitchen as soon as you heard his excited bark and grappled him into a tight cuddle before Logan wrapped his arms around you both. 

“Hi, my baby,” you cooed as you scratched Sooty’s fur and kissed the top of his head. “Mommy missed you. You’re looking skinny, did uncle Dalt not feed you?” You rose to your feet at the laugh and greeted Dalton with a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“I would say anytime but he stole an Angus steak from my plate, twice.”

“Why do you think I came out here?” you said with a shake of your head. “There is no way I am letting him anywhere near the kitchen. Lo?”

“On it, honey,” he chuckled. “Come on, Soot, let's go play frisbee. You in, bro?”

You watched the brothers jog out to the lawn and separate to opposite ends and it wasn’t long before Michael joined his sons too.

It was another two Sargeant boys that came through the door with Logan’s aunt following with apologies for her son's lack of manners for skipping the doorbell. You waved the apology away as you gave her a hug. “It’s fine, Debbie. My mother always said doorbells are for salesmen and strangers, not family.”

“Your mother is a good woman,” Harry said as he came in with a large bouquet of flowers for you and a kiss. “You are more and more like her every day.”

You grinned at the compliment and inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers. “Thank you.”

When you first met Harry you had felt intimidated by the billionaire but you had quickly realised he was a kind, down-to-earth man who put family values first. It was one of the reasons he sponsored Logan and helped get him into Formula racing. He believed if he had the resources to help, then he had the responsibility to help. It was the same with Dalton’s NASCAR career.

The next arrival did use the doorbell and Sooty came inside to growl at the uncommon sound until you told him to stop being silly. Once the door was opened he recognised it was Alex and Lily on the doorstep and the protective nature changed to the playful wag of his tail. Sooty enjoyed the attention he got from the animal-loving couple for a moment before another duo stole his attention and he leapt off the porch to race down the driveway. 

“Sorry, he saw my parents,” you said as you invited them inside and to the bar. “Now, Logan’s the mixologist in the house so if you want something more than a beer, a wine or whiskey neat then he’s your man.”

Once Lily had a glass of riesling and Alex an IPA beer, you made the introductions to the few members of his family they hadn’t met. Most of them had crossed paths at least once during the three US based Grand Prix’s this season so it was only Harry’s teenage boys and your parents who needed naming. 

“I found some wanderers in your driveway,” your mother joked as she stepped into your line of vision and waved at the quickly growing Vowles family. “Oscar looks different, more mature.”

You looked at Logan’s old teammate who was just walking through the door and chuckled when he took his shoes off, the only one that ever did when he went inside other people's homes. “That’s what a year will do to a man,” you replied. “I don’t think you’ve seen him since last Thanksgiving, mom.”

“Not true, I saw him at Logan’s birthday.”

“Oh, okay, my bad, it's only been 11 months then,” you said with a laugh as you went to greet him and Logan’s team principal. 

“She is absolutely adorable,” you gushed over the newborn in James’ arms. “I swear she’s grown and I only saw her a few days ago!”

“She’s put on another ounce since then,” the proud father said before holding her out to you. “Go on, I know this is what you’re really after.”

“I was just coming over to see if you needed a drink,” you lied as you reached for her, “but I’m not going to turn down baby snuggles.”

Logan’s eyes found you from across the room where he was talking with Alex and Oscar and he lost track of the conversation at the sight of you. The image of you holding a baby so comfortably made something crack in his chest and he knew you would be a natural when it came to motherhood, he just had to be patient for a few more years. You didn’t even notice his lingering stare as you pressed your nose to her soft hair and inhaled the new baby scent before cradling her closer. 

“You know you are not getting her back until you leave,” you warned James, and he just smiled knowingly.

“I had a feeling that would be the case. Now Rachel and I can enjoy a few hours of free babysitting.”

“Absolutely anytime, any place. Go on, have a drink and chill out, or even a nap if you need. There’s plenty of guest rooms down the hall and a nursery too so you have nothing to worry about.”

“A nursery? Is there something Logan hasn’t told me?” he asked curiously.

You laughed as you shook your head. “Not yet, James. The house was furnished for a family sale when we bought it and one of the rooms was set up to be a nursery. We just never renovated it.”

“You two look really happy,” Alex broke through Logan’s wandering thoughts and he blinked twice before he snapped out of the moment.

“We are. She loves this, having a full house, lots of noise and company.” Logan smiled into his bottle as he tipped the cold beer back and watched as you flitted around the room topping up drinks and chatting with his family all the while managing to cradle his boss's baby safely. “Best thing I did was ask her to come with me. Makes the good days better and the bad ones easier, you know?”

Alex nodded sincerely and cast his eyes to Lily who was laughing at something Dalton said to her about his latest round of golf. Alex knew exactly what Logan meant. 

Logan had always been open about wanting children, even more so when he was drunk, and he was always making plans for the future. He hoped to stay in F1 for as long as possible and he was especially happy that he had signed with Williams for another year, but after that he thought about moving into endurance racing as it was a less intensive schedule. With less commitments to work he would have more time to focus on starting a family, so you waited patiently and supported him in his choices after all the hard work you had seen him put in.

You continued on your way around the guests, oblivious to the way Logan’s eyes followed you the entire time. Eventually you  reluctantly passed the sleeping babe over to your boyfriend knowing he would want to have some time with her too and the next part you needed two hands for. “Dinner is almost ready, if you want to start rounding everyone up into the dining room I’ll bring in the turkey.”

“I can come and help, sweetheart,” he offered but his face softened at the cutie in his arms. Your chest warmed at the sight and you shook your head, not wanting to disturb the moment.

“Between my mom and yours, there’s hardly anything left to do.” You left him with Alex and Oscar, passing by Lily and Dalton’s discussion about the best US golf courses, and found Sooty so he could be put in his kennel. You weren’t keen on having a repeat of his first Christmas when he broke the table leg trying to get scraps and the whole thing had crashed down. It had been a disaster that took a while before you could see the funny side but it still didn’t mean you could handle it happening again. “Come on, as soon as dinner is over you can have your freedom back.”

Sooty whined as you left him behind and you didn’t dare look back or you wouldn’t have the heart to leave him there. The sound followed you until you were inside and the noise of the guests swallowed his lonely cries so you could focus on the meal shared between friends and family.

Logan knelt beside the kennel and caught Sooty’s collar as he unhooked the chain and praised him for being a good boy. Dinner had been another one to remember for a long time to come and everyone was more than full as they settled around the extra large sofa inside. Traditionally, after dinner everyone would be feeling the liquor and reminisce on what they were thankful for before watching the Miami Dolphins game on the tv but since it was only a Tuesday there weren't any big teams playing. 

Logan had a better way to end the perfect afternoon anyway.

“Sooty, where’s mommy?” Logan asked as he buckled his collar back in place and kissed the top of his head. “Go find mommy, go on, good boy.” 

The quick moving ball of fur caught your attention and you just saved your glass of wine from being knocked off the coffee table before Sooty bounded over Lily’s shoes and landed at your feet. He barked twice and sat back on his heels, waiting as if he had been ordered to obey and was expecting a treat - except you hadn’t called him.

“Sooty, how did you escape your…” your words trailed off as you held his collar and watched the light catch on a diamond ring. The room fell silent as you looked up in time to see Logan lower himself onto one knee in front of you.

His deft fingers unbuckled the collar and slipped the ring off so he could hold it delicately in his hand. “I don’t need Thanksgiving to reflect on everything I’m grateful for this year,” he said softly and your heart beat so loudly you were certain everyone in the quiet room could hear it. “Since I found you, I’m thankful every damn day, and I would love to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much, if you’ll let me. Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t remember when you last took a breath and your throat seemed to clog with emotion, choking the word you wanted to scream. Logan’s lips began to curve up into a proud smile when you nodded your head and lifted your trembling hand for him. 

“Yes,” you finally managed to whisper, before the cold band slipped onto your ring finger and your vision blurred with unshed tears of joy. 

You didn’t hear the cheer that erupted, you didn’t hear their congratulations. All you heard was Logan whispering he loved you against your lips before he claimed them for the first time as your fiance.

Logan hadn’t let go of your hand since he put the engagement ring on it but eventually he couldn’t keep you all to himself and draped an arm across the back of your seat instead.

“This is gorgeous!” Lily gasped after she leaned forward to inspect the large rock on the ring. You didn’t miss the pointed look she sent Alex and wondered how long it would be until he took the same step. “So how did you two meet if Logan was in Europe racing?”

Logan grinned as he traced his fingertips across your shoulder and over your collar. “Her mom was my uncle’s secretary and when I was home for the break I dropped by his office to visit him, and then I kept dropping in because I knew she was always in the staffroom doing her homework. Not that she ever looked my way.”

“I looked, when you weren’t,” you admitted as your cheeks heated. “But I had to keep my head down so I could actually concentrate on my assignments. He was very distracting to look at, still is.”

Oscar smiled to himself since he already knew the story well over the years of friendship and double dates.

Alex chuckled and mirrored your cosy state with Lily opposite you. “So did he finally ask you out or did you have to take charge?”

“Actually Harry set us up,” you said with a smile in the oil magnate’s direction where he was talking to his wife. “I didn’t have a licence and when my mom got sick Harry had Lo take me to visit her. He went out of his way to pick me up after school every day for like two months. I honestly don’t know how I would have gotten through that time without him.”

You turned your smile to Logan as he reached for his beer and took a long drink. If you were alone he would have whispered sweet affirmations in your ear about how strong you were and how he would always be there for you but with the present company and his ears turning pink he swallowed his words. But you still saw them in his proud smile and in his blue eyes.

“Okay, maybe I went a teensy, tiny, little bit overboard,” you admitted as you saw the leftovers filling the kitchen island after everyone had gone - the house was quiet once more.

You knew there was the temptation for Logan to say ‘I told you so’ but he just kissed your temple with a smile before he checked his watch and said. “I’ll get the containers.”

Although it was too late to go to Miami-Dade shelters tonight, it had become a tradition to take the leftovers around to them after a holiday. It would only go to waste with the two of you, especially since you were heading to Abu Dhabi in the morning.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” you asked when he returned from the garage with his arms full of takeaway containers.

“Once or twice,” he teased as he abandoned the containers to pull you into his arms, “but I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

“Good thing we’ve got the rest of our lives then.” You placed your hands on his shoulders and looked at the ring on your finger with fondness before staring into his ocean eyes. “I love you, Lo.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Always have, always will.”

Click here for the next part.

[milkywaydrabbles]

double penetration in one hole Alucard, reader, Trevor, I don't think Alucard would share his girl with anyone, but what if he did, I think it would be with Belmont!

A/N: I stared at this for a bit trying to figure out how to do it lol but I hope it turned out okay! Thank you sm for the req, I hope you enjoy it!! MWUAH

Double Penetration (one hole) x Alucard, Trevor

You nearly dropped your glass, sputtering up the water you tried to drink before the absolute monster of a ball was just dropped on you. You looked between Trevor and Alucard, the blonde’s eye twitching, hands just about ready to wring the other’s neck for that comment. And Trevor Belmont, just sat there with a smile on his face and shrugged--as if what he just said wasn’t the most outlandish thing you’ve ever heard!

“Belmont, I let you get away with a lot of shit, but if you ever talk about my wife like that again--”

“Well I was being serious.” He rebutted before the dhampir could finish his threat. Then his eyes met yours. “I’ve talked about it with Sypha, you know. She even gave me the green light to bring it up, you can ask her if you want. Won’t make any difference to me.”  Holy shit, he was telling the truth wasn’t he?

Alucard’s anger was mostly on your behalf. He would never, never, in all his lifetime, let anyone touch you. But...Belmont...well, he was a different story. He was his friend. He helped him save the world over and over again, hell, he named the village after him. Maybe he would...let Belmont touch you. If you wanted.

Alucard grabbed your hand, thumbing over the back while you tried to catch your breath. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, my love--”

“--she know that”

An exasperated sigh. “But, if you want to, you can say yes. I trust you, you know that.”

You felt like your world was spinning, really, but...you couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about it. Just once! And you were drunk! And you didn’t do anything! But...still. The temptation was there. You steadied yourself, small smile playing on your lips as you looked to your husband, kissing each finger before looking over to Trevor.

“I...I want to. But only if Adrian’s there.” Alucard blinked, scrunching his brows and looking at you, surprised. “Darling you don’t have to try to appease me--”

“Fine, Alucard there.”

What?

-

“A-ah, fuck, Trevor, mm.” You were writhing underneath him, leg hitched over his shoulder and the other around his waist. Trevor was much harsher than Alucard, opting to take you rough, and you didn’t mind it--not when he was pounding you so good. The brunette dipped down, practically bending you in half, bullying his way even deeper into you. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? Thought you said you wanted your doting husband here--you’re not even paying attention to him.” He teased, throwing a look Alucard’s way. He simply pet at your head, kissing your temple and whispering sweet words to you, ‘You look delicious, darling’ , ‘so good at taking cock, sweetheart’ , ‘I’m right here for you, angel’. You whined, grabbing at his neck and pulling Alucard down in a kiss, that was all tongue and teeth--he had to be extra careful not to cut you the way you were haphazardly licking inside his mouth. You whimpered, holding onto the back of his neck tight while you sobbed at the overwhelming feeling. “Wan’ you too, Adrian--please, please wan’it.” You babbled away, eyes closed and nose scrunched. Trevor slowed his pace, just a bit, looking over to the dhampir who shared the same thought, it seemed.

“Okay, darling, you’ll have me.”

In a moment you were flipped over, chest to chest with Trevor who was now sitting up against the headboard. He grabbed at your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip--swollen and red with all the sucks and bites it’s received throughout the night. Your eyes were glossed over, tears drying on your cheeks. “What a pretty little wife you have, Alucard..” He whispered, not breaking eye contact with you as he spoke to the other. Suddenly a second pair of hands were on your body, wrapping around you to grope and squeeze at your tits, giving extra attention to your nipples. You trembled, looking back just a touch to see Alucard watching you like a predator stalking its prey. Your cunt fluttered, and you leaned back to feel his chest against your body. “Come here, beautiful, sit on my cock again yeah?” Trevor’s deep voice brought you back to him, slowly sinking yourself down on his girth. You whined, clenching around him. He filled you up, stretching out your pussy a bit more than Alucard did. “Trevor,” you started with a hiccup “so good, feels good.” You repeated, grinding yourself down on his cock feeling your hips flush against his. He gripped at your hips, stilling you. You furrowed your brows, wanting to keep bouncing on him, before he angled you forward--and a new feeling came over you entirely.

“A-ah, fuck!” You cried out, Alucard slowly pushing his own length into your sloppy pussy. You couldn’t see straight, all you could think of was how full these men were making you feel. You panted like a bitch in heat, mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ and drooling onto Trevor. Your eyes were fluttering close, tears dripping down with a renewed sense of overwhelming. “Doing so well, darling girl..” Your lover whispered, slowly pushing in, deeper, deeper, until his cock was nuzzled right where it belonged--in your weeping cunt. The men let you take a minute to breathe, feeling your legs tremble and pussy twitching around two dicks stuffed deep in you. Barely a moment with them both inside you and you already felt fucked stupid--not able to make any coherent sentences, just small phrases about how fucking full you were, how good they felt, how much you loved your husband and cherished your friend. Trevor couldn’t help but laugh, wiping away tears as they flooded your cheeks. “Look how adorable she is.” He cooed, giving an experimental thrust up, and hearing your whines pour out your mouth. 

Alucard groaned, kissing at your neck, pulling you flush against him and wrapping long fingers around your throat. “Can you feel how deep we are, darling?” He whispered against your skin, eyes traveling down to the bulge in your tummy. He could hear Trevor swear under his breath, both starting to fuck up into you. You nodded, as best you could, trying to speak but feeling too much. “Mhm, mhm, s’deep, so full, so much” You repeated, hands moving between Trevor’s stomach and Alucard’s head--you couldn’t concentrate enough to keep them steady in one place. The stretch was painfully delicious, and now they moved opposite each other--when one thrusted in the other pulled out, never leaving you empty. They rubbed and prodded in all the right places, pressure on your walls making you go insane. Alucard’s fingers on the hand that was around your throat crept up, shoving the digits deep into your mouth, pulling and stretching at your cheeks. Your eyes rolled, lids fluttered, and you did your best to keep breathing. 

They could barely hear the squelch of your pussy, even though it was so fucking wet and covering their bodies with juices, because of how fucking loud you were being. “F-fuck, need you to cum, beautiful--not gonna last long” Belmont mumbled in front of you, rubbing his fingers on your swollen clit. Instantly they both felt you grip on their cocks, trying to milk them right into you. Your cries were still muffled with Alucard fingers in your mouth, practically fucking your face. He nosed your temple, his breathing heavy in your ear as he fucked up into you. Trevor’s free hand replaced Alucard’s around your throat--giving the dhampir full reign to finger fuck your mouth. The coil in your belly snapped, Trevor  quickly rubbing on your nub while you came over them--wet and sloppy, squirting onto the sheets below you. “Fucking--pull out, Belmont” You heard Alucard hiss, pulling you off in time to have the brunette shooting his cum on your belly, creeping high enough to land on your tits. Alucard had you to himself now, fucking up into you like a flesh light, using you until it was his turn to let his sticky ropes of cum cover your insides the way Trevor covered you.

-

Trevor left shortly after, helping clean you up before taking his leave with a sweet kiss to the cheek and a thank you. You sighed against Alucard’s chest, feeling his arms around your waist in the warm bath, you could fall asleep right then and there. He cleaned your skin as you relaxed against him, then moved on to your hair, before you spoke.

“You think he’ll bring Sypha next time?”

“Next time?”

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 ❞

wriothesley x afab!reader

genre: domestic fluff

summary: Long days and late nights are fickle problems when something sweeter waits at home

The house was quiet when he stumbled through the front door, the day still heavy on his shoulders. He liked to think he wasn’t one to complain, that a few extended hours at the Fortress without a break was no sweat, but the walk back to his home felt excruciatingly long as if each step filled his legs with molten lead.

The only thing disturbing the nighttime darkness that filled each corner was the soft yellow glow from the kitchen, a sink light left on in anticipation of his arrival home that hardly cast enough light to traverse the downstairs. That was fine, the exhaustion settling into his body was wringing the last of his will to move an inch further anyways. He collapsed into an armchair, groaning deeply as he stretched his legs and relaxed into his seat. He leaned his head back, eyes drifting shut as a yawn passed his lips.

He could hear the lightest pattering of rain on the windows from an evening shower, the distant and monotonous metronome of a wall clock ticking somewhere deeper in the house. It was almost strange to not hear the slow groan of the old metal walls creaking under the currents, the sound of boots pounding over hollow floors. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla met his nose, a comforting smell that now seemed to invade every inch of his kitchen and overwhelmed the previously burnt one.

Since when did he have time to keep up a decent abode and it not reek of dust and disuse?

“You don’t intend to sleep like that, now do you?”

Oh yeah, this wasn’t just his home anymore-

He hadn’t realized he had drifted off till he startled violently at the kind voice that met his ears, his muscles tightening as he sat upright, fingers digging into the upholstered arms of the chair as if he intended to rip them right off. He let out an amused yet tired sigh, a hand rising to rub his sleep-bleared eyes as he offered up an exhausted smile.

“Of course not, just resting my eyes.”

You smiled from where you stood, arms crossed comfortably over your chest as you leaned against the doorframe. The feeble kitchen light shone like a halo behind the crown of your head, as if he needed any other reminder of what an angel you seemed to be.

“Did I wake you?” He pressed, eyes tracing the silk nightgown that hugged your body under the loose robe draped across your shoulders and your disheveled hair.

You shook your head and yet part of him was confident you were lying. “No, I was waiting for you to get home. Let’s get you to bed.”

You closed the space in a few strides, sinking gracefully to your knees. He seemed to anticipate your next actions, quickly withdrawing his legs. “Baby, it’s fine I can do it--,”

You swatted his thigh with a huff, shooting him a good natured glare. “Absolutely not, now stop being stubborn.”

As much as he wished he could win against your own attitude he knew there was no arguing his way out of it now. You could be thought of as equitable to a mule, stubborn as all hell when you chose to be, and after weeks away he wasn’t egging for a fight with you in the middle of the night. So he relented, slowly stretching his legs back out as a pleased grin teased your lips. You were quick, hands latching to the heel and toe of his boot and with practiced ease you slid it off and tossed it aside, the same treatment given to the other as he groaned lightly at the stretch on his sore legs.

“See, was that so hard?” You teased as you rose back to your feet only to seat yourself on his lap, a hand carding through his mussed hair as his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into your delicate touch. The mighty Duke of Meropide was as docile as a lap dog in your arms, his face buried into the crook of your neck, his breathing deep and slow as your fingers worked through his scalp, down the back of his neck and to his shoulders, massaging the day out of his muscles.

A hum of laughter passed your lips as he pressed soft kisses against the column of your throat, his dark lashes tickling your skin as you slowly helped him undress, unclasping the many belts of his uniform and sliding the wraps off his forearms. You pressed soft kisses to his bruised knuckles, slowly slipping off his lap as you dropped his hands despite the dissatisfied noise that rumbled through his chest, twirling his tie around your fingers as you tugged him forward.

“Come to bed, Wrio.”

You would never have to tell him twice.

Rey, 2023

[somekindofpoet]

La Petite Mort - Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir

Summary: R deals with RJ, Lorraine gets jealous

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, tiniest little bit of blood and physical violence

A/N: Turns out jet lag is cool because you can wake up at 4AM and start writing again. The headcanons from yesterday helped me break through the writers block, thank you guys!! Let me know what you guys want to see next!

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part VI

Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

The words rattle around in your skull, bouncing haphazardly in the blank space. For a brief, blissful moment, nothing else exists but you and Lorraine. She’s there, right in front of you, in your arms. Her big doe eyes pleading with you, don’t go.

Like many perfect things, your flawless moment is brief and shattered by reality. The hum in your ears begins to fade as voices are raised around you. Your tunnel vision widens, expanding the scope past Lorraine’s freckled nose. Everything seems to be happening in a vacuum, sluggish and unreal. You feel like you’re just an observer of the universe, not meant to interact with its characters.  

You look at RJ over the top of Lorraine’s head, his expression furious. You grant him that; you’d be angry if you were him too. The van door behind him is open, the film crew all watching with bated breath, wide smiles on Maxine and Bobby-Lynne’s faces. Maxine shoots you an enthusiastic double thumbs up, making you huff out a laugh despite the situation. 

Lorraine wraps her fingers into the hem of your shirt, pulling herself tightly to you, completely disregarding everyone else. You know you’re not going to leave with her wrapped around you, and she does too. RJ shakes his head, his mouth open in silent shock. He throws his hands up, his expression pained. 

“What are you doing, Raine?” He asks, pacing, “What is going on right now?”

You don’t speak, only observe. Lorraine squeezes her eyes shut, bracing herself against your chest. She’s not ready to deal with him, but she needs to be. You rub her back, trying to comfort her. RJ continues to pace. 

“You owe me an explanation, Lorraine! You owe me!” 

You disagree with his approach; his tone is far too harsh. But you do agree with what he says. She does owe him an explanation. You crane your neck to see her face against your shirt, dip your head down to whisper to her.

“He’s not wrong. It’s the decent thing to do.”

She nods, her cheek rubbing against your sternum. The interaction sends RJ from confused irritation to absolute outrage. 

“Two years, Lorraine! Two years and this is what I get in return? You’re running behind my back, sneaking around and with her?”

That gets her attention; yours already snapped onto him. His face is red, sweat beading on his forehead, his hands shaking. If ever this man can be dangerous, you know it’s right now. There is very little more unstable than an embarrassed man. You eye him warily, unsure of his next move. 

Lorraine turns to him, her gaze lowered to his feet, her back only inches from you. She wrings her fingers, and you can’t see it, but you know her lip is being chewed to high hell. 

“I…I don’t know how…to explain-“ she starts, “it just happened, and then you came back, and I had a lot to figure out- “

“A lot to figure out?!” He shouts over her, advancing on her but stopping a few feet short, “How is there anything to figure out? You’re supposed to be a sweet girl Lorraine. That’s what I loved about you. But you’re not a sweet girl, are you? You’re just…you’re just a whore!”

His words make you tremble with anger. You understand his plight, can have empathy for the man. But you would not stand for him insulting her. You take a step forward, silently setting a boundary. His lip curls at you, his eyes wild. 

“I’m not…I’m not a whore,” Lorraine says, her voice soft and shaking, “I love her.”

RJ looks like he’s had the wind knocked right out of him. His breath comes out in a whoosh as her words snap into the morning air. The audience in the van is dead quiet, jaws dropped open. 

“I-I love you, Rainey. I do. It’s you and me.” He says, reaching out to her, his tone changing completely.

She steps back and leans into you shaking her head, “What’s my favorite flavor of ice cream, RJ?” 

Everyone is shaken, Lorraine is standing up to him. Your chest swells with pride, watching her go from cowering to straightening her spine. Her frantic eyes more sure now, watching him. You brush your fingers against her wrist, reassuring her that you’re there. 

RJ shakes his head, “What-what kind of question is that?”

Lorraine tilts her head, “An easy one, I think, for someone who’s in love with me.”

Her expression is pained; she takes no pleasure in this. When RJ answers her with “Chocolate chip,” she closes her eyes and nods. 

“It’s strawberry,” you say from behind her and snap your jaw shut. You hadn’t meant to interject, but it was an unconscious reaction. 

You take note of the fact that RJ’s entire body goes rigid. His fists curl at his sides, his jaw flexing. You know he’s going to do something stupid in his desperation. He takes a step toward Lorraine, and you feel yourself winding up, every muscle tense and ready to spring into action. 

Wayne climbs out of the van and circles around, his hands out in front of him. He wants to diffuse the situation, but you can see in the way RJ’s lip twitches that it hasn’t worked. The moment is a ticking bomb, every second passing by filled with nervous tension. Your heartbeat is slow, steady. Your eyes trained on RJ, tracking his every movement. 

Lorraine steps toward him, her brows furrowed, her worry for him growing. He calms slightly, the muscle in his jaw relaxing and his fists unclenching. His eyes grow wide, his mouth downturned. He looks like a child, you think. It almost makes you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“It’s time for you to go, RJ. I’m sorry it turned out this way.” Lorraine says softly, reaching her hand out to comfort him.

His fingers wrap around her bicep, and the wild look in his eyes is back. He pulls her into his body, her hands pressing against his chest. She struggles back, but his arms around her keep her pinned there. The whole thing lasts less than a second. 

Before RJ can even speak to justify himself, your knuckles are connecting with his cheekbone. A satisfying crunch pops around the bones in your hand, his glasses fly off his face. Lorraine stumbles backward, free of his grasp, as he crumbles to the ground. His shoulder hits the dirt, and his hands fly up to his face, crying out and inspecting the damage. His nose is bleeding, and a red and purple bruise is already forming above his cheek. 

“Woah, now!” Wayne cries out as you step over RJ.

He takes a step toward you but is halted by your look. The girls in the van twitter like birds at the commotion, but neither of them protests. Jackson sits quietly, waiting to see the outcome. You’re not sure where Lorraine is, somewhere behind you. 

You grab the collar of RJ’s shirt and pull him up to your face. With your free hand, you dust his shoulders off, and you give him an apologetic half-smile. You’re not sorry for punching him. You’re not sorry for what you’ve done with Lorraine. But you are sorry that someone has to be hurt in this situation. 

“You don’t love her, man.” You say, your voice low, your faces inches from each other. 

RJ deflates, his weight hanging in your hand, “I…I…” he sighs, squinting at you, “I wanted to.” 

You see Maxine move out of the van and approach you from the side, RJ’s collar still secure in your grip. She squats down and hands over his glasses, which you take and wipe on your shirt. You let go of him, but you remain in his space, Maxine hovering just outside of it. You place the glasses back on his face. 

“She deserves to be loved, not just wanted,” you say, searching his face for a reaction.

Maxine whistles, low and long, “Now there’s some cowboy wisdom. I see why she loves you, handsome. You’re a regular Casanova, ain’t ya?”

RJ turns to look at Maxine, still shell-shocked. You stand and reach your hand down for him to grasp. He hesitates but takes the offer, and you pull him to his feet. His nose gushes with blood, making you wince.

“You’re gonna want somethin for that,” you say, gesturing at the blood geyser on his face. 

Bobby-Lynne sidles up to him, a tampon in her hands. She fusses over him, shoving the cotton up his nose while he whines. She pulls him back toward the van, he follows with unsure backward steps, shaking his head. His eyes lock on to something over your shoulder, and you know it must be Lorraine. You turn to watch her, surprised to find the stubborn set in her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her brown eyes cold. 

You had only seen that look on her face twice in your lifetime. Once when Mr. Day had to put down a sick cow, Lorraine absolutely insisted she be there. Her father had denied her, and the next day she was in the barn, arms crossed and refusing to leave the cow’s side. The second time you were teenagers, and you were slowly drifting apart. Your parent's divorce sent you down a path of alcohol, drugs, and sex at a young age. Lorraine climbed into your bedroom window one night and would not leave until you explained to her why you were pushing her away. She never left your side, and you never pushed her away again.

And now, as she watches her boyfriend… ex-boyfriend get pulled into the van, she wears that same look. You turn back to the van, watch as the crew piles in. Maxine rolls down her window and winks at you. 

As Wayne puts it in gear and begins to roll away, she leans out and yells, “You treat her right, church mouse! Or I’ll come back for her!” She blows a kiss and laughs as the car kicks up dust and rolls down the driveway. 

You put your hands on your hips and laugh, shaking your head. When you turn back to Lorraine, her eyes are narrowed at you.

“What?” You yelp, your smile washing away from your face.

“That’s not funny,” she growls.

You smirk, “I mean, it’s a little funny, Rai-“

Your words are swallowed whole, Lorraine’s lips crashing into yours, her teeth knocking against yours in her haste. She pulls you back and leans against the trailer with her hands wrapped in the front of your shirt. She's possessive, her mouth hot against your lips, her hands pulling at you. You fall into her, let her expend her pent-up anxiety with soft sighs through her nose.

When she calms, you push back, creating enough space to look down at her. There is worry in her eyes, set in the lines between her brows.

“You’re not leavin',” she whispers, her hands still tight on your shirt.

You wrap your fingers around hers, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

The relief that washes over her is intense, her grip loosening and her shoulders dropping. She leans her head back against the metal wall of the trailer and exhales, her hands shaking. You feel your tension wash away; all you want to do is comfort her in that moment. 

You kiss her cheek, lean back and smile softly, “Go back a bag.”

She frowns again, “A bag?”

You nod, “I’m already packed up. Let’s get away for a bit. Somewhere we can talk and sort this out.”

She blinks slowly at you, mulling it over, then nods. You step back, and she releases her hold on your shirt, her eyes searching your face.

“If you leave while I’m in the house, so help me-“

You laugh, “I’m not gonna leave you here, Rainey. I’ll get Pearl and load her up. Go pack a bag.” 

——

The drive to Big Bend National Park is probably further than necessary, but 8 hours in the truck with Lorraine seems like the sensible thing to do. Your heart sings at the sight of her in your passenger seat, your bags in the truck bed, horses in the trailer. It feels like living out a dream. 

You glance over at her, absorbing as much of the vision as you can. Her feet up on the dashboard, wind whipping in her hair, the radio softly playing your favorite Queen song. You turn your eyes back to the road, tapping at the steering wheel, watching the desert and tumbleweeds roll by.

Around hour four, Lorraine gets restless. She fiddles with the radio, hand surfs the wind out her window, runs her hand up your thigh. 

“Let’s stop in Sonora, I’m tired of bein in the truck. And the horses need to get out.” 

You glance over at her, apprehensive, “They don’t need to get out, and you know it. We’re halfway there; we can set up camp by midnight.”

She shakes her head, “It’s late, I want to sleep in a bed.”

You chew your lip, torn between wanting to give her what she wants and pushing on until you get where you’re going. 

“Hotels round here ain’t exactly welcoming to two women in one room Raine.”

She shrugs, “We’ll get two rooms then.”

You sigh, rub your eyes. The setting sun is making you sleepy, and it has been a long day. You relent with no further pushing from Lorraine. You pull off the highway exit into the small town, and find the closest motel. 

The parking lot is nearly empty, a broken down Honda on cinder blocks rests near the front office, and a handful of trucks are parked outside sporadically spaced. You pull in sideways, taking up several empty parking stalls. 

“Stay here, I’ll get our rooms,” you grumble, and Lorraine nods sleepily.

The reception desk is vacant when you stroll inside, the dark wood walls and pictures of buffalo making the space feel long abandoned. The only sign of life is the quiet tinkling of a radio playing an old country song. You slap the bell on the counter and wait for a response. A few minutes go by, and none comes, so you hit it again.

You can hear shuffling from a back room, a smoky cough, and then a short old woman titters up to the desk, her hair and makeup bearing a striking resemblance to Dolly Parton. She clears her throat and stares at you, not speaking. 

You blink at her, waiting for her to speak, but she continues to stare. 

“Howdy,” you say, unsure, “You got two rooms available?”

She narrows her eyes at you, and speaks in a growling smoker's voice, “You dealin drugs?”

You jerk back, surprised, “Uh, no, ma’am. My friend and I are on a trip to Big Bend.”

She cranes her neck to see out the window, eyeing your trailer, “No cartel business at my hotel.”

You put your hands up, “No, ma’am I’m not involved in that. Just a ranch hand, takin a break is all.”

Her expression softens as she accepts your answer. She slides two keys over to you and takes your money. 

“Check out is 9 AM. No smoking in the room.”

You eye the burning cigarette in an ashtray behind her and raise your eyebrow at her. Not wanting to push your luck, you nod and sweep the keys off the counter. You tip your hat and back out the door.

Lorraine is asleep in the passenger seat when you round the truck. You open the door and rouse her gently, unlock her bedroom door, and guide her to bed. With her safely tucked in, you leave the keys on her bedside table and head back out to lock the horse trailer. 

When you finally settle into your bed, the exhaustion of the day presses into you. The water stains on the ceiling and the faint smell of cigarette smoke don’t deter you from crashing into a deep sleep.

——

Maxine’s laughter fills your mind, her high-pitched voice wrapping around your throat and suffocating you. RJ begins to laugh and then cries somewhere in the distance. The Days pass through your line of sight, waltzing over the dirt, kicking up dust in their wake. CB snorts and stomps next to you. Everything moves in a choppy, jumpy way. People appear and dissolve in your vision, and then Lorraine snaps into view. Everything else fades away, and suddenly you’re sitting on the hay bales in the barn, she’s in your lap, and she’s kissing your neck. Your heart races, and a jolt of electricity shoots through you. You’re not surprised to find yourself in your underwear and then suddenly naked. 

It occurs to you that you’re dreaming, but the thought is fleeting. Lorraine slides down your body and settles herself between your legs, her hands on your knees. Your chest heaving, your eyes wide, you run your fingers through her thick hair. When her mouth finds your center, you gasp.

You shoot up in your bed, the water stain above your head swimming into view. Your sleep-heavy brain takes a minute to register the hands on your hips and the lips pressing into your leg. The chain on your door is locked; nothing makes sense. You feel a tongue press between your legs, and you gasp again, throwing the blankets back. 

You blink hard, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them, disbelief flooding you. Lorraine fucking Day, snuck into your room, slid under your blankets, stripped you down, and woke you up with her mouth doing unholy things to your body. You push her hair away from her face, sighing at the feeling of her tongue on you. 

Your voice is breathy, low, “Baby, what-“

She sucks your clit between her lips and pushes her hand against your stomach. You drop back into the pillow, deciding to just let the moment be what it is. You’ll gather your senses later. Right now, you’re enjoying what she’s doing to you. Briefly, you wonder how she’s so good at this. You let the thought slip through your mind like sugar in a sieve. 

Her hand slides up your ribs, her thumb caressing your skin as she squeezes your side. Quiet, indulgent moans leave your throat as she runs her tongue through you, building you up. She hums into you, and it sends you into overdrive. Your hips tilt up gently, seeking more contact with her mouth. She continues, consistent and steady, sucking and licking until you’re rocked by your orgasm. Your body shudders under her, your legs squeezing her head. You fall limp around her, and she presses a last kiss to the inside of your knee. 

She crawls up your body, and you can see now she’s bare, naked as the day she came. She sits on your hips, hot against your skin, and leans down to kiss you languidly. Your hands run over her cheeks and back into her hair, anchoring you to her while you come down. She leans back, smiling down at you, and your heart skips a beat.

“Wha-what was that?” You ask, shivering under her.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, her skin illuminated by the strips of silver moonlight creeping in through the blinds, “A reminder.”

You frown, your hands reaching out to hold her hips, “A reminder of what?”

She leans over you, her voice gravelly, “Not to make jokes about running off with Maxine.”

You would laugh if this possessive side of her didn’t turn you on so much. The glint in her eyes makes you feel like you’re made of pure gold, something to be hoarded and guarded aggressively. It’s foreign on her, and it’s delicious. So delicious, you’re practically drooling at the thought of her taste. 

You pull her down into a kiss, running your tongue over her lips, your hands abandoning their post in her hair and making their way to her thighs. You want her in every way possible, all at once. You want to consume her, absorb her into yourself, and carry her around with you everywhere. 

You settle for slipping two fingers inside of her wet heat, your tongue in her mouth, her chest pressing into yours. It’s the closest you can get to becoming one with her, entangled as far as you can go. She sits up, holding her weight in her legs, and grinds into your fingers, one hand on your chest, the other on her own leg. She doesn’t give you room to move, instead taking what she wants from you, rolling her hips and biting her lip. 

You reach up with your free hand and pull her lip from her teeth, running your thumb over it. You don’t think your pupils could expand more than they do when takes your thumb in her mouth, rolls her tongue, and sucks on it, all while riding your other hand. It’s enough to send you into another orgasm. 

She releases your thumb with a pop and watches as you shiver under her. Her mouth slightly open, she begins to pant. Your hand goes straight to her nipple, you roll it between your fingers, and that’s what it takes for her. She moans your name out and drops over you, holding herself up with shaking arms. You lift your head and lick at her throat, your eyes rolling back at the vibration when she groans. She tightens around you, gripping your fingers until she cums around them and collapses. 

When you pull your hand away, your fingers sticky on her ribs, she’s back to herself. She curls around you, leaves soft kisses on your collarbone and under your jaw. She shivers, presses her face into your neck, and sighs. 

“I have half a mind to make you jealous more often if that’s the treatment I’m gonna get,” your voice breaks the silence, a soft chuckle escaping from your chest.

She pinches your side and sits up on her elbow.

“Ouch!” You yelp, trying to squirm away from her.

“That’s not funny,” she says, looking down at you, her hair falling over her shoulder. 

You shrug, grinning, “I mean, it’s a little funny.”

She tilts her head, “You make me jealous on purpose, and I’ll just hold out on you next time.”

You gasp, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You know, without a doubt she is serious. Not wanting to push your luck, you pull her down and kiss her softly, your thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. She pulls back to lay her head under your chin, her breathing even and slow across your skin. Suddenly you’re grateful for dingy motels and Lorraine’s knack for breaking and entering.

[anonymous-dentist]

Day Six - Hybrids | Cuddling

-

Roier finds out that Cellbit is a cat hybrid literal seconds after finding out that Cellbit used to be a serial killer, because, apparently, those two things are the most important secrets in Cellbit's life.

Cellbit's cute little straw hat is off for the first time all day, and his hair sticks to his forehead- sweaty from a day of partying with everybody else at the Favela.

Roier's breath catches because right there in front of him for the very first time are two cat ears the same color as Cellbit's hair. They're ragged, torn in some places and nicked and with small chunks missing, and they twitch nervously- pressing themselves down towards Cellbit's skull- as Roier doesn't say anything.

Cellbit wrings his hat in his hands and pointedly looks anywhere but at Roier.

"It's just... hard, you know?" he quietly asks. "I'm not in prison anymore, but old habits die hard, I guess."

And, really, Roier should be more concerned about the fact that his fiancé is a literal serial killer. That is, objectively, really fucking concerning. Like, what if he relapses or something and starts murdering the shit out of everybody on the island starting with Roier himself? That's stuff he should be concerned about, right?

But, for whatever reason, all Roier can think of is the fact that, every time he and Cellbit have met up, Cellbit has had his goggles on.

"Hey," Roier softly says.

He reaches out for Cellbit's hands, freezes inches away, lets out a breath and properly takes them. The hat falls to the floor, settling on Roier's feet; the goggles attached to it bump against Roier's leg, ever-present.

Cellbit's breath catches, and his hands instinctively grip Roier's tightly. His ears perk up in surprise- absolutely adorable, what the fuck?

His voice is reverent: "Guapito..."

"Gatinho," Roier warmly replies. He smiles as Cellbit's eyes dart up to meet his; now that Roier knows to look, he notices the way Cellbit's pupils are less round than they should be and more, well... catlike. "Muy lindo..."

Cellbit flushes and tears his eyes away, ears flattening again.

"That's the problem," he says. "I'm not cute. I'm a killer."

"Sí." Roier nods seriously. "But you know what else?"

"What?"

"That's fine. You don't have to be cute. You can just be handsome. And sexy."

Cellbit cracks a small smile at that, face going even more red.

He's beautiful. Roier can't believe that he gets to marry him. His hands are rough, and he's covered in scars, and he has the sweetest smile, and he has cat ears that automatically swivel towards Roier every time he speaks.

With a quiet little 'mrrp'-ing noise, Cellbit lets his head fall forward onto Roier's shoulder. The tips of his ears graze Roier's cheek just momentarily, and they're so soft that Roier's mind goes blank outside of thoughts of Gatinho Gatinho Gatinho Gatinho.

Roier is brought back to reality by a weird little rumbling sound that he realizes is purring.

"Eu te amo," Cellbit murmurs, voice distorted by his purring.

He's just so easy with the verbal stuff, Roier doesn't know how he does it. Just thinking about telling Cellbit he loves him is enough to make Roier's heart stop and his blood boil and freeze and his face flush and his stomach fall out of his ass and his lungs explode. It shuts his brain down, but Cellbit? He's so good at it! (And he says he doesn't know how romance works, tsk tsk.)

Roier, unable to verbalize the billions and trillions of words flying around in his heart, just presses a hesitant kiss into the crown of Cellbit's head and hopes that it gets his affections across. It should, because Cellbit already knows Roier better than Roier might know himself, but-

A bashful kiss against the side of Roier's neck.

Roier swoons, just barely catching himself from melting into a gooey little puddle on the floor. He's gotta look goofy, he can feel how wide and ridiculous his smile is, but who the hell cares?

"Do you have a tail, too?" he hears himself asking, mind a million miles away. He can just picture himself and Cellbit kissing at the altar- their first ever real kiss ever- and just the thought of it makes his knees weak.

"Mhmm," Cellbit responds. He yawns against Roier's throat. "But you'll have to wait until our honeymoon for that."

Oh, God, the implications of that... Cellbit isn't into sex, and that's cool, but they'll be sharing a bed. A bed!!

The thought of finally getting to sleep with Cellbit (in the proper way, of course) makes Roier giddy enough to giggle into thin air.

"It's a date!" he happily says.

(A week later when they're finally in bed together for the first time, Roier spends a solid fifteen minutes properly admiring his husband(!!!)'s hybrid features for the first time, much to Cellbit's embarrassment.

"You're ridiculous," Cellbit whines, face hidden in his hands as Roier gently scratches him between the ears. He might sound annoyed, but he's purring, and his tail has already wrapped around both of Roier's legs, and he keeps dragging Roier's hand back every time he tries pulling away, so there.

"Maybe," Roier admits. He moves two of Cellbit's fingers away to kiss his forehead. "But you love me, anyway."

Cellbit doesn't argue, because he does.)

[sipsteainanxiety]

the first and last time bakugou katsuki received a solid, heartfelt confession, he was twenty-three.

of course, people have certainly crushed on him—especially once he became a pro hero and made such a huge name for himself. it didn't help that he had the looks to rival a god's, his face and body all chiseled angles and features that pronounced the ruby glow of his eyes and ash-blond of his hair. anyone with eyes knew he was handsome as hell—the only problem was when he opened his dirty, dirty mouth.

that didn't stop people from coming up to him in an attempt to spill their feelings, though.

but katsuki was... well, katsuki. he wasn't fucking dumb—he might not know how to deal with his own emotions, but that didn't mean he was fucking oblivious. he could read a room—he was perceptive. he didn't have time for people's stupid feelings. he shut them down immediately—before they could even get out a single word—not paying them any attention as he scoffed and carried on with his thunderstorm of a life. he was a goddamn hero. he had people to save, villains to fight, battles to win.

all his fans liked him for his hero persona anyways—great explosion murder god dynamight, the one to call when the toughest villain wreaked havoc on the streets. the one who went into battle with a wicked grin on his smooth face. the one who emerged victorious every single time, fist raised in the air triumphantly.

they didn't like him for him—bakugou katsuki, the one who always sat quietly in a corner to observe the people around him. the one who loved to cook in the kitchen, carefully crafting meals with rough, calloused hands. the one who woke up at the dead of night, sweating, shaking, due to the ghosts that haunted his dreams—his nightmares.

katsuki ignored it all, powering through his life surefootedly as he focused on his job, his work. he didn't let anything distract him—throw him—from his course as he aimed high enough to brush against the clouds.

but when he got confessed to by someone he was close to—someone he hadn't realized he was harboring feelings for until they stood right before him—he found himself stumbling, tripping, for once in his life.

katsuki, with all his strengths and weaknesses, had never gotten a full, heartfelt confession before—not one told directly to his face, and certainly not one he wasn't able to quickly shut down before.

it came from you—pretty, little you—with your hands wringing together as you nervously spilled out everything you liked about him. his confidence, his consideration, his sarcasm—fuck, his dumbass humor. you liked him for him, for katsuki, flaws and all. for his scars, for his fears. for the stupid fucking laugh he made, all raspy and grating. you touched his heart. you touched his soul.

and katsuki didn't know how to react.

how could he? he had never allowed himself to be put in this kind of situation before. he was shocked into silence, a flush crawling up his neck as he stood there and stared at you. his brain felt like it was short-circuiting, his throat was parched, his hands felt sweaty.

he was an asshole, yes, but he wasn't so much of one to not feel how sincere you were being. how hopeful you were as you looked up at him and told him it was fine if he didn't reciprocate. it was fine if he broke your heart—because of course you were selfless like that.

but katsuki wanted so badly to open his mouth and tell you he felt the same. he wanted so badly to give you a confession in return that ripped open his heart for you to see all that it had within. but he couldn't. he couldn't.

katsuki cared. he cared and he cared and he cared so much on the inside that he couldn't find the words to express it. he couldn't let himself be so fucking vulnerable, too afraid of what would happen. for all the strength he had, he couldn't open his mouth to tell you the words you deserved to hear.

so he gripped you by the shoulders. and he kissed you like his life depended on it—like you were the only thing that could keep him from drowning in the emotions he had no idea how to deal with after so many years of denying others and ignoring anything other than his work, his duties.

and he could only hope that you wouldn't leave his heart bleeding at his feet.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 10: His

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Oof, it’s DONE! What the hell, lol. Here’s your final chap, haha - the smut chapter’s been refined a little bit here. The same basic thing, I’ve just changed some of the dialogue and fixed up the High Valyrian. Thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for being swaggy enough to read through this! AAAAH!

TRIGGERS: incest, loss of virginity, purity culture, mild blood, breeding kink, age gap, dubious consent, public bedding, infantilism, objectification.

She looks petrified.

It’s the first thing Daemon notes as he stalks into the marital chamber through the adjoining door. When he lays eyes on you, his breeches tighten with the rapid swelling of heat in his groin. Your silver hair is unbound and gleaming in the firelight, shadow defining the dip above your lips and the curve of your jaw. The night-rail adorning your form is chaste, tied so far up your neck it is a wonder you do not choke. You are enveloped, covered wholly before him, a darling little maiden sacrifice primed for the slaughter. The knowledge that he is about to take you for himself is heady. 

When he steps before you, barely registering the mumbled platitudes from your ladies, you refuse to look up from the hearth. He is forced to make you acknowledge his presence.

“Ābrazȳrys,” he calls you—wife—a pounding drum in his chest at the appellation.

“Valzȳrys,” you say, whispery and bashful and sweet. Husband.

“Elēdrar issa.” It is time. 

He lifts up your chin and tilts your head, pressing his mouth slowly to yours. Honey and spiced wine lingers upon your lips, syrupy and saccharine and tingling on his tongue and in his gut. Daemon delves in gently to consume his fill, leading your uncertain little motions with the surety of his own and teaching you what it is to kiss a man as a woman does. Your hands rest timidly on his chest, forcing an exhalation out from the sensation of your little fingers upon his body. Fuck. He wraps his hand around your back, caressing your spine through the thin fabric as he pushes you that little bit closer to him.

He cannot help but to tell whoever coughs to fuck off when you snap away, alarmed. It dawns on him how exposed you must feel, so close to your viewers. Speaking to you in the tongue of your ancestors—something familiar amidst the swirl of confusion—he coaxes you unerringly to the veiled bed. Your hands wring and your eyes appear too-large in the way they do when you are frightened; it is this that compels him to tell you that you need not remove your nightgown.

“Mīsītsori aōhe nādīnagon bēvilō daor.” His hands tug off his own shirt insistently. As much as he wishes to finally see the figure that has tempted him for what feels like an age, he has no urge to coerce further indignity from you.

You look torn, afraid and grateful and riveted by the sight of his nude chest. He wonders if you had ever seen a man’s bare torso before. He supposes from the look on your face that this is not the case. 

It is then that the old cunt Mellos pipes up, an attempt to pressure you both into hurrying the event along.

“Your Highnesses, if you could procee—”

“Brother.” Daemon knows that the direct address will make him uncomfortable.

He cannot help but to stir trouble wherever he can, to remind him that it is at his leisure that this sordid event takes place at all. If Viserys and his council of shits want him to go through with this, they will abide by the methods he employs. He’ll not stand for a quick, soulless deflowering, skirt rucked up and three-pump-spill, when he could bring you to the pinnacle shrieking.

“If you cannot shut that old cunt up,” he says, “I’ll gladly do it for you. You’ll likely need a new Grand Maester, though, as I don’t see Mellos performing all that well without a head.”

He hopes he’ll get the opportunity to relieve the man of the weight of it someday. A quick, macabre swing of steel at exposed neck is all it’d take. As his brother hisses at the Maester and the man makes slavish apology, he is pleased to see the iron glint in your gaze as you straighten with nose pointed up haughtily. 

Your brow furrows with a moue of obstinacy. “Lo elēnin jaelzi, kepus, elēnin mazemilzi,”

Daemon barely has time to absorb the words—if they want a show, Uncle, a show is what they’ll get—before you are pulling the robe up and off your head, casting it away. And with that, you are naked before him.

Seven fucking hells.

If you are a beauty dressed in finery, then you’re beyond adequate description in your unimpeded form. He takes in the rosy flush decorating luminescent skin, sweet cherry tips upon full breasts, a soft pooch of belly, shapely thighs and the daintiest patch of curls shielding your womanhood from his hungered gaze. His eyes map the scar of an old injury—the occasion in which he took you riding on Caraxes as a child, after which you tripped on your way off the dragon and lacerated your arm—and the soft silver hairs dotting your arms, your legs, molten in the light of the fire.

For all your bravado in baring yourself to him, your thighs are clenched tightly, impeding his view of what lay protected. He suddenly has the bizarre thought that he might just perish if he cannot get between them soon. You are divine—you are his now. His to touch, his to taste, his to ruin, a pretty little poppet waiting patiently for her defilement.

He leers. “Let us begin, then.”

He gives into the urge to grab you by the hips—the first touch of his hands upon you undressed, by the gods—and bear you down onto the mattress, hovering over your form to lay his mouth greedily upon your skin. He holds himself against your body to feel your velvety flesh against his and savours the essence of rose oil upon your blushing little nipples, all peaked in anticipation for him. Soft sighs and cries escape from you as he sucks and licks and bites, and he has to rise above you to tell you not to restrain those lovely noises. 

“Do not hide from me.” He presses his lips to yours again. You are markedly less controlled, too overrun by his devotions to care for modesty. Your breath mingles in the scant space between your parted mouths, hot and humid. “I want to hear every sound. Understand?”

He no longer gives a fuck about your audience. If they want to see a consummation, let them see a consummation, he thinks smugly.

His first view of what lay between your legs is akin to a holy encounter. There, at the apex of so many a musing of his over the past several moons, lays the precious straining of your desperate little pearl, the bloom of petals shielding a tiny, grasping opening, swollen and wet, winking and gulping, the glisten of slick longing to spill from within.

If there are gods, then the fount of their existence lay between your thighs, he thinks reverentially. You flounder lightly, trying to pull away—he can’t have that. You’ll not escape so easily.

“Sh, little girl.” He holds you open for him, pulling you wide despite your shaky protestations. “You’ll like this part.”

He’ll make you like it.

Working into the rubescent split of your cunt, Daemon groans at the taste of you, sweet and tangy and divine. You whimper adorably in your confusion and enjoyment, wiggling your hips to shake him off. He pulls you to him harder, tormenting your silky-wet folds with deep strokes and laves and suckles, grazing his teeth lightly against that prized little bud and battering the rough flat of his tongue against it. You twist against him, impelling him to hold you fast, hold you down, even as the shocked murmurs from your audience rise in tandem with his attentions.

He feels the flutter in the clench of your entry, rippling like a racing pulse as desire blooms to its full. And then, you come, and he is revelling in the shocked squeal you make and the syrupy slip that floods his palate as your shuddery little cunt dribbles its release, fingers near to bruising at your hips so that he can take and take.

When he has lured you through to the other side, you lean up on your elbows, dazed and swollen-lipped and flushed with exertion. “What… was that?”

He has to constrict his hand tightly around himself to prevent from spilling at your naïveté. Pure little pet, sweet baby doll, all untouched glory for me to spoil.

“That was your peak, sweetling.” He lets the arousal bank as your wide eyes look upon the movements of his wrist, laughing when you wrinkle your nose in confusion—a little girl’s mind in awe of her first touch of carnality.

You are unexpectedly, delightfully receptive to him, spreading yourself eagerly to accommodate his much larger form as he crawls over you.

“I liked it,” you say, a bonny baby strumpet, all fluttering eyes and aching gasps and yearning childishness.

The length of his cock dips and teases between the gather of your dainty slit, a first meeting of what he knows will be many—he’s not even in yet and he knows he’ll be spending as much time as he can between your thighs. Your hips tip up excitedly, working your fluids along his shaft and unknowingly preparing the way for his invasion.

Then Laenor interrupts, for fuck’s sake, tripping over some blasted thing and breaking the spell you are under. Thankfully, the burst of noise serves to make you laugh rather than quail, a pretty peal of giggles that incites him to his own humour. Rhaenyra hisses at her husband to shut up.

“If you’d both shut up, I’d like to get on with it.” His eyes are captured by the swathe of pale throat exposed to him by your turned head.

He leans down to worry a bruise into the skin, a reminder of what has taken place here tonight, a brand that marks you as his.

“Ojenillo gō emi, riñalōrti aōhe pryjēlun”—he delights in the flush that has spread over your cheeks, the roundness of your breasts, the sweep of your collarbone—“yn dokimarves umbagon emon daor.” I should break your maidenhead before I fuck you, but I don’t have the will to wait.

It is unconquered territory, a place he should explore with careful fingers and slow stretches and gentle patience, but the dark impulse to spread you open on his cock—to watch your dismayed little face as he carves a place for himself inside you, lays you bare and forces you open—is impossible to ignore. When he notches the thick, flanged head of his cock against that hungry little entrance, you look up at him, apprehensive and trusting and winsome, shifting skittishly with each abortive thrust he makes to test your give.

By the gods, you are near unyielding. He can already tell that the clutch of you will be ruinous to his sanity and his self-control.

“Aō iemnȳ gaomilā, riñītsos?” Will you let me inside, little girl?

“Aōha ābrazȳrys. ‘Riñītsos’ daor.”Your wife. Not ‘little girl’.

He moans. How precious you are, his pretty little niece, his cherished babe, his tender girl-bride on the cusp of realising maturity. “Ñuhus ābrazȳrītsos. Ñuhon.” My little wife. Mine.

He tries to press forward. “Fuck,” he exclaims emphatically, relishing the sensation of a vice around his cockhead, the mouth of your cunt fluttering distraughtly in its effort to keep him out. “I thought years of riding that dragon of yours would have taken care of this.”

You apologise to him and he shushes you, tells you it will hurt. Though he has delighted in the thrill of splitting many a maiden through in the past, has come to enjoy the sight of tears and the involuntary impulse to escape that allows him to drag his girls back by the hips or the hair, keep them still for him until he has finished, never has he desired to inflict true agony on his bedmates. They always take their pleasure in the end.

This is the only time he will cause you suffering in your marriage bed. He makes the vow as he drives into you, a cruel press of flesh that tears the veil of your virtue and cleaves you open to him. 

Sliding deep is a rush of hotwetwarm constriction that leaves him dizzy and lust-drunk, your convulsing walls frantically trying to expel the onslaught of his entry. You squall through your teeth in his shoulder, a mournful bleat for lost innocence, a rite of passage marked with tears and blood. He grunts as your sharp incisors pierce his flesh, a brand of his own from his wild girl.

“Fuck, you’re so tight— Ah, dōnus riñus, I’m sorry–”

Sweet girl, he says, you’re his sweet girl with the perfect snug little cunt—

Daemon soothes your sobs with avuncular affection, laying kisses on the trails that stream from your heartbroken eyes, high off the act of plundering untouched territory. His cock strains at the mouth of your womb—he can feel the end of you right up against him—and yet there is still some length left to assail you with. He can only hope that you will mould to him, will expand and compress and remake yourself to the shape of him and him alone.

Seven hells, the singers should write songs for this cunt.

He loathes the thought of fucking you as you grizzle and whine under him, a wailing child trapped hysterical in the jaws of a beast; for all his inherent brutality, even he cannot bear the thought of watching you, his sweet little niece, his darling girl, cry as he uses you to speed his own end, unfeeling and uncaring. Thus, he waits, stroking the planes of your flesh reassuringly as you ripple and tense and reform around his restless cock, fingers smoothing over the puckered peaks of your tits and the downy peach fuzz of your waist, your thighs, committing you to memory.

Gradually, your frenzied contractions slow and your sniffles dwindle. You begin to grow jittery, to trill quiet little pleas at him, sluttish earnest bleats that tighten the coil at the base of his spine and make his cock unbearably hard.

“Uncle—”

“Yes?” he asks archly, savouring the embarrassed little clench you make at his words.

“Can you—” You stop.

“Can I—what?” Your cheeks burn bright at his mocking enticement, and he has to remind himself to remain indulgent. Gently, gently. It wouldn’t do to scare you off with his more debauched tastes just yet. In a much kinder tone of voice, he adds, “If you don’t say it, I cannot know what it is you want.”

He wants you to say it—to beg him for it, and oh, he is not disappointed when you shyly entreat him to continue, a doe-eyed harlot, his perfect little babe. “Can you—I need—please, please, valzȳrys.”

You cannot speak the vulgarity that plays on your mind, it seems; perhaps you don’t yet know the words for what he is doing to your body. Such innocence… as vague as your directive is, how can he refuse you?

You pant and whimper as he works himself in and out, the impossible grasp of your cunt only boggling him further as you learn where your muscles are, how to control them, how to clench them around his shaft. He cannot help but give voice to his depravity. He is befuddled, intoxicated, wrecked at the sensations you are eliciting in him.

“That’s it.” Daemon arches your spine toward him so that he may reach further into you, hissing as he drives in fully on the next thrust. He is stupefied by the sound of your cries as he plunders your body, the bewildered warble and devastated open-mouthed expression on your face as his cock pummels your ripped-raw walls. His stones thud heavy and thick against the rounded cheeks of your rear with every thrust, almost the slap he craves to mark all that unblemished flesh with. “Sh, nice and quiet, there’s a good girl—you are, you’re a good girl, tight little cunt just for me—”

He pulls back to take the back of your knees in hand, clammy with exertion, pushing up and over to press you in half. He wonders if the throb of ardour elicited by the sight of the watery red smeared between your thighs and on the sheet below, soaking the fuzzed hairs at the base of his cock, makes him a monster after all. 

Your reserved little utterances catapult into ringing cries as he hits home, a lewd, lush squelch divulging your euphoria for all to hear. He hopes the Council is haunted by the sound.

“Daemon!” you cry out, and gods, he wants you to say his name like that forever.

The dam bursts, his thoughts flowing from his mouth like water through a sieve, releasing his most wretched proclivities to the room. “… I should have fucked you right there in the gardens, in front of that cunt Cole and your ladies and your bitch of a Septa, made you mine—”

He cannot stop running his mouth, expressing his long-concealed desire, the months of tortured anticipation in hot words that make you turn your head. He can’t have you look away from him as he destroys you.

His hips slap furiously against yours, loud and wet. “Look at me!”

Your bleary eyes are round and startled, a little lamb seeking shelter from the dark. Daemon can hear the spectators murmuring behind him, no doubt appalled by him choosing to drag this out, to give you a meaningful first experience in spite of the indignation of it. He cannot help himself, raising the volume of his words so that they can be heard above the crackling of the fire.

“Do you ‘like it’ now, niece? Does it hurt?” Your mouth falls open as you nod, filling him with a vicious pride. “It does—and you love it. Tell me!”

You sob as he punches in faster, harder, the resistance upon each re-entry—you are still so fucking tight, by the gods—propelling him rapidly to the end.

“I love it,” you wail, “it hurts and I love it!”

Something bestial and sadistic and devoted unfurls roaring in his chest, the revelation that his baby niece is a wanton tart ready to be taught her trade ringing in his soul as he surges feverishly into you. His darkest craving is released in the drive to his peak, a desire for an irrefutable claim on you voicing itself to the public chamber.

“You’re going to take me all up in your cunt, aren’t you? Let me hold you down and spill in you, put my babe in your belly—” 

A child, a babe for his sweet little girl, all pretty and round and swollen with his seed, keeping a piece of him warm and safe inside so you’ll never be empty, never be alone again. The words make you choke on your tears and spasm in rapture, the grasp of your greedy cunny strangling and boiling on his cock, and you deserve it, you deserve his come in your cunt, deserve to have it leaking from you and staining your thighs always—

“Sȳres riñus,” he moans, “good girl—fuck, take it—”

It is the longest he’s ever climaxed. He winds his tongue with yours zealously as he rides out the bursts of spend your perfect creamy cunt squeezes from his cock, bathing your womb in warmth. You receive him beautifully, his little treasure, and oh, you’ve done so well for him. His precious niece, his sweet lady wife, bound irrevocably by the blood and sweat and tears of mating.

He shoves in patternless formation as your undulating walls coax the rest of his spend from him in covetous gulps, quivering and sopping and tighthotfuck, a ravenous receptacle for his seed. He slumps into you as the waves recede, holding himself deep, twisting you into an amorous embrace as you both come down from the summit.

He presses a gentle brush of lips against yours as your lids fall, lulled to drowsiness by the rock and slap of fucking. My poor, tired sweetling. 

Daemon slips out of you slowly, hushing you when you grumble, wincing as more weakly-tinted fluid trickles from your puffy entrance. You are a bruised peach leaking creamy white and thin crimson rivulets between plump, pale cheeks. The sight sends hot-cold shudders of callous jubilation through him, the vestiges of juvenescence he has stolen oozing from your overrun opening. He grabs the crumpled mound of his shirt from the floor and holds it against your battered centre, catching the spill as much as he can. You shift sleepily, nearly insensate, and his lips twist in unbearable fondness at the sight.

There is a shift by the gallery. Doors open and he can see the forms of the Small Council file quietly out of the room through the wooden slats dividing the chamber. The cauls of the maids’ headwear appear in his line of vision. They are here to collect the bedding. He imagines you would be abashed by lingering unclothed while the attendants do their work and the remaining Council members confirm the consummation took place—though he cannot think of a single reason they could produce to the contrary after that display. 

Daemon sits you up and dresses you in your vestal night-rail, a pure little gown for a despoiled princess, and lifts you off the bed, carrying you unhurriedly to the lounge by the balcony for a spot of fresh air to cool the already-drying sweat on your skin before sleep claims you entirely. He has no need for his own clothing—he couldn’t care less if those in residence wished to take a glimpse of his arse or cock as he walks.

Your head lolls in the crook of his neck and you snuffle sluggishly into him, arm loosely draped around his neck. His hand falls into the familiar old pattern of rubbing up and down your spine, the easiest way to cast you off to sleep as a child. He must hush you again when one of the maids drops her basket, the clatter startling you. It is easy to draw you back down into dozing against his chest. He presses a light kiss to the side of your head as you sink into him, a docile darling drifting off in his proprietorial hold. 

Daemon looks up from you to see a trio of stragglers at the foot of the bed, inspecting the soiled bed sheets with red faces and pursed lips.

“Well… everything seems to—be in order, uh, my Prince,” comes the croaky voice of Mellos, the crotchety old bastard. He’s not forgotten the little shit’s attempts to derail the evening. 

“Good. I do hope you enjoyed, Grand Maester. The gods know it’ll be the only time you ever see what a woman in the throes of pleasure looks like.” He feels a juvenile sense of satisfaction as Mellos sputters and frowns.

“Daemon!” With brow furrowed and mouth frowning, Viserys turns to his companions. “Leave us.”

The figures of Mellos and Lyonel Strong promptly bow and exit hurriedly, seeming eager to leave. Good, Daemon thinks viciously. Perhaps the Small Council will think twice about this insanity next time there’s a royal wedding.

“Must you be so inflammatory?” Viserys asks wearily, eyes clenched shut in consternation. “This affair has been difficult enough.”

“Oh, really?” How dare he voice his own discomfort? Especially at your own expense. Daemon gives voice to his affront. “I hadn’t realised that you were the one being pranced around like a caged animal for the amusement of others—oh, wait. That was your daughter. At your own insistence, even.”

“Enough!” His brother falls quickly into hush once more when you stir briefly against Daemon. “Enough. I understand you are still upset—” Viserys levels him with a look when he scoffs—”but we have achieved our purpose here. You are wedded and bedded, and now she is indisputably yours.”

His hand resumes the gentle stroking up and down your back, an action that is not unnoticed by the King. Briefly, Daemon thinks Viserys means to come over and touch you, perhaps pat you on the head or embrace you, before the realisation of what exactly had just occurred sinks in. It is no more than an unavailing movement, a pause and then a cessation.

“She was always mine, Viserys,” Daemon murmurs, casting his gaze down upon you fondly, his sweetheart, his little niece, his baby wife.

And in many ways , it is true. The sole spark of sanctitude in his days as a young man, the one thing unblemished by the taint of his destructive ambition—you have been his beloved fey princess all your life, the only person he could never bear to punish for daring to exist as an obstruction to his aspirations. 

His brother tips his head, a shadow passing over his face.

“When I look at her,” the King says, a pained look upon his visage, “sometimes I believe I see Aemma. Just a flash, no more—then she’s gone again. But my Aemma lives on in her, I think.” 

Daemon says nothing—for what can he say? Thirteen years of widowhood, four new children and his brother will always mourn the loss of his first wife. It is an ache he himself has outrun all his life, ever since witnessing the deaths of his mother and father, the slow wasting away of his grandfather after grandmother died.

Love is a wretched triumph, he muses, and a glorious sorrow.

“Take care of her, brother,” Viserys whispers, eyes welling up.

He meets his gaze, and nods. I will, he tries to convey, and from the way his brother’s face relaxes he knows he has understood. Perhaps time is to heal this wound, too.

He waits for the King to leave the chamber before rising once more, depositing you on the freshly-attired bed and tucking the covers around you. You make for a pretty sight, lush curves he now knows the shape of concealed by a juvenile robe, your little-girl lips puckered in open-mouthed respite, his lovely niece-bride a picture of debauched purity. 

Your arm flings out lethargically, searching for him. Daemon smiles as he slides in beside you, pulling you solidly into him and wrapping his arm around you. You sigh and shift, squirming into the crook of his arm, and he brushes the hair lightly from your face. He can do this now, and the realisation is exhilarating. He is free to touch you, kiss you, ravish and dote upon you as he had imagined in his thoughts these past moons, a vessel for his obsession, his barbarity, his passion and his reverence.

As he holds you in his arms, he lets himself indulge in the thought that it would be all too easy to fall for you. 

He looks forward to it.

“When Prince Daemon’s eye cast itself upon his younger niece, many feared that the Princess’s honour would be besmirched in much the same way as had her elder sister’s—but whether it be her staunch devotion to propriety, a genuine affection between uncle and niece, or even Daemon’s growing sentiment for the girl, this was not the case. Instead, the Prince paid court to her with as gallant a disposition as he was capable of, and never without an escort who could vouch for the respectability of their meetings. In this endeavour, Daemon succeeded in his ambitions, claiming his betrothed niece before King and court with great triumph and procuring himself a wife of his own choosing.”

- ‘Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

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