#You are not blind but unfortunately you see in a land of blinds

[lifblogs]

Week 2

Flashbang

@summer-of-bad-batch

Prompt: Injured

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 2880

Summary: Crosshair sees a flashbang go off through his heat vision lens, which gives the perfect opportunity for droids to sneak up on him. He’s injured from the fight that ensues.

WARNINGS: Violence, Brief Suicidal Thoughts

A/N: Y’all are lucky I didn’t go ham with this prompt.

READ ON AO3

Crosshair’s eyes burned and ached, the flash of light seeming to go all the way into his head. Even with his eyes closed he could still see bright white afterimages through his lids.

Crosshair growled, putting a hand over his eyes through his helmet.

Get it together.

“Crosshair, what’s wrong?” Tech asked. “Why didn’t you take the shot?”

Crosshair wanted to explain it was the stupid flashbang he’d seen go off through his heat vision lens.

Hunter started explaining it to Tech.

Crosshair was perched up on a rocky cliff amongst the heavy snow. They had drawn out the tactical droid, and he was supposed to take it out.

The flashbang.

The tactical droid recognized them.

Hunter started detailing new plans, but now even sound seemed to hurt his head. He thought he heard Hunter was coming to get him, but he couldn’t be sure.

Crosshair tried opening his eyes, and growled at the stabbing pain that followed.

The pain left him so distracted and disoriented, and he was worried about not being able to keep an eye on his surroundings.

Something fired right near Crosshair’s side where he lay in the snow.

Blast!

He rolled, grabbing his rifle, and opened his eyes to try and fire. Through the too-bright light of sun reflecting off snow and ice Crosshair could barely make out his enemy. He thought he saw a commando droid. Maybe three of them.

Crosshair ducked behind a natural alcove in the cliffside. The sheer drop to his left didn’t exactly make him feel too comfortable, especially with the dip in the stone that had him slowly falling through the snow. But right now this was better than getting shot.

Blaster bolts fired in his direction, the bright flares aching behind his eyes.

Still half-blinded, Crosshair threw a puck. It’d never hold up against the energy of a blaster bolt in the snow, but if he fired…

Now!

He took the shot before the puck could land, and a set of blaster bolts stopped firing. When he ducked his head around a commando droid was crashing into the snow, smoking from a shot off-center from the middle of its chest. Well, he could’ve done worse.

His next problem arose as the two remaining commando droids advanced, and Crosshair was close to falling over the edge to a drop three-hundred meters down.

And his vision still wasn’t perfect again.

With no choice he jumped from his spot, firing at the droids. Another went down, but the last one got too close. Crosshair raised his rifle horizontally, trying to push the droid back. He grunted as he had to shift to avoid getting blasted through the gut.

Seeing the choice before him that the droid had cleverly fought him into, Crosshair tried to avoid it, wanting to keep hold of his rifle. He kicked at it, but that only made it slide back about a third of a meter. It came at him with renewed force, grabbing his rifle and swinging him through the air. For a horrifying second he flew over the sheer drop into a thicket of conifers below, but then he surpassed it. Though unfortunately he’d still have to land somewhere if not there. Already his neck had been wrenched from the force of the throw, his helmet flying off, and some muscles in his legs had been pulled to try and keep his position.

Crosshair’s back smacked into the dark, jagged cliff rising above him, now opposite from where he had first been firing at the droids.

The impact knocked the air out of him, and made his rifle fall from nerveless fingers. He fell from his position about a meter up, landing on his feet. Agony shot through his left leg, and a choked scream tried to leave him, lungs still not having recovered from the impact. Crosshair collapsed into the snow atop his rifle.

The droid leveled its blaster and Crosshair was sure he was dead. He tried to reach his pistol, but his left arm was completely numb. His eyes widened in fear, light still too bright.

A vibroblade blurred through the air and stuck out of the commando droid’s neck. Sparks flew. It fired as it fell, aim now a couple meters above where Crosshair lay.

Hunter rushed into his field of view, firing to make sure the droid was down.

He came over to him, crouching down.

“Crosshair, are you okay?”

“Did—did you take out the tactical droid?” he asked.

Crosshair tried to get up, but his upper back hurt so badly he might have preferred it if the commando droid had shot him. He screamed and collapsed back down.

“Tech did,” Hunter answered, looking him over. “He’s taking the head back to Kamino to try and figure out how the CIS know about us.”

“So you figured it out too? Well, we’re not exactly subtle.”

“Can you stand?”

“Uh-uh.”

Hunter grabbed Crosshair’s numb left arm, trying to sling it over his shoulder… without Crosshair able to keep it in place.

“Crosshair, I need your help here.”

“My arm is numb,” he growled at him.

“Where are you injured?”

“My back. My leg too.”

“I’ll get Tech and Wrecker up here.”

Hunter called them on comms as he got Crosshair’s helmet and pulled his rifle out from under him. With difficulty he got Crosshair onto his side, which at least was more comfortable than his stomach.

Hunter retrieved his vibroblade and in a moment of anger kicked the commando droids over the edge of the cliff.

“What’s done is done,” Crosshair hissed.

“I still hate them. Every single stinkin’—”

“We’re here!” Wrecker announced.

He and Tech had a stretcher with them.

The sky was darkening through Crosshair’s view of the trees. More snow would fall soon.

“What are your symptoms?” Tech asked as he and Wrecker picked him up.

Crosshair tried to hold in a cry, but it came out anyway. His cheeks, which were already flushed from the cold, reddened even more. He didn’t want his squad to see him in pain, didn’t want to need their help. But the truth was, he was injured, and he probably needed medical attention.

Hunter was talking to Echo, asking him to fly the Marauder to their position so they wouldn’t have to carry Crosshair halfway down a mountain.

“Middle and lower back hurt,” he told Tech. “Middle hurts worse. My left leg hurts, and—and I can’t feel my left arm.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” he demanded, words coming out too loud as he was fully settled and pressure was against his mid-back.

Oh, kriff, he was nauseous.

“Might be dealing with herniated discs.”

“I don’t speak whatever that is,” he hissed.

“Bulging discs, Crosshair,” Tech said with a roll of his eyes.

“There are discs in my back?” Wrecker asked loudly.

“Yes, Wrecker,” Crosshair and Tech responded as one.

Hunter came over to them.

“All right, Echo’s on his way. He should be here in a few minutes.”

Snow drifted over on a chill wind, dark clouds coming upon them.

“Why haven’t you given me something for the pain?” Crosshair demanded.

“How can I perform accurate tests to ascertain the severity of your injuries while you’re numbed?”

“I don’t know, use a damn scanner like a normal person.”

“What is your level of pain?”

“Astronomical,” Crosshair spat out, even as he barely knew what was going on anymore.

He was tense and gritting his teeth. Tears tried to well up in his eyes. He just wanted the pain to stop. How was he supposed to survive even another second like this?

And, he did. Somehow.

Crosshair despised it.

Tech came over, and removed his pack. He started searching through it after removing a tactical droid head.

When he found the medicine he wasted no time about jabbing it into Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair wanted to complain about the sharp ache, but then a soft, cottony feeling began to wash over him, and move through his bloodstream.

Crosshair looked up at the darkening sky, wondering if he could float up into it.

When the Marauder arrived he couldn’t stop staring at it. What a beautiful ship.

He then realized his pain had softened, going from a ten to a six, which was enough to give him relief.

There was a bit of a struggle over the sheer drop below, but Wrecker and Tech got him safely onto the ship. They unfolded his rack, and placed him into it on his stomach. After some thinking (which only took Tech a grand total of one second) he put a spare pillow under Crosshair’s hips. His pain lower down lessened a bit more.

Hunter and Wrecker flew the ship while Echo helped Tech.

Tech ran a scanner over Crosshair’s body.

“Oh my,” he said when he got a good look at the results.

“What is it?” Crosshair asked, words a bit slurred.

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Echo nudged him. “Just tell him, Tech.”

“Fine. Your T7 disc is bulging, and there’s a small fracture in the vertebrae. Your L5 disc is also bulging. Which explains why you can’t feel your left arm, and why your left leg hurts. Have you, uh, had any incontinence?”

Crosshair did his best to glare.

“Fine, I’ll leave you be.”

“You all set?” Echo asked him after Tech left.

“Yep.”

“Hang in there. We’ll be back home before you know it.”

Crosshair hated when people said that.

“…before you know it” turned into hours of agony and fear from not being able to feel his left arm, and if he so much as tried to sit up his left leg went numb all the way to his toes. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than the throbbing pain that had him crying out and groaning at random moments. He was sure his family was dead tired of hearing him screaming.

By the time they made it, rain drenching their viewports, Crosshair was snapping at everyone, just wanting them to leave him alone, and the pain had him shivering. And no matter how many insults he threw at Hunter he stayed diligently by his side as he was brought into the medical wing. Crosshair wished he had the energy to be infuriated about that.

Hunter had let them know they were coming in with an injured trooper, so a room was all ready for Crosshair.

The transition onto the bed had his back telling him it was getting slammed against solid rock again. Tech tried to stay to give the Kaminoan overseeing him more information, but he was pushed out along with Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo. Echo’s face had been pinched, more worried than the others.

Crosshair closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth as various machines started their tests.

The Kaminoan tested his motion, Crosshair unable to hold in a scream when his left leg was tugged on. When his mid-back was pressed on he almost threw up for a reason he couldn’t discern.

The Kaminoan simply injected him with something and held an antiseptic wipe under his nose in the most impersonal way ever. He wanted to tell this Kaminoan to go kriff themselves with a blaster.

With the way he was being treated, Crosshair actually wished he had his brothers back with him. Echo would sympathize with how he was feeling, Wrecker would be annoying in the sweetest way, Tech knew him so well, and despite the times they argued Hunter was his rock. And now he had none of that. The pain across his lower back was electric, sparking and burning, and with his other injury he could barely breathe. He would never admit to it, but he needed his family with him.

“You will require surgery,” the Kaminoan told him. And despite going into battle more times than he could count a hot rush of anxiety swept through him and he broke out in a sweat. He wiped his sweaty right palm on his leg. “We will begin immediately.”

Now he really couldn’t breathe.

“Wait, can’t—can’t I just talk to my squad for a minute?”

“They will be informed.”

“But—”

A medical droid came in as Crosshair was pressed back down onto the bed and promptly shut up.

“Hello, I am AZI-345211”—the Kaminoan injected Crosshair with something in the neck, and he grunted, putting his right hand into a fist—“896246…”

Crosshair’s galaxy faded.

Crosshair groaned, blinking awake. A blue light scanned him, and he thought he heard Tech’s voice, telling the droid to leave him be for now.

“Crosshair.”

“Huh?”

He opened his eyes again, not realizing he had closed them.

“Here.”

A pouch with a straw was being directed to his mouth, and then he realized Hunter was doing the directing.

As Hunter helped him lift his head slightly so he could sip at the bubbly beverage things began to make a bit more sense.

The surgery.

His back didn’t seem to be hurting.

He looked around, realizing his whole family was with him.

Maybe it was the drugs, but a small smile alit his face. Wrecker laughed.

Crosshair, now able to feel his left arm, hugged it to his side, and felt something plush against him. He looked down, finding Lula in his arms. For now he couldn’t even be annoyed.

“Wow, he really is high,” Echo said.

“Here, you should finish this,” Hunter said, putting the straw near Crosshair’s lips again.

As he drank, he started to come back to himself.

His first conscious act was to throw Lula at Wrecker and scoff.

Wrecker caught her and said, “You can’t just throw her around.”

“I’ll throw you around.”

“Seems he’s doing fine,” Tech said.

“Good to see you awake,” Echo said.

Crosshair tried rolling onto his back, and AZI pushed him fully back onto his side. “You have incisions in your back. I do not suggest lying on it.”

“How… How is my back?” Crosshair asked.

“With nano-webbing we were able to put your discs back in place. We filled in the fracture with synthetic bone marrow and bone. As for the incisions you should be back to normal in a few weeks.”

“I want a mirror,” Crosshair said.

“I do not recommend this course of action,” AZI said.

“Fine.”

Crosshair sat up as he let his legs fall to the floor.

He almost fell over and Hunter and Tech caught him.

Once his head cleared and he could sit up on his own Crosshair started taking his tunic off.

“How bad does it look?” he asked his family.

Tech went around to look. “The mechnosutures look very good. You have two incisions. Mostly there is a lot of purple and some swelling.”

“Thanks,” Crosshair breathed as he started putting his shirt back on.

“Humans are odd,” AZI announced.

“AZI, the patient is awake and well,” Hunter said. “You can go.”

“But—”

“Oh, he’ll be fine with us,” Wrecker said.

“If you don’t break him,” Echo intoned under his breath.

Wrecker shoved Echo.

AZI left, but looked back as he floated out.

After some awkward moments of silence that Crosshair didn’t know how to deal with, he said, “Thanks… f-for all of you being here.”

“You thought we’d let you be alone in here? I’d fight a battalion to be here,” Hunter said.

“Or punch a reg in the face.”

Oh, Wrecker.

“You do that quite regularly,” Tech pointed out.

“Two regs.”

“Also a regular occurrence.”

Wrecker folded his arms. “Way to ruin me sharing how much I care about Crosshair. Fine, Hunter, you and the battalion you’d fight win.”

Crosshair appreciated this, destroyed battalion, punched regs, or no. A lot of his work was done alone, but alone in a Kaminoan medical wing? For some reason that was scarier than having commando droids sneak up on you. (At least that was part of the job description.)

“Wrecker,” Crosshair said, “fifty credits says I’ll be able to shoot perfectly in a week.”

“Uh-uh. I’m not taking that bet.”

Tech started to speak, but Hunter cut him off, “I will. Let’s make it sixty. And uh, I’ll wager five rotations.”

“Seventy says four,” Echo said.

“You hate betting,” Tech reminded him.

Echo shrugged.

Crosshair huffed a laugh.

Thanks to Kaminoan medicine, Crosshair was back in the field in a month. Tech had cracked the tactical droid, and they knew this current mission had a tactical droid that knew nothing about them. Due to the sensitivity of the information it couldn’t be transferred between droids. This mission was important since they were hunting down the person who did know about them, and was feeding the Separatist military information.

Everything looked clear through Crosshair’s scopes.

“How you doing up there?” Hunter asked.

Crosshair adjusted his sights. The day was clear and bright, giving him a perfect view of the battle that was sure to take place soon. There weren’t many chances of his eyesight being compromised again. He was in his element up here, virtually alone, and keeping a close eye on his brothers. His back didn’t even twinge or ache when he moved.

Two droid battalions were approaching.

Crosshair set up his first shot.

“Never better, Sergeant.”

The droids drew closer, closer…

He squeezed the trigger.

[sweetestpopcorn]

hi! feel free to ignore this if you've already answered it before, but I was curious about your thoughts of Laenor/Rhaenyra alledgedy friendship the fandom is convinced they had going on.

originally I assumed it was a headcanon originating from [degoratory] but apparently, no. Many ppl share up and down that in fire & blood rhaenya x laenor grew closer post their marriage and were friends since Rhaenyra had no problem with laenor's lovers nor he with Ser Harwin.

Now, I'll admit I didn't really care for laenor in f&b tbh so maybe I should have focus more? But one thing I'm always fixated is how Viserys basically threatened Rhaenyra into marrying laenor (i like him. don't get me wrong but he doesn't get enough lashes for this) and rhaenyra's reaction is also reported. To have cried, screamed, begged etc. Obviously nothing positive.

the only "good" thing I can remember between rhaneyra and laenor is him being there with her when the children were born - which, sure that's nice but don't they both have an appearance to keep up? Like, maybe he was there to play the doting husband?

again, I don't mind the laenor x rhaneyra besties thing as a headcanon but I've seen readers being convinced and using their friendship as if it's canon in their arguments so i was wondering if I'm blind? Where they friends and I missed it? i think you might have mentioned in the past that you also don't think they had some deep rooted friendship but if so, where is everyone basing their beliefs from?

Hi there,

So I went over how that headcanon of Rhaenyra and Laenor being bffs holds no value in canon, and actually the books directly contradict it.

No, you are not blind. This fandom just has a very big imagination. Like @queenhousetargaryen once very well mentioned:

I don't know if these lies that are spread come from a desire to make Laenor into more than what he was because they like his parents, from trying to make it look like Rhaenyra's life was less miserable, or a bit of both or something else.

Where they take any of that from? Well where many in this fandom take their general beliefs and ideas from: www.voicesinsidemyhead.com and also www.convenientbeliefs4u.com or some BFN's lame post with 0 in book quotes.

Personally I cannot stand this "headcanon" because of what I mentioned: It takes away how much Rhaenyra suffered from being forced to marry against her will, and it also takes away from the pain she lived through those 6 years and how alone she was. It will never not be funny to me that the same BFN that rage at arranged marries suddenly seem to forget their aversion where Rhaenyra and Laenor are concerned. Oh well, anything to make the Velayrons look like perfect angels I suppose.

Some people: Rhaenyra and Laenor were bffs and he was a great choice of husband for her!

Us: Is Rhaenyra and Laenor being bffs and him being a great choice of husband for her here in the room with us?

You're not blind.

PS: Goes without saying but I still have to say it, everything written above concerns asoiaf canon Rhaenyra and asoiaf canon Laenor only. Keep redacted trash out of my tumblr. Thank you!

[atticrissfinch]

Born of Confusion and Quiet Collusion | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

pairing: stepfather!joel miller x fem!reader summary: he’s been in your life since you were fourteen, the first reliable father figure you’ve had in your life. but you’re not a child anymore. and you’re not the only one who’s noticed that.  warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] sleazy/deadbeat stepdad!joel, age gap (joel is 51, reader is 20), stepcest (v self-referential), daddy!kink, size!kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected piv, deepthroating, cum-eating, marking, ball-sucking, angst!!! a lot of it!!!, smoking, drinking, infidelity, v brief mentions of past domestic abuse and past impregnation of a minor (16) via statutory r*pe (neither apply to joel or reader), too many religious metaphors, reader has a landing strip because…I said so word count: ~10.6K | ao3 a/n: I had such a good time writing this. it didn’t turn out as PWP as initially intended, but I love it just the same. this is definitely not your mother’s stepcest fic (it’s her husband’s 🤪) but it’s still horny and sick and twisted and I hope you cry or cum or both ❤️ if people like this, there is a possibility of a part 2! title from lana my queen ♥️ thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers <3

Masterlist | Kofi

Blinding sun has begun to streak across the sidewalks in your childhood neighborhood. Patches of grass and wildflowers sprout from the cracks in the pavement. Vibrant chalk drawings smear from trekking feet. Sprinklers stutter and hiss for giggling children — a picturesque snapshot of youthful frivolity, submerged in the ephemeral gloss of summer vacation.

In a way, it feels like you’ve never left. For the past two years, you’ve only come home for the summer from college. Which is unfortunate considering how beautiful New England is in the summer. Instead your thighs are sticking to plastic benches at fast-casual restaurants in Texas, where it feels like the devil himself has his head between your legs anywhere you sit.

Of course, it’s always nice to see your mother. Never without a pitcher of sweet ice tea in the fridge, never without a pasted-on Southern debutante smile, and never a single hair that’s not bleached to hell on her head. Frazzled and air-headed as they come, flighty as a hummingbird, but easily reined and tethered to the earth with one hand by…Joel.

Oh, what could you say about Joel?

He loves your mother, you’ll say that much. You’ve never seen a man as drawn to his wife as you have him. The touches are constant, the compliments doled out like those strawberry bonbons on your grandmother’s coffee table. It’s been seven years and he still acts like your living room is the lobby heading to the honeymoon suite they call a bedroom.

As a result, you wouldn’t be caught dead without headphones at any given time in your home. You’ve heard far too much over these seven years to not know to be prepared.

But what Joel makes up for in physical affection, he severely lacks in any other form of decorum. His recliner is perfectly molded to his body, his side table littered with cigarette butts and empty Pabst cans. The blare of NASCAR is ever-present, and you swear you can see the outline of an ad-riddled Camaro burned into the television screen.

On any given Saturday you hear “Beer, baby,” about a dozen times.

Beer, baby.

Beer, baby.

‘Nother beer, baby.

They almost don’t sound like real words after the first several. Just a nonsensical pattern of plosives spewing into the air that your mother is conditioned to respond to like a dog.

Beer, baby.

and then,

Snick. Crack. Fizz.

And she never complains, as far as you’ve heard.

You’d tried one time to yank her out of the trance.

“Mom, you don’t have to be his little barmaid, you know. He can get his own beer,” you’d said.

She just smiled that plastic smile, slid her hands down his chest from behind his chair, kissed his sweaty temple, and said, “‘Least I can do for my white knight. Ain’t never no skin off my nose.”

“White knight with the biggest sword in the land,” Joel had tacked on for his own benefit, grabbing his crotch lewdly with a filthy grin before your mother swatted him playfully and gathered his empty beer cans.

The thing about your mother’s current questionable standards is that your biological father was a shitbag, to put it lightly. He’d gotten your mom pregnant when she was just short of seventeen, and he was thirty-five. And that’s just the beginning. He’s locked up now, but he’d had about fourteen years to do damage to her in this very home that he bought for your little family to maintain appearances of family values.

To her, Joel is her white knight. She was a single mother of a teenage girl with an ex-husband in the slammer and a dead-end receptionist job at a local travel agency.

Joel showered her with love and praise without the shadow of the back of his hand just behind. And maybe he was still fifteen years her senior. Maybe he didn’t have money. Maybe he was a deadbeat, beer-bellied local with a million excuses as to why jobs never work out for him (a “Type A” personality, he likes to blame it on. Which you’re unsure he even knows what that means given that the only Type A you’ve observed in him that he could credibly claim is his blood type).

But he loved your mother when she needed it the most. And he loved her enough that he accepted the package deal the two of you came as. So there’s only so much you could hold against him.

And not that this would ever matter, in any universe, but in spite of his dirty undershirts, his ratty sweatpants, his prominent beer gut…Joel is not an unattractive man. He cleans up very well on the rare occasion your mother has required him to, and you see a sparkle of what your mother sees in him on a daily basis.

A sparkle that, for reasons unbeknownst to you, had your hand sliding into your panties once or twice or more growing up when you were still discovering your own sexuality in your twin bed with your headphones in.

You haven’t done that for years now. You barely even remember it happened. But you don’t think of Joel that way. Joel is just…Joel. He’s your stepfather. Love of your mother’s life. The stability she needed. For seven years, that’s how it’s stayed.

When you return to your house in the evening of a hot Summer night, ear freshly talked off by your old friend from high school and a stomach satiated with your favorite local spot, your mother is working on dinner for her and Joel at the stove, still dressed in her work attire.

“Looks good, sexy mama,” Joel says, slapping her ass and gripping a handful of it as he kisses her neck.

She giggles and bats him away. “Oh, shoo. Go sit and it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

He fits in one final grope before plodding over to his recliner and powering on the television, eyeing you as you slip your sandals off by the front door.

“How’s Nancy?” He asks in his deep drawl, pulling the arm of the recliner until the footrest pops up for him to prop his socked feet.

“Francie,” you correct, tossing your keys into the dish on the antique wooden console table by the door. One your mother and you had spotted at an estate sale when you were seven, and one you’ve made a mental note to make sure none of your sticky-finger relatives get their hands on before you have a solid place of your own to furnish and you can take a piece of your childhood home with you.

“Francie. That’s right. How’s Francie?”

“She’s good. She thinks Josh is gonna propose soon.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” your mom pipes in, plopping a hand over her heart as she stirs. “I always liked that Josh. Always holds the door open for me when I stop by Sal’s.”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” you say dismissively. What you don’t say is how he’s already cheated on Francie twice in as many years, but she keeps going back. But that’s none of your business in the end. Francie’s always been one to do what she’s going to do.

“Well, what about that boy you been seein’ every goddamn night?” Joel asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Hasn’t been every goddamn night,” you sass back, propping your hand on your hip in front of him. “We’ve been on four dates.”

“Been real long dates,” Joel says, a clear inclination in his voice.

“They have not been real long dates, Joel. They’ve been normal dates.”

“Oh, leave her be, J,” your mom scolds lightly. “She’s just havin’ fun, aren’t you, blossom?”

“I guess,” you mutter, studying the old magazines on the coffee table. “Hoping it becomes something a little more serious than ‘just fun’ soon.”

“Caught your eye, didn’t he? He’d be a dumbass to throw that away,” Joel says with surety. “Knew that the second I looked at your mama. You girls are a prize. Beautiful as all get-out.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, shifting your weight a little uncomfortably at the compliment.

Joel’s mouth falls into a smirk as he taps his side table. “You wanna make like your mama and grab me a beer, sweet girl?”

You scoff, giving him a look of disgust. “Fuck off.”

Joel gives an upside-down smile and shrugs before hollering at your mother, “Beer, baby.”

You let out an annoyed sigh and head off toward the kitchen. “I’ll fucking get it, mom. Lazy ass,” you mutter the last two words under your breath.

“Thank you, doll,” your mom says, a wide smile on her face as you pull open the fridge and retrieve his drink. You slam it down on his tiny table with thinly-veiled irritation, flourishing your hands towards it in a facetious “ta-da” gesture.

Joel looks at the can, then up at you. “Ain’t gonna open it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you bite out incredulously, turning on your heel toward your bedroom. “Open it yourself,” you yell over your shoulder as you head down the hall.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” you hear him bellow to you with a laugh in his voice as you shut your door.

—

Your mom is acting different lately. Pushing Joel away more when he becomes affectionate. More short-tempered at random moments with him. You’ve already witnessed her going off on him once since you’ve been home about him not doing the simplest things. Tidying up the table, forgetting to run errands for her while she’s at work, emptying his own ashtray. Her patience is much thinner the last several weeks since you’ve been home, and you’re not sure for how long prior.

But you see her smiling at her phone one evening when Joel is out at a bar with his friends. It’s a certain kind of smile. Less plastered on, more secretive in its delight. Forty minutes later she tells you she’s playing some late-night pinochle at a friend’s and to not wait up for her. She looks awful dolled up for a card game night with “friends”, but you say nothing.

She’s playing some “late-night pinochle” with someone, alright, you think.

Joel stumbles in at 2 AM, clattering loudly around in the kitchen. You pad out of your room in your sleep shorts and tank top, squinting into the bright kitchen lights.

“The fuck are you doing, Joel?”

His head whips around, hand frozen on the handle of an open kitchen drawer. “Shit, sweetheart. Sorry, didn’t know I’d wake ya.”

“You’re being noisy as fuck. What are you rooting around in here for?”

“Ran outta smokes. I know I got a spare pack stashed in here.”

You sigh tiredly, resting your chin on your hand on the counter. “Junk drawer on the right.”

Joel follows your instructions and emerges victorious, waggling the pack in the air. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, pushing yourself off the counter to head back to your slumber.

“Wanna have a smoke with me out back?”

You stare at him blankly for a moment. “I don’t really smoke.”

Joel fixes you with a telling look, eyebrows raised. “Mama’s not home. You wanna have a smoke with me?”

You stand quiet for a pause, but then roll your eyes and tilt your head to the back door in a silent acquiescence. Joel smiles lightly and follows your gesture, slipping a cigarette into your hand as he passes.

The night air is still balmy, but there is a light breeze. You hunker down on the porch steps and Joel flicks his lighter for the both of you.

You’re not a habitual smoker. It’s purely social and for the occasional nerves. Your mom hates smoking, even hates that Joel does it. But she really doesn’t want you to get trapped in it. And as far as she knows, you’ve never had nicotine in your life. She definitely doesn’t know that you’d surreptitiously coerced Joel into offering you your first cigarette at sixteen. On these exact same steps.

You smoke in relative silence for several minutes, the cicadas chirping around you and the wood creaking underneath.

Then, into the dark, “She’s steppin’ out on me.”

You look over at him, legs spread, half-smoked cigarette dangling between them, and looking a little more haggard than you remember seeing him before.

Something about the softness in his face, the puffiness under his eyes, has you looking at him in a more sympathetic light that has nothing to do with the dying glow of the bulb above the doorway.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” you mutter gently. But he’s right and you know it. You don’t know the details, but she’s not being the most subtle about it.

“Don’t want to,” Joel replies, taking another pull from his smoke. “But the signs’ve been there for a while.”

You nod silently in understanding, feeling the burn of the smoke in your throat.

Joel sighs, tendrils of smoke billowing from his mouth. “Happens, I guess. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“Yeah. It’ll blow over,” you agree. Joel doesn’t respond again, just stares out at the overgrown, weed-infested back lawn. You knock your knee against his until you have his attention. You reassure him, “It’ll blow over.”

Joel stares at you for a prolonged minute, then bumps your knee back. A heavy palm falls low onto your bare thigh, stroking gently with a thick thumb. Goosebumps flare up under it immediately, a strange feeling in your stomach ramping up at the graze of him. You blink and take another drag.

Joel’s hand slides off your leg, leaving a bizarre chill in its wake. He pulls himself up and taps out the smoldering butt onto the railing.

“It’ll blow over,” he confirms, pushing open the door and disappearing inside.

Tightness constricts in your chest as you desperately suck down to the filter on your cigarette, jettisoning the smoke into the air pensively.

A lot has changed since you were sixteen.

—

The night had not gone as planned. Six dates and you really thought this would be the one. You knew it would be long distance, but you thought he liked you.

You hadn’t even gone on Tinder with the intent of finding a relationship, but then you went on a few dates and you thought, maybe you could do it. He’s cute, sweet, makes you come and then fucks you well. You had thought this would be the night. The “Will you be my girlfriend” night, not the “This isn’t going to work” night. So you’re fighting back tears as he awkwardly drives you home.

Joel is in his chair, beer in hand, when you walk through the door. You’re really not in the mood, so you beeline it for the hallway.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?” Joel calls after you as you sequester yourself in your room, chuck your heels at your closet, and hurl yourself onto your bed.

Not two minutes go by before a light knock sounds at your door. “You okay, sweet girl?”

“Fuck off,” you yell back at him through the closed door. But the door opens, and Joel is there, leaning against the doorway.

“Date go to shit?”

“How tactful,” you grumble, wringing the pillow in your lap with your hands and dropping your head back against your headboard.

Joel chuckles, but he looks earnest in his interest. “Come on, darlin’. What happened?”

You shrug dismissively, throat thick with your restrained emotions.

Joel knocks on the doorway in an awkward fidget, before ultimately crossing the barrier into your room and sitting on the bed at your feet, looking at you expectantly.

You bite your lower lip, doing your damndest to stave off the tears. “He broke things off.”

“Dumbass,” Joel mutters.

“I’m the dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass. I would know, wouldn’t I?” Joel teases, jostling your foot lightly.

A hint of a smile forms on your face. “Yeah, you would. Dumbass extraordinaire.”

Joel matches your smile with an upturn of the corner of his mouth. He tugs at your ankle. “Come ‘ere.”

You groan, but toss the pillow aside and scoot down the bed next to him, folding your legs to the side in your wrinkled dress. Joel wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him. You sigh and lower your head onto his shoulder.

“It’s fucking stupid, but I liked him,” you say quietly.

“He don’t deserve you,” he says, hugging around your waist.

“Apparently no boy does, at this point,” you sniffle. The scent of Joel fills your nostrils — beer, cigarettes, a thin sheen of sweat. It should be off-putting, but it smells like growing up. Like maturity.

“You’re right. No boy does.”

The arm around you shifts, and once again, a hand. Warm on your thigh. Midway up this time, just below the hem of your dress. You stare down at it, conflicted.

“What do you mean?” You ask, fearing you already know the answer.

“I think you need a man,” Joel rumbles, squeezing at your thigh.

You swallow thickly, unable to look away from the masculine hand clamped onto your leg, a little less than innocently.

“Joel? Where’s my mom?”

When Joel doesn’t reply, you pry your eyes from his hand to study his face. You see his expression and the answer passes between you wordlessly.

She’s not here. You both know where she is. And you both know she won’t be back for a good while.

Joel’s gaze fixes on yours as his hand slips up a single inch, pinky dipping just under your skirt.

“Joel…” you whisper, but you don’t think he quite hears it. His eyes drop down to your mouth and stay there, watch as your tongue flicks over your suddenly very dry lips. “What are you doing?”

A casual smile twitches onto his lips as another inch is lost between him and a ticking time bomb. He just repeats, “You deserve a man.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand closes the distance, dress dragging up your thigh until his pinky brushes the soft fabric of your panties. Your eyes drift closed at the feather-light touch, a war waging in your head.

Joel was not the one meant to discover the type of underwear that’s under this dress tonight. He’s the very last person you expected. As he should be. He’s your stepfather. You’ve overheard him fucking your mother countless times.

Overheard how good he is. How big he is. How thorough he is.

Your leg quivers under his palm, your jaw clenching with the discordance in your mind.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” you say shakily, fingers gripping the sheets under you. “I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Joel’s gaze bounces between your eyes and your lips. Then he gives you a sultry look and speaks the forbidden words.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your fingers dance anxiously as Joel’s pinky grazes up the crotch of your panties again, where you’re terrified he’s going to find you responding favorably to this scenario.

“You want me to keep it a secret from my mother that her husband fucked her only daughter?” You burst out in a single breath. You feel lightheaded and tingly. You can’t parse your thoughts and they’re starting to get crowded.

“Already usin’ the past tense, huh?” Joel says huskily, and you feel his hand burrowing in between your thighs until two fingers press at the seam of your pussy over your underwear. “Seems like your mind’s already made up, sweet girl.”

You whimper quietly, the clouds in your brain growing denser by the second. Then, without ever actively deciding on a course of action, your legs are resituating themselves into a position much less concerned with modesty. Your thighs are spreading with zero input from your critical thinking skills, and a stifled groan slips out of Joel.

“Feels like it, too,” Joel moans, fingers rubbing over what must be a prominent wet spot on your panties.

You release your first moan, and it seems to echo around your room and back into your ears, spearing through the overcast in your head. You finally vocalize what you really should keep inside at this point, but it needs to be said.

“Joel, I-I’m your stepdaughter. Y-you’re my stepfather. We can’t.”

Joel’s nose ghosts up your jaw, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. “Grown woman, aren’t ya? Ain’t my blood, neither.”

“My mom…”

“Your mama ain’t gonna find out. I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell her.”

“I can’t lie to her,” you insist, but your mouth drops open as one of his fingers strokes at the crease of your thigh and your pussy, shaved smooth mere hours ago for your date. His skin on your skin, in a place where it should never fucking be.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” Joel breathes into your neck, and his lips land just after, shoving your concerns to the side. You jump at the stroke of his tongue over your throat, the scrape of his teeth, and all at once you’re slave to it.

You fall onto your back and he follows you down, straddling your hips and cupping your jaw, pushing it upward as he sucks at your neck. If you don’t stop him, he’s going to leave a mark. As if he hasn’t already. The deed is as good as done.

“Joel, be carefu—”

“Don’t call me Joel,” he growls, nipping below your ear.

“What do I call you?”

Joel’s mouth halts on you, exhaling over his saliva on your skin. “Daddy. Call me daddy,” he instructs, latching onto you again.

“Fuck,” you sigh, craning your neck up for his enjoyment. “That’s so fucked.”

Joel’s laugh borders on unhinged as he presses his lips to your ear and whispers, “We’re already fucked. Would be a waste to half-ass it.”

He hooks a finger into the gusset of your underwear and tugs it to the side, and you can sense him watching your expressions as your eyes clench shut in disbelief that this is actually happening, while not even dreaming of telling him to stop.

Air rushes out your chest as a thick finger glides through the folds of your cunt, confirming your arousal with damning evidence.

“Jesus, you’re juicy as a fuckin’ peach, darlin’,” Joel groans, sounding almost pained at the discovery.

“Not the first time. I used to think about you,” you admit, a runaway train, brakes shot. “When I was younger.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that,” Joel moans, forehead pressing against your temple. “Give people the wrong idea.”

“Never telling anyone else. Just you. Besides, I’m all woman now…daddy,” you coo, testing the waters.

“Fuck,” he swears loudly again, another finger joining the first to massage at your clit. “Nasty, naughty girl. You take after your mama.”

You whine and wriggle under him at the comparison, but by some inexplicable, Freudian twist of fate, a distant, previously obscured light in your chest begins to beam. “Keep touching me, daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

“Yes, you will,” Joel says in response. Not like an order or an expectation. But like it’s a given. Like you’d ever behave any other way beneath him. As if he’d known all along, all seven years, that you would end up right here. Disheveled and heartbroken on your twin-sized, pastel pink duvet, with paternal fingers that have biblically, intimately known the inside of your creator, the site of your creation, now acquainting themselves with the life she created.

Do you feel like her? Do you have her lips like you have her mouth? Has this man successfully sown and reaped the benefits of a distressingly similar — kindred — octet of lips? Matching horizontal and vertical smiles all thirsting, parched, yet drooling for him under a single roof? If he closes his eyes, could he tell the difference?

Joel’s breath is at your ear, sending chills over your flesh from head to toe, muddying your mind.

“Take off your dress.”

A full-body shudder wracks through you at the order, a traitorous flood of wetness flowing from your opening as Joel continues to explore you with his touch. You begin shrugging out of your dress straps until steadying fingers cling to your thigh.

Joel pulls your focus with damp fingers perched on the underside of your chin, your own slick marring your skin at the hand of your father figure. Your lip trembles as he commands your attention.

“Stand up. And take it off. For me,” he instructs measuredly, bringing his thumb down to stroke the point of your chin softly.

A burning starts in your throat, like the smolder of one of his cigarettes slipped into your mouth. “Y-you want me to strip for you?”

Joel’s lips slant upwards and he says, “I wanna see everything you have to offer your daddy.”

You nod, the blaze in your throat sizzling to your chest as you long to reveal all you have to him.

You extract from the cage of his limbs to upright yourself, smoothing the line of your dress down to its full length, hitting you mid-thigh. Your hand twists back to capture your zipper, and with torturous patience, you work it downward. Your straps droop down your shoulders with the slack, and you’re quick to wrap an arm around your breasts to prevent too premature an exposure. You get the feeling that a man like Joel appreciates the delay of gratification, if his ask of you putting on a show for him is any indication.

The zipper ends precariously at the top of your ass, the sides of your dress falling open to show the expanse of your back to him along with the band of your bra.

“Fuck,” you hear him say under his breath, the squeak of your mattress springs sounding as he moves behind you into an unknown position on the bed.

You languidly slip your arms from the straps entirely, pressing the dress to your tits for a moment longer before letting the top of the garment fall at the waist, holding it to your stomach instead.

“Just like that, sweetheart. That’s right,” Joel grinds out, the springs squealing again, but this time accompanied by the rasp of a different zipper.

Curiosity, eagerness get the better of you, and you start to turn. But you’re instantly met with a hard, “Uh-uh. Keep lookin’ forward. You’ll get an eyeful soon enough.”

You fix your gaze forward again, struggling to keep up this glacial charade when you have good reason to believe what you long to see is now just behind you. So you bring your hands to the side of your dress and shift it down, bending at the waist to put your ass on display in your lacy thong you’d worn for your date, until the dress at last crumples to the floor.

A low whistle sings behind you as you stay bent for a decent few seconds before standing at full height again. Your fingers fiddle with the clasps of your bra at your back, coming apart with practiced ease. The article hits the floor as well, your tits free to the air and your nipples hardening at the exposure.

“God, you’re such a good girl, aren’t ya? Finish the picture for daddy.”

You whimper, your fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong on either side. With a final flair of showmanship, you shimmy the elastic strap of your panties up and down with a slight sway in your hips, before bending at the waist again as the last stitch of clothing on your body sounds a silent death knell as it hits the carpet of your childhood bedroom.

The air feels thick and weighty as the quiet stretches. You can hear the hum of voices from the television Joel didn’t shut off before he sought to damn the both of you. You could wrestle with the reality that the soundtrack to your irredeemable sin is a King of the Hill rerun, but Joel is still on your bed, and you’re still hands-to-ankles, laying waste to each and every ounce of sense you’ve accrued in your twenty years.

A resounding groan shatters your trance as Joel thrusts you back into the situation at hand. “Fuckin’ Christ,” you hear, and then the loud thump of Joel’s knees crashing to the ground, rough hands startling you as they take hold of your hips. Your palms slam to the carpet to maintain your balance as wet lips suck open-mouthed kisses onto your asscheek.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh loudly, your feet arching onto your tip-toes as the kisses close in on your aching core. Two thumbs part the split of your pussy from behind, and Joel doesn’t waste another second diving in. A large, flattened tongue licks a line up the length of your pussy, clit to entrance, leaving your legs shaking.

Another deep, gratuitous moan rings out, and Joel’s mouth is stroking over you with rigorous passion. Joel comes up for air, but only to take an aggressive bite into the globe of your ass, one sure to leave behind unmistakable, irrefutable physical evidence of exactly who had been there.

It���s foreboding.

But why does it feel like sanctuary?

A tug at your hips, and you’re at last spinning back around to face him.

And his eyes are ravenous. Ruinous.

His mouth descends onto your mound, slobbering up the small strip of hair you left as a guiding path to whoever sought to grant you pleasure.

An almost-boyfriend.

Or a stepfather.

But he goes against the grain, kissing further and further north of your throbbing cunt, over your stomach, up your sternum. Your spit-slick tits find refuge in the confines of his hands, groping, pushing, pulling at them as your nipples drag against his palms.

You manage to steal a glimpse between you, fiending for a sneak peek of that sword he constantly boasts about. He hasn’t revealed much, other than a sizeable bulge and a red, shining head poking out from the band of his boxers. It’s enough to have you imagining what it will feel like inside you, crying out for it to become reality.

His lips claim your neck with purpose as he steers you toward your bed, the backs of your legs giving way and cascading the both of you into a sea of bedding. Your head nestles among your pillows as Joel works his way south again.

Joel looks up at you as he approaches the seam of your pussy. Heated exhales tease at your clit as he says, “You always screamin’ about why your mama keeps me around? Lemme show you why.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to take in the sight of your stepfather’s mouth sinking down onto your pussy and dancing his tongue over the bundle of nerves that has been throbbing for him. The first sucking pull of his mouth on you has your head tipping back in an entirely unhindered moan, and you have to flop it back down, your chin colliding with your chest in your haste to view the bob of his head between your legs.

Joel’s work is impressive to say the least. His tongue drags up and down the length of you, stopping to circle your clit with a pointed tip and suck you back into the wet warmth of him. Your entrance leaks in excessive excitement as he riles you up with gusto, hands framing you at the inside of your thighs and spreading you wide for his consumption.

He breaks away, not allowing himself to go far, to croon over your soaked core, “Such a sweet pussy on such a sweet girl.”

You exhale heavily, browns furrowing in overwhelming pleasure as he directs his attention back to your clit. A finger tests the bounds of your opening, stroking the perimeter of the point of no return.

He knows the outside of you now. He’s familiarized himself with every inch of the surface of your skin, either with his eyes, or with the aid of his mouth. Inside is foreign territory. Inside is unforgivable.

He slides in so easily, it’s like you rolled out a welcome mat and propped open the door. He’s filled you to the webbing of his fingers in a manner of a half-second, and you feel dizzy with it.

Then he’s fucking you with it, and it’s like you’re floating. The grip of your cunt around his finger has him moaning around your clit, sending vibrations throughout your body.

He crooks his finger, stroking at the softest part of you, and you feel yourself unraveling at an alarming pace.

“Daddy…daddy…” you call out desperately, hands thrusting into the sheets to scramble for something to keep you earth-bound.

“You gonna come for me?” Joel says, hovering only for a brief moment above your clit to ensure you maintain your high. “Come on, come for your daddy,” he finishes, diving right back onto your clit and thrusting a second finger into you along with the first, honing in on your blessed g-spot like he had it marked on a map of you from the second he met you.

All said and done, it takes him minutes to bring you to the brink of destruction, where you’re squeezing around his practiced fingers and arching for the sky, screaming exactly what he’d instructed you to call him.

His mouth remains warm and diligent against you as you work through the throes, pulling the full extent of your pleasure to its frayed ends, until you’re pushing him away with trembling hands to get some reprieve.

Joel’s head falls against your thigh as he levels his breathing, soaked fingers streaking your hip. The bed frame wobbles as he starts to grind against the mattress.

“Goddamn. I usually make your mama come at least three times before I even stick my dick inside her. But feelin' how tight your little cunt is clenching on my fingers I’d be a damn fool not to take a test drive right fuckin’ now. One’ll have to be enough.”

You whimper, your legs falling open to accommodate his broadness as he moves up your body. Your fist tugs at his shirt as you say, “Wanna see you too.”

Joel glances down at himself and gives a little wince. “Not nearly as pretty as you are, sweet girl.”

“I don’t care.”

Joel sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “Alright, but you ain’t gettin’ the whole rigmarole,” he says, reaching behind him to grab the back collar of his shirt and pull it over his head, damning it with the rest of your clothes on the floor. His cock is quickly freed of its confines as the godforsaken pile builds, and you get your first real look at him.

And for all the little white lies Joel tells, you have to give him credit. The boasting was not borne of a necessity for overcompensation.

Joel is big.

You should have guessed. In every passing gloat from Joel, your mother has never argued the opposite. She only ever grows embarrassed, smacks him lightly for being crass.

Apparently his doting compliments and pussy-eating prowess are not the only reasons she’s kept him around.

“‘M I what you expected, sweet girl?” Joel asks, his eyes hooded as a hand strokes down the length of himself with a casual, justified pride that only exists in men who are impressively sized and they know it.

The dumbfounded expression on your face refuses to dissipate as you shake your head “no”, followed by a flurry of rapid blinking as you nod your head “yes”. Then a confounded response sputters out, “I-I didn’t know what to expect. You always said…but I didn’t….”

“‘S okay, darlin’. Normal for a girl to go cockdumb when she sees a dick like this for the first time.”

You just nod, a woman possessed by her deepest, darkest desires, regardless of how sick and depraved they may be to the sound mind.

And, god help you, you are not currently of sound mind. Maybe you couldn’t prove that in a court of law, but in your own psyche, you certainly are clearly lacking in the logic sector at the moment.

Joel really has nothing to be concerned with in the looks department. Your eyes are transfixed on one thing only, up until your field of view is robbed of it, replaced by the glassy-eyed lust on Joel’s face as he drapes over you.

“Fuck,” Joel groans, his expression nearly pained as he takes in the enraptured silence of you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t stop thinkin’ about how your mama must’ve felt before she pushed you out. This is the closest I’ll ever get to feelin’ that for myself.”

A whine escapes you as you wrap your arms under the backs of your knees, deliberately spreading yourself as wide as you can for him with blatant intentions. Let him feel it for himself. You’re so hungry for him, you feel fit to burst over it. You’ll be the newer model of her. You’ll be a tight, young hole for him. You’ll give him what she hasn’t been giving him, what you haven’t overheard in weeks from their bedroom.

“Fuck yeah, sweet girl,” Joel moans, positioning his cock at your waiting entrance. “Show me how your mama felt twenty years ago.”

You’re certain your own fall from grace should not feel so heavenly. But the first shove of Joel’s cock inside you toes a line dangerously close to a reckoning. The stretch of your walls around him, the death grip you have on your assured destruction, the fullness he’s wrought upon you nothing short of gluttonous satisfaction.

“Daddy, that’s so good,” you sigh into his ear, and it earns you a rumbling grunt as he bottoms out.

“Jesus, baby,” he moans, burying his face into your neck. “She teach you how to keep it this tight for me?”

She.

He sinks inside you, makes room inside his wife’s daughter for himself, and how thoughtlessly her identity is reduced to…she.

Your breath hitches as Joel pulls out to the head and he slams the full length of him into you, your ankles locking at the small of his back, your wrists around his neck.

You’ve heard Joel’s sex noises countless times before across the hall, muffled by closed doors. He’s an entirely different animal when you’re mainlining his sounds, his words directly into your ear. The scratch of thirty years of cigarettes in his moans, the chant of the devil in his terms of endearment, the authoritative intonation of a guardian.

He beats inside you like a drum, a deafening reverberation, punching air out of your lungs with every punitive thrust. His balls slap against the split of your ass like the muted clap of hi-hat cymbals, keeping tempo for you as your mind drifts away.

Flashes of reality wade through your hedonistic bliss, like they’re desperate to haul you to shore, save you from this entirely avoidable fate, resuscitate your suffocated sanity. Your brain beseeches you to notice your glaringly exposed circumstances. Your bedroom door as ajar as your mouth moaning for him, your window curtains spread wide as your legs, your ceiling light as illuminated as your soul emitting the final streaks of vibrancy before the sun sets at dusk.

You’re recklessly laid bare for Joel and the world around you. A single rogue pair of eyes could end that world as you know it. Your mother could walk through the front door, down the hall at any moment. Even still, your heels dig into his flesh to hold him inside you, your skin yearns for the drag of his hair-spattered potbelly against your soft stomach.

You long to be full of more than just his cock.

Through hiccuping breaths you say, “Come inside me.”

Joel lets out a conflicted keen as the pendulum of his hips swing. “I can’t, baby. We can’t.”

Your fingers tug at his hair as you whine like a child in protest. “I’m on birth control. I promise.”

Joel’s breath grows labored as his orgasm looms over him, a strain in his voice as he wrestles with your pleading request.

“Fuck,” he yells out, his hips stilling inside you as you moan on his cock, high on the prospect of his spend painting your insides with sin.

But you don’t feel him throbbing, pulsing within your walls. He’s not winded and gasping from a climax wrung from your clutch.

“Daddy…?”

“I can’t, baby.”

“Please. I need it inside me.”

Joel groans, but his cock drags free of your pussy, leaving you empty and fundamentally altered. Joel’s hand brushes across your forehead, a boundless devotion in his eyes. “How about I shoot my load inside your mouth, huh? So you can have part of me in your belly. You wanna suck your sloppy cunt off daddy’s cock?”

A broken moan slips out of you as you stare down the layers of what seems a lot like love in his gaze. Maybe more than one kind of love. Something more akin to a convoluted amalgamation of parental, platonic, sexual, worshipful love and affection.

A warm hand cups your cheek and you nod in compliance to his suggestion. Joel’s lips press a kiss against your forehead, leaving a burn in its wake. He takes your hand and leads you off the bed with him. He doesn’t have to ask, you just drop to your knees in a showing of submission.

“You felt how big daddy is. Think you can fit him?”

“I can,” you state assuredly. You take initiative, gripping the base of him and gliding up and down your stepfather’s cock with your own slick.

“You sure? She’s able to take all of it, but it’s a struggle. So be real positive.”

“I can do it,” you say confidently, poising his tip at your mouth.

“Go ahead and show me, then.”

You take him into your mouth and you half expect him to dissolve on your tongue. A Eucharist to tide you over until he spills his wine, heady and white across your supplicant taste buds.

But he’s solid, hefty as he slides deeper, a presence unignorable.

“That’s it, sweet girl. All the way back,” he coaxes, and a whimper seeps out from you around his girth. His hand strokes over your hair in blessing as he knocks at the back of your throat, your face screwing up as your reflexes activate. You stave off the worst of them, eyes watery as they gaze up at him. “Still got more to go.”

You nod as gently as you can, feeling the strain in your jaw.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your face. Loosen you up a bit, okay?”

A greedy noise of approval from you and Joel’s fingers are entwining in your hair, gripping hard enough to pleasantly sting. Your mouth is wet and drooling when Joel pulls your head off of him, until just the tip weighs down your tongue.

“She digs her fingernails into her palm to make it easier. Don’t know if that helps.”

You whimper and glance down at your hand. You’ve already got half-moon crescents piercing the heel of it. Timidly, you open it up to reveal it to him.

A throaty growl fills your ears as he tightens his hold on your hair. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

Like mother, like daughter.

There’s a loud grunt and Joel is fucking into your mouth with little mercy. Your dry lips crack to accommodate the size of him, your cheeks concaving to maximize his sensation, and the back of your throat taking a beating as his head punches the tender flesh with impeccable rhythm.

As your one hand threatens to prick blood under the pressure of your nails, the other seeks to draw it from Joel’s hip. You’re not trying to stop him, or even harm him, but you need him to feel what he’s doing to you. How certifiably insane he has you, a puppet with holes for him to fill and control. You’re a living, breathing creature, but he fucks your mouth like you have no need to breathe at all.

You’d inhale through your nose, but it’s clogged with snot and running in rivulets down to your lips, servicing him with further lubrication for your debasement. The salty wet cascading down your cheeks blurs your vision as you force yourself to maintain precious eye contact with him.

There’s a divine burst of air in your lungs as your head is wrenched from Joel’s cock, and you cough and sputter, willing yourself to suck in the sex-tainted oxygen around you.

Joel’s hand cups your jaw, smearing the mixture of snot, saliva, and tears on your skin. “You’re gonna take me deeper this time. All the fuckin’ way back. Wanna feel your goddamn nose smashed against my belly button.”

You sniffle your congested nostrils, but nod. You’re not sure why you say it, but you whisper, your voice distorted by stuffiness, “Fix me.”

A pitying noise falls from his throat as he slides his thumb into your mouth for you to suck in pacification. “Ain’t nothin’ need fixin’. You just needed a better daddy. ‘N that’s what I’m here for.”

A muted sob puffs around his finger, and you think you might see glistening in Joel’s eyes for a passing second. But he clears his throat and it’s gone, his hand around the base of his cock again and his thumb prying open your mouth.

When the head of him pushes past the block of your throat, Joel’s grunt could probably be heard by the neighbors. Nevermind that where you now stand is in perfect frame of your first floor window, a glowing halo at the side of your house. The alarm on your bedside table blinks 12:35 AM, so the Christensens are likely fast asleep. But although you may have a fence, Douglas and Cheryl have a second floor, where their bedroom window could peer right into yours.

And yet you stay on your knees, unhinging your jaw for the eight, maybe nine, inches of cock your stepfather is feeding down your throat while your mother is absent, getting reamed by her boss or coworker or friend's friend ten miles away. You’re sure the view is remarkable. A perfect, vignetted cameo portrait of familial implosion.

Your mother most certainly did not raise a quitter, that much is evident when the last inch of Joel’s length is seated in your mouth and your nose contorts at the prominent curve of his stomach, just like he wished. Joel’s arms are secured around your head, holding you to his gut in a manner that might be endearing and benign if you weren’t simultaneously choking around his entire cock.

Instead he’s cutting off your air supply and using his unyielding embrace to rutt into your throat in short bursts as you fight not to eject him.

The mess when you resurface is notable. If you were still trapped in that dress, the front of it would be sodden, soaked through with spit. You’re not sure there’s a spot on your face that isn’t coated in some form of your own fluids — the slobber from your mouth smearing over Joel’s hairy abdomen and transferring to your forehead and temples, and even more rivers of saliva dripping onto the carpet.

You feel debauched and torn apart, and you still croak, “Again.”

Nails in your palms do nothing for you now. You've already crucified yourself.

Once he’s buried deep again, he secures the back of your head with a single arm, and then you feel the breadth of his other hand around your throat.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” Joel groans out, nearly as wrecked as you’ve been all evening. “Can feel my cock in there.”

Joel’s hips move in staccato jabs, just to feel the glide of his fat head demolishing your throat through the skin of your neck pressed against his hand. If you hadn’t tapped rapidly at his hip, gasping for air, you fear he may have been content to die there.

You collapse onto your hands and knees, rasping and pulling air into your deprived lungs, cheek colliding with the dampened carpet as you catch your breath.

“What a fuckin’ trooper. You are a one-of-a-kind wonder, sweet girl,” Joel pants out, hands on his knees and his cock angry and purpling as it bobs and jerks in denial of its orgasm.

Through your slouching to find your breath, you smile.

“Let’s give you a little break, huh? Come and give daddy’s balls a little kiss.”

He clasps a hand on your bicep, helping you back up onto your knees as you regain composure. You’re a bit wobbly, but you ground yourself with hands on his thighs, resting your forehead just to the side of the root of him. Your tongue lolls out and swipes up his sack in a languid stroke.

Joel hums his approval above you, his hand reclaiming its place on the back of your head lightly. With his guidance you dip down, slipping one of his balls into your mouth as he moans out praises.

His balls are large and lush with hair, on par with the rest of him. They hang low, dangling inches down into the space between his thighs. You cradle them in your hand as you caress them with your tongue, sinuses slowly draining as his concentrated musk penetrates your nostrils, filling your olfactory senses with him. You pop one of his balls out of your mouth to pamper the other in equal measure.

Joel begins to pull at his cock with long, tempered strokes. “Fuck, that’s right sweet girl. Treat ‘em real gentle. Might have a little brother or sister in there.”

You whine as you widen your mouth, succeeding in fitting the pair of them inside thanks to your sufficiently stretched jaw, properly warmed up from his dick.

“Shit,” Joel says, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice as he gasps, branding at the waist slightly at the overwhelm of your hot mouth encasing him. “‘F that greedy pussy ever clamps around me again like this filthy mouth is…might even be a son or daughter in there too.”

You moan a little too passionately at that, your mouth packed full of possibilities, and Joel’s hips jolt forward at the sensation, a pleasurable noise of his own spilling out.

“Jesus, can’t moan when I say shit like that. You’re gonna make me…” Joel groans again flexing around his cock. “Gonna have to hit it from the back next time. ‘Lot easier to not just blow my load up that cunt when I don’t got you lookin’ up at me with them puppy dog eyes, beggin’ your daddy to come inside you.”

Next time.

How do you feel about a next time?

You don’t even know what’s going to greet you come daylight.

Joel’s fingers yank on your hair as your mouth works dutifully on his balls, finally saying, “Fuck, daddy needs to come, sweet girl.”

He slips from your mouth, but it opens again for him instantly as he starts to jack himself in earnest. He lays the trickling head on your tongue as he grunts and gasps, and you raise a hand to tease at his balls, squeezing them tenderly as you see his eyes roll in response.

“Fuck, fuck, open up for me, little mama,” he groans, signaling the first thick burst of spend shooting to the back of your raw throat. Joel growls his way through his climax, rope after never-ending rope of come pooling on your tongue until it overflows the corners of your lips and down your chin and neck.

Joel swears as his pulses slow to a stop, taking the tip of his cock and dragging it over the puddle of him on your tongue, spilling more from your mouth and down your tits. “Good girl,” he pants, finally withdrawing his dick. “Swallow for daddy.”

You obey eagerly, pushing all he gave you to the back of your throat to join where the rest of him had already been. You present your clean tongue, preening slightly, and Joel returns a sleepy, immensely proud grin.

There’s a scraping at the front door, and you both dart your heads to the open doorway.

“Shit!” Joel bites out panicked under his breath, shattering what you both have built as he bolts out the door, pulling yours shut as well as his own in his marathon back to the bedroom he shares with your mother.

You hear the front door open and you’re snapped out of your daydream of a night, lunging for your light switch to kill any suspicions of you being conscious. You flatten your hands against the back of your door, pressing an ear to the wood as you stifle your breathing.

You hear the noise on the television cut to silence, then footsteps. The door across the hall squeaks open and…nothing, save for the faint sound of fabricated snoring. You hear your mother sigh, the two thumps of her heels kicking off, and then, “Might as well be right where I left you.”

A stretch of silence, then you hear the low hum of her voice in a string of words that sounds like, “‘F I could, I’d probably just leave you altogether.”

You hear her feet padding down the hall, then the snick of the fridge in the kitchen.

As quiet as you possibly can, you twist the handle of your door and peek through a small gap. Joel lays naked on his stomach on top of their sheets, back rising and falling with his breath, facing you as his head dents his pillow on the bedside closest to the door.

The protector’s side.

And as silent as you tried to be, you see Joel’s eyes squint open directly at you as your door opens. You stare each other down, and you feel your heart begin to pound.

When your lip starts trembling, you close the door.

It’s not until you’re nestled under your covers that you realized what he had called you when he’d come across your tongue.

—

The morning comes uneventful, despite your entire world shifting on its axis. A normal Saturday. You exit your room just as your mother is tidying the kitchen table of breakfast and Joel is starting up the shower in their bedroom.

“Mornin’, blossom. You want some eggs?”

She seems as chipper as ever, scraping off plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Uh, no. Thanks,” you dismiss, heading straight for the couch and curling up as you grab the remote.

She joins you shortly after, folding her legs up under her in a frightening mirror of your own.

“I’m sorry about that boy, sweet pea.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking away from the TV to observe her.

“J told me about what happened with the boy. He’s definitely a dummy.”

“Oh,” you say once you realize what she’s talking about. Truth be told, you haven’t spared that boy a second thought since Joel wrapped his arm around you last night. “It’s whatever. Boys come and go, right?”

“Some of ‘em stay,” she says, glancing down the hall to the sounds of the shower.

You follow her gaze, undoubtedly battling the dissonance in her head of what she’d done last night, and who was waiting for her back at home.

Only she doesn’t know that he wasn’t up pacing over her. He wasn’t waiting for her at all. And it might just be in your own head, but you hope he was maybe the slightest bit…disappointed at the sound of the front door.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking that.

You see the confliction swimming in her eyes, and you place a hand over hers.

“But some of them aren’t going to stay forever if you’re giving them a good reason to leave, mom.”

Her eyes meet yours, tears brimming and threatening to break. “How do you…?”

“You could see it from space, mom. And he can too.”

She brings a knuckle to her waterline, dabbing at the tears before they can fall and muddy her mascara. She sniffles and shrugs with a raised hand, letting it fall back down in a helpless gesture.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, sweet pea,” she says, letting out a small, pitiful sob. You clasp your hand over hers and squeeze, feeling your own eyes begin to prick at seeing your mother choked up. “You ever…like you get so comfortable, things are goin’ so good, that you start to get anxious? And before you know it…you’re…you’re sabotagin’ yourself. Throwin’ stones, tearin’ down everythin’ that ever brought you a lick’a happiness. Like…like you need to destroy it before it destroys you?”

A lump forms in your throat as she speaks, and you clench your hand a little harder than you intend to. It hits you pretty hard, the reality of it all. Joel is in the shower, washing your dried spit and slick from his cock. Maybe even with your mother’s soap. Wiping away what didn’t already rub off on their shared sheets.

“Yeah, mom,” you say, your throat scratchy from more than just the emotional influx. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The memories come back in succession. Joel’s hand on your bare thigh. Your dress dropping to the floor. Coming on his mouth, his fingers. His cock pushing inside for the first time. His hand feeling his length down your throat. His spend dribbling from your lips.

You deserve a man.

Good girl.

Swallow for daddy.

Why did you do it? That safety, that security Joel has been for you since you were a teenager. The reliable presence, always sitting in that chair three feet to your right. Sipping his beer, spilling on the remote, losing potato chips in the couch cushions.

It’s all twisted up now with memories of his naked body, his satanic tongue and devilish grin, the stretch of his cock that you’ve now felt inside you — still feel inside you, if you’re honest. The soreness persists in the entrance of your pussy, the wall of your cervix, the column of your throat. Evidence of your betrayal to the one who gave you life.

She granted you breath, and you used it to moan “daddy” beneath her husband. Allowed him to take that breath from you as you gagged on the very flesh that makes your mother gasp his name in the sanctity of their marriage bed.

Maybe your mother desecrated it first, but he and you…he and you incinerated it. Rolled around and fucked in the ashes.

She may have gathered her train, lifted her dress for someone else. But the veil hasn’t been removed yet. And you’re nowhere near ready to admit to her that she no longer has somewhere to sleep. She can remain blind for now.

A tear finally drips free down your cheek.

“Yeah, mama. You…you have no idea. How well I know.”

A watery smile crosses her face and she leans toward you, cupping your face in her hands. “We’re gonna be okay, blossom. We get through shit, don’t we? Can’t take us down.”

You nod in her hands, the lump in your throat closer to a golf ball now. “Yeah, mama.”

She strokes the plush of your cheek, wiping at your lone tear track. Then something captures her interest, and she draws back, tilting her head.

“You let him do that to you before he dumped you?”

You furrow your brows, unable to follow her line of sight where it lands at your neck. “Let him do what?”

“Got a hickey the size of Texas there, sweet pea,” your mother giggles, brushing her thumb over your throat.

Your stomach lurches, your eyes masking panic. You’d flown too close to the sun. Reckless, stupid, irresponsible. Let him defile your skin with nicotine-yellowed teeth and a thick, adulatory tongue.

It’s written on your face, on your neck, plain as day. How does she not know? How does she not see?

Because her only daughter, a child sprung from her womb when she was just a mere child herself, would never do that to her. An act so treasonous is unthinkable. Laughable. Not worth a fleeting thought.

To her.

To you…that very thought has been brewing since you were fourteen, alone in your room, the pads of your fingers pruned and your mutinous mind alive.

What if it wasn’t her? What if it was me? What would he say to me?

You deserve a man. Good girl. Swallow for daddy.

Your mother just smiles, oblivious to the context of her observation and the wretchedness within you.

“It’s okay! Nothin’ a little makeup can’t cover, huh?”

Your palms sweat as you nod.

“Come on,” she says, gripping your hand in hers as she stands, guiding you along with her. “I’ll help you. It’ll be like old times when I used to give you makeovers.”

You are hyper-aware of the slickness of your hand in hers.

She has to know, she has to know, she has to know.

But she doesn’t.

Words jam in your ravaged throat, no longer loosened by your stepfather’s brutal misconduct, as you silently follow after her into her room. She ushers you on the bed as she gathers her makeup from her vanity.

She sits beside you, smiling as she begins to tap concealer onto the bruise. “Cover it up, and it’s as good as gone. Never gotta see the boy who gave it to you again.”

You nod again lightly, your eyes falling closed as she pats at your skin. The shower turns off in the bathroom, and the sickness in your stomach roils again.

He’s washed you off now, smelling of her eucalyptus shower steamers. He bears no marks. He shares no burden. Honor by marriage is not honor by blood.

Hence why your mother’s affair can blow over. It can be fixed. Swept under the rug, forgiven in confessionals and late-night whispers during love-making.

But betrayal like this? Of daughter to mother at the hands of a father and husband? That’s Armageddon. And you didn’t pay much attention in church growing up, but you listened enough to know…the apostates are destined to lose.

Rummaging noises bleed from the bathroom, and your mother glances toward the door.

“Joel Miller, you stay in that bathroom for a minute. We’re havin’ a mother-daughter bondin’ moment in here,” she calls out to him with a broad grin, loud enough for him to hear it through the closed door.

Bonding. Oh, yes, you’re very bonded now.

“Should just attach you two at the hip while we’re at it,” he calls back. “You share damn near everythin’ with each other.”

You can't decide if he said that on purpose. If he’s twisted enough to joke about your circumstances to your mother’s naïve listening ear, or if he really is just a dense-headed dumbass, ignorant of the magnitude of his words and actions.

Regardless of how he meant it, the blush pink gossamer blur smoothing over the events from last night is beginning to slip away, the images sharpening each passing moment that you spend with your mother. What your mind was attempting to bang down your door over, grabbing hold of your thoughts to try and thrust you into reality, is finally coming into focus.

You can’t come back from this.

And what was it all for?

The sun shines through the open drapes of the window onto your mother’s back as she smiles and shakes her head at Joel’s comment, the shade cast over you shifting gently with her movement. She rolls her eyes in good-natured jest as she unknowingly conceals the mark of the devil on your neck.

Both her devil and your own.

Taglist Update: I have decided to decommission my taglist in favor of an updates blog! Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic!

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[maplesyrupbloodfeud]

The ending of You made me feel better about myself but absolutely want to vomit about the state of the world. Good job for the horror genre? I guess?

[boy-cow000]

Drained

Spencer x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Mention of a case, Spencer feeling rough

Summary: After a particularly long case Spencer happens to lock himself out of his apartment. In need of help, he stumbles into the home of the only non-bau friend he has left. However, he finds himself much more comfortable with you than he originally thought.

Word Count: about 890

A/N: Pretty short blurb because I’ve been dying to write again but I’ve been too lazy to rub my two brain cells together and produce something :,D btw IDK what season this is in so use your imagination

_______________________________________

Spencer couldn't be more thankful for his job. Knowing the lives he saved and the people he helped was enough to get him through most of the especially rough cases. However, this most recent one had been particularly troubling. The random small American town they had been flown to was not known for their technological advancements, to say the least, and the lack of documentation had made Garcia's job almost impossible. On top of that, the intrusive and misguided opinion of the head chief of police had completely skewed the case in the wrong direction. Needless to say, Spencer was rightfully exhausted, along with the rest of the members of the BAU.

After landing and leaving the jet, he told himself that all he had to do was head home so he could finally sleep. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that late; the plane had landed around 8:20 PM. Yet, sleep was the only thing on Spencer's mind after that 48-hour case.

It took him some time to get home, but at this point, nothing but the sweet relief of his bed mattered. Except, much to his dismay, he seemed to have a little trouble finding his keys. Unfortunately for him, that “little trouble” turned into a full-blown panic very quickly. Spencer tried to remember where he had put it. Mentally swatting away the thick fog laying over his mind, he let his head smack against his front door in defeat when he realized that his keys were left on the jet. Calculating his options, it became apparent there weren’t many. His coworkers were probably already sleeping, and it's not like Spencer had a history of having an extensive list of friends. Well, except you, that is. Spencer didn’t feel like paying upwards of 65 to 120 dollars for some locksmith to come in the middle of the night, so you were starting to seem like the best option. Knowing you didn’t live far away, he grabbed his things and started to text you. On the drive over, he began feeling a little nervous. He wondered if the reason you weren’t answering was because you were asleep and if he was going to bother you.

Upon arriving, he felt at ease seeing the lights in your apartment on. He fumbled with his bags but managed to get to your front door without dropping anything. He was so tired. Blinded by the light of the inside of your apartment, he resorted to a curt “hi” once you opened the door. You let him in a bit panicked; to be frank, you didn't know why he had suddenly asked you if you could crash. You were still happy to see him, however.

After explaining the situation, you let out a sigh, knowing nothing serious had happened. You told him to make himself at home while you figured out where your extra covers were. He took off his shoes and sat himself on your couch, awaiting further instruction.

When you came back, you saw Spencer, palming the socket of his eyes. Your heart stopped for a second, worry took over, and you wondered if maybe the case was weighing on him more than he’d like to admit. You rushed over.

“ Spence! Are you okay?” You laid the covers on the edge of the couch and rested a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer peeked into your eyes for what seemed like forever—a breathless moment between his answers. You felt your heart form a lump in your throat; your cheeks flushed, and you suddenly felt guilty. What if Spencer was actually doing terrible and you couldn’t help him because you were too busy wrestling with the effect he had on you? Eventually, you broke the intense eye contact, and Spencer sighed in return.

”I’m fine, really. It’s just… I was exhausted a minute ago, and now”

”Not so much.” You finished his sentence for him. He let out a light chuckle and bumped shoulders with you. He must’ve been delirious, because you couldn’t think of another reason why he would’ve been comfortable enough for all that physical contact. Your torso stiffened, and while still trying to calm yourself down, he let his head roll onto your shoulder and nudge itself into your neck. Spencer was going to kill you if he kept this up.

Spencer snaked his arms around you, entrapping you and making you fall back into the couch a little. You grabbed his opposite shoulder, hoping to lay him back, but his head bobbled a little lower, and it was clear he was no longer awake. Spencer kept snuggling, and it was making it increasingly harder to get yourself out of his grasp. An incoherent thank you left his lips before he fully fell asleep. So you sat there, absolutely surrounded by Spencer. Glaring at his slumbering state. Overtly aware of his faint sent, of his hair brushing against your face, of his slowed breath on your neck, of his hand grasping your waist, of him.

Your own exhaustion was catching up to you at an alarming pace. Despite your brain and dignity screaming at you not to fall asleep in his arms, your thoughts were starting to blur. Eventually, you fell asleep, caged in, breathing to the sound of his heartbeat. With that, tomorrow promised itself to be interesting.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Dick Grayson V Gotham

Chapter 1 - AO3 - Constantine Jr. AU

There were a few minutes every morning, in the dark before dawn when his alarm hadn’t yet rung, where Dick Grayson felt most at peace. Despite the ache in his body the night out as Nightwing, he felt refreshed and content to just rest his eyes until his phone rang and it was time to get ready for the day. 

Unfortunately, peace was never meant to last. 

With a loud crash that definitely woke the neighbors, a little body kicked his door in. A switch was flipped and blinding light filled the room. Dick squinted in the general direction of the intruder. “Get up already!” Danny, his ward, snapped, rushing forward to rip the blankets off his bed. Dick let him. “There’s a case ready for us at the precinct!” 

Dick checked his phone. No missed calls, and Danny didn’t have a phone yet. “Is this another psychic thing?” he asked. 

Danny rolled his eyes. “If I say yes, will you get your ass out of bed already?”

“Language,” he chided absentmindedly, but still got out of bed. Danny glared up at him, still not satisfied, and dragged him to the bathroom with a surprising amount of strength for an 8-year-old. “Huh! You’re really in a hurry today.”

“No, you’re just super slow!”

Dick pulled back against Danny, slowing their progress considerably. “Oh, it’s the age!” Dick bemoaned, draping himself dramatically against the wall. “Now that I have a kid of my own to look after, the years have started to take their toll—Ow!”

Danny glared up at him like he hadn’t just kicked Dick in the shin. Brat. “Be dramatic in your own time! We have a case, Dick, we need to go!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Dick complied and got in the bathroom, saying just before he closed the door, “Make sure you’re dressed in clothes you can afford to lose! I don’t want you to get blood on your favorite jeans again!” Danny shouted back his agreement and finally, Dick was alone. 

As Dick washed his face and did his business, he contemplated how he got there. Honestly, he didn’t get what Bruce was always complaining about; this guardianship thing was going great! It was three weeks since he’d wrangled Danny home, but he’d been preparing for this for months, ever since he learned that the little brat trying to solve murders was homeless. It took months of classes, meetings with CPS, and interviews with friends and family, but Dick was now the proud foster parent of Danny Smith!

Fortunately, Dick had managed to convince Bruce that the foster license was precautionary, like if he needed to protect a minor. Which was what he was doing! So not technically a lie!

Although, Bruce had his hands full already. Some new crime lord had taken up the Joker’s old alias and it was driving the old man up the wall. Bruce had even asked Dick for help on the case last night! He’d said no, of course; he wasn’t just going to abandon Danny in Bludhaven for days while they hunted down Red Hood, and he wasn’t going to spring Danny on Bruce, nor Bruce on Danny. Danny was a flight risk and had expressed disdain for millionaires in the past, and Bruce was… worse than he used to be. Tim had managed to resurrect some of the dad Bruce used to be, but ever since Jason… 

Well, it was good that they wouldn’t be seeing each other any time soon. Maybe by then Tim will have convinced Bruce to go to therapy!

Coming out of the bathroom, Dick started at Danny, dressed in jeans and a Digimon t-shirt, standing on the counter and getting Dick’s lunch bag off the shelf. He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Packing breakfast to-go!” Danny said, jumping off the counter. Dick’s heart skipped a beat and he lunged forward, but Danny landed before Dick could reach him. He glared at Dick. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He straightened up, playing it cool. He observed what Danny had laid out for breakfast as he started the coffee machine. A banana, two yogurts, and a handful of granola just poured out onto the table. “You know, you absorb more nutrients when you sit down and actually enjoy your food. And we don’t need lunch to-go. Remember, we talked about this? We have to wait for someone to report the crime first.”

“How do you know no one hasn’t yet?” Danny challenged. 

“Have they?”

“...No. We could report the crime though,” Danny grumbled, but opened a yogurt cup. 

They really couldn’t. If they reported the crime, they’d still have to wait for other officers and CSI before investigating, and that’s even if they were given the case! But more importantly… Dick was the only officer in the department who believed Danny could see ghosts. 

Sure, Commissioner Gonzalez believed Danny, but that was just one woman. As much as he appreciated the Commissioner’s work helping get Danny off the streets and processing the paperwork to ensure the boy got recognition as an official BPD consultant… well, Dick knew she had ties to the gangs in town, he just couldn’t prove it. Just because she liked him and Danny doesn’t make her good. 

The fact that she promoted him to detective was evidence enough. Dick was an amazing detective—like everyone trained by Batman—but normally you’d need a certain number of years and successful cases for that level of promotion, both of which Dick didn’t have. Hell, he’d only been working as a cop for two years! But Danny was only willing to work with Dick… so Dick became the youngest detective in the city. 

The coffee machine sang a little robotic song and Dick placed a Nightwing mug under the spout just in time to catch the stream. As Danny finished his breakfast, Dick shooed him off to go brush his teeth and turned on the TV. He still had thirty minutes before they had to leave for work—

“—taking after his father!” Jack Rider’s voice rang through the apartment. Dick frowned; why was this trash on? “Although I have to say, I don’t think anyone ever expected Richard Grayson to adopt a child of his own!”

Dick froze. What? No, he’d worked so hard to ensure that no one would find out—

A picture flashed on screen of Dick and Danny. Dick recognized it immediately; he’d taken Danny out to eat to celebrate Danny officially becoming his foster child. But that was weeks ago! They’d been sitting on the story for that long?

They didn’t even bother to blur Danny’s face. 

“Now, Jack,” the co-host chided, “Let’s not get too hasty. Our source at Bludhaven PD—who will be unnamed to protect their privacy—said it was only a foster, not an adoption.”

Jack waved her concern away. “Yes, a foster. For now. Don’t you remember how long Richard was Brucie’s ward? Sure, the kid might only be a foster for now, but with this family, adoption is always on the table!”

Turning away from the TV, Dick checked their security cameras on his phone. When he’d first moved in, Babs had hacked into all the cameras in the apartment, piggy-backing off their feeds. There, outside the building’s main entrance, were multiple reporters. Some had even gotten into the building, although their aimless wandering told him that their apartment number hadn’t been leaked yet. 

“Still, another street kid in the family,” Jack continued to muse. “That’s two now for the Waynes, right? Are they going to take off with an entire orphanage next?”

“Dick?”

He locked eyes with Danny, who gave the TV a worried look. But Danny didn’t get worried; he was a cocky, grumpy brat who’d given Dick a heart attack when he dared a gang member to shoot him in the face. But a news story scared him?

Smart kid. Dick was feeling scared too. So, he made the executive decision. 

Dick knelt down to Danny’s height, gently grasping his shoulders. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call out of work—”

“But Mrs. Bennett’s murder!” came the immediate protest. 

Dick took note of the name, but held up a hand to stop him. “I know, I know. But it’s not safe for us to go to the precinct right now.” Someone at BPD had told the reporters about them. One of his colleagues, pissed that he’d gotten his promotion unfairly? Someone who hated that a little kid solved murders better than them? Or anyone looking to make a quick buck? The possibilities were endless. 

He continued, “Commissioner Gonzalez will understand and help us consult with the case from online, okay? We’ll get sent pictures of the crime scene and you can talk to Mrs. Bennett and we’ll consult from Gotham just to be safe.” He had some PTO he could use, right? If not… Gonzalez could just fire him. He’d already known his co-workers were corrupt assholes, but to willingly put a child in danger was a step too far. If Gonzalez wanted to keep Dick—and therefore, Danny—she’d better clean house. 

Danny made a face. “Why Gotham?”

“That’s where my family lives! While we wait for the story to die down, I’ll introduce you to my grandfather, Alfred, and my brother Tim, and my friend, Barbra! I’ll show you around to all the fun spots, it’ll be fun! So go get packed, buddy.”

Hesitating in the doorway, Danny said, “They won’t listen to me. The other officers aren’t like you.”

“They will listen to you. I’ll make them,” Dick promised. He’d gathered enough blackmail on his fellow detectives to force the issue, if needs be. He ruffled Danny’s hair. “Don’t worry, Danny. It’ll just be for a week or two and then everything will be back to normal. I promise.”

Danny glared at him, batting his hand away. “I’ll keep you to that promise, old man.”

As Danny retreated to his room—Dick’s former workout room—to pack, Dick went to his own, closing and locking the door behind him. The call to Gonzalez went about as well as he was expecting: first her anger at him taking time off, then his anger about being sold out to the media, then Gonzalez swearing as she found the news online, until finally agreement. 

As they talked, Dick methodically packed away his Nightwing gear. After last night, where a slime meta had unceremoniously caked his suit in gunk that would not come out, he had two functioning suits: his back-up and his original that he kept for sentimental value. He packed all three, along with his gear. Maybe Alfred would be able to get the gunk out? But he couldn’t leave his things here. Their location was already compromised. If reporters decided the risk was worth it, they could break into his apartment and turn the whole place upside down looking for a story. 

So, Dick had to take the story with him. 

With all his gear packed, there was little room for personal belongings, so he did the best he could and only took the important things. His room at the manor still had a few changes of clothes. Fortunately Danny wasn’t a nosy kid, otherwise he’d never be able to get away with carrying his Nightwing gear in a normal duffel bag like this. 

Now, the hard part. 

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. “Master Richard.” Alfred’s icy tone made him wince. Oh, he already knew. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey, Alfie…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say that I decided I can help Bruce on that Red Hood case after all?”

“I see.” No matter how angry Alfred was, he was frighteningly polite. “And shall I prepare a second bedroom for your ward?”

Dick winced. “That would be great, Alfred. Thank you.”

“Then I will see you soon. And please inform the young master that I look forward to meeting him when you both arrive.”

“I’ll tell him. He’s been looking forward to meeting you; I’ve been talking up your cooking for months now.”

“Months?” Oh no. “How kind of you, Master Grayson.” It got worse. Alfred was pissed now. Why did he have to say months? It wasn’t like Dick had intentionally hidden Danny from his family; he was just hiding him from Bruce! He wanted some privacy and to figure things out himself! But now Alfie was mad and suddenly that privacy didn’t seem so important anymore. “Shall I assume you’ll be arriving soon then?”

“In around an hour.” Leaving his room, he checked on Danny. He was trying to back everything he owned into the suitcase Dick had bought him. “Maybe a little longer? I’ll call when we’re ten minutes away.” 

“Then I will see you soon, Master Grayson.”

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

[mvltisstuff]

Heyyy I was wondering if you can do a very jealous jeremiah fisher? Which turns into a angry confession and makeout session🙏🏻

false prophets - j.f

summary: request

jeremiah fisher x reader

every day that jeremiah wakes up and hears y/n talks about some guy is another day that he wants to drown in the ocean. he’s sick and tired of waking up feeling like she’ll never want him, and that he’ll never be good enough for her. all the years she’s been coming to the beach house have been perfect, besides his burning affection toward her.

his dreams, day and night, consist of her, and then she haunts him the next morning. he hopes his acting skill are good enough to hide the feelings behind his fraudulent smile. unfortunately for him, it’s almost clear to everyone. everyone but y/n. he vents to steven almost daily, and conrad knows his brother like the back of his hand. jeremiah is hard to read sometimes, but when it comes to y/n, he’s like glass.

y/n is the furthest thing from oblivion, but everyone is completely confused as to how she hasn’t seen jeremiah’s feelings for her. it feels so one sided to her. their thoughts mirror each other. she’s a strong believer that jeremiah would never want her. he goes for people completely different, and the self-hatred just bounces back when she sees him with another. all of her friends know they’re going to end up together one way or another, but their stubbornness is the wall between them.

their interactions have become painfully awkward as jeremiah just feels sick when she talks about someone else. it’s the same with her, just wanting to run away when he talks about another girl he met at a party. and when the other gets their heart broken, they know the other could mend it back together.

the time was getting later and later, and jeremiah watched y/n empty another drink. he took turns dancing with random people, hoping to maybe get her eyes on him. he only thought about her when he was with another girl. when his hands connected with someone else, he pictured y/n.

y/n was practically torturing herself by eyeing him the whole night. it was hell, the mix of blaring music and neon lighting. when her eyes landed on a new person with him, she just grabbed yet another drink. something about the sight made her blood boil up. it was only her and jeremiah in the room at this point. everyone else was just for decoration as she stared him down.

she looked over at a boy in the corner, immediately recognizing him as someone jeremiah hates. it’s not clear why, but jeremiah gets so irked by this guy. y/n knows it’s a perfect opportunity to retort back at jeremiah. so, she walks over with the can in her hand, dripping condensation onto her knuckles.

it doesn’t take very long for jeremiah to notice the flirty language. she’s basically leaning on him, giggling and batting her lashes the way guys around cousins enjoy. the smirk on the guys face made that obvious, and his hand on her side made jeremiah shiver. jeremiah hated seeing him touching her in all the places he wishes he could.

it felt like someone had be lit, ready to explode. he couldn’t stop himself from storming over, grabbing y/n’s hand and pulling her away. he saw the annoyed look on her face, but somehow she didn’t look angry. some part of her face came across as if she had accomplished something.

“what the hell?” she complains and jeremiah can hear the drunkenness in her words.

“y/n, you can’t possible have been interested in him,” he rolls his eyes.

“the world doesn’t revolve around you and your likes, jere,” she says. “you don’t control my life.”

“well, maybe i should! i know he’s not good for you and i don’t know why you’re so blind to realize it.”

“are you serious?” y/n laughs sarcastically. “i’m the blind one?”

“you’re drunk,” he speaks the two words harshly, leaving y/n’s nose to scrunch.

“so what? i was having a decent night for once and you pulled me away from a guy.”

“yeah, why do you think i did that?” he shouts. “i couldn’t stand watching him run his hands all over you and i hate this fucking act i have.”

y/n tries to focus her blurry eyes on him, absorbing each word he said to her. “what act?”

the powder keg exploded inside of jeremiah, y/n being the spark. he took broad steps toward her, grabbing her head gently and pulling her lips against his. he immediately was confronted with the taste of alcohol on her lips, then more on her tongue. the way her hands moved up to his arm sent electricity through his veins. the loads of perfume she put on hit his nose as it mixed with the smell of his cologne. he wishes he could see her beautiful face, but with his eyes shut, he takes in the glory of kissing her.

when he pulls away, y/n sighs lightly. she didn’t want it to stop. “that act,” he tells her. “i’ve been in love with you for years and if i waited any more it would’ve killed me.”

in response, y/n just starts kissing him again, their tongues against each other and light huffing from them. jeremiah barely knew what to do with his hands. he’s dreamt about being in this position for as long as he can remember, but he hardly recalls anything from the distraction of y/n.

her lips were soft on his, but her grip on him was aggressive and claiming. her hands floated up to his scalp without stopping the kiss. jeremiah gently guided them to his car, leaning her against the door as he took in every moment that y/n was giving him. when she’s the next to pull away, she smiles at him, gazing into his blue irises. “i’ve only had eyes for you, jeremiah.”

“good,” he grins. “i’m still pissed that you were hitting on the worst person i know.”

he leans in again to kiss her, making y/n chuckle into the air. “stay mad,” she jokes.

[eggluverz]

— LADY FU'S MATCHMAKING SERVICE

PAIRING. jing yuan x gn!reader

WARNINGS. gn reader but they are wearing a dress

WORD COUNT. 1,933

GENRE. blind date au, in-universe setting

SUMMARY. fu xuan thinks the lonely general needs to go on a date, and you are just the person she wants to set him up with.

SOF’S NOTE. for some reason the moment i write for jing yuan i’m like LET’S FOCUS ON HIS LIPS! HIS SMIRK! HIS EYES! and that’s basically what the whole fic is on i’m sorry but what he so pretty for :/ ahdkalc anyway pls enjoy!!

Fu Xuan wanted what was best for the Xianzhou. And she was certain the solutions she drew from her calculated predictions would were what was best for Xianzhou. However, there were some situations in which Fu Xuan didn’t need her third eye or the Matrix of Prescience to know what would be best. 

One situation included the general’s love life. 

Or rather, lack thereof if she wanted to be particular. 

The general seemed unsatisfied, almost lonely at times. Fu Xuan didn’t recall the last time Jing Yuan had ever gone on a date. It wasn’t as if she herself had much leisure time to attend meetings with potential romantic partners, but she also wasn’t half as unsatisfied with her life as Jing Yuan was. 

Besides, if the general were to find someone to be with, perhaps he’d be more likely to abdicate sooner. 

“Well, General,” asked Fu Xuan, eyes widen with hope, “what do you say?”

A half-smile stayed on Jing Yuan’s face. “Lady Fu, need I remind you this is the fourth time you’ve asked that this month?” 

“You do not need to remind me, I’m well aware,” she said with her arms folded. “I simply hope you’ll genuinely consider it this time. The person I have in mind is kind and intelligent, I know you wouldn’t regret just one date.” 

The general signed, gently stroking his chin. It took a lot for him to lose his patience, so Fu Xuan knew pushing him like this wouldn’t lead to any trouble.

“Do you truly believe I need to go on a date—a blind date, at that?”

“I believe it would be best for your health and wellbeing. Thus, it would best for the Xianzhou Luofu in order to have the best version of their general.”

Jing Yuan sighed louder this time, sounding more amused than frustrated. “If I agree to go on this blind date, do you agree to stop asking me to go on them?”

Fu Xuan nodded eagerly. “If my calculations are correct, you won’t need to go on a blind date with anyone else.”

“I suppose Lady Fu’s calculations are never wrong.”

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

You weren’t sure who you would be seeing on your date today. Naturally, that was the purpose of a blind date. 

Your acquaintance, Fu Xuan, proposed the idea of this blind match up to help out someone close to her. Since you were single and currently not opposed to dating, you figured it would be worth a try. You just wondered who in the world could the head of the Divination Commission set you up with. 

As calm as you may have seemed, you were somewhat nervous about this date. You knew the people she associated with tended to be highly ranked officials. And while you were a scholar by profession, you still felt just the slightly bit intimidated by the idea. You reminded yourself whoever it was is was just another person like you, and you had no reason to fear. 

You walked into Garden of Gourmet, the restaurant Fu Xuan told you to meet your blind date at, and were immediately greeted by the smell of classic Xianzhou Luofu cuisine. Your eyes scanned the place, landing on the corner table that Fu Xuan said she told your date to sit at. It didn’t take very long to spot the person sitting at the booth. 

Your eyes widened, checking your messages to see if you read what Fu Xuan sent incorrectly. Unfortunately for you, you did not. You read her message right and that was indeed the man she set you up with for dinner. 

The general.

Fu Xuan told you to wear yellow so your date would know it was you. You were donned in a metallic gold dress that you figured was close enough to yellow, and definitely enough to stand out in a crowd. 

Despite the bright gold sign on your body telling your blind date that you were here, you were tempted to see if you could walk out of the restaurant before he could notice. Then, you realized that would mean you were going to stand the general up if you didn’t show, and that simply wouldn’t do.

While you were deciding whether or not to stay or go, the general spotted you staring and slowly raised his hand. His hooded eyes crinkled up in a small smile; his demeanor looked almost smug and you weren’t sure if he was trying to greet you or challenge you. 

Realizing there was no chance of turning back now, you walked over to him, head held high. You swayed your hips side to side and gave him a sideways grin as you approached. 

“I’m guessing you’re my date for the day?”

The general kept his eyes trained on yours, nodding as he sized you up. “Correct. My name is Jing Yuan.“

He introduced himself as if all of Xianzhou didn’t already know who he was. Still, you were thankful for his introduction. He stood up as you grew closer, walking around the table to pull your chair out for you. 

“I’m Y/N,” you said, slipping into the seat. His hands stayed holding the backrest even as you leaned back. “Thank you.”

He made a hum of acknowledgment.

Jing Yuan stayed above you for a brief moment before pushing your chair back in. He then returned to his original spot across from you and handed you a menu. The two of you ordered wine and food and it was served shortly. 

“So, Jing Yuan,” you said, carefully  placing your hand around a glass of wine and drinking gingerly, “forgive me if this is rude, but… What is the General of the Cloud Knights doing on a blind date?” 

His lopsided smile widened as he took a sip of his own. “Enjoying his time with a lovely person, of course.”

You let out a small noise of laughter. “Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.”

Jing Yuan disregarded all table etiquette and rested his cheek on his hand while leaning onto the table. “Lady Fu was very persistent, to answer in full. But she also seems adamant that this is what’s best for me.” He smiled up at you from his nonchalant position. “And why is such a beautiful person as yourself on this blind date?”

His flattery made you shake your head. You knew he was partly teasing you for your own question, but his compliment still made you feel warm inside. There was something about his lidded eyes and mischievous drawl that made you want to cling onto every word he said. 

You replied, “Fu Xuan can be quite convincing, as you know.” The two of you exchanged a dry smile. “Besides, I am single right now and it seemed like a good time to get to meet someone knew. Little did I know it’d be the general himself.”

“Do you regret it now that you know?” he mused, straightening up in his seat. He tilted his head, wanting to hear your answer. “Would you have gone on this blind date if you knew it would’ve been with me?”

You thought back at the moment when you first saw him at the corner table and grew sheepish. When you saw the general, you did want to leave at first. You weren’t one to get tangled up in political drama; you simply wanted to enjoy your life and your prestige while continuing to read and learn.

“When I saw you here, I was debating on leaving,” you admitted. Noticing his expression tighten, you continued, “But once I got out of my own head, I realized there was nothing to be nervous about.” 

His brows perked up and you smirked at his eagerness. Did the general care this much about what you thought of him? How…fun. 

“I was still nervous because you’re really handsome and charming, naturally. But those are a different kind of nerves that I don’t mind.”

Jing Yuan leaned back in his seat, swirling the wine around in his glass, “Different how?”

“One kind of nerves is due to being slightly intimidated, maybe insecure even, at my own standing compared to yours. The other is due to the attraction I’m feeling—nerves like butterflies, if you will.”

“What caused your attraction towards me?” he asked, eyes lighting up with amusement. 

Now you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms over your chest with a coy smile. “Are you looking for compliments, General?” 

“I just want to know what I’m doing right with you,” Jing Yuan corrected, looking between his glass of wine and the dip of your dress in deep thought. “Perhaps so I can continue having your attraction.”

You almost laughed at his words. In what world would the general have to ask for anyone’s attention. Either he was flattering you or he was much less experienced with dating than you would’ve ever imagined. 

“Well, besides the obvious that is your looks, I like how you pull my chair out for me, how you fill my glass for me, how you maintain such strong eye contact,” you listed out the things you’ve noticed about Jing Yuan during your brief time with him this far, your gaze wandering around his face until they landed on his lush, pink lips, “how your lips stay in that lopsided smile…”

His eyes crinkled. “Staring at the general’s lips? That’s rather indecent, no?” 

“I’m sure he’s staring at mine, too. So it’s only fair.”

“I am.” Jing Yuan raised his hands in the air as if he was caught in the act. “And I find myself very attracted to you as well.”

“What do you find attractive about me?”

“Other than your lips?” he clarified with a chuckle. You laughed along at his teasing, watching as a more serious expression took over his face. “I’m attracted to how you present yourself with confidence and elegance yet can still grow shy with nerves and butterflies. Your honesty and openness is something I admire. I like the way you stick your pinky finger up when you drink. And how your eyes brighten when you smile...”

You were holding your breath by the end of it, waiting to hear what he had to stay. Jing Yuan had such a soft, yet commanding tone, fit for a general, but gentle enough to be a lover. 

“I haven’t been on many blind dates, but even so, this one has been my favorite,” you said, leaning forward as if you were whispering a secret to him. 

He matched your stance, his voice quiet as he murmured, “I haven’t been on any before this, but I don’t think I’ll go on any more.”

“Did I make the experience that bad for you?” you joked, a grin on your face. “Such that you never want to go on a blind date again?”

The general shook his head, though he knew your question wasn’t serious. You both knew how well this date was going. “Of course, that’s not it,” he said. “Lady Fu was simply correct. After this, I’ll never feel the need to go on one again.”

“Why?” Craning your neck to the side, you asked a question you knew the answer to. You just wanted to hear it straight from Jing Yuan’s pretty mouth. 

His lopsided smile widened and you were seconds away from leaning in further to kiss them. 

“Because,” he said slowly, the tip of his tongue wetting the corner of his mouth as his gaze stayed trained on yours, “I’ve already found what I’m looking for on the first one.”

[moonsaver]

Yan!Alhaitham wears you to work.

It was easy. Finding your shampoo, soaps, scents.. practically any daily use items that you usually bought from the bazaar. He stalks you almost casually – nodding at you familiarly when you do spot him, as if seeing him for the 5th time in the same day wasn't creepy. You seem uncomfortable, but don't bother confronting him about it. Mainly either due to the fact you don't want a confrontation, or you simply aren't sure if he's stalking you in the first place.

In the shower, your scent fills the entire bathroom. He considers any free time now dedicated to thinking about you. The fabrics you wore yesterday seemed to have a few loose threads. According to the bottle of perfume he bought at the same time as yours, yours is running out. A visit to the old lady tucked away in the corner of the bustling street is probably on your weekly schedule, now. The scent of your soap clings to his skin comfortably, emanating gently in a still space. If he stood for long enough, your acquaintances might actually realise they're smelling you on him. Whether or not it's a good thing.. who knows. He doesn't care.

The tap stops, and he steps out. The droplets of water follow his feet as he walks. Your towel – or rather, a duplicate he bought. Your scented oils. Your hand cream. Your preferred ink, pens, even the bookmark you'd recently bought. All of them are assorted neatly into his drawer. All duplicates, of course. His diligent hand picks up the perfume bottle, the liquid ebbing on the glass surface as he tilts it in the sunlight. Your birthday's coming up soon. He's also recently caught wind of your favorite flowers – this time by accident. His prickly ears manage to pick up the particularly interesting conversation you had approximately 16 days ago, when you mentioned the recent Sumeru Rose body lotion you'd just bought. Although, he's not blind. He's observed the twitching of your hands towards the Lumidouce Bell scented bottle that was recently imported. You had to draw your hand back by force due to the price. Your birthday's coming up. He managed to get a look at the price after you left dejectedly with the one you were talking about.

His fingers press and spritz the perfume over his clothes. The fabric must have practically shaped themselves to the drops of the perfume from how often he's sprayed it in the same place, but now his closet smells like you. Perfumes last longer than lotion, he thinks. He should just get you a different perfume, instead. The merchant sold Lumidouce perfumes, too. Your birthday's coming up. The fact repeats in his mind. Should he get you a card? No, that's not enough. He saw you recently pick up a romance book. Unfortunately for you, it's a series, and the last he's heard about it – is it has deadly cliffhangers. He'll probably gift you the next volume.

He feels a slight tug of a smile on the corner of his lips, his fingers sliding over the vast collection of books, landing on the stiff spine of a book. He's already bought it in advance. Should he sneak in a small card in there? That would be better. If he remembers correctly (which he always does); you should have half the day off on your birthday, and you plan on spending it with your friends and family. He'll give it to you before you clock out. Maybe, he thinks, if his words sift through well enough, he'll manage to squeeze himself into your guest list. So, for the time being, he thinks up certain conversation topics for today, and the next day, and so on until your birthday. By rough estimates, you'll be familiar enough with him to invite him just shy of a day or two before. The door of his room clicks as he leaves.

The Akasha had not much use to Alhaitham until he realized the significant potential it had after that Cyno-prediction system those sages crafted up. He manages to tinker in his own study enough to make a special version of you. And so far, it's 100% accurate. He can already visualise you on your way to work, and the conversation he has in mind. Your responses are crafted skillfully by the device in his head, before you even think about uttering them.

[theemporium]

spider-man!lando series masterlist

.

Lando wanted the day to be over the second he opened his eyes.

Everything had been a big change since the day he had been bitten. It had been a learning curve that he was still getting used to, but Lando liked to pride himself on the fact that he thought he was doing a fairly good job for someone who’s life had been completely turned over by a radioactive spider.

One of the many changes he was getting used to were the heightened senses. 

At first, he thought they were brilliant. He could see better and hear better and smell better. It actually felt like he was a proper superhero, like the ones he read in his comic books growing up. It was like this shiny new toy he could play with, explore, pick apart and understand. It was fucking brilliant. 

It took a very short time before he realised the biggest downfall of heightened senses: sensory overloads.

He thought he was dying through his first one. To be fair, he thought it every time regardless of how many he has. He hates them. He despises them. And if he was being honest, he spent most of the time wishing he didn’t have these stupid abilities that put him in the position in the first place. 

And waking up to his already blaring alarm feeling as though it was going to burst every nerve in his eardrum put Lando in a pissy mood. 

If he was smart, he would have just stayed in his apartment and tried to cope with the problem alone. He would have drawn the blinds, kept the lights off and curled up on the couch with the hopes none of his blankets would feel too itchy against his skin. Unfortunately, he was more stubborn than he was smart, and all but dragged himself to campus even if he wanted to die on the way there.

People eyed him up all day but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not if he looked stupid with his cap on under his hoodie. Not if he looked stupid wearing sunglasses inside. Not if he looked stupid with his head hidden in his arms most of the day. 

He did not care. 

And when his lectures ended and his bed was calling his name, Lando bargained with himself that he would do a quick patrol of the city before heading home. A quick swing by the neighbourhoods to make sure no serious crimes were being committed, just something to ease the guilt in his stomach for not being able to do more.

He lasted all of five minutes before the horns and beeps and screeches and screams of the city became far too much for his little head to deal with and he was seconds away from crying. 

His apartment was on the other side of the city, still a solid fifteen minute swing journey that he genuinely didn’t have in him to complete. But the pounding headache and pulsing behind his eyes had his body moving before his stubbornness could take over, having him swinging straight to your apartment complex only a few minutes away.

Something in his stomach churned at the idea of dragging you into his mess. You hadn’t known about his secret for long (even if you had your suspicions for a while). Or at least, certainly not long enough for him to show up unannounced at your door feeling as though his whole body was about to explode. He would make it up to you eventually if the guilt didn’t eat him alive first.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” 

His landing was anything but graceful as he practically crashed onto your balcony, standing for a few seconds before he began to sway and stumble back. You were out of your seats mere seconds later, reaching for him to pull him inside even if the boy whined at the touch. 

“Too much,” Lando whimpered out when you pulled him into your apartment, wincing at the overhead lights that were on. “‘s too much.”

Your brows furrowed together. “What?”

“Everything,” he spoke in a softer voice, letting out a pained noise from the back of his throat as he desperately tugged on his suit that felt far too restricting now. “Everything is too much.”

Truthfully, Lando did not understand how on Earth you made sense of his mumbled riddles, but he was grateful you did. You seemed to pick up on the signs very quickly, running around your apartment to turn off all the lights except one soft-lit lamp in your living room. You gave him space to shed himself from his suit, having a pair of sweatpants and a shirt in a softer material that didn’t irritate his skin as much. 

You were prepared to give him space, to let him lie on your couch with his sunglasses and headphones on and block out the rest of the world until the extreme discomfort of his hypersensitivity washed away. 

Much to your surprise, he was pulling you down onto the couch with him before you could turn away. He buried his face in your lap, his lips parting with a content sigh when your softly ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Thank you,” he murmured in a gentle voice, his fingers loosely wrapping around your leg like it was a comfort for him.

“How often do you get these…episodes?” You asked in a hesitant voice, watching the way his brows furrowed together.

“They’re called sensory overloads,” he informed you with his lips turned downwards. “They don’t happen often, just…randomly, I guess.”

“That sounds like it sucks,” you murmured honestly.

“It does,” Lando replied. 

“You shouldn’t have come in,” you said, and despite the soft tone of your voice, the scolding words did leave Lando wiggling a little in discomfort with the knowledge that you were right. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself with classes today. You should have—”

“I know, I know,” Lando whined, burying his face further against your thigh as he sighed. “Just…didn’t want people to think I was a flake. They already think I’m dumb—”

“You’re not dumb, Lando. You just learn a little differently from others, but you’re just as smart as them. You wouldn’t have gotten into the classes if you weren’t,” you stated, because it was just that. It was a simple statement that couldn’t be disputed. “You shouldn’t push yourself for them.”

He hummed in response, unsure how to reply when his stomach felt like it was erupting with fluttering butterflies.

“You’re enough, bug boy. You don’t have to prove it.”

Lando let out a groan. “When are you gonna drop that nickname?”

“Never,” you said with a hint of a smile on your lips. “It fits.”

“My name is Spider-Man,” Lando huffed out.

“Bug boy fits better,” you retorted. 

“Spiders aren’t even bugs. They aren’t even insects, they are arachnids!” Lando argued. 

You rolled your eyes. “Stop ruining my fun, bug boy. It isn't very friendly neighbourhood hero of you.”

“You suck.”

“Right back at you, bug boy.”

.

[rileyslibrary]

if reqs r closed pls ignore this sorry im genuinely so blind so idk if u were taking them rn, but can i request “the captain will have to get involved pretty soon” situation from that fic where a new lieutenant joins, overall just like a part 2 where price does have to get involved 😭😭 like ghost is just so annoyed with this man

Hey reader! 🍫 No need to worry; I don’t have a “policy” on requests apart from the nsfw thingy (i don’t know how to write smut). Whatever comes, I accept it wholeheartedly! :)

Synopsis: Ghost and the new Lt. get in a fight. Price handles the situation accordingly and nobody is happy.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader, Captain John Price

Word Count: 1,112

Notes:

For those who haven’t read Part 1, here it is.

Lots of swearing and mentions of physical injuries. Other than that, it’s fluff.

Want more?

———————————————————————

Yup. Unfortunately, the Captain had to get involved in the end.

Not just him, though; an entire room full of trained soldiers had to jump in and separate Ghost from almost strangling Lt. Wilson, or “Mr Toothless,” as he often referred to him.

Why “Mr Toothless”, you may ask? Well, Ghost decided to baptize the new lieutenant with that nickname for a couple of reasons. 

First, he took your comment about Wilson’s fake teeth to heart. “If they’re fake,” he reasoned, “that means the fucker is already toothless and wears veneers to cover ’em up.”

And when you told him that’s not true since some people undergo cosmetic surgery to improve something they might have suffered an injury from, Ghost came up with his second reason as to why the new lieutenant is—or rather will be—toothless.

“Might have suffered an injury?” He contemplated. “Well, he’s about to suffer another one when I knock them out again.”

So, it was either “Mr. Toothless over there” or “Mr. Future Toothless one again.” Whatever the case, Ghost never called him by his real name, which started to piss off Lt. Wilson a whole lot. And that’s how it all escalated.

The breaking point came while at the briefing room, with Price at the head of the table and the two lieutenants seated across from each other. The rest of the team was strategically scattered around, avoiding being too close to Riley or Wilson. They were like furnaces, ready to burst at any time and burn you along with them, so you all figured it was best to stay as far away from them as possible.

Price was dividing the teams for the new mission: Team Alpha (Ghost’s Team) had to reach the target’s point by air, while Team Bravo (Wilson’s Team) would travel by land. The tipping point was when Price absentmindedly assigned you to Wilson’s team. Being Ghost’s Achilles’ heel, you were enough to light up a spark in the furnace. Wilson, on the other hand, was, in fact, a motherfucker. He knew that you, being assigned to his team, would piss Ghost off, so he turned towards you and winked upon hearing your name.

“Awesome,” he said, “doll’s with me.”

“Call them a doll again,” Ghost replied, “and I’ll make you as shiny and smooth as a Ken.” A threat that seemed nonsensical then but became clearer over time. And it wasn’t funny at all. See, Ken dolls lack organs, including a brain, heart, and, as Ghost hinted, a certain... anatomical feature.

And, as you stand in front of Ghost at Price’s office, tending to his cut lip and bruised eye, questions swirl in your mind. First and foremost, why is Ghost so obsessed with Lt. Wilson’s bones and limps? How was he planning to execute such a horrendous action? And how did he manage to leap onto the table and kick Wilson in the face like Leonidas did in the movie “300”?

“You fucked up big time, Simon,” Price warns Ghost as he paces around the room with his hands on his waist.

“He started it,” Ghost retorts.

“No,” Price shouts, running towards Ghost and inching away from his bruised-up face, “you landed the first kick, and then things escalated faster than a wildfire in a dry forest.”

Ghost sighs. “How is he?” He asks.

You look at him, shocked. This guy amazes you. All he wanted was to kick Wilson right in the face, and now he’s worried about his health.

“He is fucked; that’s how he is,” Price replies, “and you’re fucked too.”

“What’ll happen now?” Ghost asks

Price lets out a sharp chuckle. Not one of entertainment, for sure. Something that hints you’re both about to find out.

“I’m relieving Lt. Wilson of his duties in the field and relocating him to another position,” the Captain announces.

“Good,” Ghost replies. “At least he’ll be out of my business for a while.”

“Oh, on the contrary brother,” Price smirks, “he’ll be all up in your business now.”

You stop treating Ghost’s wound and turn to Price. “W-where exactly are you relocating, Lt. Wilson, Captain?” You ask, confused.

Price approaches you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, now both facing Ghost.

“I’m putting Wilson in the same office as you two,” Price says, smiling. “That is until you and him sort out your… issues.”

Ghost doesn’t react. He stretches his neck while looking at Price.

“You think I wouldn’t find out what the apple of discord was?” Price whispers at Ghost, “You and him either become best friends, or you’re both out.” He says. He removes his hand from your shoulder, adjusts his hat, nods at you, and walks out of the room.

You turn towards Ghost, who’s now leaning on his legs, looking at the floor.

“Look at me,” you command, “I still need to patch that lip of yours.”

He obeys and looks up. You sigh. As much as you trust Price and his strategic decision to put the three of you in the same room, you fear that the ball is now in your field. Juggling Ghost’s outbursts was something you learned to handle with skill and prowess. But including Lt. Harris in the equation is like putting two starving lions in a cage with an antelope.

“Why?” You ask, as you treat his bottom lip, “Why act so stupidly when you know it is you that I fancy?”

He looks away and shrugs. “He called you a doll.”

“And look where we are now, Simon,” you say. “Price gave you your last chance, and we get to have Mr Toothless with us at the office.”

“Won’t be an office anymore, love,” he mutters, “it’ll be a dollhouse full of Barbie and Ken dolls.”

You smile and lift his chin up with your fingers. “So, if I’m Barbie and he’s Ken,” you say, bringing your face closer to his, “who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Action Man, love.” He says and tries to wink with a swollen, already shut, black eye.

———————————————————————

Part 3 ->

[shadowkoo]

The Ex Text

→ Summary: The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.

↠ jjk x f.reader | 3.2k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, pwp, ex with benefits, minor fluff & angst

→ Warnings: swearing, explicit sex, protected sex, scratching, breast play, spit/saliva play, infidelity (in the case that reader just started dating someone new), soft kissing, soft choking, rough kissing, ball squeezing, fingering, handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, sloppy oral sex (female & male receiving), squirting, praising, teasing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, doggy, deep dicking, posessive!jungkook has a hard time dealing with his feelings

→ Author note: This is an update of a fic I posted in January that desperately needed some editing (anyone else ever read their old fics and cringe??), I hope you enjoy the newest version bc i personally believe it’s so much better! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

The pillow vibrates beneath your head as the notifications on your phone add up. Knowing it’s nowhere near time for you to get up, you roll over, choosing to ignore whatever, or rather, whoever is trying to reach you. Your plan works for another several minutes as you attempt to drift back to sleep, but your phone soon buzzes again, signaling another notification.

You groan and clumsily reach to turn the ringer off, but instead, your curiosity wins. After a couple of slow blinks, your eyes adjust to the blinding light and are able to focus on the screen; a couple of likes on your latest tweet, a new follower request for your insta, and three new texts from ‘The Ex’…

You groan again and check the time. 2 AM.

“Mmm, right on schedule, ‘Kook,” you drone sleepily to yourself, “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

Invested now, and unfortunately awake, you unlock your phone to read the full texts.

2:03 AM

‘hey, u awake?’

2:07 AM

‘come over pls’

‘I’ll leave the door open’

Leaving the messages on read, you think about the two ways this could go.

One, you ignore him, just as you have been for the last month, and pretend like he means nothing to you.

Or two, you text him back, agree to come over, and wind up in a self-hate spiral the following days for allowing him to weasel back into your life.

A third groan leaves your body, realizing your heart is clouding your mind, having already made the decision. You type out your message and hover your thumb over the send button, before pressing firmly, unable to take it back.

2:11 AM

‘i hate you…i’ll be there in 5’

His response pops up just seconds later.

‘i’ll be waiting’

This routine is nothing new to you, as much as you hate to say it.

It’s not the first time since your break up that he’s asked you over. And it’s not the first time you’ve rushed to see him, to relive the good times spent between his sheets.

As promised, Jungkook left the door unlocked for you. His tall pup, Bam, meets you with a happy face and a wagging tail the second you crack the door open.

“Hi Bamy-Boo, I’ve missed you so much. How’s my good boy doing?” you ask after stepping into the quiet apartment, bending at the knees to give him a quick kiss on the head and some chin scratches.

“He’d be doing a lot better if you joined him in bed.”

Turning your head, your eyes land on Jungkook. He’s leaning against the wall outside his bedroom, with one of his hands combing through his tousled hair. And he’s wearing the beige-colored sweat set he knows drives you wild.

Damn him.

Your eyes wander to the waistband of his pants, where the faintest patch of skin shows through with his raised arm, before moving upward towards his face.

He’s grinning now.

“We need to stop doing this,” you sigh, not even attempting to deny that you were ogling him. He’s hot, you both know it. No point in sugar-coating or avoiding it. “You can’t keep texting me this time of night and expect me to come over.”

“You can leave any time you want, you know that,” he says taking a step closer to you, “Just like you know you don’t have to text me back. But you do.” He extends a hand, which you accept, and you stand up, letting him pull you up against his chest. “Because you want to come over. Because you know you want this.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste another second before placing his lips on yours. He’s warm and comforting, smelling of sage and citrus, just like always.

He pulls you away from the front door, which he locks, and leads you towards his room. Even in the dark, you remember the path to his bed, your body has it practically memorized.

“Come here,” he whispers softly while his fingers dance along the edge of your wrinkled pajama shirt, before lifting it over your shoulders.

You didn’t even bother changing out of your stained and slept-in pjs. Jungkook has seen you in far worse conditions. Plus you figured they wouldn’t remain on for very long, and much to your pleasure - you’re right.

Jungkook admires your breasts with his hands once your shirt is on the ground. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he whispers, cupping them and letting his thumbs rub across your nipples. Between his touch and the cool air, they harden almost immediately.

You lean into his body and your lips collide, meanwhile, his arms move around your body, crushing you against his chest.

He moans into your mouth, loving the way your fingers run through his messy hair. He doesn’t hide the fact that his cock twitches against his sweatpants when you tug lightly on his locks.

Jungkook could come in his pants just from simply kissing you and having you play with his hair, but he needs more. So much more.

He reaches for your pants, ready to remove them next. He’s desperate to undress you, to have your naked body pressed up against his. You’ve been ignoring his texts for too long lately. Even though he would never admit it, he’s missed you. A lot.

You help him take off the rest of your clothing until you’re bare before him, and Jungkook looks at you like he’s always looked at you. Like you’re the only person in the universe, you captivate his entire attention.

Nothing else matters when he’s with you.

He tears only his sweatshirt off before sitting down on the bed. Stretching back, he pats his lap with that same old smirk you’ve grown to love and hate simultaneously and motions for you to climb on top of him.

You do as he requests, resting each leg on either side of his hips so you’re straddling his waist.

“Come here,” he says quietly, pulling you closer to him, so he can leave wet kisses trailing down your neck from your earlobe to the dip above your collarbone.

His hands travel down your side as his lips move closer and closer to your breasts, his hot breath tickles your skin as he hovers over your sensitive nubs. He flicks each with his tongue, before closing his lips over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

The sensation pulls an explicit moan from deep within your core. Jungkook’s ears perk up, loving the sounds coming from you, wanting to hear you make sounds like that all night.

Your thighs tense around him as he does it again to the other side, and you massage the growing tent in his sweats to tease him just the right amount.

Jungkook digs his fingers into your hips, pushing your bare center up against his hardness as you continue your circling torture. It’s his turn to lose himself. Fuck, he can feel your heat through the thin fabric, your readiness soaking into his sweatpants. His hands curve around the swell of your ass as your tongues twist together in harmony.

Grabbing his face, you kiss him deeply while slowly moving off the top of him, your hand replacing where your opening was previously. You moan into his mouth this time, feeling how hard he is for you as you rub him through his pants.

Your hand dips underneath the waistband and wraps around his velvety length. His length throbs in your hand while your thumb glides over his needy head. You’re stroking him slowly enough to drive him into a maddening frenzy.

“Fuck baby, I need more,” he rasps.

You give him exactly what he begs for.

He cries out when your hand dips lower to squeeze his balls without warning. You smirk, watching the emotions overtake his face as the pain mixes deliciously with pleasure while you hold him tightly in your hands. You wait a few seconds before releasing them and then work to take off his pants.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, catching his breath from your dangerous game. “What was that for?”

You take a mouthful of him to avoid answering. He doesn’t press the issue further as you gag over his thick cock.

Jungkook grabs a fistful of your hair as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. He helplessly watches as your reddened lips glide over him, your saliva dripping everywhere in the process.

“Mmm, just like that,” he hums, caressing your cheek as you bob your head up and down.

Pulling yourself from him to catch your breath, your mouth then leaves wandering kisses that lead you to his balls next. Sucking each into your hollowed cheeks, you take your sweet time and watch intently as Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow together.

“Shit baby, I’m about to lose it,” he breathes deeply, before moving your bodies so you’re below him.

You smirk, your legs open and ready with your fingers teasing your wet and inviting opening. “Then lose it.”

He groans. Leaning across your body, Jungkook opens the drawer on his nightstand and rummages through until his fingers land on the very familiar foil packet. He smirks for a moment at the thought floating around in his head, and then lets the male urge win and rips it open with his teeth.

“You did not just do that,” you laugh, “That’s so cheesy. What are you, a horny teenager?”

He grins wolfishly as he rolls the condom on, “Might as well be.”

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room, engulfing Jungkook, and making him ravenous for you. He’s starved and only your heat will tame his hunger.

Unable to wait any longer, his thick length dips inside you just enough to wet his tip. He pulls back out of you, sliding your wetness through your folds, preparing you for what is to come. Then, without a moment’s notice, he takes you hard and fast, thrusting into you with all his power.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red trails from where they slide down his back and grip his ass.

The veins in Jungkook’s neck pop out as he slams into you again and again.

“Holy fuck, ‘Kook! Oh my god,” you cry out, holding onto him.

He looks so fucking hot with his hair stuck to his damp forehead. Your eyes follow the bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

Jungkook’s soft moans tickle your ear, while one of his hands creeps up to wrap around your neck. The pressure is gentle but firm, his fingers are placed exactly where they need to be to make you feel lightheaded and slightly delirious - everything you want and more.

“Do you still love me?” he pants as he thrusts into you harshly.

You blink, hesitating to answer that question.

“Fine, then answer me this, do you still love my cock?”

“Jungkook…” you sigh, tilting your head to the side. “Please don’t go there.”

He pretends he doesn’t hear you. “Tell me you’ve never had better,” he demands after flipping you over. Pulling your ass up towards him, he realigns his length with your center and thrusts back into you. One of his hands wraps around your waist, the other gets lost in your hair.

“Tell me how much you’ve missed me and my cock,” he growls into your ear as he slips out of you, only to ram back into you with all his strength.

Each thrust pushes you further into the bed and brings you closer to the edge. You’re biting the sheets to stop yourself from screaming out from the sinful pleasure.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” You moan uncontrollably while Jungkook continues his sweet torture. Lust, and possibly another L emotion, dripping off the words spilling from your mouth.

You couldn’t lie if you tried at this point. You’ve really missed this and him. And holy fuck, his cock too. “Oh my god, oh god!” you cry out. Waves of euphoria wash over your quivering body as you unfold around him.

The coil snaps deep inside you, your walls pulsating around him, sending shockwaves through his body as he finishes.

Jungkook moans your name one last time before feeling himself swell, and he fills the condom with his load. His thrusts slow down but don’t stop just yet.

It’s almost too much to handle, yet it’s still not enough. Jungkook knows this and reaches down to rub his thumb along your swollen clit, causing you to see starts as your next release comes, it sprays out of you involuntarily.

You freeze, not sure if you should embrace it or be embarrassed.

He grins, “That was fucking hot. I’ve never made anyone squirt before.” You feel a sense of pride hearing that. Good. You don’t want him to have it like this with anyone else. Woah, where did that thought come from?

Without missing a beat, Jungkook lifts your legs over his shoulders as he bends down so he’s face level with your heat. He admires your slit that’s still slick from his undoing. You moan uncontrollably the second he licks through your damp folds, lost on cloud nine while he buries his face in between your legs, hands on either side of them, holding you in place.

You’re writhing beneath him from the glorious torture of his tongue teasing your entrance, his nose purposefully rubs against your sensitive nub and two of his long fingers slide into you, curling at the right pace.

His rhythmic licks turn you into a quivering mess. Your insides twist and clench around his fingers as you come again, unashamed and all over his face this time.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he pants, moving back up toward the top of the bed and collapsing next to you, totally spent.

You kiss him messily, tasting yourself on his lips, and cuddle into his side as you both drift off into the night, sweaty and exhausted, just how it should be.

It’s early. You’re not sure how long you’ve both been in and out of sleep, but you know it’s almost time for you to leave. This is the longest you’ve spent in his bed since your break up. All the other late-night extravaganzas we’re just a couple of hours, if that.

You’re laying on his chest, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat and your synced breathing, working up the energy to sit up. His fingers draw small circles on your back as you two rest. It’s surprisingly…peaceful. These are the moments you miss the most when you’re apart.

“I have a thing with the guys around tomorrow, well technically today. Want to come?” Jungkook asks out of the blue, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Can’t,” you decline, worried about where this conversation is about to go.

“And why is that, exactly?” he asks, even though he very well knows. You know he knows. He knows that you know that he knows. Which is frustrating, to say the least.

The previous peace you felt is short-lived. You sit up and lean on your elbow to look at him. “You know I’m going out with Taehyung now. You liked my Instagram pic of us together from earlier this week.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say that if you’re here with me, that must mean he’s either very boring or is terrible in bed. Or maybe both?” He leaves the question open-ended for you to answer.

You roll your eyes and start to get up, not in the mood to discuss this with him tonight, or ever really.

You don’t need to explain to him that Taehyung deserves so much more than someone who’s willing to cheat on him, and with an ex-boyfriend at that. You two haven’t exactly made things official but it’s still unbelievably inconsiderate of you to waste his time while you pine after Jungkook, a guy who dumped you four months ago but still refuses to give you up.

“No, don’t go,” he groans. “What I’m trying to say is-” he pauses, fighting whatever is going on in his brain. “I don’t want you seeing him anymore,” he says bluntly.

“Why?” You press, begging for any sort of answer.

“‘Cause…,” he says, holding back.

“Because why Jungkook, I need you to say more than that. I need you to be more, we can’t keep going on like this.”

“Because I love you, dammit!” He runs a hand through his hair and huffs. “Can’t you tell? Isn’t it obvious? I’m still hung up on you and don’t like seeing you moving on when I’m, I’m…stuck,” he breathes.

He loves you.

A moment passes.

He. Loves. You.

“Please say something. Anything.” He’s nervously searching your face for any sort of answer.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say that you’re still hung up on me,” he whines, pulling you back onto his chest.

Your voice softens, “You know that I am.”

He kisses you gently, making your heart flutter with the possibility.

“Then what’s stopping us?” He asks once your lips part from one another.

It’s your turn to huff, you have so much to say yet it’s all lost on you at this exact moment. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

“You’re the one who ended things.”

The streetlight shines in through his window, its light illuminating your body, highlighting your beautiful features that he just can’t get enough of. Why did he end things again?

“Yeah, well, I’m an idiot. What’s new?” he jokes, crawling over top of you, completely mesmerized by how gorgeous you are beneath him. He kisses you sweetly, his lips massaging yours as his heart pounds loudly in his chest. You didn’t say no. To Jungkook, that means there’s still a chance, and he’ll gladly take it.

One of his hands holds the back of your neck, tilting your head just the right amount for him to deepen the kiss. He moans into your mouth, his tongue playing with yours while his other hand finds its way between your legs.

A soft gasp escapes your lips when his fingers dip inside you. They twist and curl with perfect accuracy, bringing you closer and closer to bliss.

He has you practically begging for more, you’re already a panting mess. You reach for him, craving more, needing him closer but he refuses.

“Nope,” he grins playfully, pushing your chest gently so you lay back onto the bed, “I want to watch you come undone this time. I want to see you lose it when you come for me.”

Your back arches off the bed as you dance along the edge, squeezing your eyes shut you let his words do their magic.

“Be a good girl and come all over these fingers.” Your hips move helplessly, matching his speed as you chase the high.

“You’re luminous, absolutely divine, and all mine. Nobody can worship you as I do. Nobody else can make you feel this good.”

“No one compares to you,” you moan sensually as pleasure overtakes your body yet again, turning you into the mess he wants to see.

Your lips touch again after what feels like an eternity. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, leaving another lazy kiss on your cheek, before moving to clean up the aftermath of your pleasures.

“Me too,” you say sleepily, pulling him back into your arms after he disposed of the condom. You feel yourself drifting off, about to fall into a soft slumber with your bodies entwined.

Jungkook grins, knowing he’s one step closer to convincing you to try again. He kisses you softly, lovingly, one more time before you both drift off into the early morning light.

©shadowkoo 2023. All rights reserved.

[writeslikeanaria]

i’ve seen the devil in every face

ominis gaunt x reader (technically sebastian sallow x reader)

summary: your boyfriend lives with the demons of never being able to see what you look like. that's when he figures out a way to finally be able to look at you; by wearing the face of his best friend.

word count: 5k+

warnings: SMUT, consent is tricky but i'll just stick with dubious, immoral use of the polyjuice potion, angst, confused reader, m!oral, p in v, opportunity for an incredibly angst filled part two

Potions class seemed to be longer than normal. Having finished your potion earlier than everyone else, your only task now was to finish theory book work, a task that genuinely pained you to complete. Books strewn open, you rested your head against the desk, eyes closed, trying to find will within you to actually dip your quill in the ink that rested next to you.

With your vision gone, you used your imagination to picture the chaos happening around you. A cracking pop sounded off in the room, followed by a stench of rotten fish. Fizzing arose in the room, making your skin prick up from the feeling of electricity. From behind your eyes, you could see a bright white light flash, and a groan from your upset classmate followed suit.

For a moment, you realised that this was reality for your blind boyfriend, Ominis, only able to use his other senses to imagine the world. A brief sadness crept over you, leaving a whimper to come out of your mouth, something that was noticed by your potions partner next to you, Sebastian.

“You alright?” He glanced over at you, cocking an eyebrow, quill hovering in the air.

You opened one eye, adjusting to the bright overhead candle that filled your vision in a flood of white. Sebastian looked down at you, some sort of concern on his face, chewing on the end of his quill. You groaned. “Just peachy…” You paused. “Just thinking.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Anything you want to share with the class?”

Lifting your head slightly, you look across the potion classroom, until your eyes land on the innocent target, blissfully unaware of your stalking eyes. Ominis, busy hunched over a potions book, was reading some words out to his partner, Leander. He seemed frustrated though, eyebrows furrowed deeply, as he kept rubbing his milky white eyes out of pure exhaustion. 

From just what you could witness, you knew how annoyed your boyfriend was getting by the ginger’s antics. You had heard many times about how “utterly useless and incorrigible” Leander was, through Ominis’ midnight rantings. Laying in bed, head on his heaving chest, you listened to his stream of consciousness. You pouted at the sight of his anger.

“Ominis doesn’t look happy today.” 

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian turned back to his book. “When is he ever when he's in potions class? Poor thing has to deal with Leander for two hours twice a week, I’m surprised he hasn’t ripped all his hair out of head. Pure misery, that’s him.” Sebastian bit his lip, a thought entering his head. “And it doesn’t help that he’s been unusually stroppy the last couple of days.”

You peered at Sebastian, narrowing your eyes, confused. You had barely had time to see your boyfriend in the past couple of days, so you hadn’t noticed any foul behaviour. “What do you me–”

Unfortunately, your question remained unanswered, as the shrill voice of Professor Sharp rang off across the classroom, scolding none other than Garreth Weasley. His face was so close to Garreth’s that they were almost touching. “How dare you not follow my instructions? Detention all next week. Now, clean this up and complete your actual task for homework.”

You snickered, burying your head in your arms, unable to hide away the humour in the situation. Making eye contact with the boy in trouble, he shrugged his shoulders at you. Although Professor Sharp had just told him to discard his potion, you watched as Garreth blatantly discarded those instructions, instead pouring the potion he was working on into a separate flask, before collecting his books back up. 

The bell rang, signalling the end of class, but you stayed rooted to your seat as you watched Garreth with intrigue, suddenly fascinated with what he was up to. As everyone filed out of class, you opted to corner your ginger friend, closing in on his defeated stature. His face was sallow, but he still kept a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Backing away your bag, you vaguely registered Sebastian trying to talk to you, but you brushed him off, flaying your hand in the air, dismissively. As much as you loved your best friend, you currently didn’t have time for his questions.

Sliding on over to Garreth’s station, you pick up one of his scrawled notebooks, cheekily. “A little birdie told me you got told off again.”

Garreth jumped slightly at your appearance. “Well, then someone should do something about that gossip of a bird.” He lunged towards the book you were holding. “And we give that back!”

There was no point keeping it anyway, unable to read what covered the pages anyway. Garreth’s handwriting was like chicken scratch. Handing him back his book, you laughed at him, before eyeing the suspicious potion peeking out of his satchel bag. “What’s that?”

“Nothing interesting.” Garreth closed the lid on his bag, keeping the mystery out of sight. You frowned, not usually having to deal with Garreth’s secrecy. Normally, he lets you into his devious plans. 

Sighing, you began slowly walking away. “Oh, but it would be such a shame if Professor Sharp found out that you kept some of the potion he told you to discard–”

“Alright!” Garreth stopped you. “It really isn’t anything interesting, I promise, but if you’re still curious, meet me in the abandoned potions classroom on the second floor at midnight. Don’t be late.”

You grinned. You weren’t planning on it.

•┈୨♡୧┈•

When midnight finally came, you were more than excited for your nighttime escape. Cladded in a woollen jumper and tough shoes, you quietly crept down the staircases into the darkness of your common room. As you were about to slink through the door, a voice stopped you in your tracks, calling your name.

“Is that you?”

You immediately recognised the confused tone in your boyfriend’s voice, and a soft chuckle slipped from your mouth. Embarrassed, you covered your reddening face. “Hello darling, I didn’t see you sitting in the dark.”

Ominis pouted. “I didn’t realise a lamp wasn’t on. I was just doing some reading. Have you come to join me?”

“I would love to, truly, but I had other plans for tonight.” You bit your lip in thought. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

A loud groan escaped from Ominis, as he landed his heavy head in his lap. “Can’t sleep, too busy… thinking.”

You moved towards your troubled boyfriend, placing your hand around his. “A penny for your thoughts? I’ve noticed you’ve been… antsy recently, and I can’t help but feel like I'm doing anything for you.” You placed a gentle kiss on his temple. “What’s going on?”

Ominis cringed. “I don’t know how to speak about this; it’s too difficult to even word. And I don’t want to think you did anything wrong–”

“Wait, what?”

“–You’ve been nothing but amazing with everything. You’ve been doting, and kind, and thoughtful, and the time I spend with you, just you, is more cherishable than any worldly possession.”

“Then what’s wrong?” You pressed.

“I–” Ominis sighed. “Everytime we are intimate, I get sad.”

That definitely wasn’t what you were expecting Ominis to say. You retracted your hands for him, unsure if it was out of shock or mild disgust towards what he had said. Never in a million years had you expected your boyfriend, your loving, passionate boyfriend, to admit that love making with you had a melancholic effect on his psyche. Your face contorted with defiance, but you didn’t know how to fight this battle.

You pursed your lips. “Do I disgust you?”

In a flash of seconds, you could see every stage of grief flash over Ominis’ milky eyes, as he reached back towards your hands with comfort. You always relished in the warmth he would give you. 

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Ominis started. “I just meant that I feel as though my loss of sight is hindering my experience. Obviously, it’s not, but I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on seeing you, my beauty, my radiance, the light of my life. Sometimes I wonder how I can feel whole if I can’t even see my other half. Every single time I hear someone compliment your appearance, I just wish I could see you. Everytime you’re under me, I just wish I could see you. Do you understand?”

You didn’t know if you did, but you nodded carefully, stroking small circles on the backs of Ominis’ mole-covered hands, in an attempt to find comfort for him. What you did understand was how difficult this must’ve been to tell you, and you couldn’t be happier that he was actually communicating with you. Leaning into him, you smiled. “Would you like to talk more about this in the morning?”

Ominis smiled. “Sure.”

“Would you like to accompany me to the abandoned potions classroom on the second floor?”

Ominis screwed his face up in confusion. “Why on earth would you want to go to that musty place at this time of night?”

You giggled. “Garreth seems to be working on a secret potion, and I’m curious to see what he’s up to.”

It didn’t take long to convince your stubborn boyfriend, as in a matter of minutes, you were slinking hand in hand, under a disillusionment spell, across the deserted halls of Hogwarts at night. It was a peaceful adventure, one that really helped calm you both down after the intensity of your previous conversation.

Unfortunately, the words Ominis had spoken still lingered in your mind like cigarette smoke. You couldn’t help but ponder what he had said, as if you were the problem. You knew that Ominis would never place blame on you, but you wish you had noticed sooner.

Every time you crawled into bed together, a mess of teeth and tongue, flesh and slick, you should’ve noticed the abundance of tension seeping out of his muscles, or the way he would hold back from touching you, from being close to you. There were so many signs that you were embarrassed that you hadn’t caught on to any of them. Were you a bad person?

Those thoughts were soon pushed out of your conscious mind when you arrived at your discreet destination. Creeping open the door, you were welcomed by the most vile stench you had every smell, bile rising in your throat as you coughed violently.

“What the hell are you making in here?” You spluttered, unable to think properly from the fumes. Luckily you had your boyfriend holding you arms, stopping you from falling over.

Garreth’s lifted his head up as he noticed you walk in, a giant grin stretched across his cheeks. “Ah, you finally came, and you brought a guest. The more the merrier, they say.” He welcomed you in, clapping his hands against your back. “You’re just in time for the main event.”

You could still hardly breathe from the vileness secreting into your sinuses. “Please make this worth it. I cannot begin to describe how putrid this room smells. I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up in the hospital room because of this.”

“You’ve got it easy.” Garreth laughed. “I have to drink this.” With fascination plastered on your face, you watched as the ginger placed the last ingredient into a small volume of the potion, and swirled it around his flask. You watched as the liquid changed colours very slightly.

Finally, Ominous asked the million dollar question. “What actually is that?”

With one gulp, Garreth drank the entire flask, pouring it down his throat with ease, but reacting to the taste like hot lava. After every last drop was swallowed, he finally gave an answer to the question. “Polyjuice potion. Tastes disgusting, but the results are fascinating. That last ingredient I added in? Those were human hairs, belonging to Professor Sharp. In just a few moments you’ll see what I mean by fascinating results, because the polyjuice potions changes your appearance to make you look like someone else.”

He wasn’t lying. Within short moments, Garreth had grown several inches, became thinner, more wrinklier, with his usual flaming locks transforming into dark brown hair. It was exhilarating to watch your best friend become a whole different person.

You spoke first. “Garreth?”

Your friend rubbed his eyes, no longer focussing on you two. Instead, he squinted in frustration. “Ugh, Professor Sharp’s eyesight sucks; It’s so blurry. This man cannot see shit.”

Laughing at those comments, you dismissed them right away, but your boyfriend seemed intrigued by what Garreth was saying, still rubbing his eyes out of annoyance. “What do you mean? Are you trying to tell me that you’ve adopted the same eyesight as Sharp?”

“Yeah, and it’s awful.” Garreth laughed. Walking over to a deserted closet in the classroom, Garreth grabbed out a bunch of clothes that bore a striking resemblance to the ones that Professor Sharp would normally wear, but you took no interest in Garreth’s immature plans. You believed fully that Garreth’s next plans would include terrorising a bunch of year two’s who were still awake at this time of night. What interested you the most was the quizzical look on Ominis’ face.

“What are you thinking?” 

Ominous grunted. “Be quiet, I have a plan.”

For the next few minutes, you made careless conversation with your friend, who explained to you the extent of his plan for the next hour, which included, but was not limited to, sneaking into the teacher’s quarters, stealing all their sweets, and trying his luck at the restricted section. With adrenaline, Garreth’s bumbling attitude had him out the door within minutes, leaving you and Ominis alone in the classroom. Alone with the remnants of the polyjuice potion.

Your boyfriend struck first, heading towards the still full potion. You tried to stop him, but with no luck. “Ominis, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I found a solution to our problems. One mouthful of that disgusting potion and I’ll be able to see your beautiful face, in all your glory. I have no care to worry about the temporary, but I’ll be able to finally see my shining star, my angel. You don’t realise how hard it is to go about my life, wishing I could see your eyes, and your smile, and your hair, and your beautiful lips. I need to do this.”

“And then what?” You questioned his frantic plan. “We share intimacy? You may be sharing intimacy with me, but I’ll have to stare at the face of someone who isn’t mine. I’ll have to live with the guilt of knowing another man who isn’t you.”

“But it is me!” Ominis raised his voice at you. “I am me, emotionally, spiritually, consciously. All you will have to know is the physicalities of another man.” His voice settled, calming down a bit. “I understand your point of you, and all I have to counter it is, for me? I know I cannot force you, but I know I can plead with you, even if you shut me down before I can even present my case.”

You bit your lip in anguish. “How sure are you? I need to know you are completely comfortable with this. This would be the strangest thing we’ve ever shared between us, and I need to know that this is exactly what you want.”

“I want this.” Ominis sighed, cupping your face with his hands. “Finally, I want to know you with all my senses.” He placed a kiss against your lips. “I need to know what love at first sight feels like to a man.”

You returned the kiss with fervour. “I will. I will for you. I love you Ominis.” Resting your head on his shoulder, another question popped into your mind.”

“Ominis.” He hummed in response. “Who are you going to choose to, you know, turn into?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone in mind.”

•┈୨♡୧┈•

Sebastian looked like he was about to doze off at the breakfast table, eye bags dark, head lost between the pages of some tatted book that he probably found illegally in the library. His brown locks were a mess atop his head and he had taken no notice of you and Ominis standing in the entrance of the hall, watching him from a distance.

“Sebastian.” You asked incredulously. “Really?”

Ominis scoffed, brushing you off. “He’s the only choice really. He’s the only person I trust you to know physically, since he is my best friend. I’ve also heard that he’s quite handsome, so I don’t know why you’re objecting.”

“I- It’s Sebastian! He would never agree to that.”

“He wouldn’t have to know.” Ominis smirked. “Now be a good girl and help me distract him so we can get a few hairs off of the top of his head, okay?”

And that’s how you found yourself sitting abnormally close to Sebastian, basically breathing down his neck, trying to get him to lean down just a bit more, but it proved to be a more difficult task than you initially thought.

“No, I don’t see the runes at the bottom of the page.” Sebastian squinted once more at the page in front of him, but refused to move his head downwards like you needed him to. You were about to give up when an idea struck, noticing a strange fold in the page. Just as Sebastian moved the book slightly, you pointed downwards.

“Did something just fall out of the book?”

Sebastian ducked immediately. “Where?” His voice went gruff as he finally looked closely at the bottom of the book, giving Ominis an ample opportunity to gently pluck a few hairs off of the top of Sebastian’s head, without the poor boy even noticing. When Ominis gave a nod, you knew that he had gotten what he needed.

You tutted. “Nevermind, it’s just a fold in the page.” You rested your head in your hand and sighed dramatically. “I thought I saw something.”

“It’s alright.” Sebastian muttered. “It’s no use anyway. I’m so tired, I just want to go to bed right now.”

“Early night?” You joked, but then saw Ominis shaking his head at you. Right, you guys would need the dorm room tonight, for activities. “You could– uh, sleep in the undercroft! Surely sleeping in a room without Ominis’ incessant snoring is exactly what you need tonight.

“What I need is a beater’s club to my head,” Sebastian smirked. “But a night alone sounds great as well.”

•┈୨♡୧┈•

It was almost time. Saying goodbye to Sebastian and sending him on his way was easy enough. With enough encouragement, he was gone before the sun had even fallen asleep beneath the hills, leaving the entire dormitory to you and your boyfriend, whose eyes had not stopped glinting with mischief all day.

The entire day had been a mixture of teasing touches, and whispers of dirty promises. You could still feel the feeling of Ominis’ hands creeping up your skirt in class, tracing your delicate thighs with the traction of a feather. The hot breath of his words still melted against your ears like an ice cold glass of water, and you were so thirsty.

But first, Ominis had to drink the potion.

“I really hope it’s not as awful as Garreth said it was.” You said, eying the murky brown liquid. “But by the smell of the classroom last night, I don’t think it’s going to taste like liquid gold either. Promise you’ll drink some water afterwards?”

Ominis sniffed the flask suspiciously. “It may taste, and smell, differently after adding the hairs, but I doubt so, unfortunately. I wonder if my taste buds will even survive this torture.”

“Well, for my sake,” You pointed downwards, towards your woman region,“and for my girl’s sake, I hope your taste buds come out the other side of this stronger than ever.”

The innuendo was not lost on your boyfriend, who now eagerly added the final remaining ingredient to the flask. Like last time, the colour faded slightly, into more of a mellow mud colour. Bringing the potion up to his nose, Ominous took a sniff, but didn’t recoil.

“Well?”

Ominis hummed. “Isn’t as bad as I expected. Almost woodsy. Like tree bark, or forest leaves. Doesn’t carry the same putridness as the one from last night. I’d even say this one is somewhat pleasant.” He dipped his finger in the potion. “It feels warm. Like a cup of tea. It’s odd.”

You egged him on. “Are you gonna drink it?”

“Patience.” Ominis laughed, but he followed through with your queries, throwing his head back and swallowing the potion in one. 

The effects started showing immediately. The white blouse that Ominis was wearing became too small for his torso, looking like it was about to burst at the seams, as his muscles filled out, and his shoulders broadened like the parting of a sea. Shrinking only half an inch, he now sat at Sebastian’s height, now growing into those features. Gone were those chiselled cheeks, replaced with the smattering of freckles across his face. Hair turned from gold to bronze, and eyes from the ocean to the earth.

“How do I look?” Sebastian– Ominis asked, voice now replaced with the slightly Scottish tenor of his best mate’s, turning towards you.

It was all so confusing. There stood your best friend, but with the mannerisms and posture of your boyfriends. Your body was conflicted too, as you couldn’t help but look at the physicality of your best friend in a new light.

Ominis seemed to be going through his own internal conflict. When he first took the potion he really had no idea if he was going to notice any change with his sight, but when it became bright, too bright, he knew that his hypothesis had been true. It was strange at first, adjusting to a whole new sense. His brain was confused, angry almost, trying to force him back down into a headache, but he persisted.

The world seemed strange. Finally, he knew what it meant to see colour, to see light, and to see beauty. He thought the bed was beautiful. He thought the floor was beautiful. He thought the walls around him were beautiful, but most importantly, the woman in front of him was more than beautiful.

Like an iridescent angel fallen from the heavens above, she was perfect to him. Beautiful didn’t even cover the beginning of what he thought about his girlfriend. Unable to articulate verbally, he stood motionless, as the angel before him tried to capture his attention away from his admiration. 

“Ominis, are you okay? Did it work?” You asked cautiously, worried about what emotions he could possibly be feeling if the answer was no, but the way he was actually facing you, actually looking at you, you were sure that you knew the answer.

Ominis took a breath. “I understand what beautiful is.” He took one step towards you, reaching outwards, but your body didn’t naturally move towards him, still hesitant about yearning for Sebastian’s face and Sebastian’s physique. It wasn’t quite right.

It didn’t feel quite right as his lips touched yours, moving naturally, but feeling like a stranger. You melted like you normally did, but it was with effort, still getting used to the scent of Sebastian wafting into your veins. Reciprocating Ominis’ love filled kiss was more difficult than you would’ve ever thought. You hated how you felt.

“I need you.” Ominis muttered, his voice silky like Sebastian’s. “I need to see what you look like when you’re pleased. I need to know what pleasure looks like dressed on you. I need to see you contort yourself like a good girl. I need you.” 

How could you deny such pleads? Nodding along to the words he spoke, you started on the buttons of your blouse, but were soon swatted from your task, your hands quickly replaced by Sebas– Ominis’ hand. It didn’t feel right watching Sebastian undress you, so you closed your eyes, resting against the unusually broad chest in front of you. 

If Ominis noticed your internal conflict, he didn’t mention it, having the time of his life running his hands down the curves of your soft body, melting at the images he now didn’t have to visualise himself. Reaching down, he placed open mouthed kisses against your throat, eliciting moans from your throat. 

He was marking you, you knew that. The mouth of your best friend was claiming you as a lover, and you enjoyed it, finding pleasure in the heat of the moment, pooling in your panties shamefully. Something about what Ominis was capable of made you fall from your grace and become nothing but a dog in heat. Wrapping your arms around his frame, you pulled him in closer, under you could hear his voice against the shell of your ear. “Get on your knees.”

You knew it was your Ominis, but you hesitated at Sebastian's voice. Obeying anyway, suck downwards, opening up for what was expected. Except, it wasn’t the familiar cock of your boyfriend. It was different from usual, slightly thicker, shorter, with unfamiliar veins running up the length. 

“Suck it.” Ominis’ domineering personality crept out, and you obeyed. It was odd at first, but you got used to this new weight. At first, you placed a gentle kiss at the tip of his cock, watching the precum leak out in generous blobs. Your tongue darted out, lapping greedily at what you were given. Even the taste was different, slightly saltier, slightly muskier. Slicking up the entirety of his cock, you coated it generously, before opening your mouth wider to take more.

With enthusiasm, you took him all, pumping what was remaining with your left hand, and leaving your right hand to rest against his thigh, that twitched with every harsh sucked. His skin, covered in goosebumps, was on fire, the electricity of the moment throbbing in his cock. Ominis wasn’t going to last long, and you knew it.

Still, you threw your head forward, swallowing the tip, feeling him stutter with your movements. Hands threaded in your hair, tugging on your roots, getting a good grip on your head. Ominis had obviously had enough of your teasing, and decided to use you as he needed. It wasn’t long before until you felt his breathing change and his voice falter.

“I’m gonna–”

Cum. It splurted down your throats, in thick ropes you had never experienced before. It was all too much as you lurched away from the cock, more cum landing across your cheeks and necks. Looking up through glazed eyes and thick eyelashes, you watched Sebastian above you, peering down at you curious.

Nimble fingers stroked your face, moving around the sticky liquid, making even more of a mess as his face lit up in delight. You hated the way your body clenched at the thought of Sebastian taking you, needing that spent cock inside of you as soon as possible. You whimpered.

“Please…”

“Please what?” Ominis asked, tugging on his spent cock, slowly hardening again in the palm of his hand. You ducked your head embarrassed.

“Please fuck me.”

You were surprised he didn’t make you beg, as he lifted you up with an ease he’d never experience. Manhandling you onto the nearest bed, he pressed your chest down on the mattress, and flipped up your skirt. You didn’t even have any time to voice your confusion before the thick cock slid into your slick folds, forcing a moan out of you immediately.

Reaching for the blankets to have something, anything, to ground yourself with, you took the hammering like a champion. The immediate pace was frenzied, with no warming up on your part at all. You felt more alive than ever, alert as his deft hands curled around your wrists, holding them together as leverage to get a better angle.

You were drooling on the blankets. The angle was perfectly hitting your g-spot with every rough thrust, the material of the duvet rubbing against your swollen, patient clit, in desperate need of some attention. Every nerve on your body was screaming in pleasure and pain, completely conflicted with every emotion that struck your heart. At least you didn’t have to look into the eyes of your best friend.

Finally, Ominis let go of one of your hands, snaking around your front so he could begin his assault on your clit. His voice was gruff in your ear. “I need you to come for me baby.”

You nodded pathetically, eyes rolling back as every thrust inside of you became more agitated than the last. Tears were free falling from your face now. In the midst of your pleasure, you didn’t even notice the door to the dormitories open, until you heard the voice of…

“What?!”

Turning your head, you couldn’t help let a pained sob out of your throat as you laid eyes with another Sebastian, the Sebastian. In an instance, there was no longer a body pressing down on you, letting you sink down onto the ground. You barely registered that sound of an angry spell being cast across the dorm room, followed by the patting of footsteps both across the dorm, towards the door, and towards you.

You knew it was the real Sebastian still left in the room as you felt a blanket cover your half naked form, keeping your modesty. You knew it was the real Sebastian as when you fell into his shoulder, unable to keep in the tears, he hesitated before placing a comforting hand against your bare shoulder. You knew it was the real Sebastian as he asked you repeatedly what was going on.

You knew he saw himself, fucking you like it was a matter of life and death, a reflection of a reality that his brain couldn’t comprehend.

You, on the other hand, had no thoughts left, falling unconscious on the shoulder of your best friend, with your boyfriend having run away in shame. 

“i've seen the devil,

down sunset,

in every place,

in every face.”

–––

ouch angst. owie.

taglist: @slootmagix, @pretendthisusernameisgoodd, @froggyinaspen, @bxrabbito, @1800-madisonnn

[annebaby]

National Anthem ♡

hello all! this is my first multi-part fic, and I hope you like it! part two will be posted very soon :)

part two!

part three!

warnings: toxic snow, bribery, fem!reader x young!coriolanus snow, use of Y/N, that's it for this chapter!

I hope you enjoy! this is national anthem ♡

The capitol streets were bustling with the obnoxiously ignorant, blind-sighted chatter about the games this year. People in all the most unnecessary of extravagant clothing, smiling, laughing, and celebrating death. It was sickening, truly. Hearing them talk about their favorite tributes and the gruesome details of their death made you want to rip all your hair out. 

Surprisingly, you were not a stranger to this life. Born a capitol brat, you shouldn’t let this get you to your breaking point at all. A senior in the academy this year, you vividly recall the students being mentors in previous years; the thought of helping a child to their death made you want to vomit. 

So, you tried your best to get your single errand for the day done as fast as possible. Your goal: to find a dress for the gala in a few days. Nothing too showy, but not too modest. A dress that screams, ‘I’m pretty, but smart. I am a district doll.’ As the President’s daughter, appearance and impression were the two most important things drilled into your head. 

Your father, President Stirling, was a new favorite of Panem. His pride for the land, his love for the people, and his goals for the future are what got him elected. He was a very clean-cut man, always showing how much he loved his family. 

You knew better though. He was a cold man, one who hardly showed affection behind closed doors, a man who had spoken very rarely to his daughter. You didn’t really know much about him, always locked in his office and never really caring about you. Unless, it was about your appearances or impressions. 

Scurrying through the mall, you quickly find your go-to dress shop, a more quiet and less popular location. This dress shop has all of the current trends, but they always had something different about them that you loved. You hated capitol fashion, but it was your only option as the most looked upon girl in Panem. At least they all had a unique look to them. 

Entering the store and smelling its sweet fragrance, you hurriedly got to work. Giving every dress you liked to a worker, she put it in the dressing room for you. A common customer, they adored your business. They adored your money. 

Dress after dress, you had finally found a winner. A thin-strapped velvet dress with jewels adorning it in a beautiful pattern. It was a deep red, floor-length dress. Happy with the way it adorned your body, you took it off and handed it to the shop worker. Swiping Daddy’s credit card, you smiled at the workers and thanked them sincerely for their help. They handed you the dress across the counter and you started to make your way home. 

Navigating the large mall, there were people everywhere. You did your best to hide your face, sunglasses and all. The President’s daughter was always known as the Princess of Panem, a girl that the younger children looked up to. It was hard to be unnoticed. 

Swerving and dodging people to the best you could, you made it outside at last. Unfortunately, your presence had become known and now none other than Lucky Flickerman was awaiting you outside. Probably one of your least favorite capitol citizens, always pushing you for personal answers to appeal to the audience. 

Trying your best to spot your driver without being noticed, you see the blacked out SUV parked right down the street. It was a different car that dropped you off, but this SUV was still branded with the President’s logo. You open the doors to exit the mall, and Lucky Flickerman is already on you. 

“Is that the anticipated gown for the Gala, Ms. Stirling? What color is it? Just a peek? We’d love to see it!” 

By the time he was done getting his jumble of questions out, you had already reached the SUV. Opening the passenger door, you quickly threw the dress in the back. However, you noticed your driver was a different man than usual. 

“Coriolanus? Did my dad send you as my driver?” You took the sunglasses off your face, confusion taking over as you awaited his answer. 

Coriolanus Snow was your father’s newest intern. A charming man, certainly. He was handsome, smart, and cunning. You had a schoolgirl crush on him since he started working for your family, but you pushed it to the side. You didn’t want to be just another nuclear wife with a nuclear family in the capitol. You just weren’t ready to accept your inevitable fate. 

“Yes. The other driver wasn’t aware he was supposed to wait for you, and he returned home,” Coriolanus says. He puts the vehicle in gear and begins to take you both back to your estate. 

“Oh, that’s odd. He’s never done that before,” you say. He was a nice man, you had actually gotten on with him quite well. You weren’t sure where communication went wrong. 

“Yeah. He was fired immediately after he stepped in the door.” Coriolanus doesn’t look at you, just keeps his gaze on the road ahead of him. 

You didn’t expect much less from your father at all, but still your chest ached for the nice man. After all, he talked to you more than your own father did. 

You looked at Coriolanus for much too long after he said that. You admired his slicked-back blonde hair, his prominent jawline and you took in all of his aura you could. The Snow family had a newfound power in recent years, and boy did he know it. He was dripping in luxury. He carried himself with such seriousness and coldness that it drew you in. 

You broke away from your trance, looking forward at the road as well. It was hard to focus on anything but him when you were around Coriolanus. He too was a capitol brat, one of the worst. He supported the games in all their glory, though he was never too extravagant about it. He’s a few years older than you, meaning he’s seen more of the games. He probably accepted the fact that they were never going to end. 

Stuck in your thoughts once again, you hadn’t even realized you reached your estate that quickly. The car stopped, and Coriolanus opened the door and shut it quietly. He headed to your side of the vehicle and opened your door, holding out his hand for you to grab. Blushing, you smiled and took his hand, slowly exiting the car. He opened the back of the car, retrieved your dress, and you two headed into the house.  “Thank you, Coriolanus. You didn’t have to do all that,” you speak gently. “It’s a part of my job, Y/N,” he says coldly. You wonder if you’ll ever get past his emotionless wall. You enter the house, and Coriolanus hands the dress off to a helper so they can take it to your room. 

“Lovely seeing you today, Miss Y/N,” he says before walking back towards her father’s office. He strides when he walks, hands in his pockets and chin up. You smile to yourself, before heading up to your room.

The next day at the academy was dragging. Excitement bubbled in your stomach for the Gala the next day, and all of the classes were giving you a headache. You didn’t need them anyway - your success was guaranteed thanks to your father. 

As you were finally dismissed from your last class, you gathered your things and headed for the door. Cascading down the stairs, your best friend Bridgette Sinclair joined you. 

Both of you had been friends for years, taking a fancy to each other's' company. She was a shorter girl, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. A true capitol beauty, you had always thought. She too was born into the power she had, and she too believed all the same as you did. She didn’t act arrogant, never bragged on any of her assets. You loved her like a sister. 

“I say, we go to the park and discuss the Gala tomorrow! I can’t wait to see you there, Y/N.” You giggled with the girl, allowing your teenage personality to peek through. 

“Let’s go to my house instead, I’ll show you my dress!” You smiled and jumped up and down, finally allowing yourself to be true to how excited you were. 

She squealed in response as you waited for your driver. You hoped and prayed it wasn’t Coriolanus, Bridgette would never shut up about it. She knew about your crush, and she wanted you to talk to him so bad. Every time she’d hear about him, see him, or even just think about him, she would always tell you and then laugh at your blush. 

The both of you sit and gossip until the black SUV comes to pick you both up. Fingers crossed behind your back, you open the door with your other hand, and almost roll your eyes. Coriolanus is your driver again, of course. His blue eyes look at you through the rearview mirror as you sit down, not breaking his gaze even when Bridgette sits next to you. 

“Still no new driver I guess, yeah?” You look back at him through the window as he suddenly stops staring. Bridgette laughs and grabs your hand. 

“Uh- yeah no. Not yet. Your father is a particular man,” Coriolanus says, hesitantly. 

He slowly starts to take you both back to the estate, the car ride consisting of awkward stares from Coriolanus as Bridgette pesters you through hushed whispers. You almost feel as if he’s hearing everything she’s saying. You smack her quickly and quietly in hopes she’ll shut up. 

Arriving at the estate, Coriolanus does the same thing as before and opens the car door for you and Bridgette. However, his hand is only offered to you, not her. A strange action for him, you had always known him to be cold but still very polite. You took his hand and exited the vehicle before running into the house with Bridgette, looking back at Coriolanus as a ‘thank you’, before heading inside. 

“Y/N I have got to see your dress. I won’t tell anyone what it looks like, just please show me!” Bridgette plops onto your bed, anticipating your dress like a child on Christmas morning.

 You smile and head into your closet to retrieve the gorgeous gown. Grabbing it off the hanger, you slowly unzip the protective bag off of it. Bridgette’s eyes widen as she gets up to feel the dress, jaw dropped to the ground. She feels the material all in her fingers, gently admiring everything about the highly anticipated gown. 

“Oh my God Y/N. It’s beautiful. I absolutely love it!” She starts smiling widely before getting a mischievous grin on her face. 

“You know who else will love it,” she says, giggling slightly. 

You zip up the dress and hang it back in the closet, getting flustered by Bridgette’s continuous mentioning of Coriolanus. As much as you wished he had noticed you in the same way, you knew it would never happen. You were just like every other girl in the capitol. Nothing special about you. You wished he would see you as something special, but you were sure he didn’t. 

“If you don’t stop mentioning him, I'm going to strangle you, I swear.” You point at her, smiling sternly. She puts her hands up in a ‘it wasn’t me’ motion, before you plop down onto the bed next to her. 

“I really wish he did say something to me, just once you know? He is really handsome,” you admit. You hardly ever opened up about your feelings for him, just felt like getting it off your chest. 

“I know, Y/N. But I'm telling you, in a dress like that, with looks like yours, you won’t go unnoticed. There is simply no way he won’t stare at you tomorrow. And believe me, I noticed him looking at you in the rearview today. And! He only gave his hand to you for help out of the car. That had to mean something!” Bridgette sits up on the bed, you shortly following. She shakes your shoulders and tells you to be more confident in yourself. 

Hours pass by discussing makeup and flirting tips and all the other girly topics you could think of. All in preparation for the gala, of course. You discussed which shoes to wear, which hairstyle would look best, what color lipstick, everything. You knew you would feel pretty tomorrow, just maybe not pretty enough for him. 

Bridgette left after all the discussion, being picked up by her own driver. As you were walking back to your room after taking her to the door, you spot Coriolanus in the hall. He was passing off cash to a man you had never seen before. You quickly hide in the doorframe and try to listen as best you can. The man is short, seems friendly enough. 

‘Maybe a new hire?’ you think to yourself. Then, you’re finally able to pick up their conversation. 

“Just let me pose as the driver for a few more days. I won’t tell Mr. Stirling. Just leave the premises when you’re supposed to pick her up, and return back to the house in however long it would take you to pick her up yourself. Just this last time,” Coriolanus quietly whispers. He’s practically begging the poor man, shoving wads of cash towards him. 

‘Are they talking about me? He wants to drive me around? Is that why he’s been my driver?’ Thoughts are running through your head a mile a minute. So fast, you weren’t able to notice the conversation being over, and Coriolanus now heading your way. 

Too late to try to hide, you slowly start to reveal yourself as if you had just been walking to your room. He spots you immediately, eyes getting wide. You smile at him slightly, before trying to reach the stairs. However, he speeds up and grabs you by the shoulders, pressing you against a nearby wall. 

“Did you hear any of that, Ms. Y/N? Be honest with me.” His eyes piercing into yours, quickly darting from your lips and back up. He looks absolutely insane. 

“I- uh no. I don’t even know what you’re talking about I swear,” you lie. His eyes are scanning your face frantically before he releases you. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. As I'm sure you’re now aware, I'll be your driver. Be ready at 5. I’ll pick you up.” He slowly stares for just a second before walking away. He’s wearing a long coat, taking long strides. Something about him is so addicting. 

You catch your breath for a second, slowly starting to put the pieces together. He knew you were listening, and now you knew you were correct. He wanted to be your driver and he was bribing the new hire! Oh you couldn’t wait to tell Bridgette about this. 

You hurriedly headed up to your room, changing into your PJs and getting ready for bed. Your mind continuously running on overdrive, you couldn’t seem to focus on anything, except the fact he was taking you to the gala tomorrow. Did he like you?

Getting into your bed, it wasn’t long before you fell asleep, Coriolanus heavy on your mind. 

[thebadboyfanclub]

My Hearts Soldier (Cregan x Reader)

This is the first time I write for Cregan and it was thrilling, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think

(Y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon, when Rhaenyra gave birth to the twins she felt like her life finally had meaning, as she held them for the first time she could not help but she’d tears of joy, her beautiful babies that cuddled in their mothers arms were the most perfect thing Rhaenyra had ever seen.

“(Y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon, welcome to winterfell”

“Why thank you, we are here to pass a message to Lord Cregan Stark”

“Of course, follow me please”

(Y/n) and Jacaerys walked side by side as their dragons stayed back, the ill tempered Vermax and the pink shedragon Stardust had quickly gained some attention from bystanders that came so close to a dragon for the first time.

“Lord Cregan, (y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon wish to see you”

“Gladly, the Targaryens are always welcome here in the north. It is a pleasure to meet the future heirs of the realm”

(Y/n) felt her heart stop when the man approached, it was like gazing upon her future, the man held a different type of beauty than the men in kings landing, the man was quite tall, strong features with a thick dark beard, even with the fur he was wearing you could still identify his strong muscular body, it was the first time (y/n) flustered for a man.

“We are here to give you a message, from our queen Rhaenyra”

“We heard of the passing of King Viserys the peaceful, I am so sorry for your loss”

“Our mother is calling banners for support my lord, against her half brother Aegon who claims to be the true heir of the throne”

“I wasn’t aware that king Viserys had changed his mind”

“He had not, it is a matter of gender that has caused this… unfortunate situation”

The room roared from Cregans laughter, instinctively (y/n) reached to hold her twins hand as tight as possible, fearing that the Stark son had gone rogue, yet she remained tall, waiting until the lord expressed himself while silently wishing the lord had not gone completely off the rails.

“My father gave his oath in front of the iron throne to ward the north for queen Rhaenyra, I do not wish to side with bastards that think they have a better shot at the throne because they were born with peckers, you are more than welcome to stay here, our banners and men are yours”

-

Cregan had worked hard to get close to the princess, he admired her courage as she leaned over the table to lead the armies to war, the most astonishing thing was that she was not ashamed to show emotion, her vulnerability was her secret weapon, she was a compassionate woman that led either her heart. Cregan was the one that caught her before she crashed to the floor when news from dragon stone came, declaring her younger brother dead.

“No you are lying, our Luke is not dead”

Jacaerys and Cregan could still hear her deafening scream of grief, she was inconsolable as she cried in Cregans arms from the pain she was experiencing, (y/n) had a soft spot for the gentle Lucerys, she could not comprehend that her little Luce was no longer with them

“My baby, he can’t die he didn’t do anything wrong”

She whispered in Cregans arms while he rubbed her back, Cregan was infuriated by the death that caused such despair to the twins, especially his defiant princess, he held her close as well as restrained her from going on her dragon to look for her uncle Aemond, fury blinded her to the point that she wanted to go toe to toe with the queen of all dragons Vhagar, Jacaerys and Cregan had to drag the princess in her room, Jacaerys even stayed with her until she slept to ensure she would not escape from the window, her sobs echoed through the walls until exhaustion overtook and her swollen eyes closed to lead her off for a land where there was no war and she could ran barefoot with her siblings.

“She finally fell asleep”

“You are a good brother Jacaerys, you protected your sister even if you are grieving yourself”

“I already lost one sibling, I did not intend to lose another”

“You won’t, we will make sure of that”

“That much I know, since you want her to become the lady of the north”

Cregan was usually quick witted, now at the hour of the bat with Jacaerys sitting directly at the head of his own chair he was left stunned, how could he respond to that? It was not a lie, however this was a delicate matter specifically at a time like this.

“We should not speak of such things at this trying times”

“I am watching you Cregan, you are honourable but if you are planning to marry my sister you must prove yourself worthy”

-

The war had been brutal, brothers fought brothers, dragons killed dragons, the colour red that spilled from bodies stained all of Westeros, innocents were slaughtered, babies ripped from their mothers arms, men begging for a quick death.

(Y/n) saw the stranger in the eye as she lost her twin brother, her step father, even one of her baby brothers Joffrey was taken from them, there had been countless nights that (y/n) could not drift off to slumber, flashes of people dying racing through her head, haunting her and tormenting her while she remained in the north.

Cregan had stepped up to be her companion, the north buzzed over the news of Cregan bending the knee in the presence of all to offer his sword in protection of the princess (y/n), to guard her against all harm, he fought with the power of thousands of men, a few moments before Jacaerys had succumbed to his wounds he vowed to protect his princess or die trying, every time that they saw each other after a battle they would ran to each others arms, thanking the gods that the other was alive and well.

When Cregan got injured (y/n) was furious, she slept by his bed for a fortnight, refusing to allow any maester to touch him, she tended to his wounds and fed him back to health, he battled the fever that occurred due to a minor infection and came out victorious, the servants would gush over finding the princess in her rocking chair and the Stark king in his bed still they held hands to find comfort in one another, a subtle sign of “I am here, you are safe” through intimacy.

“You know you needn’t sleep on a wooden chair, I will be fine if you step off just for a few hours to rest”

“No, what if the fever gets worst?”

“I can call the servants, I have yet to lose my voice nor my mind”

Cregan could detect the stubborn emotions (y/n) was experiencing, the battle had intimidated her tremendously, she would not risk stepping off to lose him. Cregan chuckled at her stiff lip while she rocked back and forth slightly, he should have already known there was no one that could get through (y/n)s thick head.

“Sleep with me then”

“Pardon?”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us”

“I can see that I just-“

“Are you going to deny a wounded soldier their request”

(Y/n) hesitated for a few moments, thoughts of what could happen if she were to sleep in the same bed with him in combination of fearing she might hurt him while moving in her sleep. She puffed out a breath and sat up from her chair to give in and very carefully lie down next to him, in a blink of an eye Cregan collided his chest with her back to get as close as humanly possible, the smell of citrus and chamomile engulfed his senses.

“You smell like a dream”

“You stink of sweat”

“It’s the stench of a champion”

-

“Mother”

“Oh my precious daughter, my dearest love”

(Y/n) engulfed her mother in her arms, to see another family member alive and well after such tragic deaths was a blessing for the both of them. Rhaenyra tenderly placed her hands on (y/n)s cheeks as tears streamed down to both of the women’s cheeks, happy tears of the war ending and going against all odds to win, the black queen finally had her throne and her daughter back.

“Mother, I would like to introduce you to Cregan Stark”

“It is an honour to be in your presence your grace”

Cregan bowed to Rhaenyra who raised a brow at her daughter, Cregan had arrived on dragon back with her daughter, naturally (y/n) would have grown close to the warden of the north, despite that this type of familiarity was not expected.

“I must thank you Lord Cregan for protecting my daughter”

“I am afraid it is the other way around, if (y/n) had not come to my aid during a battle I would have already met my ancestors, howbeit your daughter raves that the scar suits me more”

(Y/n) giggled at the slight jab, Cregan had earned himself a scar that went from his brow all the way down to his cheek, thankfully he did not suffer the same fate as the now dead one eyed prince, it was only the scar that (y/n) had once commented how “it adds character”.

Rhaenyra remained silent as her eyes went from the Stark man to her daughter, she knew her daughter like the back of her hand this was no friendship, (y/n) was not even dressed in her own typical clothing, she was a thick cape that was probably made for her while she was at the north, the union reminded her of her late lover Harwin, how the man hid in the shadows to protect her and created a safe haven for (y/n) to feel protected.

“I have heard tales of you Lord Cregan, the young wolf that bend the knee and swore loyalty to my daughter after we lost our Jacaerys”

“Your daughter is a fierce woman, after the tragic loss I felt the need to declare that the north will keep fighting on her side”

“(Y/n)s side? Not mine?”

“Of course your grace I meant-“

“I know what you meant I am only jesting, I am thankful for all that you have done and for bringing my daughter back to me”

“About that mother, there was something we would like to discuss with you”

Rhaenyra took a deep inhale through the nose and change of demeanour she identified from her daughter. (Y/n) took her mothers arms in hers while Rhaenyra eyeballed her daughter, in her mind her daughter was still a babe, any time she peeped at her the image of (y/n) coddling in her arms wailing for her mother popped up, Rhaenyra gave a half uneasy smile expecting her daughter to speak up.

“The north has been a major help for your win for the throne your grace, allow me to request something in return as a thank you”

“You speak the truth, north was the strongest force and for that I will always be grateful, what is it that you ask?”

“Nothing would make me happier than for her grace the queen to allow me to be betrothed to your daughter, the princess”

Rhaenyra was not a fool, she predicted the words that would utter from the man’s mouth before they were even formed. As a queen, if the future heir was to be betrothed to the warden of the north it would be a perfect match, as a mother she had just gotten her daughter back, how could she give her away to winterfell?

“(Y/n) is to be the heir of the iron throne, how would she rule from winterfell?”

“When the time comes we will figure something out mother”

“It is certainly uneasy to answer such a request after you just arrived”

“I will not leave immediately, I plan to visit you as much as I can I will not abandon you, especially after half of our family is gone”

“Is this what you truly want?”

“When we lost Jacaerys, Cregan would wait every night by my bedside until I fell asleep, every morrow he would wake me up to make sure I ate, he is my hearts soldier”

Rhaenyras heart skipped a beat at the last sentence. (Y/n) had inherited her fathers spirit, it was like he spoke through her, this union would bring justice to Harwins name since Rhaenyra always wondered what life would have been like if she had married Ser Harwin, for a mere moment Rhaenyra wondered what would Harwin say about this, if he was smiling down on his precious daughter that found her true mate.

Cregan was (y/n)s Harwin, the man silently and passionately yearned for her affection and love while supporting her and wanting the best for her, a devoted young man that sacrificed his life and army to declare his feelings to her the way he knew how, he was confident and strong enough to be a wonderful king consort on her daughters side.

“Do you love her?”

“She a menace to deal with and sometimes I find myself wondering if she will ever admit defeat instead of butting heads with me, there is no one else like her and I pray when we are old and wrinkly she won’t knock off my cane”

“Very well then, we will send ravens to every house in Westeros, thanking the ones that remained by our side, the Targaryen heir is to be wed to the lord of the north. Your wedding will be one for the history”

Requests are open!

[yoru-no-seiiki]

YANDERE ! EREN JAEGER X READER HEADCANNONS

TW/CW: mdni, yandere themes, masturbation.

Have some headcannons while I wait for my henna to dry/watch the first season with my cousin.

I wish there were more who wrote for Canon! Eren. Like don’t get me wrong, Modern AU Eren is hot but I mean, fuckboys can be seen everywhere.

But Canon! Eren is batshit insane and that’s exactly what I love about him. I wish they at least add that to his modern counterpart instead of making him a basic bad boy but I mean if that’s what they’re into 🤷‍♂️

Anyways Exhibit A of why Eren in all eras is my fave AOT character:

Like I said, he’s batshit insane.

He has directly killed 2 people by the age of nine, and assisted in killing the third. Although this is out of self defense it still can’t be denied HOW HE TReateD THE SECOND DUDE HOLY SHIT- THE AMOUNT OF TIMES HE STABBED HIM.

Normal kids would just be terrified, maybe be even fight blinding and/or cry, probably even run tf away. But ya boi brought a knife and even deceived the person at the door.

EXHIBIT B:

He’d be a great yandere.

Let’s say that we age up our cast and make 18 the minimum age of enlistment (making him 21 around the attack of Trost).

Trainee Eren has the will of fucking steel. He’ll do whatever it takes to wipe out titan-kind, to make the cruel world he lived in finally know true peace.

To be with you in that new world he’ll build.

You were one of his fellow trainees. Someone who unconditionally believed and supported his desire to see the outside world. You didn’t treat him like a child as Mikasa did, and you weren’t so oddly distant when it came to his help and presence like Armin.

At first it started as a crush. An infatuation towards your looks and kind demeanor which morphed into a twisted sense of love.

You were the only one that understood him, that resonated with his wavelength.

He definitely frequently masturbated to your image. Stress was a known issue amongst trainees and soldiers alike. Many drank to rid themselves of such a problem. But to him just the thought of you two becoming one gave him relief and pleasure that any form of alcohol could never give. In the aftermath of the Trost incident, when faced with your unconscious, battered body he pulls a Shinji and jerks one off. Covering you with his release.

You think you’ll leave his mind once he gets busy with being a titan-shifter and the future of Eldia and such but nope.

Eren only has you and the new world he promised in his heart, body and soul. And that’ll never change.

EXHIBIT C:

Eren believes in freedom first and foremost.

So none of that kidnapping. At least in earlier years. He just wants you to be happy and safe. He’s more of the type to hurt others for your sake rather than be abusive and take away your rights.

Eren in later seasons has the capacity to keep you isolated, and that he will.

Like in other (unfortunately rare) fics of him, he keeps you in a farm land with a bunch of loyalists. If reader is afab! or has the ability to bear a child (for those with abo ocs or something idk) he’ll tell them that you are bearing his child and the future inheritor of his powers.

Otherwise he’ll come up with other excuses like having you as a tactician or war-hero they have to pay respects to.

He’ll give you as much freedom as he can provide while keeping you away from danger.

Though one might argue that his version of freedom for you is just an illusion.