#also i’d refuse to look him in the eye if this happened

[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

Pairing: Harwin Strong × Targ oc

Warning: Childbirth, mentions of violence, swearing, blood, character death

3.09

“If he wasn’t my kin, I’d have his head on a fucking spike!”

Harwin gently tilts your chin up so you’re facing him. His fingers are coated in your blood from your nose, but it seems insignificant in comparison to what your son has suffered. “You need to have a maester check you over, Vaella.”

“And take them away from our sons?” Feeling overwhelmed with his hand on you, you brush it off and start pacing again, using the movements as a way to not only cope with the adrenaline of anger bubbling inside you but also the pain slowly seeping across your body. You felt as if a sudden fever was coming on, but you refused to let up. “I don’t understand why he would do such a thing to his own flesh and blood.”

“Some people are just inherently bad.”

“But he’s my brother,” you weep. “That should mean something.”

Tears sting your eyes as you look at your sons through the doorway as they speak with the maesters. Aerion's eyes were red and puffy from crying, and when you excused yourself to go clean up your nose, which had started bleeding again, distressing Aerion further Harwin asked Elinda, your sister's handmaiden, to stay by your side. The young woman was coddling him as if your eldest son were her own. Vaegon was lying flat on his stomach in a deep slumber due to the high volume of milk from the poppy he had consumed, with maesters surrounding him. Each of them is trying to figure out the best way to treat injuries to his lower back.

“Oh, my baby, my baby.”

Harwin chokes back a sob. You had expected him to be full of rage, but instead he looked defeated. Exhausted from the worry and frustrated from not being able to help. The palms of Harwin’s hands had small crescent-shaped cuts on them from him clenching his hand so tight.

When you feel your nosebleed has stopped, you go and sit beside Aerion again, holding him close to you as he sobs, “It’s my fault. I couldn’t stop him; I couldn’t protect my brother.”

“Shh, none of this is your fault.”

“He called us bastards,” Aerion sobs. “And Jace, Luke, and Joff. He said I was the only one who didn’t know.”

You look up at Harwin; his eyes are glimmering with what you suspect is fear. Harwin crouched down to be level with him and spoke softly, “Listen, lad, I will tell you the truth. This isn’t about bastardy, the greens... They don’t want a woman sitting on the throne. They will say anything to discreet princess Rhaenyra and her sons, so the king's firstborn son sits on the throne.”

Aerion looks from Harwin to you, confused. “But if anything happened to Princess Rhaenyra and her sons, the throne would go to my mother before it did to my uncle; she’s the second-born child of the king.”

The sweet innocence in his voice breaks your heart.

“They would just do the same to your mother, lad. The Hightowers want the firstborn of Alicent to rule.”

“Will they kill us so Aegon will be the heir?"

You kiss the crown of his head multiple times and say, “No, SweetPea, it won’t come to that.”

—

You let out a sharp breath as the maester explained the extent of damage your son was suffering. Vaegon had snuck out to confront his uncle after overhearing Aemond say Aegon would be king one day. When Vaegon told him he was wrong, Aemond called your son’s bastards, then pushed Vaegon down the concrete steps.

Aerion squeezed your hand; your poor boy blamed himself. He saw his brother leaving and chased after him, but Vaegon inherited your stubbornness and refused to go back to their rooms.

“Unfortunately, it’s too early to tell if the price will ever walk again.”

Tears sting your eyes, making your vision slightly blurred. “Is he able to travel, or will it cause him more pain?”

“I’d advise a high dose of milk from the poppy for the boat ride back to avoid any distress... but in truth, Princess Prince has lost feeling below the waist.”

You grip tightly onto Harwin’s arm; none of it seems real. You glance at the door when Elinda enters the room; she reminds you of a frightened mouse with how she trembles as she walks over to you. The handmaiden had been sent to bring your daughter and to inform your sister and father that they needed to come as a matter of urgency.

“Where is Ada?” Harwin is alarmed.

“Ser Harwin, Princess... She is with Princess Rhaenyra in the great hall. There has been another incident involving Prince Aemond.”

—

All eyes are on you when you burst through the Great Hall’s main door. The handmaiden who informed you of the incident was running not far behind; she had briefly filled you and Harwin in on the conflict that transpired between the children and the adults. The first thing you notice are the drops of blood on the floor and Rhaenyra holding her bleeding arm while your father's dagger lies by Alicent’s feet. There was a clear divide in the room, with your family standing on one side and Greens standing on the other.

“Ada?” You call for your daughter, and panic sets in when you can’t see her among the various bodies in the room. “Ada!”

“I’m sorry!” She comes out from behind Lord Lyonel and runs to you, her cheeks flushed from crying. She clings to your growl and sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You brush her hair out of her face and say, “It’s alright, my sweet, it’s alright.”

You clap your hand over hers, keeping her firmly by your side; she grabs ahold of Harwin’s hand as well. You look to your father for any kind of indication of what he was planning to do, but he seems lost in his own thoughts, so you turn to Alicent.

“Did he tell you what he did to—”

“The king already knows about the slander hurled towards my sons,” Rhaenyra says.

You feel blood dribble from your nose onto your lip as you stare at Rhaenyra, speechless. You quickly wipe it away with the sleeve of your dress. An insult was the least of your worries. But she didn’t know; none of them did. One son suffers in agony, while the other's heart fills with guilt. All the while, your brother went off and happily claimed a dragon. You glance at your Aemond, feeling void of sympathy that he’d lost an eye. He was smiling beneath his bandage; he was proud of what he’d done.

“Do you have any remorse for what you did to my son?”

Your father finally finds his voice. “Vaella, what happened to my grandson?”

Aemond looks down at his feet, the smugness on his face fading, which only infuriates you further. Your voice cracks as you speak, “I’ll give you one last chance; tell them what you did.”

Alicent looks at you stunned; it’s clear she has no idea what you’re referring to. She waits a beat, then speaks thickly, “My son was attacked by Prince Lucerys. He lost an eye.”

“An eye? Prince Aemond said the Hightowers were planning to usurp my sister's throne, and then he almost killed my son. ” You turn to face your father and say, "Your grace, your grandson has been maimed and may never walk again! And his brother is traumatized from witnessing such a horrendous act.”

Madness and rage were spreading inside you like poison; perhaps you should have listened to your husband and stayed with your sons.

“Vaella…”

Harwin tries to say something to you, but you storm over to the king, who looks just as defeated as the rest of you. “Father,” you speak in High Valyrian. “This is them; this is the greens. I’ve told you again and again about the agenda that they have been pushing. That a woman isn’t fit to rule and your grandsons are bastards, and now the lies have run so deep that her son thinks it’s okay to physically attack mine and Rhaenyra’s children.”

“Vaella,” he sighs. “I cannot change what has been done; I cannot mend the wounded.”

“Do something.” Tears roll down your cheek. “Aemond is just a boy repeating what his mother and grandsire said. Alicent has just assaulted the heir to the throne and attempted to harm Lucerys. Arrest her, and I’ll feed that traitor who dare calls himself your hand to Varos!”

“Alicent is my wife.”

“Your wife?” You scoff. “The Hightowers are parasites feeding off dragon's blood. My love for her children is the only reason I’m not bringing fire and blood down upon their entire house.”

Harwin places his hand over your chest, urging you to step back. Harwin wasn’t fluent in High Valyrian, but he knew it well enough to recognise the threats you were making. “The king wishes to do nothing.” He picks Ada up with one arm and takes your hand with the other. “The best thing we can do is get our family back to Dragonstone.”

“I’ll have a ship prepared immediately,” Lord Corlys says. “It will be ready within the hour.”

Harwin nods and says, “Thank you.”

You felt your heat tearing itself apart; not only were your sons suffering, but your father had become so weak he was no longer able to defend your house. Shaking your head, you go to leave the great hall with your daughter and husband but stop when you reach the doorway. You thought you could handle the pain in your lower abdomen, but a sudden sharpness causes you to claw at the fabric of your dress. You sway on your feet slightly, and Harwin wraps his arm around you, keeping you up right.

“Send for a maester!” Daemon calls out.

“Fuck,” you grit your teeth and squeeze his arm tightly, feeling blood trickling down your thighs. “The babe is coming.”

—

“You need to push, princess.”

“I am fucking pushing!” You bark. “This shouldn’t be happening; it’s too soon.”

You grit your teeth and try to focus on the warmth of your sister's hand on your back, grounding you in the present moment. Harwin was waiting in the next room with your children; you were glad. You couldn’t bear to look at him, not when this was your fault. You should have made sure the knights posted outside the room your children were supposed to be sleeping in were capable of stopping them from sneaking out. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to become so upset. If anything happened to your baby, it was your fault.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were focused on the bloodstained sheets below. You had been pushing for hours with no results. “Don’t let them do it to me,” you sob. “I don’t want to die like our mother.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, but she forces a smile. “You will have a baby in your arms soon, and the pain will be over.”

The contractions come hard and fast now, like waves crashing against rocks. Sweat trickles down your forehead; the pain intensifies, but you know it's nature's way of telling you to start pushing again. You bear down with each passing moment, feeling the muscles in your abdomen tense and release as if they were being pulled apart.

A few more moments of agonizing pain pass, and then the room is filled with a baby’s cries. The midwife cuts the cord and then places the baby on your chest. “It’s a girl.”

“Cassandra, her name is Cassandra.” Tears of happiness streamed from your eyes. Your beautiful girl had thick, dark hair and eyes to match her fathers. “She’s perfect—oh fuck, I think another one is coming.”

One of the midwives pushes your legs open and says, “The princess is crowning.”

The room fills with the sound of people rushing around, and blood starts spilling onto the ground. The bleeding was heavier than before. One of the handmaids gives you an apologetic look as she lifts the baby from your chest and says, “I’ll clean her up, princess.”

“Take her to Harwin.”

Rhaenyra wipes a cloth over your forehead. “Sister, are you sure?”

“I don’t want her in the room when I die.” You let out an agonizing scream. “Just take her and go!”

Your eyes become heavy, and your vision fades as you watch the handmaid wrap your daughter in a blanket. Rhaenyra shakes your shoulder, yelling for you to stay awake, but your sight is locked firmly on your newborn. Before she disappears from sight, your vision goes black.

—

Feeling his wife’s absence, Harwin opens his eyes and sits up in the bed, squinting. He looks around the room, hoping to see her, but Vaella is nowhere to be seen. He looks down into the crib next to him and sees Cassandra scrunching her face up while sleeping. His little girl was smaller and sickly-looking, but she has fed well from the wet nurse and is now sleeping soundly. Getting to his feet, Harwin goes straight to the door and is about to order the knights on the opposite side to search for her, but hearing a humming noise, he stops.

He follows the noise to the balcony and finds Vaella sitting on the ground, rocking, and Rhea in her arms, as if the dead baby would take comfort in being in her mother's arms. When the handmaid brought Cassandra through to the other room, he knew something was wrong and went to be beside his wife. The maester and midwife tried to force him out of the room, insisting it was no place for a man to be.

“And which one of you is going to make me leave my wife’s side?”

Rhaenyra interjects before anyone else can respond, “Ser Harwin will be staying by my sisters side.”

Harwin had felt so helpless when he first saw her laying on the birthing bed, with him unable to do anything to help his wife, who no longer had the energy to scream. Aerion, Vaegon, and Ada needed their mother's strength and courage, something no amount of love from him could provide them. Vaella was covered in sweat and blood; he was so sure he’d lose her. But his princess was a fighter and pulled through, yet the second girl she gave birth to did not.

Harwin was conflicted; he didn’t want to disturb her, but he didn’t want his wife to feel alone.

His decision is made when Vaella looks up at the sky, watching the dragons flying above, and begins talking out loud. “The golden dragon is Sunfyre; he’s bonded with your uncle Aegon. The blue one flying beside him is Dreamfyre, your auntie Helaena’s dragon. The largest one is your brother Vaegon’s dragon, Nightmare.”

Harwin fights back at Sob when Vaella’s voice breaks when she mentions Vaegon. He backs off slowly. She needed the time with Rhea as their daughter's funeral would be held once they arrived on Dragston. Ser Laenor and Rhaenyra had left on Dragonback, so arrangements would be made for their arrival. The maesters advised waiting until Vaella was fully healed before traveling home due to her blood loss, but she was desperate to return home. So did he. Harwin didn’t doubt the masters of Driftmark’s capabilities since they worked miracles to save his wife, but he also didn’t trust any maesters he didn’t know to care for his children.

Hearing a soft knock at the door, Harwin goes over and answers. His mouth goes dry. “Brother.”

“I hope I haven’t woken the princess.”

Harwin steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Without being asked, the knight on duty goes and stands at the bottom of the hallway, giving them privacy. From the way the sun peeked through the clouds, Harwin guessed it was roughly five in the morning. “Is this an urgent matter?”

“Yes.” Larys puts his weight against his stick and whispers, “My bees have been busy. And I’ve heard whispers.”

“I’m not interested in gossip.”

Hints of a smirk appear on the clubfoot’s face. “It involves Princess Vaella and the unfortunate events that took place last night.”

Rage burns inside of him, and Harwin fits a clench at his side. “What do you know?”

“Do you remember what type of tea the princess was drinking?”

The question throws him off. “It was red and had a horrid smell to it. Vaella said it was her first time tasting it.”

“Hmm, that’s what I feared. One of the ladies cleaning the room said the smell reminded her of barberry.”

“A fruit tea?”

Larys nods, as if the answer were obvious. “For you and me, it’s perfectly safe, but not for pregnant women, as it can trigger miscarriages. Tell me, did the princess suffer from any vomiting or nosebleeds prior to going into labor?”

Harwin gulps down. “She spat the tea out.”

“But she may have ingested it in small doses without knowing,” Larys leans in again. “Between us, brother, I find it rather particular that princess Vaella was perfectly fine on Dragonstone, but as soon as she arrived on Driftmark, she’s poisoned.”

“My daughter is dead. We will speak of this another time.”

Harwin enters the room and presses his back against the door. If what Larys said was true, then this was... He couldn’t even begin to process what it all meant. Not now, not when he needed to grieve.

[anadiasmount]

omg , being stuck in elevator with jude🤭

unexpected timing - small jb blurb.

you looked up and then double looked when you saw the tall man enter through the double doors. you quickly look down and go back to texting, telling your friend you would be at the club no longer than 30 minutes at most. you shift your weight from one leg to another, feeling a bit exposed as your short black dress showed off your legs.

he saw you cross your legs, leaning against the walls, jude couldn’t help but roam his eyes against your figure, his throat becoming dry and swallowing the words he wanted to let out his mouth. “so fucking perfect… so beautiful.”

it felt like eternity, but in reality it had been about 10 seconds. a sudden jolt pushed you away from the wall, letting out a small gasp, where you stumbled and awaited your fall. but a warm and tight embrace held you back, making eye contact with the stranger who had entered prior. his eyes were brown, lashes long, and tiny wrinkles that made him look so attractive.

you let out a breath, blinking quickly before apologizing quickly and nervously. “i-i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what happened,” you struggled to let out, dusting off your dress and fixing your handbag. “but thank you. for you know, preventing my fall,” you joked awkwardly.

“it was nothing don’t worry. glad i could help-”

“sorry for the inconvenience but we’re having elevator issues. an update will be heard in a second.”

“i’m jude,” he extended his hand out to which you nervously shook. “i’m y/n,” you hadn’t realized but your hands kept shaking as the two of you stared into each others eyes. a tingle of sparkles in your tummy when he gave you a huge grin. “where were you headed?,” he asks when you pull away and break eye contact.

instead of taking his previous spot, he leans on the wall you’re on, running his tongue against his lips before smirking at your anxious body language. you hadn’t met this man once, how was he capable of making your legs feel shaky? heart racing? butterflies in your stomach?

“my friends and i are head to a local club nearby. to celebrate her recent breakup,” you say laughing, then bite the inside of your bottom lip as he roamed his eyes once again on your figure. “such a shame you’re going alone? where’s your boyfriend?” jude says, taking a small step close to you. testing the waters.

“don’t have one. not interested in a relationship,” you smirk, catching jude off guard, his brow raising. jude felt the need to learn more about you, and maybe change your mind about a relationship. he wasn’t trying to be cocky, but he knew he had the effect on you. watching as goosebumps take over your skin.

“hmm really? not even a small date?”

“nope” you say popping the p at the end. “dates are such a joke. either their only interest is to fuck, or to play or toy with your feelings and pull the “i’m not ready for a relationship right now” card. dates only waste your time,” you say scoffing. you weren’t trying to be rude, but it was how you felt. a part of you could say you were interested and intrigued by him. “i also don’t have any interests at the moment who i’d go out with.”

“you’re looking at one now. you say dates are a joke, but it’s maybe because you haven’t been on a real date where they properly treated you. valued your feelings? made you feel wanted?” he said as he walked closer and caged you into the corner where you held onto the poll.

“firefighters are on their way, but it’s an hour max if not more as they’re answering a trauma unit. if you need assistance click the red button but for now hang on tight.”

your breathing changed, now rapidly as he leaned down closer to your lips. “we’re gonna be here for a while. might as well get to know each other before we go out on our date. i don’t do this the modern way, im old schooled and i promise i won’t let you down,” jude said whispering along your lips. he was confident. confident about you, about your date, and confident he could change your mind.

you leaned your lips closer to his, in a teasing matter, being able to smell his minty breath and cologne. jude’s eyes shifting from your eyes to your glossed lips. “you jude, might have interested me in the slightest bit. but you would have to tell me more than being overly confident i’ll agree on a date with you.”

[sincerelyakilljoy]

THE GOLD COIN THAT GLITTERS AND GLINTS

pairing - aventurine x gambler + debtor!fem reader length - 11.4k words warnings - nsfw/18+ content, fem!reader, some fingering (with his gloves on), slight choking, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, doll, etc), he's kinda mean, teasing, penetrative sex, guns (barely), gambling, aventurine whines a bit, kinda dom aventurine (?), slight coercion/threats (reader is consenting)

summary - you ran away from the IPC to penacony because of the huge debt you owed and couldnt pay. years later when youre out gambling a familiar figure appears with another offer you cant refuse.

NOTES

honestly i can see him being like this in all honesty, he definitely would be an ass tbh...this is proofread (ty to my frennn) but sorry for any mistakes :p also ive never gambled so writing that was a bit hard, so sorry if it sounds stupid

The smell of cedar and smoke fills your senses as you enter the casino, eyes scanning the floor before shifting to one of the casino’s cashier windows.

You huff as you saunter your way over to the cashier, lugging a briefcase along with you.

A sweet smile spreads along your features as you greet the cashier. “I’d like to exchange my cash.” You hum, setting your briefcase on the counter.

“For how much?” The cashier asks, clicking a few things on his kiosk before looking up at you as he reaches out and grabs the briefcase, flicking open the metal clamps and cracking it open.

“A million.” You say with a smile, watching as his face shifts with emotions you don’t even bother to acknowledge. “Hurry please, ‘m a bit busy.” Gently urging him to hurry.

Your tone is a bit rude but you don’t mean to sound like that, you’re in a rush and the face the cashier made only made you feel anxious and like he was going to take a bit too long.

The cashier only nods and hurries to transfer your money to chips, opening the briefcase to pull out the stacks of cash.

“M’sorry if I was a bit rude,” You apologize, you’re voice a bit awkward as you try to sound a bit nicer. It's not on purpose but..you’re a bit “tone deaf” per se. “I’m just in a bit of a rush.”

The cashier mumbles a “it’s fine”, clearly focused on his job at hand.

You don’t say anything more than that, only leaning forward against the counter as he deals with your money.

After a few minutes he sets a briefcase containing your poker chips on the counter, pushing the briefcase towards you. “Here you go, ma’am..” 

You grab the cool handle of the briefcase, nodding a polite thank you to the cashier before walking away.

You look around the casino, looking at the games being played. Men surrounding tables with women on their arms while smoking fat cigars, some young, some much older. 

You walk around a bit before seeing a poker table with an empty seat. You hum to yourself before walking over, glancing at the people seated. “Can I join?” You ask with a smile. 

The other 6 people look at you, eyeing you pointedly. You can’t tell if they’re being judgemental of some sorts, their looks a bit annoying to you. 

“Of course sweetheart, take a seat.” A man says, his voice drunk sounding and gruff. 

You angle your head to look at him, raising a brow at the nickname he called you but you relent to not say anything more and just slide into the seat that happens to be next to the man.

As you sit the cashier deals the cards smoothly, sliding them in all directions cleanly.

After you’ve been dealt your cards you pick them up fluidly, eyeing the cards in your hands while keeping a straight face, a poker face if you will.

“Place your bet.” The dealer says, looking at the person next to him, waiting for his bet.

“Hundred thou’.” The man says, stacking his chips next to him on his left.

You swallow at the amount, a bit annoyed with how high the bet was already but what can you do? 

You wait for someone to raise it but when nobody does the game starts.

You look down at your cards again, listening as the players place their bets, all of them not raising the previous price at all.

“Raise three hundred thousand.” You hum once it’s your turn, placing more chips on the table. You think to yourself whether or not it’s good to bet so much more this early on but you decide that it doesn’t matter much.

You have more money waiting for you in your account if you really needed it and to be cocky, you’re real fucking lucky.

A few at the table call while two of them fold, placing their cards face down and pushing them to the dealer before abruptly leaving, losing anything they’ve bet so far.

After the two leave the dealer places three cards face up on the table, an Ace of hearts, Seven of spades and a 3 of clovers.

You smile slightly to yourself, already seeing a in so early in the game.

Oh, you’re definitely winning this.

You won big.

Another 1.2 Million to your savings all from one match of poker. Lucky might just be your middle fucking name.

A bit smugly you get up from the poker table, collecting your neat, little chips in your briefcase, watching as the others at the table grumble curses while staring daggers at you.

You couldn’t care less. Feeling smug and cocky, winning one round is really getting to your head. 

You hum a little song to yourself as you walk away, looking around for something else to play. But everything seems to be a little boring tonight, after winning so much money and one shot you didn’t know what you should play next in all honesty.

You walk around the floor, heels softly clacking on the soft, velvet floors as you eye tables for anything that even slightly grabs your attention. 

That’s when you hear loud voices, someone yelling.

“This fuckers-hic- cheating..!” A drunken voice booms and nosily, you can’t help but walk over to see what’s going on.

A drunkard waving his hands at a man as a bouncer tries to grab him and calm him down. 

The man seems calm, looking at the man with almost too natural looking smirk adoring his features. Blonde hair framing his face and a hat that looks like a fedora on, slightly hiding his features with rose tinted glasses on.

“Cheating? Don’t be so mad, maybe you’re just unlucky, hm?” The man says, a bit sassily while he flips a gold coin in his hand.

This seems to only enrage the drunkard who swings at the blonde man who just steps back, causing the drunk idiot to stumble and fall.

“That’s embarrassing, don’t you think?” The blonde says, a smug look on his face as he looks down at the drunk condescendingly.

You watch as the drunk gets dragged out, yelling profanities at the blonde who just shrugs it off.

You swear you’ve seen the blonde somewhere but can’t put a finger on it, so to quench your curiosity you walk over to the table.

As you walk up you look at the table, seeing its roulette you feel confident that you might get even more lucky.

You ask the dealer to join who simply says yes and you move to sit on the stool at the table, directly across from the blonde. 

You attempt to get more glimpses of his face but can’t due to his hat and glasses.

The dealer calls for bets and each person places them, including yourself and the blonde across from you.

“Black, eleven.” He says, it almost seems like he’s bored as he smugly rests his chin on his palm, looking at the board as the dealer spins it.

As it spins you feel a bit nervous, roulette is more of a game of chance than anything, you just have to get lucky again.

And you do, the die landing in the slots you betted on.

You smile as chips get pushed your way, getting a slight thrill.

“Mm, seems like I wasn’t so lucky this round.” The blonde says with what seems to be a feigned sigh as he moves to pull off his hat, setting down next to him.

Then you’re painfully aware of how you recognized him.

IPC..he’s from the fucking IPC.

He smirks at you, cockily and knowingly, and you can’t help but fucking shiver from the way his eyes bore into you, almost saying “Recognize me?” 

You ponder on whether or not you should act like you don’t recognize him, playing a few more times with the risk of him possibly confronting you or just walk out with your winnings with the chance of him following and confronting you.

Both seem to have the same outcome.

So you play innocent, shifting your gaze away from his with a calm face in an attempt to hide your onslaught nervousness.

 You mumble your bet and push your chips forward, glancing at the blonde.

“Raise fifty million.” 

He said your debt, the exact amount of money you owe to the IPC, he’s fucking with you.

You clench your jaw to save face, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you stare down at your chips.

He laughs, the sound snapping you out of whatever daze you’re in.

“I’m kidding, raise it five hundred thousand.” He hums, pushing his chips forward as he eyes you pointedly before saying his color and number.

You swallow at the eye contact, internally screaming at yourself to just leave but you don’t, either way you’d seem suspicious no matter what you did so you decide to stay, matching his bet.

The dealer spins the board and you just feel dizzy watching it, sudden waves of anxiety washing over you as you think about what might happen later.

You haven’t paid your debt in over 5 years, deciding you’d rather disappear and be a fugitive to the IPC than pay the debt you owed. 

You only had them come after you once and that’s when you initially met the blonde.

Aventurine.

He was cynical, cocky and arrogant, wearing a smirk while threatening you.

The IPC had come for you when you still lived in the underground city of Belobog, broke and stupid you decided to take money from them as a loan.

A stupidly large amount of money that you didn’t even know what to do with. 

Initially you didn’t want to ask for much, only a thousand or so but greed got the best of you and you just wanted to get money, so you said the price. Fifty million.

When you got the money you were shocked, the check was so huge you didn’t even think you could cash it in at the bank. You didn’t spend much of the money until you heard more about the IPC, when they started to get exposed for their inhumanity.

“You took how much from the IPC?!” Your boss nearly blew your eardrums out with her shouting and you only looked at her stupidly, like you were caught doing something obscene.

“F..fifty mil- but I’ll pay it back! I’ll just take it slow..y’know..” You mumble, rubbing the back of your neck nervously as you lean back against the bar's counter.

“Girl, I don’t think you know how serious the IPC are about their money…” Her tone is serious, eyes boring into you with worry and fear. “You don’t understand what they’ll do to get every last dollar back, down to the penny.” 

You roll your eyes, picking up the broom that was leaning on the counter next to you.

“What? They'll take my stuff? Newsflash, I don’t have shit.” You hum ignorantly, slowly starting to sweep the floor.

“Girl, they will take you.” She grabs your wrist, it’s not tight or anything but she squeezes ever so slightly to let you know, she’s not kidding.

“If you don’t pay it back in the time they gave you in your contract, you're screwed. You don’t know what they will do to ya’.” 

You roll your eyes for the upteenth time, completely ignoring her worries even though she seems scared for you.

“Honestly, I’ll pay it back. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be okay.” You sigh softly, placing your hands on your boss’s shoulders, massaging softly in an attempt to soothe her worries.

“It’s not like they’ll threaten to kill me or anything.”

Those words rang through your head a year later, after missing nearly every payment required of you. It was only a matter of time they came for you. 

You pant heavily, watching as IPC troops stormed into your dingy, little apartment that you made home. Breaking picture frames, plates and anything else that got in their way. 

You’re backed up into a corner of your kitchen, two IPC troops pointing guns at you as they seem to wait for someone else to come deal with you. 

“W-what are y-” you’re interrupted by a gun shoving you in your stomach, pushing you back into the kitchen counter.

“Shut your mouth!” The trooper shouted, keeping his gun pressed to your abdomen, twisting it into your skin, making you cry out. 

You stand there, shaking as you watch them tear you home apart. 

In that moment all you can do is regret, regret taking the money while deep down knowing you weren’t going to even be able to pay the monthly payments, especially with the insane interest that was added to your debt.

With shuddering breaths you watch as someone else enters your apartment, seemingly dressed to the nines, you ponder on whether or not you could even afford a single piece of string used for his clothes.

He walks in, rudely stepping on the photos that were left scattered on the floor. He looks around, humming at the sigh of your home in shambles before turning to you.

“My, my…couldn’t have expected this..could you?” His voice is sickeningly condescending while keeping up his feigned friendly tone as he walks towards you, pulling off his rose tinted glasses that he simply tucks into a pocket.

You clench your jaw as he walks towards you, getting so close you’re practically huffing the expensive cologne he wears. 

The IPC troops step out of the kitchen, leaving you and the blonde alone.

“Hm, this place looks awfully…” He starts, turning his head to look at the state of your home. “Lived in, hm?” He looks at you, tilting his head to the side as he wears a disgusting smirk.

You don’t reply, only staring up at him in hatred and fear, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping the counter behind you.

“Can’t speak? That’s fine,” He shrugs, his eyes never leaving your face as he steps back a bit, giving you a bit of room in the small kitchen.

“You’re at least a bit aware of who I am, yes?” He asks, folding his arms as he looks at you.

You shake your head slowly. “I only know the IPC in general…nothing more.” You respond, your voice a bit shaky as you try to hold yourself together.

“Well, you do know what debt collectors are in general, right?” He hums, looking at you as he waits for you to answer. 

And when you don’t, he’s stepping forward once again. You raise a brow as you watch him step forward before a sharp yelp is pulled from your lips as his gloved hand comes out to roughly grab your jaw, yanking your face so close to him his nose brushes against your cheek.

“Right?” He sneers into your ear his tone losing its feigned friendliness, only a tone of disgust and malice lacing his voice. He tightens his grip on your jaw and it feels like he might be able to just pull it off.

You wince at the feeling, feeling your eyes water from the pain alone. So you squeak out a “yes” and thankfully he lets go but doesn’t step back.

“I’d advise you to use your words,” He sighs, sounding all too relaxed but it makes sense cause he’s not the one in the situation at hand. “I can be patient but at the moment patience isn’t enough, due to the fact we’ve already have been soo patient and kind to you for the past year.”

You listen in silence, rubbing your sore jaw as you start daggers at him.

“What’s with that look? You’ve more or less brought this upon yourself..” He laughs and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. “Let me explain to you what’s going to happen from today onwards,” He hums, taking out a gold coin before starting to toy with it in his fingers.

“Right now you still owe about forty nine million eight hundred fifty dollars, somehow you managed to pay the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars that you owed one month but for some reason you never paid the monthly payments again.” He looks you up and down, flicking the coin up into the air before catching it in his hand. 

“So, what happened to all the money you took?” He asks, tilting his head to the side slightly as he stares at you, still wearing a smug smile.

“I..I gave it away to people.” You lie, although you did give a lot of it away to friends, family or others in need you put the rest of it up. Why didn’t you just pay the monthly payments with that money? You didn’t even know, assuming that the IPC wouldn’t do anything to you for that money and the fact they probably have trillions of dollars to their name.

What’s a measly fifty million?

Clearly a lot if they’re doing this.

“Gave it away?” He repeats, raising a brow. “Generous aren’t you?” He says, before stepping closer to you once again.

“Let’s make a bet.” He positions the gold coin on his thumb and forefinger in a flicking position. “I’ll flip a coin, if you guess which side it lands on correctly I’ll give you some leeway, seventy five percent less interest and another year and a half to pay it back. How’s that sound?”

You stare at him with uncertainty, swallowing thickly as your hands tighten into fists, nails digging into your palm, leaving deep crescent shapes behind in your skin.

This man just stormed your house and trashed it to hell…how are you supposed to believe a single thing he says. 

“I know, how are you supposed to believe a thing I say?” He says, practically reading your mind and it scares you a bit. “Trust me…you’ll want to take this offer.” 

His tone feels like he’s not lying and the way he’s staring at you feels like burning holes right into you, silently telling you to hurry up and answer.

You exhale a shaky sigh before nodding. “Deal.”

“Hmph, good choice.” He hums before flipping the coin, smoothly catching it with his left hand. “Heads.” His voice is low as he stares you in the eyes, piercing you with his gaze as he clenches the count in his gloved hand.

“Tails.” You mutter, your voice shaky and quiet as you advert your gaze, looking down at his hand to avoid his eyes. Holding your breath in fearful anticipation as you wait for the reveal.

Slowly he opens his hand, the coin flipped on tails.

You let out a shuddering breath of relief as you see the coin, basically collapsing back against the counter as you hold back tears that threaten to roll down your cheeks.

“Awe, relieved are you?” He coos, voice sickeningly sweet and laced with condescendence.

He moves closer to you, invading your space as you back up instinctively, bumping against the counter that traps you. He reaches out and grabs your chin, not as harshly as before but firm enough to force you to look up at him.

“You’re quite lucky and here I was, ready to drag you out of here by the hair.” He laughs cynically, trailing one of his gloved fingers along your jaw. “Next time,” He starts, inhaling through his nose. “I won’t be so lenient. Next time, I’ll make sure you pay off your debt by any means the IPC sees fit, and trust me when I say this,” 

He leans in, breath fanning against your ear. “You’ll fucking wish you were dead.”

Those words ring in your ears, years later, in this moment. You’re screwed, screwed in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

You regret not just paying it back, you should’ve just paid it back. You don’t even know why you got so cocky, developing a gambling habit and deciding to run away, changing your name and doing whatever you can to disappear.

You went to Penacony, thinking it may be a safe haven due to how many people come and go there..but clearly it isn’t, now that you’re stuck in this unwinnable situation.

If you could, you'd drop to your knees and pray, maybe even lick the bastard's shoes while you’re at it. But you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts when you see chips getting pushed your way.

“Miss? You’ve won again.” The dealer says simply, pushing chips towards you.

You inhale sharply, knowing the amount may well be over the money you’ve already won. You’re feeling real lucky now.

You decide to push your luck. 

So, you put on a pretty smile, collect your chips and fucking book it.

Well not exactly, running in the casino will just make you seem stupid and suspicious so you turn, take your winnings and walk away, walking to a kiosk to cash out. 

Maybe it’s the paranoia but you swear that you can feel Aventurines eyes boring into you, feeling that piercing gaze sting your back, even when you’re away from where that man is. Yeah, you need to hurry the fuck up.

Quickly, you shove your winning into your briefcase before speed walking out of the casino.

You contemplate whether or not you should go back to your hotel room. The IPC could be there, waiting for you to show up. 

Instead of heading straight home, you go and walk around the city, trying to figure out what to do and where to go next. You’ve already done so much to get away, erasing yourself from Belobog completely and they still found you.

At this point it seems like you’ll have to fake your own death just to get away.

You walk around Penacony, taking in the sights as if it’s your first time there. Honestly, you’re just doing this to distract yourself. And you’re thinking and thinking about what you could’ve done differently back then and the answer is so painfully obvious. Never take the money.

If you felt like it, you would kick yourself for being such an idiot.

You walk through Penacony’s shopping district, not looking to buy anything at the moment but it’s nice to just look.

As you’re walking you see three IPC troops in the distance, talking to some woman while showing them a photo. 

You freeze, wondering if they could be asking about you.

I mean, there’s tons of people in debt with the IPC, they wouldn’t do this much for one person…right?

Wrong.

You watch as the woman glances around, the IPC troops filling her gaze before their sights land on you. 

One of them shouts at you and this time, you fucking book it.

Quickly pulling your heels off your feet to carry as you run in the direction of your hotel. You’re sure they’re on your ass, hearing heavy footsteps behind you as you run.

As you’re running you see a tight alley, dark and long. You look over your shoulder and see that they’re far behind but close enough to catch you if you take one wrong move.

Quickly you duck into the alley, hiding behind random clutter that’s in the alley.

You wait a second before hearing the troops stomp past the alley, yelling “where is she?!”.

You sigh a breath of relief, clutching your chest. You can’t believe you managed to lose them, panting and tired you laugh slightly to yourself, wondering how the hell they were so stupid.

You wait about thirty minutes before walking out the alley and running to your hotel, which conveniently was nearby. Although you look silly, running barefoot while carrying your heels and a big ass suitcase, you couldn’t care, hurrying into the building and to your hotel room.

You shove yourself into your room, shutting the door behind you before collapsing back against it, panting and breathing heavily as you slide down onto the floor, ultimately relieved.

Once you’re calmed down and caught your breath you get up to look around your hotel room, making sure nobody’s in there hiding to catch you off guard. You look in the kitchen area, being so paranoid you open the cabinets, searching the inside ‘cause honestly, the assholes could be hiding anywhere.

You check the bathroom next, yanking open the shower curtain and sighing a breath of relief as you see nobody’s there. You walk out the bathroom, sighing as you start to unzip your dress, exhausted and in dire need of a shower. You start to slip out your dress when you hear a voice clear its throat.

You whip your head around and see the blonde bastard, comfortably sitting in the recliner that came with your room. 

You don’t even know how and when he got in but the thought of him being able to come in without you noticing sends a chill up your spine.

“Nice room,” Aventurine hums, looking at you with a disgusting smirk that makes your blood run cold as he flips his gold coin in his fingers. “Now, how can you afford this room, a trip to the beautiful place of Penacony and of course, your gambling habit but cant pay back the debt you owe?” He sneers, a disgusting tone of voice that hides his hostility, a mocking sound of friendliness slipping from his lips.

You can't even respond, you've been caught. You stand in the mini hallway of your hotel room, hands balled into fists as you try to think of something to say but you can't. You're scared, really fucking scared. All you can think is about his threats, is he going to kill you? Enslave you to the IPC as some sort of labor worker until you pay off your debt? 

You're frozen, completely frozen even as he stands and walks towards you, piercing eyes boring into you, feeling like he can burn holes straight through your body with his eyes alone. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath as he gets closer to you, eyes already watering just from his presence. “I’m s..sorry..” You mumble, looking at him a bit pitifully.

“Hm,” Aventurine grabs your balled fists, easily opening your hand, revealing deep crescents dug into your skin from your nails. You flinch with his every movement, breath hitching as he unballs your fists. “You're only sorry you got caught, be honest with your apologies.” He runs his fingers over the marks on your palm, tracing circles over them. “Honestly, it wasn't very hard to find you. Rather simple actually.” He hums, releasing your hands. “It was a bit obvious you'd be here but since you've done so much to get rid of yourself, it took us a while. But you know what happens now, yes?”

You're dead silent, not even knowing what to say in this situation, you can't apologize, you can't bargain and you can't pay. You can only beg.

“i..i'm sorry.. I swear.. please..do..don't..” You start to cry, shaking and staring down at your feet and your hands move to clutch at your dress. “P..please…” You say with a grovely tone, voice shaky as you try to look up at him, eyes bleary with tears making it hard to see him, but you don't even know if you want to see his face.

“Aww, don't cry,” Aventurine coos, voice laced with feigned sweetness as he reaches up to cup your cheek, gloved thumb swiping your tears away. You flinch away from his touch, still crying and sniffling as he looks down at you. His touch is disgustingly tender, softly brushing away your tears as if he cares but when you look at the look on his face it's one of condescendence and power, smirking as if he's getting a kick out of seeing your tears. 

“Do you want help? Ill bargain with you one last time, how does that sound?” His voice disturbs you, making you shudder in fear. “If not, I'll just take you away now.”

It sounds like he wants you to take the deal, his second sentence a clear threat to force you into taking the deal. And like an idiot, you silently nod. 

He smirks even wider at this, both hands moving to cup your face and force you to look up at him, his hold is firm, making sure you wont move your head to look away. “Is that a yes? Use your words, sweetheart.” He disgusts you, you hate him. Your mind screams insults at him, but all you do is play exactly into his hand. “Y..yes..”

You feel horrible, but you dug yourself this grave and you’re painfully aware of that.

He grins widely, hands holding your face firmly. “Spend the night with me.”

You do a double take, flinching and attempting to move away but his hands slide down to your waist, gripping it firmly to keep you still while squeezing hard enough that the feeling has you wincing in pain.

You look at him with a shocked expression, eyes wide with your brows furrowed and curved. You open your mouth as if you were going to say something but can't get anything out a few sputters of jumbled words.

“Huh? Cat got your tongue?” He coos, tilting your face up with his thumb and forefinger, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “Take this deal and your debt is gone, zero cents owed to your name..”

You dont reply, eyes shut as you think. You hate this man but you can't deny that he is attractive and you really need the IPC off your ass. Pushing down your pride you respond. “Okay..”

You accepted the deal all too quickly. Selling yourself out without a second thought or consideration of how just accepting this deal would affect you in the future.

After you utter those words his lips are on yours, kissing you in a way that contradicts the way he acts. Your hands tug at the sides of your dress, as you squeeze your eyes shut, unsure of what to do.

His gloved hand slides up to cup the side of your neck as he breaks the kiss, looking at you with low eyes. “First kiss, hm?” He murmurs, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip.

“You wish.” You mutter, looking away from him. You can’t help though as your breath hitches, feeling his thumb against your bottom lip.

“Ah, feisty aren’t you? Yet here you are, at my mercy.” He grins, sliding his hand to grab the back of your neck, tugging you closer so you’re pressed flush against him. You gasp at the movement, your own hand coming up to grab at his forearm, gripping onto the expensive fabric. 

“Quite pretty too…it’s too bad you make such stupid decisions..” He murmurs before capturing your lips once again, his free hand grabbing your hip gently and pulling you closer against him while his other hand stays on the back of your neck, massaging the skin with his thumb.

You slowly feel your resolve crumble, the line between circumstances and your own free will starting to blur as you lean more into the kiss, your hands sliding up to grab onto his shoulders, squeezing them slightly.

You feel his hand trailing down your spine to your lower back, splaying his hand out and gently pushing you forward so you press against him more firmly.

You sigh shakily against his lips, letting your body press more against his as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groans softly, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips before gently slipping into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours while his hands slip to your hips, grabbing them and pulling your hips against his, his leg gently nudging between yours.

You gasp into the kiss when he pulls your hips against his, your fingers starting to tangle in his blonde hair as you kiss him with more urgency, pressing your chest flush against his as you tilt your head opposite to his, further deepening the kiss as you whine softly.

He nips at your lower lip with his teeth, leaving a stinging pain behind before soothing it with his tongue, making you gasp shakily in response. “You're so needy,” He muses, starting to trail wet kisses and love-bites along your jawline and down your neck while his hands squeeze your hips firmer. 

He bunches the part of your dress that's by your hips in his hands, letting it ride up your legs before he nudges his thigh up between them, pressing against your most sensitive spot. You leg out a shuddering moan before moving your hand to cover your mouth. 

He pulls away to look at you, his once brutal gaze turned to one clouded with lust. “Don't cover your mouth sweetheart,” He coos, his voice lower and throaty but still holding that same condescending tone as he leans in and you can swear you hear the smirk in his voice when he whispers in your ear. “I want to hear those pitiful, little moans you make.”

Right after saying that, his grip tightens on your hips as he starts to move you, guiding you to grind against his thigh while he sucks and nips at your neck; leaving dark spots behind that feel hot on your skin. You let out a broken moan in response, your arms wrapping around his neck tighter while you bury your face into his shoulder. Fingers digging into his clothed upper back while you gasp and whimper, starting to move your hips along with his guidance.

At this point you can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, the insides of your thighs slick and your panties aren’t faring any better, practically drenched at this point.

You hear him let out a breathy laugh as you start to move your hips on your own. He runs his tongue along your neck to your earlobe before nipping it. “Fuck youre soaked..i can feel it through my pants..” He murmurs into your ear as he starts to move your hips faster against his thigh. “These were expensive too..are you going to pay for the cleaning or am i gonna have to add this to your debt..?” He smirks, running his tongue along the shell of your ear.

You whine in response, knowing that any words that might come out your mouth will just sound like gibberish. 

You start to ride his thigh faster, trying to get to the edge as soon as possible. He groans in your ear softly as he feels you move faster, his hands tightening around your hips with a bruising grip as he laves his tongue along the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Your thighs start to twitch as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the pressure in your lower stomach building quickly as your moans and movements get needier. Aventurine starts to trail kisses down your neck to your collarbone, his left hand leaving your hip to reach up and tug the straps of your dress off your shoulders, causing your dress to slack and fall.

He tugs the top of your dress down, freeing your breasts from the confines of your clothes, causing you to shudder as you feel the cold air of the room hit your breasts. He smirks and raises a brow, looking at you with blown pupils when he sees that you're not wearing a bra, his left hand sliding down your shoulder to cup one of your breasts, his gloved hand squeezing and massaging while he leans down, dragging his tongue along your breast before nipping the swell of it, making you gasp.

“So fucking pretty…” He groans before capturing your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardening bud before sucking harshly. He presses his thigh against you more firmly, drawing out a moan he finds oh-so pretty.

You rut your hips against his thigh faster, feeling like the building pressure in your abdomen is going to burst at any second. 

A whimper bubbles in your throat as you feel his lips latch onto your breast while his hand fondles your breast, making you shiver and whine as you flutter your eyes shut and toss your head back slightly. One of your hands slides up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the blonde strands as you push his face further into your chest. 

He groans against your nipple as he feels you tugging his hair, taking it as a sign of encouragement. He nips at your sensitive bud with his teeth, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He soothes the sting as he flattens his tongue, dragging it along your nipple, looking up at you with low lidded eyes. 

Your breathing grows ragged as you get closer to your release, hips bucking against his thigh needily while lewd gasps and moans fall from your lips, Your fingers tighten in his hair as you mumble breathlessly, eyes watering as you crack them open. “I…ah…m’gonna…” You sob, words nearly incoherent as you feel the pressure in your stomach ready to burst.

“Hm? What’d you say? Use your words, sweetheart…” He coos teasingly, sliding his hand down from your breast to the spot between your legs, just barely touching your clit through your panties.His middle and ring fingers slowly starting to circle it, as his eyes flick up to your face with a wicked smirk gracing his lips.

You can’t muster out a thing as he starts to barely circle your clit through your panties while his thigh stays pressed against your cunt. You let out a pitiful sob as you buck your hips, grinding against his thigh as you desperately chase your orgasm.

“Hah…m…m’gonna cum...” You whimper, gasping and sobbing as you get ever so closer to your impending high. 

“Ah...you're gonna cum, huh? Come on, pretty, cum on my thigh...” Aventurine hums, leaning up to press his lips to your throat as he starts to circle your clit faster, quickly bringing you to the edge.

You let out a broken moan as you feel your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Your hips squirming as your thighs twitch and shake slightly. Your fingers tug at his hair roughly as you try to ground yourself as you grow dizzy and your body feels warm and fuzzy.

Your arousal leaks out of you, drenching anything in its path. Your thighs grow sticky and Aventurine’s pants are getting drenched as you cum, shuddering gasps and whines falling from your lips.

 Aventurine smirks as he looks up at you, seeing the blissed out expression on your face as you reach your high makes him grow even harder in his slacks. Straining against the zipper of his pants. His fingers continue to circle your sensitive nub, cooing sweet praises in your ear and peppering kisses your warm cheeks as he works you through your orgasm.

“Mh...you’re so messy...” He murmurs into your ear, his voice low and hushed as he speaks. “Just look at what you’ve done, beautiful...” He pulls back, free hand coming up you clasp around your jaw as he tilts your head down, making you look at the sticky mess you’ve made.

His thigh is soaked. His white pant-leg sticks to the top of his thigh, wet with your arousal. You whine when you feel him pull his fingers away from your fabric covered cunt.

He hums softly as he spreads his fingers apart, sticky webs of your cum spreading between his gloved fingers that shine with your slick and you can’t help but gasp at the sight. 

“I didn’t know you’d make such a mess, now my pants are ruined…” he chortles, his hand that’s gripping your jaw squeezes your cheeks together, causing your lips to puff out to a cute pout as you whine.

“How are you going to pay me back, sweetheart? Hm?” He tilts your face up to his, his gaze intense as he stares you in the eyes, wearing a smug grin. 

“I dont…I don’t know...” You babble, your eyes a reflection of your neediness and lust as you look up at him. Your breathing still ragged and hindered.

“Mhm…I have an idea,” Aventuring sneers, looking down at you with a condescending smirk. “How about you clean it up, sweetheart…?” 

He brings his slick coated fingers up to your lips while his other hand that was once gripping your jaw moves to grasp your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. 

He drags his gloved digits across your lips, smearing your arousal on them. “Open up.” He coos, gently pushing his fingers between your lips and into your mouth.

You part your lips more, letting him push his fingers further into your mouth. You whine as you taste yourself off his fingers, feeling dirty for doing this but you can’t help but enjoy it, fluttering your eyes shut as you willingly take his fingers into your mouth.

His smirk grows wider as he watches you take his fingers into your mouth. He pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly. “Suck them, pretty girl…” He breathes, pressing his fingers down against the flat of your tongue. 

You close your lips around his fingers, starting to suck them slowly. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, moaning softly at the taste of your arousal in your tongue.

“Uh huh, just like that…” He coos, his hand that was holding your chin sliding to the back of your neck, cupping it as he pulls back to look at you. “Such a good girl…” 

He slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his gloved digits as he smirks down at you.

He snickers, looking at your flushed face. “God, you’re just a mess, aren’t you?” His hand that’s on the back of your neck tugs you towards him, his lips brushing against yours as he tilts his head, looking at you with lidded eyes.

“I’ll fix that…” He murmurs before pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and pillowy as they move against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his gloved hand slides down to your hips, grasping tightly while his thumbs trace small circles against them.

You sigh shakily as he kisses you, arms sliding up to wrap around his neck as you tug him closer, whimpering into his mouth as he tightens his grip on your hips, dressing bunching up in his hands as he firmly pressing his hips to yours.

He starts to walk you backwards to your bed, keeping your body close while never breaking the kiss. You feel the back of your legs hit the bed before he’s pushing you back onto the bed. He climbs on top of you, straddling you as he keeps up his feverish kisses.

You wrap your legs around his hips, locking your ankles together behind his lower back, whining into his mouth and letting your tongue slide with his as you kiss him needily.

Aventurine breaks the kiss, moaning softly as he starts grinding his hips against yours, rubbing against you so perfectly you whimper and arch your back against his body. 

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, lips latched to the soft skin as he sucks a dark spot to the skin of your neck. 

His hand slides up and under you, lifting you slightly as his hand finds the zipper of your dress, his other hand moving to the middle of your back, lifting you up more to make it easier as he unzips your dress.

He unzips your dress, slowly sliding the zippier down, causing your dress to slack. “May I..?” He whispers against your neck, eyes peering up at you.

You nod sheepishly, looking away to avoid his blazing gaze. He grins, hands sliding down to the hem of his dress, pulling it down and off your body, discarding the fabric somewhere on the floor.

He sits up to look at you, taking in the sight of your half-naked body, your panties the only thing left on. 

He lets out a shaky breath, gloved hands sliding up your lower stomach. One of his hands slides to your waist, squeezing the soft skin there while the other moves up to cup your breast, caressing the soft flesh there.

“So fucking gorgeous…can’t take my eyes off you..” His voice sounds shaky and breathy, his hips shifting to press against you harder, letting you feel how turned on he is.

You gasp at the feeling of his gloved hands all over your body, caressing and groping you as you lie beneath him, biting your bottom lip to quiet whatever pitiful moans that threaten to fall from your lips.

He starts to grind himself against you, the bulge in his pants pressing against your sensitive clit covered by your drenched panties. 

He moans, sounding pretty and whiny as he leans in to bury his face in your neck, his hand starting to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger all while he ruts his hips against you, desperate to feel you.

“You feel so good… ” He mumbles, his tongue licking at previous marks he’s left on your neck. You moan desperately, hands clutching at the fabric of his jacket, pulling and tugging. 

You need him so badly, body trembling with each roll of his hips, you only feel more desperate and needy. You whine as you feel his tongue lavish your neck, your legs wrapping around him tightly.

“Ah…I need you…so bad…” Words a breathy whisper as you grow more needy for him. You start to move your hips in tandem with his, whining shakily.

He pulls away from your neck, nuzzling his cheek against yours as he whispers. “Tell me what you want…I’ll give it to you…” His words a shaky rasp as his hands squeeze your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples.

You can barely get the words out, everything coming from your lips a breathless mumble. “I need you inside me…please…”

Hearing your words something in him snaps, turning off any critical thinking that’s wired in his brain. “I’ll give you it. I’ll give you everything you want…”

His hands slide down your body to the waistband of your panties, teasingly slipping his fingers under the hem before slowly dragging your panties down your legs while starting to trail kisses down your neck to your collarbone, nipping at the skin there.

You let out shuddering breaths as he teases you, purposely dragging on the removal of your panties. You moan and whimper as he trails kisses along the heated skin of your neck down to your collarbone, a shaky gasp escaping your lips as you feel his teeth nipping at the exposed skin there.

You let out a sigh of needy relief as he finally pulls your panties off, tossing them to the floor, presumably by your dress.

He pulls away from you once again, eyeing you more hungrily than before as he looks at your naked body, taking in the sight, trying to further memorize every curve of your body. 

He starts to pull off his jacket, tossing it onto the recliner he was sitting on earlier. You’d roll your eyes at how he’s taking more care with his clothes than yours, but clearly, it’s the last thing on your mind right now.

He gazes down at you, eyes catching sight of your glistening folds. He reaches out, dragging a gloved digit along your slit teasingly. “You’re so wet, it’s cute.” He smirks, his words coming out breathily. The smoothness of his voice is gone, replaced with a tone of need and lust.

“You want me here? Wanna feel me inside you…? Tell me.” He sighs, tilting his head slightly as he pushes two of his fingers inside of you, hazed eyes watching how your cunt swallows his fingers up so easily.

You gasp and buck your hips as you feel his fingers slide inside you, your walls clamping down on his digits as he starts to slowly thrust them inside you, his thumb moving to circle your clit.

You whine and shake your head, looking up at him with needy eyes clouded with lust. “I don’t…want your fingers…” You mumble between shaky gasps. “I want…I need you.”

Aventurine can’t help but wear a smirk on his lips, just the sight of you so needy, practically begging beneath him has him reeling and the thing is, you don’t even know how badly he needs you. 

“Okay, gorgeous...” He murmurs, slowly pulling his fingers out of you, leaving with an empty feeling in your lower stomach that’ll soon be satiated. “I’ll give you just what you want.” 

Aventurine pulls away, letting out a shuddering breath as his hands slide down, deftly unbuckling his belt, the clinking of the metal ringing in your ears as you watch him.

After getting his belt unbuckled he quickly unzips his pants, tugging them down just enough to let him pull himself from the confines of his clothing.

He lets out a shaky sigh as he frees himself, and in that moment you realize how desperate he really is for you.

You can’t help but shamelessly stare at his length, it’s lengthy and pretty with it’s tip flushed pink; practically oozing precum as it twitches. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

Aventurine hisses as he strokes himself, his thumb running over his tip, collecting the precum to smear on his shaft. 

He glances up at you, raising a brow when he sees how you’re eyeing him. “Like what you see…?” He grins, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that barely lasts a second before he’s pulling away again, gazing down at you.

“I do…” You sigh, hand reaching out to gently wrap around his length. You slowly start to slide your hand up and down his shaft.

Aventurine gasps softly, his face nuzzling into your neck as you stroke him slowly. “God…you’re killing me…” He mumbles, his hands sliding up to your hips, wrapping around them. “Let me feel you…” He kisses you again, this time it’s needy and a bit sloppy, devoid of any sense of restraint.

You moan softly into the kiss, hand gliding along his cock. He whines into your mouth, his hands squeezing your hips even tighter as his hips buck into your hand in time with your strokes.

After a minute he breaks the kiss, panting as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. One of his hands moves to where your hand is, gently pushing your hand away. “I don’t need any of that...” He says simply, his voice low and quiet.

“…You sure?” You whisper, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his expensive clothes under your fingertips. “I want to.” 

You want to touch him, even though you hate him? Do you even hate him anymore? Has your opinion on him really changed so much just from this moment? He used to scare you but now you’re yearning for him… Have you really lost your common sense?

You bury these thoughts in the back of your head, saving them for yourself later when you finally have to face the reality of your actions right now.

He shakes his head, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your neck before nipping your skin. “I don’t need you to touch me, beautiful.”

He sits up, his face flushed and hair a mess. His gloved hands slide up your legs and to your thighs as he hums, gazing down at you with intense eyes. His hands travel to your inner thighs, gently pushing them open as he shifts to position himself between your legs. 

Aventurine drags a gloved finger up your slit teasingly, making you whine and shift your hips. “Stop teasing already…” You mumble, brows furrowed as you look up with a slight pout on your face. 

He laughs softly as your expression, a smug look playing on his face. “Don’t worry sweetheart, just wanted a taste…” He murmurs before bringing his finger to his lips, licking your arousal off the digit as he gazes down at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath hitches as you watch him do this, feeling yourself get impossibly more wet than before. You feel your cheeks heat up with slight embarrassment. “Don’t look at me while you do that…” You mutter, slightly turning your head to look away from him.

“Don’t be so shy,” He smirks, suddenly regaining the steadiness in his voice, not sounding as shaky and whiny as before. “You taste sweet.” He murmurs, as he grabs your legs, moving them to wrap around his waist. “I’ll taste you more next time…” 

You furrow your brows, looking up at him with crooked eyebrows. “There won’t be a next time.” 

Aventurine looks at you, a smug smile on his face. “We’ll see.” 

You don’t bother to respond with any other smart-ass comment or a remark, choosing to focus on what’s happening in the moment.

He leans in more, one of his hands grabbing your thigh while the other wraps around his length. He rubs his tip along your drenched folds, making you whimper and whine, hips squirming against his hold.

His hand tightens its grip on your hip, silently urging you to hold still. He rolls his hips forwards, grinding his cock against your slick cunt, teasingly rubbing his swollen tip against your clit as he looks at you with a smirk. 

You moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his length sliding against you, pressing against your clit instead of where you need him right now. “...Just...fucking…” You mumble, cracking your eyes open to look up at him, seeing him stare down at you with lust.

“Just what? I’m not a mind reader, doll.” He hums, shifting his hips slightly so that his tips pressing against your entrance. “Let me guess...You want me here, yeah? Want me inside you…?” He coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your jawline. “Tell me, pretty…you don’t wanna keep waiting, do you?”

 You whine and shake your head, whimpering as you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. “P..please…put it in…” You gasp, eyes low and lidded as you look up at him, a needy look on your face.

“There you go… Wasn’t hard to use your words, now was it..?” He murmurs, nipping at your earlobe as he presses his hips forward, slowly pressing his cock inside you. 

You gasp as you feel him pressing into you, slowly stretching you wider. Your arms move to wrap around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder.

He slides in inch by inch, groaning softly as he feels the warmth of your walls hug his cock tightly, squeezing and pulsing around him needily.

You clutch onto him tightly while panting, feeling the sting of the stretch when he finally bottoms out, his cock buried deep inside you, top of his cock nudging against your cervix. 

He holds still for a moment, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he waits for you to get used to his size. “You’re so tight…it’s must’ve been awhile, hm?” He murmurs into your ear, you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers to you. “How’s long it’s been, sweetheart…?”

He starts to roll his hips forward, slowly thrusting into you with long strokes. “Do you not wanna tell me, pretty girl…?” He hums, running his tongue up, along your neck before nipping at the skin of your jawline. 

You whine as he starts to thrust into you, soft moans falling from your lips as you flutter your eyes shut. “I..I don’t know…” You mutter, voice shaky as you speak. “It’s been too long…few years…”

You don’t want to admit it but it’s been well over a few weeks or months. Not having sex since you still lived in Belobog…

He grins at this, feeling smug at the thought of him being first in a long time, and he can tell just by how you’re acting, moaning with each slow drag of his hips, clutching onto him tightly and squeezing around his length like a vice, when he’s barely fucked you yet… It’s now feeling very obvious to him you haven’t felt like this in awhile.

He hums softly, his gloved hands sliding to your hips, grasping them tightly. “Then I guess I’ll have to screw you real good, huh?” 

He starts to speed up his movements, pulling your hips along with his, rolling his hips into you at a pace that’s just perfect.

You whimper, hands grasping at the back of his shirt as you feel him thrust into you deeper and harder, soft smacks filling the room from your hips slapping against his.

He groans against your neck, one of his hands sliding up to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly as he grinds into you. “You feel so good...” He mumbles, teeth nipping at your shoulder while you moan and gasp.

You whine as you feel his gloved hand wrap around your throat, squeezing hard enough to make your face feel warm but gently enough you can still breathe.

Your legs wrap around his hips, locking at the ankle as you pull him closer to you, desperate to feel him deeper inside you.

Aventurine moans shakily as he feels your legs wrap around him tightly, urging him closer. He starts to speed his pace up more, fighting the urge to slam into you with all of his strength.

His hand on your hip pulls you in tandem with his thrusts, hips meeting his halfway as he thrusts into you, feeling your walls twitch around his length. 

Lewd noises escape your lips as you feel him pull you along with his movements. You feel him shift his hips before starting to slam into you harder.

You let out a loud gasp, feeling his tips slamming against your g-spot. You tighten your arms and legs around him, practically holding onto him for dear life as he smirks down at you.

“Right there, huh?” He sneers, starting to pound into your harder, slamming against your sweet spot over and over as you squirm and sob, gasping for air as you feel his hand tighten around your throat. 

He pulls away to look at you more directly, smirking down at you as his lust filled eyes stare down at you. “You’re so pretty like this…” He sighs, his hand sliding from your throat to squeeze your breast, groping it roughly as he continues to pound into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix as you sputter and gasp beneath him.

You feel the knot in your lower abdomen start to tighten and twist, signaling you to your impending orgasm.

You look up at him with teary eyes and a blissed out expression, your hands moving to clutch at the bedsheets as you sob and whimper. The feeling of him slamming against your cervix while his hand squeezes your breast before his thumb rolls over your nipple, making your eyes flutter shut and your walls squeeze him tighter.

He drags his hand down from your breast to your waist, squeezing the plush skin as he uses it as leverage to thrust into you even harder, loud, wet smacking sounds filling your ears as you moan louder, pushing your head back into the mattress, arching your lower back as you feel the cord in your abdomen about to snap.

Aventurine suddenly slows down his movements, smirking down at you as he watches your face shift to a needy pout, eyes squeezing shut as you sob from the burning feeling of your orgasm being halted so abruptly.

“Not yet, pretty girl…” He murmurs, sitting up to pull off his shirt, revealing his fit torso, albeit a bit skinny he has the build of a swimmer, which you find attractive. He tosses the shirt next to his jacket before returning his attention to you.

He hums as he slides his gloved hands down to your thighs, squeezing them before moving to cup under your knees, pushing them up so their level with your shoulders. 

Aventurine slowly starts to build up the pace again, leaning it to press his forehead to yours, letting your ankles dangle over his shoulders. 

This position feels like he’s somehow even deeper inside you. His fat tip grazing your g-spot with each thrust. You moan and gasp louder, head feeling light and hazy as he pounds into you, wet slaps emanating throughout the room with each thrust.

He leans in to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue running over your lips before his tongue sweeps into your mouth, sliding with yours as he groans against your lips…

His hands move to nudge your legs off his shoulders , letting them wrap around his hips once again. “You…feel…amazing…” He mumbles between kisses, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands slide under you, up your back and to your shoulders, his hands gently grabbing them as he pulls you close against his chest.

You moan into his mouth, his lips on yours as he swallows your sounds. You move one of your arms to wrap around his neck, holding him close while the other one slides under his arm to his upper back, hands slightly scratching at the skin there.

He continues to slam into you with reckless abandon, ditching whatever self control he may have had to fuck you how he-so desperately-is doing.

He groans as his hips pound against yours, wet slaps and lewd moans coming from the both of your lips as you both feel your orgasms building.

You let out pretty sobs against his lips, nails digging into his upper back, leaving crescent marks and scratches on the fair skin as your hips buck along with his hard thrusts, desperately chasing your orgasm.

Aventurine isn’t faring any better, whining and groaning into your mouth as he slams into you harder and faster, feeling your walls pulse around his twitching cock, basically signaling him of your nearing orgasm. 

He breaks the kiss, burying his face into your neck as he moans softly, one of his hands sliding up to grasp the back of your neck while the other squeezes your shoulder tighter. 

“m’...close...” You sob, clutching onto him as tightly as possible as you feel your eyes water from pleasure, head hazy and body fuzzy. 

“Yeah? Me too, sweetheart…” He rasps, his hand slipping from your under shoulder to slide between your sweat slicken bodies, gloved hand finding your clit, his thumb rubbing harsh, little circles against it. “Go ahead, cum on my cock, gorgeous...”

His pace speeds up even further, slamming against your sweet spot over and over as he works to push you over the edge, his lips pressing against your neck.

You let out a loud, whiny sob as you feel the cord in your stomach snap, orgasm washing over you.

Your head feels lightheaded as pleasure clouds your senses, hips bucking and walls spasming around his cock while your juices spill out of you, covering his shaft and your inner thighs. Your body twitching against his as pitiful whines and gasps fall from your lips.

He falls over the edge immediately after you, his cock twitching inside you before he abruptly pulls out, spilling his seed all over your lower stomach as he groans against your neck, his hand squeezing the back of your neck as his hips buck against you, rutting his twitching cock against your lower stomach.

You hold onto him tightly as you both come down from your orgasms, staying in each-others arms. Panting and shuddering breaths are the only things you can hear.

After a few minutes, Aventurine sits up, gazing down at you as he looks at the mess you’ve both made, a small grin appearing on his pretty face. “Guess we’re both messy, huh..?” He murmurs, sliding his hands down your side to your hips. 

You don’t respond to him directly, mumbling some random insult as you lift your arms to cover your face.

He can’t help but stare, looking down at your flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, looking completely fucked out.

He hums softly, pulling away from you. “Where you going...?” You mumble, watching him stand up and start to pull his pants up from the corner of your eyes.

“To grab something…” He replied, glancing at you from over his shoulder as he buckles belt before walking to your bathroom. 

You sit in a bit of a daze, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how things are gonna play out now the IPC now that you’ve fucked one their higher ups. What excuse is Aventurine gonna make for your debt? Is he even going to actually get rid of it for you?

God, you’re an idiot.

You’re about to smack yourself in the forehead when Aventurine comes back into the room with a wet towel.

“Erm….what’s...that for?” You ask tiredly, rubbing the back of your neck with your palm as you glance away from him.

“You’re stomach, sweetheart.” He hums, nodding down at your stomach, covered with his seed. 

“Oh...nice…” You mumble, watching as he sits across from you on the bed, leaning in as he starts to wipe the sticky mess from your stomach.

It’s quiet between the two of you, it’s awkward but not unbearable. “Thank you..” You say softly, as he finishes wiping the seed from off of you. 

He smiles slightly. “I made the mess..why wouldn’t I clean it up?” He hums, tossing the towel somewhere onto the floor.

You shrug in response before yawning, covering your mouth with your hand. Aventurine looks at you, a small smirk on his lips. “You’re quite pretty, y’know...” He tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, eyebrows raised slightly as he looks at you.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you look away, a bit embarrassed. “Mhm…thank you...” you mumble, scooting closer to him you place your hand over his, thumb rubbing over his gloved knuckles. “Are you staying…?” 

Your question catches him off guard, a surprised look spreading on your face for a second before a grin spreads on his face. “I’ll stay if you want me to, pretty...” He hums, his hands moving to gently grab your waist, pulling you closer. “I want you to...” 

“Okay gorgeous..I’ll stay..”

You don’t know when you fell asleep but you did. His arms wrapped around you while you cuddled up against him.

You didn’t expect him to stay, it was only a one night stand but you didn’t expect…this.

When you woke up you found everything in your hotel room tidy and neat, like he cleaned everything up for you before leaving.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes as you slid out of bed, walking to where your things were arranged neatly.

You bent down, starting to look for the briefcase that held your money. 

You started to grow frantic when you couldn’t find it, not in any drawers, on any counters or with any of your things. 

You stomped around, tearing the room apart until you crouched down to look under the bed, where it was shoved far under to where you can barely reach.

You groan as you drag it out from under the bed, standing it and placing it onto the bed as you flick the clasps and open the briefcase.

Your stomach drops.

Your fucking heart drops.

Your eyes widen and your jaw clenches, all the money that was in there gone, down to the penny.

You feel your face grow hot as you look at what’s been left in the box, a single, small note. Picking up the small paper you grow more angered, face scrunching to a scowl as you read the note’s contents.

Thank you for the night, as promised your debt is erased and the IPC will no longer have you listed as a fugitive but I took your money as a consequence for not initially paying your debt.

Actions have consequences, sweetheart. Be more smart next time.

-- Aventurine..

Fucking bastard. You might just kill him if you see his face again.

ty for reading sweethearts!! and thank you to my lovely friend who gave me suggestions and proofread this big'ol thing :p

[daycourtofficial]

Empty Bed Blues

Summary: based on this request - you and Azriel have a spat and he can’t sleep without you. So he takes things into his own hands.

Divider by cafekitsune

“Do we have to go to this stupid dinner?”

Azriel had nuzzled his face into your neck, attempting to keep you in his arms. You stood from the bath, reaching for a towel.

“Yes, we do.”

“But m’tired.”

You run your fingers through his wet hair, his sounds of contentment permeating the silence.

You two were staying in the House of Wind for the evening, anticipating debauchery. You were planning to drink to your heart’s content and you hated winnowing and flying when you were drunk. The last time you flew while extremely drunk, you made him stop so you could throw up in the bushes of a few Velaris storefronts. You sent copious gifts the next morning in apology, but you still felt incredibly bad about it.

“And whose fault is that?”

Azriel had been working like a dog all day, having left your home before the sun rose. His grip tightens on the tub, a pause before he says, “Rhys’s.”

You laugh, “you’re the one who left at the ass crack of dawn to go work when you knew we were going to see everyone tonight.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the porcelain. “Why can’t we stay here? We know exactly what’s going to happen. Cassian’s going to make a crude joke to you to get me riled up, Mor’s going to drink and talk about who she saw the past week, and Amren’s going to sit in the corner and make me uncomfortable.”

You move closer to him, looking at him incredulously, “Wow, do you even like your family?”

“No,” he replies, his lips in a pout. “But I like you.”

You laugh at his attempts to keep you here and his blatant lie about not liking his family. However, you’d been looking forward to this dinner all week and you wouldn’t let a pouty mate keep you from it.

“Baby, I love you, and I’d do anything for you,” his eyes light up at your praise of him, “except miss out on this dinner.”

He deflates, sighing. “I’ve been gone all week and you’d rather see my family?”

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your agitation to a minimum. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing them all week - you’ve been off on a mission, and I’ve been in Summer all week for Rhys. I’m just excited to let my hair down.”

His jaw ticks, “I just wanted to rest tonight.”

You blow out a breath, “you’re the one who decided to work all day after being gone all week.”

You can feel his annoyance down the bond, and you push some of your own back at him. You two stare each other down, withering gazes trying to get the other to back down. You clutch your towel closer to yourself, walking away calling over your shoulder, “well then, you can get some rest up here, alone.”

-

You retreat down the stairs, having dinner with your family. You refused to see your mate after your argument this afternoon. You had been looking forward to seeing everyone all week, and yet it wasn’t the same with the seat next to you empty.

Nesta had walked past you as you had exited your room, so you’re sure she had heard your argument based on the look she gave you. You’re also sure she told Cassian, who spent the evening trying to keep you in good spirits.

You appreciated his efforts, and you loved your family, but it truly wasn’t the same without your mate next to you.

Upstairs Azriel huffed, turning once again in an attempt to get comfortable. Nothing felt right. The comforting weight of you was nowhere to be found, leaving him in a sleepless fit. He swears he can hear your laughter from downstairs where you’re talking with his family at a dinner he elected not to attend because he was being stubborn and just wanted his stubborn, beautiful mate to lay in bed with him.

He runs his hands down his face, remembering the years where he could sleep wherever necessary. His romanticized version of those years doesn’t last long, as he also remembers how little he slept, weeks where his time spent asleep tallied in the single digits.

Your presence has made it nearly impossible for him to sleep without you nearby, but it also makes him actually sleep. The once permanent purple and blue bags under his eyes have slowly disappeared thanks to you.

Your presence is a luxury he’s been afforded, and damn it all, he’s going to indulge. Azriel gets out of bed, not even bothering to put on a shirt. He moves with speed, determination moving his feet through the halls and down the stairs. He reaches the entrance to the living room, his family lounging across various sofas and couches. His eyes find yours immediately, your lips parting in surprise. You’re standing next to Cassian and Nesta, looking at something in Nesta’s hands.

He stalks over to you, not letting you get a word in before ducking down and lifting you over his shoulder.

“Hello?” You call out, hands gripping onto his hips to stabilize yourself. You can hear Cassian whistle while Nesta mumbles, “dumb brutish male,” after you. He carries you up the stairs, the sounds of your family’s snickering dying down the further you go.

He doesn’t speak as you wind down the hall, or as he opens the door, or as he sets you down on the bed. He’s silent as he lays back down, and you start to ask what this is all about when he reaches a hand out, wrapping around your bicep. He pulls you towards him, settling you on top of his chest.

He sighs contentedly, finally opening his eyes and looking at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, and his eyes start drooping, his body finally able to relax.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the fond smile on your face as you ask, “and why’s that?”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest. “Needed you,” he breathes into your neck, nuzzling you with his nose. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You’re spoiled,” you tell him, hands grazing over his cheeks.

He pretends to bite one of your fingers without opening his eyes. “I’m a male who knows what he wants.”

“Can I at least change into a nightgown?”

“If you can do it without getting out of my arms, yes.”

[l1tw1ck]

The Fall of Spider-Man

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc!villain reader

🕷️ Word Count: 1,897 🕷️

AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, Lingerie, Fingering, Squirting, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Crying, Corruption, Creampie, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Mention, Stockholm Syndrome (Kinda?)

Miguel’s eyes shoot open. He immediately analyzes his surroundings. He’s tied up and on the floor. He can't see anything but he can tell he’s wearing lingerie. He feels sick. His first instinct is to try and get out of his restraints but no matter how hard he tries, nothing happens. He’s powerless. How? Why? When? Where the hell is he? He looks around the dark room, stopping to look at a door. There's light coming from behind it and he can hear movements. Footsteps. Getting closer and closer.

“You’re awake! Good morning, Miguel.” You smile, turning the lights on before walking towards him. “How are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asks.

You give him your name. “The person who's going to defeat Spider-Man once and for all.” You grin. “Although my methods are a bit unconventional.” You chuckle.

Miguel keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear what you have to say next. Your confidence scares him. It's not like he's never met a confident villain before, it's honestly less likely to meet an insecure one, but your confidence is scary. You know something he doesn't. He knows you're dangerous. He always chooses to fight but everything inside him is screaming to run away. It's not like he has the choice now though.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be my beautiful husband and the father of our children.” You kiss his forehead. His heart drops. “But first, I’m gonna have some fun with you.” You kneel down and caress his cheek. He grimaces in disgust. “Let me give you the play by play.” You push his lacy red panties aside. “First, I’m gonna play with this pretty pussy of yours and give it a lot of love.” You rub his clit. “Then, once I’m done, I’m gonna slide my cock inside of you. I’ll make sure to go real slow, make you feel every inch of my cock.” You bring your fingers down to his entrance and push two of them in.

“Yo- you're sick.” He spits on you.

You wipe your cheek. “I didn't give you permission to speak, or spit.” You slap his cunt, earning a moan from him. “Watch yourself, Miguel.”

He looks at you angrily but doesn't say anything, too ashamed of the sound he just made and too afraid of the consequences to do so. You push your fingers in and out of his cunt, giving Miguel unwelcomed pleasure. “You like that?” You smirk, moving faster. He bites his lip to silence his moans. “I know you do. Even if you try to deny it, your body doesn't lie.”

He hates this so much.

“And then, I’ll pick up the pace. I’ll fuck you rough and hard. So rough that you won't be able to think. So hard that you’ll cry.” You push your fingers all the way in and thumb his clit, moving your fingers inside of him absentmindedly. He tries to fight against the pleasure but it's no use. He’s going to come.

“I’d love to see you cry.” You grin. He’s not going to cry. He might do a plethora of shameful things tonight but one thing he isn't going to do is cry. He refuses to. “I know you think it's impossible but it's not. And I can't wait to see you break.” You punctuate your last word with a hit to his g-spot. Miguel gasps, hips raising in the air as he squirts. Miguel looks down at himself in shame, cheeks burning hotter than a flame. He’s never done that before. He hates that you're the reason it happened. “Oh Miguel…” You let out a sharp breath.

You move in between his legs and dig into his wet cunt, slurping up his slick before tonguing his sensitive hole. Miguel squirms around in protest. Why does this feel so good? He wants to curse you out but he's worried about what you’ll do if he acts out. He feels terrible and so fucking good at the same time. He wants to kill you but he also doesn't want you to stop. He rolls his eyes back and squirts again, feeling extremely exhausted.

You pull away and stand up, stripping down to nothing. Miguel looks at your cock in horror. That's not going to fit! He desperately tries to get away but he can't do much in the position he's in.

“You’re really boosting my ego, Miguel.” You chuckle, kneeling back down and grabbing his waist. You pull him close to you so his thighs are on yours and your shaft is right against his cunt. “I’m going to enjoy this.” You look at him like the 5 star meal he is. You move him so that his pussy is sliding up and down your length, bringing the both of you pleasure.

He bares his fangs, showing you how angry he is without speaking. “Aw, you don't like this?” You frown, faking sympathy. “Or is it that you want something else?” You grin. “You want me to fuck you, is that it? You want me to finally fuck you?”

Miguel shakes his head rapidly. You move him backwards, just enough for you to be able to make an easier entrance. You point your tip against his clit, smearing pre cum over it and sliding down in between his folds. You tease him with your entrance, you're gently thrusting into him but only the tip is entering him. He can't stand the feeling. You eventually stop and slowly push your cock inside of him. You weren't exaggerating when you said he’d feel every inch of you. You’re practically tearing him apart with the way you’re stretching him out. You bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying his pussy. “I think I’m in heaven.”

If you’re in heaven, then Miguel’s in hell. You slowly slide in and out of him, reveling in his wet warmth. “That's right baby, sit back and take it like the pretty little slut you are.” You place your hand over the bulge of your cock on his stomach, enjoying the way it feels as you move and how sexy he looks with his tummy bulging. “You’re doing so good for me, you know that? Doing so well…”

He doesn't want to be good for you. He doesn't want you to enjoy this. If he wasn't afraid of the consequences he’d curse you out. You rub his clit gently, causing his breathing to turn shallow. “I wanna feel you come..” You mutter. “Come for me, baby.”

He grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from giving you what you want but it's too difficult. He can't hold back. It all feels too good, his pussy feels way too good, he can't do anything to prevent this. He shuts his eyes and comes, walls fluttering around your length. “You’re such a good boy, Miguel. You may be prickly but at least you know how to follow orders.” You caress his cheek. He turns away from your touch. “Even after all that…you're still trying to keep up this facade?” You pull away and turn him onto his stomach. “You won't be able to pretend any longer, Miguel.” You raise his ass in the air and plunge your length fully into him. He gasps. Miguel doesn't even get a minute to adjust to the new position thanks to you suddenly pounding into him. He rolls his eyes back, letting out uncontrollable moans as you fuck the shame out of him. He can barely think over the explicit sounds of your hips snapping against his ass and the loud wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of his sensitive pussy. You're going too fast for him to even try and act like he doesn't like it. He’s always had a thing for being treated roughly and you're fulfilling his need for it. You pull on his hair, causing him to let out an almost scream-like moan as he squirts.

“Fu- fuck-” He feels tears welling up in his eyes as you continue fucking him through his orgasm.

“‘M gonna give you the child you always wanted, Miguel.” You fuck him even rougher than before, chasing your orgasm. Tears flow rapidly from Miguel’s eyes, as if there was a blockage that contained all his tears and prevented him from crying all these years. He sobs, crying loudly as you overwhelm him with pleasure. It feels good but it's too much, he can't handle it. He loves it but he needs it to stop. “Ah, I love hearing you cry..” You slow down your thrusts and dump your load inside of him. Miguel uses this break to finally catch his breath and calm down.

“Aw, was it too much for you, baby?” You coo, rubbing your hand down his back.

Miguel nods. “Ple- please..” He whimpers.

You pull out and turn him around. You pick him up and sink him down on your cock. You place your hands on his waist and kiss his cheek. “You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” You caress his face gently. He sniffles, not sure how to feel about that. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and sensually. Miguel reciprocates the kiss, following your tongue movements and subconsciously grinding down on your cock. He feels a little less stimulated than before. He feels like he's about to have an orgasm that’ll never come and somehow it feels good. He doesn't know how he feels about you now but you make him feel good, and thanks to the current state of mind he's in now, that's all that matters.

You pull away from the kiss and pepper kisses down his throat and to his chest. You undo the clip in the middle of his bra, causing the two cups to separate and reveal his breasts. You latch onto his nipple, sucking it gently while your hand goes to pull and twist on the other one. Miguel whimpers in pleasure. His nipples are so sensitive, he’ll definitely come from this. “mmh..” Miguel grinds down harder as he orgasms, his pussy clenching and unclenching around your length. You pull away from his nipple, your saliva dripping down the brown bud.

He still despises you but he knows he'll be stuck with you from now on. He’ll eventually learn to love you.

Miguel turns on the radio as he starts cooking breakfast. The reporter talks about all the crime going on in the city and he doesn't seem to care, even though he’s back to normal and completely autonomous, he has no intention of going out to fight. He wants to stay home with you. The Spider Society’s been trying to contact him but he's ignored all their calls. He only leaves the house for dates and groceries, why would he go anywhere without you? He loves you so much, he wants to stay by your side as much as he can. Nobody seems to understand it but he doesn't care to explain it to them. Peter B. and Jessica have been trying to convince Miguel to come back and many spider people have tried to kill you but to no avail. He doesn't want to come back, especially not when they're trying to kill his beloved. He’s perfectly content with where he is now and he can't wait to have his first child with you.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and The Wild (emperor!Konig x fem!Reader)

A day after you and Konig's wedding. Who knew that evil emperors could be so romantic. Tags and TWs: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator Word count: 3256 AO3

— Lift your hips up, princess. You don’t want to waste my seed. 

You whimper, trying to get your legs down, so he can’t force you to spread them anymore – but you feel the hot seed getting back in the swell of your well-used maidenhood, and it makes you whimper only more. What a woeful sight indeed – a fake princess crying over having to take the seed of the strongest person in the whole continent. You know a thousand of women who would beg for an opportunity to have the Emperor’s hands on their hips, guiding them down to admire the look. You know that the real princess – your princess – would never agree to this ordeal, no matter the begging and the bribery. So, you don’t agree too. — In m…my culture, a bride should wait at least a month after the marriage before the…conception, Your Majesty. 

You lie through gritted teeth like it could change anything. Like it could magically force all the seed from your womb to the ground again, to the silk of the sheets under you. Like the mere tradition that you gave birth to the idea of a minute ago would stop you from being König’s breeding mare. Still, you refuse to lift your hips, a small resistance that puts a small chuckle to his lips. He is amused by you – or your stupidity. Princesses are supposed to be spoiled and bratty, right? Yours certainly was. 

— Does your culture also make the bride lie to her husband? 

You lick your lips, forcing them closed. No another quick witty word from you – your lies already got you on the edge of…something. After König announced he knew who you were this entire time, he got you on your back, on your belly, with your hips up and down, your head silly from lack of air as he choked you until you begged for your life – only for him to kiss you over and over. Feeding your womb with his seed until there was a bump, not giving any chance that the baby wasn’t there yet. If anything, he conquered your body the same way he did your country – and left your bruised hips as a reminder. The handprinted bruises covering your skin like the finest fabrics of the gown he got you. 

— If you wish to order me dead, your majesty. 

— Death doesn’t mean anything here, meine Liebe. 

— Then banish me. For the lies and the betrayal of a royal…

He laughs – it’s a nice sound, still, something in your deprived mind likes the way you make him laugh and chuckle. Something in your head makes you feel as dizzy as you did when he cut off the air in your throat, every time that cold eyes of his look at you with warmth. heated obsession, whatever that is – you refuse to believe it was genuine, as you were borrowing your princess’s identity, but now, when he laughed and spoke about his true intentions, you weren’t sure if a pathetic and lowly lady-in-waiting is as safe in you as you thought.

— If being as stupid as you are is a punishable crime, then I’d finalyl have a good reason to kill off most of my harem. He laughs again, a hand in your hair – getting out all of the fancy pins and bows and dead flowers that were forced to be held in your crown and on your head. You groan in pleasure as the pins scraping your scalp are finally removed – and try to get back at his hand immediately when he comes to squeeze your breasts again. Not for any reason – simply because you happened to have the aspects of your body that he could touch. 

— Would be much safer to get a woman from a harem, sir. Not…not me. 

— And if I wanted just you? 

König looks at you – trembling, loved out completely. Covered in his marks, as many bites as a princess could take. Even being a servant, you’re almost as gentle and reserved as a real deal – but gods, if you weren’t the cutest thing he ever saw in that damned ugly country of yours. Hating nobility as much as he hated speaking to his troops not as their commander, König never particularly enjoyed the idea of having to marry some bitchy royal daughter…you, however, were the loophole in the god’s contract. A gift, just for him. 

— Your council would make me disappear for deceiving you in the first place. 

— No one would dare to leave the empire without heirs. 

— You could have another one. There are plenty of princesses out there, Your Highness. 

— And I don’t have enough patience to entertain you trying to sell me the idea of your freedom. Do you know what relief I felt when you were the one to meet me? 

You don’t answer, instead prompting to just listen. You have good ears for listening – for allowing others to talk, so you wouldn’t be made to fill in awkward silences. König loves that and appreciates that. Finally, someone who can just be silent – even if he also has nothing to say, at least you’re scared and angry enough to dismiss him anyway. At least your unwillingness is making him less awkward at participating in the conversation. 

— You knew who I was all along? 

— Princesses are pampered. Even the poorest kingdom would never have a princess with hands as hard-working as yours, Schatz. 

He takes his hands in yours – no matter the healing creams you rubbed in them, no matter the lack of actual physical labor, even the smallest tasks you performed for the princess, the tiniest exposure to cleaning supplies that would make the toughest skin crack, left a small traces in the skin of your palm. Fingers with clean nails – short, practical, indicating the need to have your hands in working order all of the time. Indicating your lack of a servant who would do everything – opening buttons on clothes, embroidery, and washing oneself’s body. indicating that you were said servant. 

You look embarrassed that he pointed that out. Scared, almost. 

— Are my hands too ugly for you, sir? 

He can see the tremble in your fingers. He traces them with his – large, calloused hands keeping you in place. Rough skin and multiple ridges of scars over the darkened skin made you shiver from the contrast of the sensation – those are the hands of a ruler who isn’t afraid of taking a sword in his hands. Who almost got his arms chopped off for this altogether. 

Then – he kisses them. 

One finger at a time, every ridge and bump in your skin deserves a graze of emperor’s teeth as he tugs on rough skin around your knuckles. Your hands are soft, softer than a normal maid would have – but changed from the work you had to put. Every kiss and lick doesn’t make them gentle, doesn’t remove the experience you had – in braiding hair, in washing clothes, in cleaning up after a royal mess. It doesn’t change who you were, but with every little praise he whispers – crude language, really, but the affection in his words scares you more than any foreign insult could – with every toss of his lips over your palms, he is changing who you are. Who will you become in just a week or two. 

He calls your hands beautiful – in North tongue, with a smile on his face. König loves to explore, and your body is a beautiful place for him to be. Your hands are the best place he could have been in the morning. 

Some historians are already saying he has done more to this country than any other ruler ever could. But oh, the emperor knows that the most important thing he did here was kiss your fingers. Over and over. 

You snap your arms back when he finally breaks down, starting to bite – the softer skin of your palms falling victim to his sharp teeth. Emperors aren’t supposed to have sharp teeth but for all he knows, he was born from a dog and raised by one. A wolf in wolf’s clothing. 

— Your hands belong to an empress. 

— Thought I was a regent. 

— You are, mein Schatz. Can’t trust you with a country, ja? 

You laugh, but there are tears in your eyes. Loss of whatever authority you could have as the princess's personal maid – her friend if he knew anything about royals and their habits. Scheisse, he was the emperor for 10 long years and still didn’t get a hang of it. Might be something he had to be born with – such a shame, really. Should have told his mother to never give birth to a rat that would usurp the throne once out of the crib. 

He loves to see you weak, trembling like this – like a proper bride should. Like a real princess, the one whose manners should be enough to fool the people and the dumbest of his court. The smartest ones could always agree to put their tongues up their behinds – if they don’t want to get their heads chopped off by his blade, without even bothering an executioner to do it. 

— But you can trust me with your children?

— This empire needs an heir. As much as I can rule forever. 

— No one is immortal. 

— Ach. Did Sebastian forget to visit you before the wedding, little princess? 

He is mocking you, again and again – he laughs with death and you hate it, you hate yourself, you loathe him and his laughs and his crooked smile and the scars covering his skin and…he kisses your hands again, then – dips your hands up in that mask of his. Lets you feel the skin, involuntarily trace your fingertips all over everything hidden – you touch his teeth, his fangs, and you gasp in shock. So, the monster has lips. So, the monster has thin lips and wet mouth, and he dips his tongue all over the traces of knuckles and…

König knows you’d never agree to be his in a way that he wants you too – but this is fine. He can work you around. He can break you. He can please you. What a wonderful job would this be. 

— Your court would soon find out I’m not the one. 

— They know how to keep their mouths shut. You would, however, have to deal with my harem personally. 

— Did you intended to add my princess to your harem too? 

— If I knew that you wouldn’t take her place? Of course. I never visited the place for the exact reason I didn’t bother to find your patron. 

— Are you really satisfied with the scraps? 

Oh, his poor, dumb girl – he was feeding off scraps since he was ripped away from his mom’s tit. You were the only fancy meal he ever liked in his life – and gods, if he wouldn’t give up anything to taste you again. 

On the other side, however, he can do just that. 

König dips his head down, the traces of his hood laying on your labia. You whimper. 

— I never ate anything as exquisite as you, little princess. 

— I’m n…why do you keep calling me this? 

— You will be my princess. Forever trapped on my lap, on the floor, chained to my throne like a…

With each word, his tongue laps on the glossiness of your lower lips. He gives your maiden a little kiss all over, he digs down like it’s a fancy meal indeed – the scrawny hairs of his stubble make you whimper every time they graze your clit. König has a fleeting thought of eating his cum out of your poor, sore body – that it wouldn’t be wise, that it would make the process of impregnating you slower. Then, he thinks – he can just fill you up with his seed later. And in the evening. And tomorrow. 

He pushes his tongue down, deep – you gasp, you get your hands on his hood, not trying to tear it apart, but laying there like a scared maiden. You were one – you are one, after all. Gods, he could just keep you here forever if it weren’t for the country needing its empress. 

König kisses you all over – you’re still smelling like rose water, like fragrances that were forcefully rubbed on your skin right before the wedding. A proper lady, you were bathed in salts and oils like a kitchen in poor man’s soup – but weren’t you looking beautiful in that dress of yours. Too bad he had to rip it eventually, stepping on it accidentally quite a few times as he was getting you water. Your little trick with the herb did make you thirsty in all possible ways. 

You don’t know a lot about royal weddings, but you’re pretty sure that the emperor shouldn’t be sprawled on his giant bed like this, eating you out like you were the roasted lamb served at yesterday’s feast. You moan when the material of his mask is getting tricky with your gentle parts when the rough fabric is scrapping your thighs in a way that is far from arousal – and then he leans in, a head laying on your tummy. Your princess parts are swollen from his actions – and lack thereof. You almost think you could buck your hips up like a… König takes off his hood. 

— Wh…what are y… You don’t master enough words before he is forcing his face against yours before his lips finally lay down on yours properly – and gods isn’t this a beautiful sight. The emperor, the vile conqueror, your biggest enemy, and your husband – smiling like a boy when he got free candy, like a cat who got the cream – like a man so in love, it makes him unable to stop smiling while looking at his wife. 

He isn’t pretty in the sense that some of the rulers can be pretty – he isn’t hideous either. A rough face doesn’t look like something that belongs to a royal family – big nose, small lips, chiseled chin and not a sight of inbreeding. You try to see if his ears are wrong, at least, but they are fine – not caring about a bit of chopped-off bits, probably from old battles. He is rugged and handsome and rough and you hate that red stubble on his chin and his gorgeous ginger hair – if you were forced to see this face every day, you might give up and like him. It’s a good thing he wears the mask most of the time, isn’t it? 

— You don’t like how your emperor looks, little princess? He laughs again, then – cups your face in his hands and kisses you all over. Again and again, his lips fell on yours making you feel dumb, making you feel dizzy and just a bit charmed – like the potion you drank yesterday hadn’t fully worn off. You can taste your own pleasure on his lips and it makes you embarrassed – a proper lady should never enjoy a process as dirty as making love – your lower parts should only exist for him to take pleasure in ruining it, and for you – to birth little princes. 

But König bows down before your lower lips, but König presses his tongue against your special spot again and again, and it makes you wonder if he recites the anthem of the empire on the little swollen bud between your legs – for his actions are filled with devotion that should only be reserved for one’s country, not for just a poor, dumb handmaiden whose only job was to lie and to protect. But…is it really all you want to do now? Just lay here and let him take him, without a chance of enjoying him playing with you if only for just a bit longer? — I…I believe you look fine, Your Majesty. 

— Just fine? 

He smiles and kisses you down there again – the aftermath of your pleasure makes his lips feel too hard on your swollen parts, the climax had taken everything from you left only feelings, as naked and trembling as you are right now – and, by god, if you aren’t feeling like sold and set in pieces. You are selling your dignity right now, the loyalty to your kingdom is getting grazed by each new stroke of his tongue. You close your eyes and moan – for you can’t hold off your pleasure anymore. For you don’t see a reason in trying to pretend you don’t enjoy being treated like a princess after a life of servitude. 

— You are fine for an emperor, my…my husband. You struggle to say it – but you do have to say it eventually, at least in front of the servants. If he isn’t intent on keeping you locked away in a tower, pumping out babies like his little servant – maybe he wouldn’t want to keep you open for the world to take. You were a secluded princess kept in shadows before he discovered you, after all. You served the one, at least. 

— Trying to cover the harsh words with honey, ja? I killed for less, mein Schatz. 

— I assume you won’t kill me before the first son, at least? 

— Wouldn’t kill you even if you’d be barren. I’d rather leave the empire to rot without an heir than choose someone else in your place. 

— That is awful news for your empire. 

— Our empire can rot without you, Meine Liebe. Never wanted the damned crown in the first place. 

— But you’re fine with putting it on the head of a commoner? 

— I was a commoner once. Know better than anyone else that a princess would never make a good wife. 

You never studied his rise to power – the latest politics were hidden from you and the princess, the king never wanted to taint his daughter with such silly things as rising stars of the political arena – and he failed to mention the empire that was once rotting from its head getting a ruler who would take half of the continent and a daughter of every kingdom in his harem as the spoils of war. 

He lays down beside you, taking you in his arms again. his hair flows all around you – he smells like blood, still, even after so many hours spent bathing in your shared musk. You wonder if everything he had done with the forbidden rituals made him like this – face torn and stitched back together again, harsh scars that can only be made from a blade or claws of a giant animal – and he pushes you down to press your face against his chest, taking in the feeling of laying beside your husband. 

— Don’t you have something that needs to be done, Your Highness? 

— The most important thing I need to do is lay between your legs, little princess. And you’re too swollen to be doing that. 

You press your forehead against his chest. Taking it him and the light tan of his skin – you wonder where he could get it, if he almost never took off his armor. His face is as pale as it can be, and it makes him look a little silly when naked – but you refuse to smile and make him angry. — I thought you wanted me to meet your harem. 

— They can wait. We need to give them time to prepare the poison for you, right? 

He laughs and you don’t find anything better to do than to press your head against his chest and close your eyes. The royal visits really can wait until tomorrow.

[imaginaryf1shots]

Failed | Lando Norris

WC: 900+

Lando x reader

Summery: Failing your driver license test leaves you in tears, but Lando is here to comfort you.

A.N: Could've been much longer, but I've been writing long fics a lot lately. Also, this is for me and for everyone that failed their test(but I'm a crier okay, so you bet your butt i cried when the examiner told me ill be seeing you another time)

MASTERLIST

You trudge up the steps and unlock the door to the house you share with your boyfriend while you’re in England, feeling dejected and just about holding your tears in. Why was it so important to you that you got it? You wouldn’t be using it a lot anyway, so why bother. You just wanted to pass. You hate failing, even if a lot of people fail as well, you hate it.

Opening the door, you hear your boyfriend on the phone, you close the front door a bit too hard, and you wince, you didn’t mean to slam it shut. You hear the talking stop and footsteps coming your way, Land’s head pops around the corner. He still has his phone pressed to his ear, and he’s smiling. But that smile drops once he sees your face, you’re fighting your lips as they want to stay turned down, and you want to act unbothered, but you are failing miserably.

”Max, I’ll call you later, mate.” Lando ends the call before Max F. could say anything. He walks up to you and opens his arms. Before he can even reach you, tears are already escaping your eyes. “What’s wrong, love? Did something happen?”

You shake your head now, burying your face into Lando’s shoulder. Lando runs his hand up and down your back. His mind goes over everything that could’ve happened that would’ve caused you to be upset.

”Was it the test?” He asks, and you nod. He sighs and kisses your head. “It’s alright, love, you can take it again.”

”I-I don’t want to.” You mutter and Lando squeezes you harder. 

“Then don’t, you don’t have to.” Lando manages to pull back enough to see your face. He gives you one of his comforting and loving smiles. He quickly kisses your forehead and takes your hands in his. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

You follow him to the sofa, he sits down and pats the spot next to him, you sit sideways so your legs are over his, and you’re slotted into his side. 

“Oh, my poor baby.” Lando couldn’t help but feel bad for you. You looked so small cuddled up to him as you tried to find comfort in him. “It’s alright, love, you were just so nervous, you couldn’t sleep well anyway.”

”You knew?” You asked sniffing and looked up at him.

”Yeah, you were turning and shuffling most of the night.” You had no idea he felt you move. You thought he was sleeping.

”I’m sorry.” You mumble and your lips start to tremble again and Lando panics, he holds you close and gently sways you from right to left. 

“No, no it’s okay. I keep you up a lot of the time, and I’d be playing or watching a match or something.” Lando didn’t mean to make you feel guilty, and in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be this upset about it, but your emotions were running wide right now. “y/n, you never even wanted to get a licence. Why are you suddenly wanting it, you’re so upset about something you told me was just for fun.”

”It’s because you're a driver, and I always have to get you to. drive me everywhere, or I have to Uber, and what kind of girlfriend am I if I don’t know how to drive a basic car when you drive supercars for a living.” You admit and refuse to look at him, finding a loose string on his shirt far more interesting.

”y/n, look at me.” You refuse to do that. “Please.” You sigh and look at your boyfriend. “I love driving you around, you’re my passenger princess, and we spend quality time together whenever I drive you somewhere, besides didn’t we agree to stop reading the few bad comments online.”

”I didn-“

”Don’t lie.” Lando cuts you off with a knowing look. You bite your lip and sigh. “You as a girlfriend, are letting me do something I love, but giving me the honour of driving you around, and I wouldn’t let you drive while I’m around anyways.”

”I don’t think I tell you I love you enough.” Lando’s face lights up, his eyes sparkling in a way they only do when you say the magic words.

”Well, I love you too.” Lando says before he leans down and places a few small kisses on your lips, he’s smiling too much to do more than that. “You know, I think if you don’t pressure yourself, you’ll do well if you want to give it another go.”

”Would you help me practise?” You ask, giving him puppy eyes that you didn’t need to give for him to agree.

”Of course.” You hug Lando while you’re both sitting down, and you for a while you just stay wrapped up in each other’s arms, as the last of the sadness ebbs away. “Max wanted to meet us today. Are you up for it?”

”Is P going to be there, because I don’t want to third wheel you and your boyfriend.” You asked teasing Lando, you and P have this running joke that they’re dating, and you’re just always crashing their dates.

”Haha, very funny.” Lando pinches your side, making you squirm away from him with a squeal. “Weren't you just saying you love me?”

”I was, I was, but I’m no match to Max.” You say and jump off the sofa as Lando tries to get a hold of you. He may be fast in a car, but you’re faster than him, so you run giggling through the house with him chasing after you. All thoughts of the failed test are out the window. 

Maintaglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 12 ] || [ Chapter 14 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.9K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: the start.

Chapter 13: Yes, and?

Once Ghost touched down from the mission, and after being seen in the infirmary for a couple of nicks and gashes, he went, as usual, to Price’s office to debrief. As he walked out, his one thought was that he needed to get out of base and take his phone to be repaired… Or maybe get a new one.

Normally, he wouldn’t care so much, but ever since the two of you started texting constantly after that night together, he couldn’t help but be attached to the little device. Even Soap had made a joke about how addicted to his phone Simon was and how it must all be “thanks to his little date that he refuses to tell me about”.

As he rounded the corner to his hallway, he spotted Gaz leaning on the wall next to the door to Ghost’s quarters.

“Gaz.” Ghost greeted with a nod as he pulled his I.D. card from a pocket in his vest and slid it into the card slot, popping the door open.

“Sir.” Gaz acknowledged as he pulled away from the wall and stood there, arms hanging by his sides, waiting.

Ghost went leaned against the door jamb. “Something you’d like to say?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz said with a nod and cleared his throat softly. “Your… friend DMed me on Tinder looking for you.”

Ghost closed his eyes and sighed for a moment before he opened them again and stared at Gaz. “And what did you say?”

“The truth. Your phone broke and either way you had left for a mission so you wouldn’t reply for a while.” He answered.

Ghost nodded. “Thanks for that. Didn’t think I’d leave them worried sick.” He said sincerely and began to turn to duck into his room.

“I also went out with them.” Gaz added right as Ghost crossed the threshold.

That stopped Ghost in his tracks and the bigger man turned to look at Gaz over his shoulder. “You did?” 

“Yeah… Went for lunch… Got curious once I learned you two had a date, sir.” Kyle admitted, lowering his voice out of respect for Ghost’s privacy.

Full of respect, Gaz was. Ghost always appreciated that about the sergeant. Except right now.

“And since when do you have a right to be curious about my life? Is it any of your business?” Ghost asked, though his tone was calm and deadpan, not hostile or angry at all.

“Since I matched with them before anyone else… And you moved in after Captain Price.” Gaz retorted.

“Are you trying to call dibs over them, like Johnny did?” Ghost asked as he took a step to stand over Gaz.

“Maybe?” Gaz replied and shrugged, dipping his head back a bit to look the taller man in the eyes. “I mean…” He trailed off and shrugged. “They’re nice, sweet, kind, caring, funny, easy to talk to…”

“Yes, and?” Ghost retorted. “What are you trying to say, sergeant?” He asked, his voice wavering just a bit.

“I’m just… asking permission, I guess.” Gaz said, his tone the most cordial and reverent he could.

“Permission?” Ghost asked and had his skull not been in the way, Gaz would’ve seen his eyebrow cocking.

“To keep seeing them.” The younger man clarified.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed as he looked Gaz up and down. “You’re asking what exactly? To share them?” He asked as he curled his head a bit to the side, as if to hear him better.

“I guess so.” Kyle replied. “Is that alright?”

Simon’s lip curled in contemplation before he nodded curtly. “I guess I can’t object to that.” He conceded.

“But does it bother you?” Kyle asked in earnest, his brows furrowing a bit in concern.

Ghost shook his head a bit. “I don’t have a claim to them.” He said calmly.

“With all due respect… That’s not what I’m asking, sir.” Kyle insisted.

With a deep breath, Simon took a step into his quarters and gestured the sergeant inside. Then, he shut the door behind them and leaned himself against the wall by the door.

After a deep breath, Ghost shook his head. “Bothers me a little.” He admitted. Gaz nodded in understanding.

Another deep breath later, Ghost continued. “They… make me feel… human.” He explained and turned his head to look away. “Outside of the soldier, outside of the Ghost.” He said in a tone that entailed more than simple friendship.

“There’s no expectations. No one asking me to kill. No one telling me ‘Jump!’ only for me to reply ‘How high?’. It’s just…” He trailed off.

Gaz looked down at his feet and rocked back and forth, a bit awkwardly. It was the first time he and Simon had a conversation as deep as this… Having never quite felt that the Lieutenant let him in or saw him as worthy of something other than small talk and jokes over comms.

“I see.” The younger one said and sighed. “I… I can give up on it, if you wan-”

“Don’t.” Ghost interrupted and looked right at Gaz. Then, he took a deep breath and scratched at his exposed forearm, his gloved fingers dragging along the tattooed skin.

“I’m going to buy a new phone. Or get mine repaired…” He explained. “But… after that I was planning on going to see them… tonight. If they accept.” He said with a sigh.

“Maybe order take out… Game and watch movies…” Ghost said and with the tone of someone who’s making a great effort to speak, he looks at Gaz. “Do you wanna come with?” He asked in earnest.

-

Kyle had already texted you, per Simon’s request, to warn you of their intentions to grab takeout and head over… And you seemed quite giddy. So it didn’t surprise him when you opened the door for them with a smile.

“Hi!” You greeted them, took the bag of takeout food, and ushered them inside, instructing them to take off their shoes. Simon didn’t even need to be told, he already took initiative to do so. 

He had made an effort, Kyle had noticed, and put on a white henley shirt, a leather jacket, and black jeans… but still kept his stupid bloody mask on. Kyle himself was wearing an oversized purple-ish jumper and blue jeans. 

Kyle observed quietly as Simon shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair in the ‘dining’ area of your sitting room. “You bought a new candle.” He announced as he looked at the small lit flame on the coffee table.

“I did!” You acknowledged as you carefully opened the take-out containers and spread them all around the coffee-table. “Don’t just stay there, Kyle!” You told him, prompting the lad to finally move away from the entryway door, approaching you to sit on the couch.

Him and Ghost sat on opposite sides of the couch, leaving just enough for you to get squished in the middle, sandwiched by them. You each grabbed your food and, at first, it was incredibly awkward. The silence too large to allow for any of you to truly feel comfortable.

You looked back and forth between the two of them, eyes darting as if you were following a tennis game. Above your head, the two men also shot glances at you and one another.

“So… elephant in the room.” You quipped as you carefully bit a Jamaican patty and chewed it. That prompted both the men to look at you. “What’s going on?” You asked them.

“We both enjoyed our time with you.” Simon answered quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it startled Kyle.

“So you both wanted to hangout with me?” You asked as you looked between the two of them.

“We both like you.” Simon continued in his round of honesty. Kyle’s head snapped toward Simon, brown eyes widened. Simon was, however, completely absorbed in his meal.

Kyle was pretty sure he was right when he joked that you had Ghost under some sort of spell. Never had he seen Simon be so open and honest. Direct, sure, Ghost was always directly. But… sincere like this? Never.

“I like you both too.” You replied in earnest as you took another bite of your food.

“Not like that, sweetheart.” Simon replied and finally glanced over at you while dusting off his fingers on a napkin. “I mean we’d both date you if we could.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened a bit and you blinked away the shock. 

The way Ghost looked at you… That’s when he finally understood what he had meant when he spoke about you. There was a fondness in those usually cold, dead brown eyes… 

Kyle felt like he was intruding. Like it was wrong of him to be weaseling his way in between the two of you out of some childish claim he claimed to have over you… Because the way Simon made him understand how good you were for him.

He sat in a relaxed way, legs sprawled, thigh touching yours, wearing clothes he could’ve sworn Ghost would never even own, and you never once flinched in his presence. Granted, you weren’t aware of all the blood in his hands, in their hands… But you acted as if Ghost was just some bloke you were dating and not.. well… Ghost.

“Kyle?” Simon quipped and it finally rose him out of his thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry?” He asked, noticing he had spaced out.

“I asked if you two were jealous of one another and that’s why you’re so tense.” You repeated yourself. “Simon said he wouldn’t call it ‘jealousy’.”

Kyle and Simon shot each other a glance, as if wordlessly communicating. It was something they were used to doing in the field, but this was a completely different circumstance. 

Sighing, Gaz shifted around in his seat. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy either… But…” He trailed off. “Well, I saw how… how happy you make Simon.” He admitted.

Simon’s eyes, which had momentarily hardened, softened again as Kyle spoke. “And well… you made me… feel it too. It’s… easy to be around you. Easy to spend time laughing with you and always want more.” The younger man continued.

Your own eyes softened too and your cheeks warmed up a bit with his kind words. “So in a way I felt like… well… like I deserved to try to date you too.” He explained. “But it’s tense because, well, neither of us want to share.”

With a chuckle, you leaned back against the couch and covered your mouth with your hand. “Shared? What am I… some video game?” You joked. “Are you going to go to your mum to tattle when the other doesn’t let you have enough time with me?” You teased.

Immediately, all tension was gone, both of them rolling their eyes and scoffing. “Shut it, you.” Simon grumbled, amused.

“Most people would be honored to have two guys want to date them, you know?” Gaz remarked.

“Fuck that, most people would be honored to have me want to date them.” Simon quipped.

“Oh, you get down from your high horse!” You scolded him and nudged him with your arm, which made Simon chuckle.

“After this, we could watch a movie!” You announced as you resumed eating your Jamaican patty. 

“Good idea.” Simon praised you.

“Not another horror movie.” You added.

“You have very bad taste.” He quipped.

Strangely enough, watching you bicker with Simon only made Kyle feel warmer than he already did. He still felt like he was intruding but… the bickering was familiar. He saw that often between Johnny and Simon…

“How can I have bad taste? I literally like you both.” You remarked.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[ivymarquis]

Happiness is a Butterfly

It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.

This is what I vanished to work on lol

Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao

The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave. 

Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.

She can barely bring herself to look at him. 

In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger. 

She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either. 

Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.

He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.

She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.

He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.

As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”

This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”

It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.

Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.

“No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.

“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.

Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.

Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.

Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.

“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.

“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”

She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.

Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.

They’re adults. They can handle this.

Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.

The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.

If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.

Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.

She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.

Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?

Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.

Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back. 

What did he tell them?

Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.

She doesn’t even need to look at the notification. 

John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy. 

The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it. 

He can however put money in it.

He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.

She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face. 

Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children. 

It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine. 

Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access. 

She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.

“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief pause.

“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further. 

“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”

John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it. 

“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly. 

“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”

She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his. 

“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”

“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”

He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”

He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.

John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves. 

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”

The something coils tighter in her gut. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore. 

“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”

She can’t very well tell him no now can she?

The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children. 

Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt. 

She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to. 

It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name. 

The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air. 

“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).

Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.

“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.

John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”

Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”

Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.

Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.

She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”

Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.

Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?

“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.

“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”

“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”

The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.

“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”

“Could have called me.”

“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.

“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”

It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.

“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”

John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.

That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.

“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate. 

“John-”

“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her. 

There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities. 

And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home. 

Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss. 

(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)

There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.

She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.

Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John. 

It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.

“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.

“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?

Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her. 

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely. 

“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”

She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd. 

John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake. 

“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-

One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.

“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.

“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife. 

John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.

She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.

She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John. 

He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress. 

“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her. 

It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong. 

There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night. 

“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.

“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has. 

Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.

“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden. 

John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.

“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan. 

Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed. 

Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.

“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed. 

God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.

Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.

“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming. 

“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.

“I believe you,” he assures her. 

She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.

Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.

“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits. 

He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.

John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.

“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.

He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.

“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.

“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.

“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.

There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.

So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.

She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”

It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.

Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.

Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?

She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.

In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.

“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”

He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”

Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.

He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.

She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.

His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”

She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.

“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.” 

She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.

“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”

It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally-  and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.

Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.

She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.

“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.

Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.

But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.

Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.

As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.

Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.

He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.

Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.

“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.

He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”

She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.

John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.

She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance. 

“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.

“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.

“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.

His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.

It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.

“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.

If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.

“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”

Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”

His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.

She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.

“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.

“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.

Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”

“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.

“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.

“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.

“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down. 

“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion. 

John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).

Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.

For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.

It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.

“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.

“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”

He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”

She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.

When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.

She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest. 

It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.

The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control. 

For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.

The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.

“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.

Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.

Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.

The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.

She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.

“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.

“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.

She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.

“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.

He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.

And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.

“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.

Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.

It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.

“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.

“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.

“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”

“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”

She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.

“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”

And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.

Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.

(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)

The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.

By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.

John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted. 

Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children. 

Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her. 

Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely. 

Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.

“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules. 

She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-

Anyway.)

“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”

It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).

Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions. 

The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.

She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.

The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.

“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”

It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it. 

“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”

Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.

Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down. 

At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.

“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.

There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).

Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.

“So now what do we do?” she asks.

John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.

They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.

“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.

After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.

Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.

“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”

“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”

The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?” 

He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.

She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”

The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.

“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.

And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.

“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”

The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”

For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.

Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.

The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.

“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.

“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.

It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.

Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.

Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.

Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?

John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.

The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.

No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.

At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.

The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.

A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.

John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.

When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.

She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.

They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.

There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.

Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.

She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.

When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.

She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.

The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.

“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.

“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.

“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)

“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.

Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[ellemj]

Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Read parts 1 and 2 first if you haven't!

Summary: Bucky took a bullet for you and your ungrateful attitude is exactly what will help end his unwanted attraction to you, his new roommate. Or at least he thought it would help, until he found out how pretty you look on your knees.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, alcohol consumption, mutual masturbation, hint of a size kink, blood, gunshot wounds, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: According to @littlemiss-yeehaw, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written. Idk if I agree but it's a lil tiny bit filthy. Sorry for the long wait but I did NOT want to risk half-assing this chapter when I was so focused on getting through the 12 Days of Smut in December. Hope you all enjoy!

            Pissed. That’s what you are in this moment, beyond pissed. You’re in the backseat of Sam’s car as he drives you and Bucky through the city, heading back to your apartment complex. He should be heading toward the nearest hospital but of course, the stubborn ass super soldier who you now call your roommate adamantly refused to go to the hospital after being shot.

            “If I see so much as one drop of blood on my leather seats...” Sam threatens coldly, shooting Bucky a side-eye from the driver’s seat. You don’t even have to see his face to know that Bucky’s returning the calloused look. You let out an annoyed sigh as you start unbuckling the strap of one of your heels, your shimmery body glitter reflecting the mix of moonlight and streetlights streaming in from the windows. “And you,” Sam says, casting a glance in the rearview mirror and catching your gaze, “don’t get glitter all over my damn car.”

            “I’d be getting glitter all over Elias Leveaux’s car right now if Bucky hadn’t inserted himself into my op.” You put extra emphasis on the word my, using the rearview mirror to look at Bucky’s stoic expression. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead, refusing to dignify you with even a brief darting of his eyes in your direction. After kicking off your heels and stuffing them in your duffel bag, you reach behind yourself to start undoing the back of your lacey corset top. Though it looks hot as fuck on you, it’s also uncomfortable as fuck and you’re not wearing it for a moment longer than you have to. Your breasts are one more snap away from spilling out of the top when Sam catches Bucky’s gaze drifting to the rearview mirror so briefly that he’s surprised he even noticed it. Sam’s quick to reach a hand up and tilt the mirror to point at the ceiling, shooting Bucky a disapproving look. He would’ve expected a man from Steve’s era to behave a little better than that. “What the hell were the three of you even doing there tonight? This was meant to be a solo op, I didn’t need any more backup than I already had.”

            “Right, you’d be safely on your way to Leveaux’s house right now, wouldn’t you? Without a bullet wound in your head or your chest or wherever else?” Bucky seethes, growing more and more tired of your stubbornness. Do you not realize that it was a planned shooting? Someone knew Leveaux was going to be at the club tonight and they plotted it all ahead of time, aiming to either scare him into staying off of the streets of the city or maybe even aiming to kill him. It was going to happen regardless of how much backup you did or didn’t have tonight.

            “You know, Bucky, you can’t say shit. You got yourself shot tonight. You should’ve stayed in the club.” As soon as the words leave your lips you feel a tinge of regret settling in the pit of your stomach. He got himself shot protecting you. He shielded you with his own body. He was observant of your surroundings, he saw the dark car slowly coming down the street with its windows halfway down, and his first move was to shove you against the wall and put his body between yours and the danger behind. He likely saved your life, yet you can’t find it within yourself to offer him even a measly thank you. He’s actually a little bit thankful for everything that happened after you left the stage earlier, because he was really starting to wonder how the hell he was going to find enough to dislike about you to keep his cock from getting hard every time you cross paths, which is way too often when you live together. But you acting like this? Acting like he did you a disservice by not only saving you from a hail of gunfire but also by saving you from going home with the most notorious arms dealer in the northern U.S? He thinks this ungrateful attitude of yours might cure him.

            When the sound of your last corset fastener snapping open disturbs the short-lived silence in the car, Bucky clenches his teeth together. He wishes you would wait until you were home to change, but he also couldn’t stand knowing that you were sitting there in that fucking black lingerie set with nothing but another man’s coat covering your skin. Maybe he isn’t as cured as he thought.

            “You should’ve called me Sam, you should’ve told me that you guys were going to be there tonight.” Your tone is a little softer as you slip on a black Calvin Klein bra and then pull your black sweater from earlier over it.

            “Fury didn’t brief us until the last minute, I had no idea it was your op until it was too late to call you. You were already onsite.” Sam explains, trying to diffuse your anger a bit more. You sigh as you slide your black jeans over your legs and begin zipping and buttoning them closed.

            “I’ve been waiting to get him alone for months.” You’re sulking. You put so much time and effort into tracking Leveaux’s every move, every hobby, every place he frequents. You know the man inside and out, and you knew this night was your only chance to get what you needed from him. You lift your right hand and massage your temples with your middle finger and thumb, feeling the start of a stress headache coming on.

            “You’ll get another chance. He was pretty damn interested in you and what you had to offer.” Sam points out, fixing the rearview mirror back into its proper position and using it to make eye contact with you. He knows you work hard and that you’re good at your job, and he hates to see you so frustrated over one op being blown for reasons that were out of your control. As much as you want to blame Bucky, it wasn’t even his fault. However, you plan to hold a bit of a grudge regardless.

            “Answer this one for me, when you were briefed, did Fury tell you that my cover name was the same as my real first name?” You ask, perking up in your seat a bit as you fish around in your bag for your socks. It’s freezing outside and you can barely feel your feet after wearing your heels out in such a low temperature.

            “You really think I would’ve blown your cover unintentionally?” Bucky questions, his blue eyes boring into yours in the mirror. Clearly he takes offense at your insinuation. He might’ve inserted himself into your moment with Leveaux on a whim, but he isn’t reckless like you, he knew what he was doing outside the club. He was saving your ass. You stare right back at him, malice lighting your gaze on fire.

            “You’re telling me you meant to do it on purpose?”

            “Calm down, we knew your cover name was the same as your real name. Your cover wasn’t blown.” Sam interjects, trying his best to stomp out the flames of the fight that’s brewing between you and Bucky. His eyes leave the road for a moment as he casts a glance between the two of you, unable to ignore the growing tension in the car. “What the hell is up with you two? I’ve barely ever seen you guys interact, much less be at each other’s throats like you are right now. Am I missing something?”

            “No.” You and Bucky speak the word in unison. The last few minutes of the car ride are taken in silence, no one daring to say another word as you and Bucky stew in your own anger and Sam focuses on avoiding patches of black ice in the road. You’ve almost forgotten that Bucky’s been shot, until you get out of the car in the parking garage and see the sizable, dark red wet patch smeared across the fabric covering his torso. He’s keeping his flesh hand held tight over the area, in an attempt to abate the blood loss. It looks a lot worse than he’s been making it seem, but you’d expect no less from someone so damn stubborn.

            It only takes a couple of minutes to make it to your floor of the complex, and as soon as the elevator doors begin sliding open to let you both out, you can feel that urge somewhere deep inside, tugging at your conscience. You’re going to end up breaking out your first aid kit and using it on him. You can’t even argue with yourself, it’s what’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. Fuck your medical background and inherent need to take care of everyone but yourself.

Bucky’s planning to shower the blood off of his skin and maybe throw a couple of bandages over the entrance and exit wounds that he knows he’s sporting. That’s the most that he thinks he’ll need. He’s barely ever needed any more than a little wound cleansing and maybe some gauze here and there, he heals so quickly that first aid always been an unnecessary comfort. As he trails behind you down the hallway, watching the way you fiddle with the set of keys in your right hand, he wonders what you’re thinking now. He imagines you’re probably picturing yourself leaving him standing on the curb as you ride off into the dark of night with Elias Leveaux. Would you really have made it all the way to Leveaux’s house and let him put his hands on you? Would you have let him have you? All for a little bit of intel that you could probably gain in a much safer way? God, Bucky can’t stand you or the way you operate in the field. The next time Fury calls him in on anything related to you, he’s waving a white flag of surrender and saying hell no. He isn’t going to be tasked with sitting on the sidelines to watch as you let some criminal touch your ass and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Fuck that.

You deftly slide your key into the lock, turning it to the right before pushing the door handle down. When the door swings open, the darkness of your apartment greets you, mingling with an eerie silence. That’s another thing that you and Bucky don’t have in common. You always leave a light on when you go out, whether it’s a table lamp or the light above the stovetop in the kitchen, you hate coming home to darkness. But Bucky never leaves a light on. It’s like he’s allergic to all things cozy and comforting. You’re acutely aware of his presence behind you as you step into the apartment and stop in your tracks when he shuts the door behind you both. It’s dark, too dark. Of course, when you freeze right in front of him, Bucky’s next step sends him crashing into your back, which sends you nearly sprawling to the floor. He reaches out with his vibranium hand and grabs you by the elbow, steadying you quickly before letting go. It only takes him a second to figure out why you’ve stopped short, and he turns around to feel along the wall by the door until he hears the way the scratchy sound of the rough painted wall gives way to the smooth plastic covering of the light switch panel under his metal fingers. When he flicks the living room light on, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Bucky watches as you cross the living room and disappear down the hallway, making a left turn into your bedroom with your duffel bag in tow. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he sees a trail of glitter and being sprinkled across the floor in your wake and cartoon-style steam billowing out of your ears. With you gone, he can finally think without a cloud of anger fogging up his thoughts. His first move is to turn on the lights in the kitchen and fish a cold beer out of the fridge. His second move is to lean back against the edge of the island and take a long sip of said beer as he gauges how much his gunshot wound hurts. Not that much. Listening to you give him shit over nothing was more painful than the bullet he took for you. God, you’re fucking infuriating. As much as he detests your presence here tonight, he still finds himself tuning an ear in your direction. He can hear you rummaging around in your room, presumably searching for something by the sounds of your sighs and various objects sliding across the carpet. For a second, his mind floats back to the first night you moved in. The soft moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth, quiet enough that he had to strain his ears to hear them but loud enough that he was able to fucking memorize them. His grip around the beer bottle tightens as he tries to focus on anything besides those sounds, anything besides the recurrent sighs traveling down the hall right now. What the hell are you even doing in there?

“Take off your shirt.” Your voice sounds out from down the hall, reaching Bucky’s ears and making him do a doubletake.

“Last time you saw me without one you asked why I never wear one.” Bucky points out, now he’s really wondering what you’re doing in your bedroom. He hears your socked feet pattering against the floor of the hallway just before you turn the corner and step into the kitchen. His eyes lock onto yours first, but then they quickly dart down to the compact, army green tactical bag in your hands. He recognizes it in an instant. “I think if I got myself shot, I can handle the wound care on my own, sweetheart.” Bucky throws your earlier words right back in your face. You narrow your eyes at him as you step up to the island and set the first aid bag just a few inches to his right. You’re silent as you unzip it and start pulling out a few supplies you’re sure you’ll need.

“Just take off your shirt and sit your ass on the island.” Your tone is really starting to convey how fed up you are with his shit. He thinks about arguing a little more, but he’s as ready to be done with you tonight as you are with him. He figures the fastest way to get this over with is to let you take a look at his wound and see how fast he’s already healing, and then you’ll leave him alone and you can go your separate ways for the night. So, Bucky turns and sets his now half-empty beer bottle on the island next to the first aid kit before grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He drops it on the floor by your feet, watching with poorly masked amusement as your eyes rake over his toned shoulders, his chest, the rippled muscles of his abs, and then… “God, you should’ve gone to the hospital, Bucky.”

Though the lighting in the kitchen is pretty good, Bucky being so tall casts a shadow over his lower body, making it hard to get an illuminated view of the bullet’s exit wound. Your hand lands on his vibranium shoulder without hesitation and you tug him forward and to the side, urging him to turn around. He complies, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your palm and fingertips brushing over the scars where vibranium meets tortured skin. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, he finds himself annoyed at how soothing your touch feels. He wants this whole thing over with. You lean over to examine the entrance wound on the side of his lower back as Bucky runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as the exit wound on his frontside, which is exactly what you’d expected. You don’t give Bucky any warning as you swipe a pre-soaked pad of iodine over his wound to clean it. You want to check for bullet fragments, to give him a few stitches and maybe even a shot of a local anesthetic, but you’re sure he’d rather take another bullet than let you do any of that. So, you simply clean the wound and fashion a secure, waterproof bandage over it. When you stand up again and tap his shoulder, he turns back around to face you, looking even more annoyed than before. He doesn’t make a move to sit on the island, so you let out a frustrated sigh as you do the only thing you can think to do, the thing that Bucky wishes you hadn’t done. You sink to your knees in front of him.

You notice the way he draws in a deep breath and casts a displeased glance down at you, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, but he doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. You look up at him just for a moment, taking in his cold expression and everything below it…the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way both of his hands are gripping the edge of the countertop, his beer long forgotten with you now on your knees. If you could hear his thoughts, you’d be hearing a chorus of not now, not now, not now as Bucky attempts to rationalize with his already-hardening cock. Bucky decides to give you thirty seconds to finish whatever the hell it is that you’re about to do down there before he pulls you up by your fucking hair. As if you can sense his short fuse, you get to work. Swiping the iodine pad over the significantly messier exit wound and then tearing open a packet of gauze with your teeth. You press a couple of the soft white squares against his still oozing wound and they quickly soak up the fresh blood, soaking through to your fingertips. Bucky’s wondering why you didn’t put on any gloves, aren’t people usually worried about catching some bloodborne illness when they do shit like this? The fact that his blood turning your fingertips red doesn’t even seem to bother you almost turns him on more. God, this is starting to feel a little bit too twisted. Bucky’s flesh hand moves on autopilot, his fingers coming to rest over yours as he applies more pressure to the wound and lets out a soft grunt at the pain. You let him hold your fingers there for a moment and you make the mistake of looking up at him again. Fuck. He can’t handle this. Bucky screws his eyes shut and tilts his head back a little, making sure when he opens his eyes again his only view will be of the ceiling above and not of you on your knees in front of him.

“Are you almost done?” He asks harshly, removing his hand from the top of yours and gripping the edge of the counter once more. You start fashioning another bandage out of gauze and medical tape as soon as his hand leaves yours.

“I would be if you’d sat on the island like I asked you to, you wanted to do this the hard way.” You retort. You can’t seem to get the tape in a good enough position, not with the waistband of his tactical pants in the way, so you take the initiative and curl two fingertips into them before tugging them down an inch. That one inch is enough to reveal the beginning of a v-line and your breath hitches in your throat. You’re suddenly all-too-aware of the compromising position you’re in. Even more than that, you’re aware of something you’d been completely oblivious to just a moment before: Bucky’s hard-on outlined through the fabric of his pants.

You’re frozen for a second too long and when you come to your senses once more, you look up to find Bucky staring down at you, his gaze a little less cold but every bit as intense. You decide that making eye contact with the man that you’re currently non-sexually on your knees for might not be the smartest move, so you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the task at hand. You’re able to get the bandage in the right place just fine after tugging his pants down an inch, and as soon as the tape sticks to his skin you rise to your feet. You’re the only thing standing between Bucky and the short walk to his bedroom door. You’re ready to collect your first aid kit and leave him standing in the kitchen to steep in his anger, but your mind can’t seem to get past the fact that he has a hard-on. He saw you staring at it too, and he simply stood there looking down at you, as if he was waiting to see how you’d respond to it. God, who the hell does he think he is? Crashing your solo op, taking a bullet for you like he’s some all-American hero, and then getting turned on by what? You giving him shit for it all?

Bucky’s waiting a bit impatiently for you to take your leave, for you to gather your medical supplies back into the little tactical bag and disappear into your bedroom for the rest of the night, leaving a trail of body glitter all over the kitchen and hallway. But instead of leaving, you’re standing in front of him, your eyes analyzing every twitch of the muscles along his jaw, every little move he makes with his eyes as he stares right back at you. Your boldness seems to intensify as you stand there taking in the sight of your roommate. You want the last word, and you want it to be something he’ll remember, so he doesn’t go screwing up your hard work ever again.

Leaning into Bucky’s space, you’re met with his intoxicatingly pleasant scent, he smells so uniquely like him. There isn’t any other way to describe it, it’s just Bucky. You brace your hands on the edge of the island on either side of him, your arms brushing against each of his as you rise up on your toes and position your lips so close to his ear that you could stick your tongue out and taste him if you wanted to. Fuck, you kind of want to. The thought only graces your mind for the briefest moment before you let your eyes flutter closed and focus on the anger you still feel bubbling up in your chest.

“Stay the fuck away from my solo ops.” You whisper softly but pointedly. Your bottom lip just barely grazes the shell of his ear as the last word leaves your mouth. That tiny, brief point of physical connection between the two of you is seemingly nothing, yet it sends a spark of electricity from your bottom lip all the way down to your toes.

Bucky’s form is rigid, trapped between you and the island, simultaneously hating and loving the position he’s been placed in. He wishes he only hated it. He wishes he could fist his hand in your hair and angle your head back until your neck is exposed to him like a blank canvas, ready for him to leave his mark. He wishes you would’ve locked yourself in your bedroom the moment you both got to the apartment, not even bothering to fish out your first aid kit and clean up his wounds. He wishes he’d never given you the idea to switch apartments with Vision, and yet, in this moment, his cock is harder than it’s ever been. That’s why when you let go of the island and turn away from Bucky, leaving your first aid kit on the countertop as you take the first step to leave the kitchen, Bucky reaches out and curls his hand tightly around your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks before using his grip to turn you back around to face him. In one swift motion, he tightens his hold even more and pulls you in until your chest is pressed against his and his warm breath is fanning across your face as he looks down at your widened eyes.

“I don’t take orders from people who don’t give a shit if they live or die.” Bucky spits, holding you against him for just a second after he’s spoken his piece, before dropping his hold on your arm and letting you stumble one step back. He expects you to maybe mutter something under your breath before stomping off to your room, annoyed that he didn’t let you have the last word, but you’re every bit as stubborn as he is. Every bit as stubborn and feeling like you have a leg up in the situation since you know what’s currently fighting to escape the confines of his tactical pants. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes flit from his icy expression down to his waistband that sits right above the outline of his hard-on, and then back up to his eyes once more.

“Right, it’s probably bad form to take professional orders from someone you wanna fuck anyway.” When you say the word fuck, you let your eyes drift down to the front of his pants one final time, ensuring that he knows what led you to your choice of words. Now Bucky returns your smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he shakes his head at you.

“That’s all adrenaline, sweetheart, nothing else.” His denial is both enraging and laughable. You tsk, closing the distance between the two of you one more time before reaching out with your right hand and letting the tips of your fingers, still tinged red with his blood, tap lightly over the center of his chest. He’s looking down at you, completely unable to force himself to look anywhere else, as you drag those fingers down his bare torso, so lightly that he feels goosebumps forming across the expanse of his skin. Your hand travels lower and lower, over the hills and valleys of his abs, ghosting over his navel, and down the thin trail of hair that leads straight to the thing you can’t stop thinking about. You let your fingertips skim over the fabric of his waistband just barely, just enough to really piss him off, and that’s when Bucky snatches your wrist away, his grip so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark.

“Watch it.” He warns, with his eyes dark and narrowed as he casts you a disapproving yet sinful glance. You feel your bloodflow splitting in two directions, half of it rushing up to color your cheeks and the other have rushing down to pool low in your stomach, sending heat swirling between your legs. You swallow thickly. What the hell? Your body is clearly loving the way he’s talking to you and it’s pissing you off. You’re learning that you’re attracted to men with the unhealthiest of attitudes, and Bucky’s currently rising to the top of the unhealthy-attitude-yet-hot-as-fuck mental list that you’re keeping. He’s actually the only person on it. He just invented the list for you, in this moment, when he told you to watch it.

“I think I heard a button snap there, soldier.” You tease, letting your eyes flit down to the waistband of his pants again. Bucky’s jaw ticks as he flicks your wrist away from him and tries to ignore the new nickname you’ve decided to test out. How do you make such a common, simple title sound so damn filthy? Bucky thinks you could’ve actually heard the button of his tactical pants snap open, considering the way his cock has been twitching every time you open your mouth. He decides the only way for him to get out of this is to let you have the last word, so he stands there in silence as you study his tense face. He so badly wants to say something back, to anger you every bit as much as you’ve angered him tonight, but he knows how stubborn you are and every word he breathes will only keep you here in front of him longer. His tactic works like a charm and he watches with bated breath as you step away from him and take a few steps toward the hallway. You stop short right before disappearing behind the wall, looking over your shoulder and making eye contact with Bucky one final time.

“Let me know if you need any help with all of that uh…” You wave your hand around in the air as you refer to Bucky’s hard-on, with a near-permanent smirk plastered on your face. “Adrenaline. It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky’s left alone in the kitchen at last. He thought he’d feel instant relief once you left, but he doesn’t. He feels like he has a damn loaded gun tucked in the front of his pants. Let me know if you need any help? It’s the least I can do? Bucky has no doubt that you were simply being a sarcastic pain in his ass, but still. Your words were laced with innuendo and the sexual tension in the room was so thick that he could barely breathe. He is so beyond fucked.

---

            The softest, sweetest little hum escapes your lips as your right hand moves of its own volition. The back of your hand feels the fabric of your cotton panties, which are a little bit damp even after you showered and changed into a fresh pair. The pads of your fingers are sliding back and forth along your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around, dragging closer and closer to your entrance with each downward sweep. When you let the tip of your middle finger dip down and inward, just barely entering where you’ve been feeling an empty sort of ache for the past hour, the steady string of hums and soft pants that were leaving your lips before become whispered moans. This is exactly what you needed.

            Bucky’s fist is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock as he gives it torturously slow strokes from the base to the tip, prolonging his pleasure as long as he possibly can. He closes his eyes and instantly recalls the mental image of you on your knees at his feet, gazing up at him like you being in that position for him wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

            “Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly, speeding up the work of his right hand as his head presses back harder into his pillow. It’s burned into his eyelids, the image of you on your knees. It’s burned into his eyelids and he fears he’ll never be able to forget it. His brain takes the image and adds to it, evolving it to include your hands sliding up the fronts of his thighs and adding a flash of hunger behind your eyes. He gets far too close to finishing himself off too soon when he imagines you tugging on the waistband of his pants just like you did earlier, but enough to free his cock right there in front of you. God, he knows he’s well-endowed, but he can just picture how much bigger his dick would look if your hand was wrapped around it instead of his own. Another groan rumbles past his lips, louder this time, as he starts to lose a little bit of his self-control.

            Bucky. His name is swirling around your mind for two reasons now. The first being that you’re touching yourself because of him. Because of the way he looked at you, talked to you, because of the way he pissed you off. You slowly pull two fingers out of your pussy and drag them upwards until you reach your clit, beginning to stimulate it a little too excitedly as the second reason presents itself again. He groans. Bucky Barnes groans for the second time. The first time that you heard it a few seconds ago you assumed he was rolling over in bed or maybe he accidentally laid in a way that aggravated his wounds from earlier tonight. But the second time you heard it you had no doubt about what he was doing. It has to be exactly what you’re doing, and you’re fucking thrilled. You know it isn’t the most honest or decent way to reach an orgasm, but hell, if he’s going to be so damn vocal with such thin walls, how can you resist? So, you rub circles against your clit, letting hushed pants and moans fall freely from your lips now, sure that Bucky’s too engaged in his own arousal to hear you.

            You sound like a fucking goddess. Bucky doesn’t even take a moment to feel guilty, no, he only picks up the speed with which he’s desperately tugging on his cock to get to his release. A thin sheen of sweat has formed across his brow and his chest is burning with a mix of desire and near-hyperventilation as he touches himself and listens to the sinful sounds coming from across the hall. All cares have been thrown aside as yet another loud curse is torn out of him, and then an equally loud, provocative moan is returned from your room. That’s when Bucky’s eyes snap open and his thumb glides over the slit of his cock where precum has been steadily leaking out since your dangerous kitchen encounter earlier. If he’s being honest with himself, his dick has been leaking precum since you took the stage at the club earlier tonight. As the two of you exchange moans and broken swears through the walls, neither of you using an ounce of rational thinking, you race toward your separate releases simultaneously. When Bucky finally feels his balls tightening and his cock twitching against the palm of his tiring hand, his release comes at the sound of your final audible sentence of the night.

            “Fuck, I’m cumming.”

            You always get the last word.

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[chastiefoul]

valentines gone wrong ft. childe, scara, and neuvilette

a/n: yes. you read that right valentines work on september!! this is just something random i wanna write one day when i'm lying down and ofc i can't wait until february next year (also how is it alr almost 2 months since i posted something???) tags: just fluff, light-read, and everything in-between, modern au (?) just don't think too much abt it hehe - summary: it's valentines and of course you have plans to give sweets to your lover. however because one thing and another, you had to entrust it to someone else in hope it will be handed safely to them. what happened when it didn't?

childe

you went home excited, anticipating his reaction to your handmade sweets, however what greets you at the door was a sulky childe, who avoided eye contact as if his life depended on it as he limits himself to a a sentence everytime you ask him something.

“something happened today, babe?” you asked him worriedly, the chocolate was the back of your mind seeing the state of your boyfriend in. “oh something definitely should have happened,” he quipped, his lower mouth sticking out slightly. “that sounds like a dig at me, did i forgot something?” you asked as you follow his gaze to what he thought must be the most interesting flower vase ever. he shrugged, refusing to give you more.

frustrated by his rejection to tell you what’s wrong, you held his face with both of your palm, turning his face to yours. although the move met no resistance, childe still refused to look at you in the eyes and only now his childish grumbles turned into such a sad expression.

“baby? please tell me what i did,” you were gentle with it, rubbing your thumb below his eyes. “...late.”

“what?”

“chocolate. where’s mine? i saw you gave your friends one so i don’t think im crazy to expect one too, especially as your boyfriend.” he pouted and you swore it looked so adorable and so out-of-character of him that you wanted to kiss him—wait.

“huh? but i did give you one!” you claimed, confusion rose inside you. “huh? but i didn’t get it...” childe’s face matched your expression. “well technically i gave it to scara to give it to you.. did he not... give it to you?”

“i wouldn’t be this insufferable if i got one, you know that, but no he didn’t say anything—and also really babe? scara? the guy who hates and made fun of me every chance he got?” he crossed his arm, raising an eyebrow, as he questioned your questionable decision-making. “hey give me a break, i was in a rush there thinking i couldn’t give you the chocolate in time. and he made me say please three times before he said he would consider doing it-oh i see how i was wrong there.” your line of ramble humbled you, the silence was loud.

“maybe he just put it in your bag or something?” you offered. “you really think he’s someone who’d do that?” he asked. “in desperate times i’d give even scara the benefit of the doubt,” you stated, opening childe’s bag. and there it was, put nicely at the very top, your chocolate for your lover.

you smiled, for all the shit-talk scara gave everyone on a daily basis you knew you could count on him. “see? i knew he’s actually a big softie for stuff like this.”

childe practically runs to your side. “my chocolate? aw babe so you really didn’t forget me!” he peppered kisses all over your face, then clasping the sweet to his chest like it’s a new-born baby. “of course i’d never. but maybe next year i’ll just give it directly to you.”

“yeah? please do, today’s event just wasn’t great for my heart.”

neuvilette

“welcome home, dear.” you greeted him cheerily as he just arrived home. it was quite late, and you had entrust the chocolate you were supposed to give to him at a reasonable hour so he could enjoy it instead of giving it to him at home.

he kissed your temple in return, a smile you’re still head over heels for on his lips. but it doesnt quite reach his eyes. 

“what’s wrong?” you asked carefully. “nothing is wrong,” he replied, somehow looking nervous. “yet it’s strange for you to be looking so fidgety. tell me?”

“well,” he paused a little, stroking your hair as he pondered the best way to approach the sentence he’s about to say. “i saw you today giving chocolates to navia and wriothesley.. i couldn’t talk to you because i was in a rush to deal with an urgent case,” he said, not looking at you on the eyes. “oh, did that bother you? it’s just they’re such good friends of mine and it’s only friendship cookies-“

“no, dear of course not. i know you’re a loving person who always appreciate those around you, it’s just..”

“just?”

neuvilette looked like he didn’t hear the rest of the words after that you did make some for the white-haired male. a smile bloomed on his face as he shook his head. “no problem i will ask them about it tomorrow. i’m just delighted you kept me in your thoughts.” a gentle expression was loyal on his features. “well of course neuvillete, you hardly ever leave my thoughts, don’t you know?” he chuckled. “i’m familiar with that you see, considering you never leave mine as well.”

the next sentence was almost audible as he spoke. “do i not get one..?” he asked ever so softly sounding a little sad, his calloused hand ran across your arm, tracing along your vein as it touched your fingers and you're sure there's something wrong in your head because all you could think about that second was how adorable the usual charismatic man was being. yet you held your smile.

“of course you do! did it not reach you? i asked the guard in front of your door because i afraid i’d bother you at work hours. sorry neuvilette, i promised i made some for you, and i was so proud of it too...”

scara

“no i’m not.” he said, with the worst frown you’ve seen on him for a while and that’s saying a lot.

“you’re definitely sulking,” you said. “shut up,” he grumbled. “hey i was supposed to be one who’s doing the sulking. we’re nearing the end of the day and you haven’t even mentioned about the chocolate i gave you today!” you retorted out of frustration but most of all confusion because you had no idea what made your lover fall into such a bad mood.

“what.”

“what?”

“say that again,” scara said, “that i gave you chocolate?” you asked. “no you didn’t, you liar!” he complained, his frown deepened if that’s even possible. “wait what? i swear i asked childe to give it to you earlier today! i was ambushed by customers today at the shop so i was scared i couldn’t give it to you on time so i asked him. did it not get to you?” you explained.

“i came home empty-handed didn’t i? also really, that dense fool?” his displeasure was obvious upon the new information you couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “don’t look so disgusted, he’s not that bad.”

“sure, although you know what’s bad? that i don’t have my chocolates right now.” he crossed his arm, fuming almost looking like a child who got their toys taken. “alright enough of your pouting. we’ll interogate him later. for now, i seem to have leftover ingredients, i’ll make you a new one.” you approached him, combing through the back of his hair as you planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. he replied by pulling you closer as he nuzzled into your neck. “it better be good,” he mumbled.

at the end you didn’t even make it to 5 minutes before scara followed you to the kitchen, insisting that he made it together too because he was ‘watching over you so you don’t mess up’ but personally i think he just felt bad because you need to make a new one and wanted to help you any way he can. that’s something he’d never admit even if there’s a gun pointing at his head, though.

[mari-the-bimbo]

heyyy🫣

Could I ask for choso with the best friends brother trope in a no curses au.

thank you 🤭

Choso: the best friends brother

A/N: I’m sorry I’m sure you meant this in a completely innocent way but I got carried away and made it inappropriate so I stopped half way LOL

Warning: MINORS DNI 18 + , dirty talk, unprotected sex

Why did your best friends brother Choso have to be so hot??? Long black hair tied back but the front loose strands frames his handsome face so well, his ripped muscular body hiding under his cashmere sweaters. Choso was the bane but also the blessing of your existence.

He’s very kind to you, you reckon that’s where your best friend Yuuji learnt all his good manners from.

Well.. a bit more than kind to be honest.

Big brother Choso would often encourage his little brother Yuuji to bring you over. “She’s a good influence on you” he’ll lie through his teeth, even though he knew you were just as troublesome as his brother, but he refused to see any faults with you <3

“Y/n will you be joining us for dinner hun?” he asks as he towers over you.

There it is, the sweet names he calls you which make your stomach tingle. It may seem normal and platonic to others (aka oblivious Yuuji bless him), but when you notice the smile on his face when you stutter as a result, you know he knows.

Yuuji calls it Choso’s ‘natural instinct for affection’ detailing how he is constantly coddled by his elder. Which is why the pink haired boy doesn’t bat an eye when his big brother places his large hands on your much smaller shoulders when politely moving you out the way, or when his fingers graze your lap accidentally. How could any of this be coincidental, or is he really that naive?

But on one Sunday evening, you happened to strike some luck as you went to Yuuji’s house only to find his hot older brother alone.

“Hello y/n, miss me already?” said the deep voiced man. You laugh at his teasing, it’s better than his dad jokes.

“Hey Choso, uhh is Yuuji in? I thought I’d come over to see him”

“Yuuji’s staying over at Megumi’s, but you’re still welcome here doll, you can have fun with me instead” he said, making you blush at the suggestive remark. You choose to be brave and enter nonetheless.

“Sure” you say as you enter, you almost found your knees buckling at the thought of being alone with Choso and all sorts of fantasies entered your head.

“Come here” Choso calls you as he enters the kitchen, you follow after him. When you look up the black haired man holds out a spoon of his soup near your lips “you can be my little taste tester today, how does this taste?” He says prying your mouth open to taste it, and it’s warm and delicious as usual. “It’s good!” You hum making Choso chuckle.

“Good, I’ve made enough for both of us” he adds, “why? Did you know I’d come over?” You joke, but when Choso turns around to face you with his sleepy but intense eyes, but find yourself regretting that move.

In response, he saunters a step closer to you, making you back up until your back hit the counter, you gasp at the impact but you refuse to tear your eyes away from Choso’s, but as his face leans in, you ignore the butterflies and almost flutter your eyes shut in anticipation until you saw his muscular arm reach out and grab the salt behind you.

“Soup needs a little more salt” he says in your ear before pulling away with a smile that seemed too innocent.

“I-“

“You good? You look a little out of it” he asks and you can’t help but just stare at him in awe. How does he manage to have this much effect on you?

His eyes soften at your lack of response. “Aw you’re just so cute y/n, look at you with soup on the corner of your lips” he chuckles, you immediately snap out of it and bring the back of your hand to your mouth to wipe but a large hand wraps around yours.

“Here let me help you out” he says wiping the corners with his rough thumb, then he notices the sauce that’s now transferred to his thumb, but then he catches you offf caused as he pries your mouth open with his thumb. Your mouth could only muffle sounds in protest, until Choso’s deep voiced seemed like it boomed across the kitchen.

“Lick it off”

You stare at your best friends brother who now towered over you with his eyes expectantly watching your mouth take his thumb. You hesitantly licked the thumb in your mouth, not minding the salty taste because he’s smiling with his teeth biting his bottom lip.

“Mhm that’s right” he says, taking his thumb out, you stare up at him in shock before frowning “you tease!” You complain, making Choso raise his eyebrows before smiling.

He chuckles “awe do you feel teased y/n?” He crouches to your height before whispering “is it because you wanted to kiss?” He asks and you stall momentarily, knowing it’s true.

You shrug, making him look at you with admiration, his eyes twinkled at your cuteness before he shook his head in amusement. “You’re too cute y/n how am I supposed to say no to that?” He says and now you were blushing as you realised what he said “h-hey! I never said I wanted to-“ you defend yourself but it does in your throat as soft lips roughly press against yours. His tongue laps at the crack between your parted lips from where you’ve gasped in shock.

You both hum at the contact knowing it’s something you were both yearning for. Choso is quick to grab your entire body easily with one muscular arm and wrap you around him, now your legs were straddled around his waist and your hands flew to the black hair you always wanted to touch.

This was wrong, you really shouldn’t be making out with your best friends brother in his kitchen, but god, Choso was so perfect from his commanding but gentle aura, his large stature and muscular body to his ever so hungry lips. He’s the manliest man.

You mewl a moan as cold large hands fiddle with your trousers, easily being discarded on the kitchen floor, and the cold fingers quickly return to your soaking underwear, fingering your clothed pussy.

“feels good, right?” he mumbles lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Sooo good” you gasp. “Such a little troublemaker aren’t you, couldn’t find anyone your own age huh? Needed to get fucked by your best friends brother?”

Choso was utterly obsessed with his little bro’s best friend. You were so pretty and so sweet, it was too hard to resist the taste.

He continues his ruthless speed on your clothed pussy before yanking off the soaking cotton underwear and leaving your wet pussy exposed to hungry dark eyes. Choso was quick to pull off his own boxers, springing his fat manhood free.

You moan at the sight throwing your head back. You always knew your best friend big brother had a fat cock because of the amount of times you’d stare at the massive bulge sticking out from the grey joggers. And the fat mushroom head staring back at you now was a good example of that.

Choso grabs the fat of your thigh and yanks you closer, he lined the wet tip against your slippery folds. “c’mere princess you’re gonna get fucked now”

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

“So what’s your deal?” Festus Creed asks out of the blue. 

Your mouth opens in shock, a nervous laugh slipping out. “My deal?”

A mocking sneer twists his features. “Yeah, Coriolanus kept trying to get you to eat with us but you were being weird about it. If you hate us, just say so.”

While some snigger at the table, Coriolanus stares daggers at him. The mirth instantly vanishes from Festus’ face.

Clemensia bumps her elbow into his rib, chiding him, “Festus, come on,”

“I don’t…hate anyone,” you defend, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Clemensia flashes you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, you don’t. Coriolanus said you’re very sweet.”

Livia rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever. Can we get back to discussing the Yuletide Ball?”

Surprise flutters through you. The name bears vague familiarity. It can be found in the archives detailing the history of the Capitol University. But it’d since long become a frivolity amidst concerns such as quelling the uprisings in the Districts. What’s a students’ dance in the face of war and famine?

“The Yuletide Ball? I thought this was an abolished tradition…I mean since the war.”

Excitement illuminates Livia’s face.

“We’re bringing back the tradition this year, thanks to Coriolanus here. He convinced the new dean.”

Coriolanus lowers his head in apparent humbleness.

“I just made a few good points and he couldn’t refuse me,” he shares. He turns to you, blue eyes sparkling.  “I’m pretty persuasive when I need to be.” A chill dances through you at his low, suggestive tone. 

To your relief, his attention switches to the rest of the table.

“It’s important to not let District scum ruin our way of life. Traditions must return.”

Livia smirks. “Spoken like a student body president.”

Coriolanus waves a dismissive hand but a hint of smugness lingers in his tone as he says, “Please, elections are only in a month.”

“And it’s obvious you’ll win,” Clemensia states.

He gives a light shrug.

“We shall see.”

Clemensia pivots to you.

“Ivy, Liv and I are on the Ball committee,” she preens, her face brightening. “You could join us if you want.”

You lick your lips. “I don’t know if I’d find the time with midterms coming up soon…”

Coriolanus’ fingertips graze your arm as he offers, “You should do it, angel. It’d be a good way to expand your social circle.”

“You mean her nonexistent circle,” Festus gibes.

The blond’s jaw clenches.

“Talk to her like that again and see what happens, Creed.”

Festus cowers, nervousness flickering on his face. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says to you.

“It’s fine.”

Coriolanus’ fingers latch around your wrist as his steely gaze cuts into Festus.

“No, it’s not fine,” he articulates. 

Undisturbed by the altercation between the boys, Clemensia prattles on about the ball.

“We meet up every Saturday morning. We’re working on winter-themed decorations right now. It’ll be so fun. It takes forever to do though.” She looks at you with emphasis. “An extra set of hands would be really welcome.”

“Clemensia…”

“Call me Clemmie,” she interrupts. “All my friends do.”

Friends? You study her hand clasped around yours. The concept is a little foreign to you. You also ponder why someone like Clemensia, with her perfect silky mane and smooth, blemish-free face would want to befriend you. She is the girl everyone gravitates towards. Charismatic, smart and nice to boot. And you might as well be a fly on a wall, ignored on the best days.

You are so stunned that it takes a shamefully long time for the words to fall back on your tongue.

“Clemmie, I’m usually busy on Saturday.”

“Oh.” She deflates, her hold on your hand loosening. “I get it. Sorry I asked.”

The excitement on her face plummets. Immediately, you feel terrible. You’ve never missed a single Saturday of studying, using that time to break down your more complicated courses of the week. But Clemmie looks crestfallen.

Perhaps, this one time, you can adjust your plans a little. One Saturday won’t make a difference in the entire year.

“But…I can try to free up some time,” you offer.

She perks up with your response.

“Great. We’ll be expecting you then.”

Lunch then proceeds, the table resuming the lively debate they were having before you showed up. Festus maintains facts about his family’s role in the reconstruction after the war while Clemensia rolls her eyes. They go back and forth and you observe them, slightly fascinated by the exchange. It’s such a rare occurrence for you to be around others that you soak every bit of their interaction. You get the inkling this happens a lot between them, them ruffling each other’s feathers. Ivy and Livia get wrapped in their own secret conversation you don’t catch a single word of. Meanwhile, Coriolanus watches all of them, taking a bite of the food on his plate every once in a while. The way he eats is slow, nonchalant, almost like he couldn’t care less what’s on his plate. Even if he doesn’t interject at any point, he looks right at home at this table. Unlike you. You recline into silence, letting every minute fly by as you wait for lunch to be over. When it finally is, relief surges inside you. 

You mumble a quick goodbye and gather your things. Clemensia beams and waves at you while the others barely acknowledge your departure. 

You head for the hallways, trying not to allow your mind to linger on the strange, uncomfortable lunch. Still, your mind swirls. You curse yourself for every blunder and awkward moment. You told him you don’t belong, that you’re an outsider, and always will be. It’s painfully obvious. From the way you dress, talk, carry yourself, you have nothing in common with girls like Clemensia or Livia. There’s a vast chasm between you and them. He should have listened. It astounds you that you even let yourself get roped into joining Clemensia’s committee thing. Though perhaps that won’t be too much of a hassle. You’ll show up to keep your word, then sink back into your rigid study routine.

Coriolanus’ deep voice, a sound you’re now oddly familiar with, erupts behind you.

“Let me carry those for you,” he says, swiping the books in your arms before you can protest. He falls in pace with you, a gentle expression decorating his  handsome face.

You frown, the uncanny emptiness of your arms swelling your discomfort.

“You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” he interrupts, chuckling lightly when you try to reach for your books and he dodges you with ease. Your shoulders sag. Your strides hasten, an urgency limning your steps now. 

Coriolanus meets no issue with your escalating cadence. He easily keeps up with you, a subtle hint of mirth lurking in his cobalt gaze. 

“It wasn’t too much, was it?” he inquires. “I know they can be a lot but they’re all good people. I promise.”

A myriad of words weigh heavy on your tongue but you diplomatically swallow each, settling for a safe, innocuous remark.

“Clemmie was nice.”

The corners of the blond’s lips quirk skyward. 

“I told you she was.”

The statement hovers between the two of you for a while. Clemensia seems nice indeed. The rest of his friend group…perhaps a little less so. Possibly a bit more cutthroat and self-absorbed. Though you surmise it is a requirement to be a member of Panem’s elite.

No other word is traded between you and him as you make your way to the lecture hall. 

“This is me,” you announce.

You turn to Coriolanus, hands stretching towards your books. He makes no move to give them back. Your forehead creases.

He gives you a sluggish once-over before offering, “What if I drove you back home after your classes?”

You nibble your bottom lip, dismayed by his proposition. You’ve caught glimpses of his fancy new car, as you’re sure most have at the University. As heir apparent to the Plinth fortune, he gets to spend money as he likes. 

“I usually walk. It’s okay.” 

He gets a little closer. “Come on, angel. Just let me do something nice for you.”

You shrink until your back hits the wall, stunned when Coriolanus follows each of your steps.

“My last lecture is…Professor Bellweather tends to ramble,” you mumble, his proximity unnerving you. “I don’t…I don’t know when he’ll be done.”

He licks his lips.

“I’ll just wait for you, angel.”

He utters the words like it’s obvious. You gawk at him. It takes you a few minutes to retrieve your speech.

You scratch your arm, your frown accentuating.

“You really don’t have to. Like I said, walking home is fine.”

The gaze trained on your form sharpens.

“And I’m offering to take you home so you don’t have to exert yourself.” He bends over you, invading the already insufficient space between the two of you. “Has a friend never done something like that for you?”

“N-No,” you admit. 

His tone’s heavy with suggestion as he rasps, “So let me be your first then, angel.”

Your heart stumbles inside your chest. 

“I’m gonna be late for class,” you blurt out, attempting to brush past him. 

Coriolanus’ hand darts out, swiftly cinching around your wrist to stop you from leaving.

“I still don’t have an answer,” Coriolanus says.

You glance from his hand, tight around your wrist, to his determined gaze. Your throat goes dry.

“Okay, you can d-drive me back home.”

He releases your wrist and returns your books, a smile ghosting over his lips.

“Wonderful. I’ll come get you later, angel.”

Clutching your books against your chest, you watch him glide away.

As promised, Coriolanus is waiting for you when you exit from your last class. You don’t even think to hide your shock as you find the blond leaning against the wall. A smirk unfans on his lips, your reaction seeming to amuse him.

He doesn’t say much to you as you walk side by side and head to his car. When you’re outside, he surprises you by opening the passenger door for you before you can even lift a hand. 

“T-Thanks,” you stammer. You plop down on the plush seat. The leather smells new and expensive.

Your nerves thrum as he takes the driver’s seat and starts the car. You’ve never been alone in a car with a boy before. Uneasy, you let your eyes roam outside the window. The Capitol’s high buildings blur past you rapidly. 

You’re lost in your thoughts when you notice the prickling sensation over your flesh, The burning, unwavering weight of Coriolanus Snow’s scrutiny. 

Your head whirls.

Bashful words quake through your lips.

“Do I have something on my face?” Your hands reach to touch it, just in case.

He chuckles.

“No,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s a nice face that’s all.”

The casual compliment sends a wave of heat through your body. 

“Can you drive?” he asks, curiosity lighting his features.

You shake your head. Getting your license has never been a priority. Besides, it’s only a thirty minute walk to get to the University. You don’t mind it, often using that time to sneak in some reading.

“No.”

“I could drive you if you like,” he offers, his gaze holding yours. “Anywhere you want to go.”

Your cheeks warm. “I’m okay.”

Coriolanus nods, his focus shifting back to the road.

“You always say that…” He hums low in his throat. “I’m just not sure I believe it, angel.”

You’re so nervous the entire drive that you don’t even notice when he arrives at your house. You stare at him, mouth agape. You haven’t given him a single instruction on how to get there.

“You know where I live?”

As he opens the door for you, Coriolanus simply replies, “You told me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t remember telling him but his tone harbors no doubt. You rummage through your brain, seeking the moment. Nothing comes up and you grow confused. 

You blink up at him.

“I-I did?”

“Yes, you did, angel.” He snorts as if your line of questioning is beyond ludicrous. “How else would I know?” He slams the door of the car as you rise. “Besides…Dr. Gaul is my mentor. Of course, I know where she lives.”

You nod. That makes sense and it didn’t even occur to you.

“I…”

He cocks his head. “What?”

You fidget beneath his stare, discomfort flaring in the pit of your stomach. 

“Nothing. Thanks for driving me home.”

He flashes you a wide smile.

“My pleasure. See you soon, angel.”

He starts the car and drives away. You don’t feel quite at ease until his car’s gone from view, heading towards the Corso.

Walter zooms across the room as soon as you enter the large apartment. Your eyes wander about. As usual, the place is empty besides you and Walter. Mother rarely spends any time here nowadays, her work occupying all of her time. 

Walter rubs his furry head against your ankle, twirling around you as he meows. He then stands on his hind legs and starts gently raking his claws across your leg. A way for him to demand that you pet him. A small smile tugging your lips, you pick him up. The orange ball of fur purrs, curling against your chest as you carry him in your arms. You make your way to the kitchen and pour a mix of leftover meat and fish in his bowl. 

You set him down on the floor. His tail wiggles as he hops to his food.

You crouch next to him.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today, Walter,” you say while giving gentle pets to his back. “I was invited to their table.” The orange cat pauses his eating to stare up at you blankly. “Yes. Theirs,” you repeat as if he could understand you. He gives a long meow before focusing on his bowl again. You sigh. “I know. I thought the same thing.”

Once Walter’s emptied his bowl, you pick him up again and make your way to the living room. 

You collapse on the couch.

“And then…Coriolanus Snow drove me home. Yes, the Coriolanus Snow. I didn’t even think he knew I existed.”

For a while, you remain on the couch, stroking Walter’s fur as he sits on your lap. His tail whips the air, his eyes closing as you pet him. His soft rumble of content reverberates against your belly, amplifying when your fingers drag behind his pointed white ears. You lean back, a blanket of peace settling over you. 

Walter’s not just a strange-looking cat, he’s also a rescue…from your mother’s experiments. A kitten mutt with mismatched eyes, one blue and one yellow, his mushed, wrinkled face gives him a passing resemblance to a rodent. Pets like him are a rarity in today’s world as most creatures such as him were eaten during the First Rebellion. 

Your mother finds him appalling. In her eyes, he is a failed experiment. Like you. Perhaps it’s why you have such kinship with the creature. You still recall her unsettling glance in your direction the day she asked the entire class of nine-year-olds at the Academy if they had pets they were sick of. She then proceeded to burn the flesh off a lab rat to demonstrate her pulsed energy laser.

This moment is burned into your mind forever, your mother’s clinical tone chilling your blood.

You stole Walter from the Citadel and took him home that same day.

You were careful to hide him, though you suspect your mother figured out what you did. She likely added it to her long list of disappointments when it comes to you.

Sometimes, you envy Walter. The simplicity his days hinge upon. His obliviousness to the woes of the world. His uncanny ability to sleep through the chaos of it, ignore the disarray. Walter’s world consists of food, play and cuddles. 

What a blissful existence. You bet Walter never had a vexing thought in his short life.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

You carefully remove Walter from your lap. He meows in protest and jumps off the couch. You pick up the phone, chest clenching as a familiar face fills the flickering screen.

“Mother,” you greet. “How are you?”

She ignores your question, curtly stating, “You’re falling behind in Molecular Cell Biology.”

You know that tone all too well, the warning laced within it so achingly familiar.

Your fingers twist around the phone cord, your voice becoming small.

“I’ll get my grades up, I promise.”

Silence hovers between you and your mother for a while. Faint hope sparks within you. Perking up, you decide to tell her about your day.

“Oh, mother, today-”

“I must go,” she interrupts. “It’s time for my milk and cookies.”

Your spirits plummet. You nudge a hollow smile onto your face.

“Right. I didn’t realize,” you say, checking the clock hanging on the wall. “I’m sorry.”

She heaves out a deep sigh, her lone blue eye narrowing.

“Focus on your studies. And try not to be even more of an embarrassment to me than you already are.”

“Y-Yes, mother,” you reply, your heart shriveling inside your chest.

As she hangs up, you feel silly and horrible. Silly for trying to strike up a normal conversation with your mother. And horrible for letting her down once more.

“You came!” Clemensia exclaims as she rushes to you. You try not to tense as she gives you a tight hug. Ivy and Livia linger in the background, their eyes lifting from the crafts’ table. 

You wave at them and are surprised when Ivy wiggles her fingers at you. Livia is more withdrawn, nodding to acknowledge your presence but quickly returning to her task.

You step out of Clemensia’s embrace and flash a quick smile.

“Well I promised you that I would,” you reply nonchalantly. You take a look around the room. Various decorations and posters are propped against the walls, while snowflakes cut-outs and what looks like moon dust are scattered on the table. It seems the girls have been busy.

You turn to Clemensia. “What’s the theme again?” 

Ivy surprises you by answering cheerfully, “Well, it’ll be like a Winter daydream and we were thinking of making it a masquerade.”

Excitement sways in Clemensia’s bright eyes. “What do you think?”

“Sounds nice.” Your trite answer draws every gaze in the room to you. Awkwardly bouncing on your feet, you correct yourself, beaming at Clemensia. “I meant amazing.”

“I think so too,” she chimes.

She shows you the empty chair next to hers. The both of you sit down and she starts rambling about the theme and all the ideas she has to decorate the ballroom. You grow dizzy with all the information, trying to follow along her instructions at the same time. 

“We’ll need to find you a date,” Clemensia says. 

You shake the can of blue paint before spraying over the tree cut-out.

“It’s okay. I probably won’t be going anyway,” you respond absently. 

The pencil in Livia’s hand snaps. Your head rises. The blonde’s gaping at you. You then realize…the same look of disbelief is etched on all the girls’ features. A frown mars your brow. Did you say something wrong? You didn’t realize this was such an important event. 

A nervous laugh peals off Clemensia’s red-painted lips.

“No, but you have to,” she says, “It’s the first Yuletide Ball in over a decade. Everyone will be there.”

You shrug. “It’s four months away, Clemmie.”

Her onyx gaze shimmers.

“Well, a lot can happen in four months,” she sings, a mysterious smile spreading onto her lips.

[fluentmoviequoter]

We've Got a Problem

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!fiancée!reader

Summary: When you get arrested on Tim's day off, you have to call someone to get you out of jail. Tim doesn't answer when you call, but when he finds out what happened, he makes it a bigger problem.

Warnings: grumpy!Tim, fluff, mentions of homicide and drug trafficking; reader doesn't commit any crimes, so misunderstanding?

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

You can't decide what's funnier: that you are in police custody, that the arresting officers refused to believe that you are Tim Bradford's significant other, or that Tim isn't answering his phone.

When you switch tactics to call Wesley Evers instead of Tim, you decide that the last option is the funniest part of this ordeal.

"Hey," Wesley answers.

"This isn't a personal call," you begin with a chuckle. "Would you believe me if I said I'm currently being detained at LAPD Mid-Wilshire division on suspicion of a triple homicide and drug possession?"

"I really hope for Tim's sake you're joking."

"I'm not. I need a lawyer, Wesley. But I also need to ask you to find Tim to get me out. No one here will believe that he's my fiancé and he's not answering my calls."

"Can't imagine why they're so sure he's single. I'll get him down there and ask for the evidence. We'll get this thrown out, don't worry."

"I'll stop worrying when I'm out of here. Thank you, Wesley."

“Don’t hang up, I’m patching Tim in.”

“What do you want, Wesley?” Tim asks when the line connects.

“I want to know why you answer for him but not for me,” you interject.

Tim says your name before asking, “Where are you?”

“Jail,” you and Wesley answer together.

“What? Which station?”

“That’s your question?” Wesley replies. "Not what she did?"

“Your station,” you answer. “And I’d like to go home.”

“I’m on my way. Wesley, talk to me.”

“They’ve got her on suspicion of homicide and drug trafficking. Angela sent me part of the case file and it seems like you fit the physical description of the suspect, but that’s it. I have no doubt we can get this thrown out by the end of the day.”

“Tim, I’m sorry,” you offer. “I know it’s your day off.”

“At least it’s a good story,” he grumbles.

“Tim, I may have told a few cops that I’m your fiancée. They didn’t believe me, but I- I’m sorry for telling them.”

“Fantastic. I’m hanging up, I’ll be inside in a minute.”

“How mad is he really?” Wesley asks.

“I don’t think I want to know. Maybe I should’ve just asked you to come.”

“Good luck.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim yells your name when he walks into the holding area. He looks at you as you stand, walking to the cell door as another officer unlocks it.

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper as you step out.

“Later,” Tim answers, gesturing for you to follow him.

You walk behind Tim and the officer, waiting by Tim’s side as he completes paperwork.

“And what’s your relationship?” the officer behind the desk asks.

“I’m her fiancé,” Tim answers.

The officer raises his eyebrows but nods as he slides a paper to Tim. Tim carries the paper in one hand, raising his other arm to direct you into a nearby office.

“Sergeant Grey, a word?” Tim asks.

“Sure. Who’s your friend?”

You say your name, shaking Sergeant Grey’s hand.

“My fiancée. Celina and Nolan just booked her on suspicion for Lopez’s case.”

Sergeant Grey presses his lips together but fails to hide his smile as he begins laughing, leaning backward while he wipes an amused tear from his eye.

“Let me guess, you told them that you’re with Bradford and they didn’t believe you.”

“Uh, exactly,” you answer, surprised at how quickly he determined what happened.

“I’ll talk to Nolan,” Grey promises.

“I can do it,” Tim responds.

“No, Bradford, I’ll handle it. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or I’ll intervene.”

“I’m sorry,” Grey tells you. “The charges won’t be filed, so you’re not going to be impacted other than the inconvenience this afternoon. I apologize on behalf of the entire department.”

“It’s not a problem,” you answer softly.

“It is a problem,” Tim says before exiting the office. “Nolan!”

“Tim,” you call, rushing out after him. “What’re you doing? They didn’t even believe me about you.”

“Not the biggest problem. Nolan!”

“Uh, yes?” Nolan asks, glancing over Tim’s shoulder at you.

“You arrested my fiancée on a completely baseless allegation. Because she looks a bit like a suspect in a huge case. That is not good police work, that’s being lazy and making connections where there are none.”

“I-“

“Unless you’re about to apologize, stop talking. Care to explain why you heard my name and didn’t do anything?”

“She claimed to be your fiancée. What was I supposed to do, just believe who I thought was a suspect in numerous felony cases?”

“Doesn’t sound like an apology.”

“What are you so mad about? I did my job.”

“You did what you think your job is. As a TO, it is on you to make sure Celina is prepared to do her job without you. Bringing people in because they fit what is possibly the most generic physical description ever is not being a good officer.”

“This doesn’t sound like letting me handle it,” Grey says, stepping out of his office.

Tim clenches his jaw before pointing at Nolan. “For the record, she is my fiancée and I will not forget this.”

“You have a fiancée?” Nyla asks as she stops in the middle of the bullpen. “Wait, are you the one who got brought in for Angela’s felonies? The one who called Wesley?”

“Yeah,” you answer, supplying your name as you introduce yourself.

“Oh, this story needs to be told.”

“Don’t,” Tim warns.

Nyla pulls her phone from her pocket, smiling as she types. “Too late.”

“So much for my day off,” Tim grumbles.

“I got arrested today, and you had a long day?” you ask.

“We’re leaving.”

Tim leads you to his truck, sighing as he sits back in the driver’s seat.

“Tim-“

“Don’t apologize again. I’m not mad at you, for anything. Just… this is so stupid,” Tim concludes, smiling as he laughs.

“You’re telling me. Although Nolan and Juarez got a good laugh out of the idea of you having a fiancée.”

“I don’t think that’s funny,” Tim responds. “I think I just got very lucky.”

You smile, leaning across the console to kiss Tim.

“Excuse me, you’re parked in a tow-away zone. Tim?” an officer asks through the open window. She gasps before asking, “Is this your fiancèe?”

“Bye, Chen.”

Tim pulls out before she can say anything else, and you laugh at his dramatic sigh.

“Can you stay out of trouble for the rest of my day off?” he asks.

“I may need some incentive.”

“Then spend it with me. Not calling Wesley Evers from a jail cell.”

“Deal.”

You take Tim’s hand and smile. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, keeping you close as he drives to his house.

"Wait, we should take a picture," Tim says after parking in his driveway.

"For what?"

"To commemorate your first arrest."

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. Tim takes the picture, and when he looks down to see how it turned out, you cup his face in your hands and kiss him. While he's thoroughly distracted, you try to grab his phone, but he moves it before pulling you closer. Maybe getting arrested and letting Tim's coworkers know he's engaged wasn't all bad.

[pandorafairy]

Secret Cove (Part 1)

Neteyam X Metkayina (oldest daughter of Tonowari, the chief)

Takes place before the last battle in AWOW

Neteyam is 18

Contains: alcohol and angst

“Let him go, Neteyam,” I say as Neteyam calls after his brother, angry lines creasing his forehead. Lo’ak’s retreating back glistens as he dives in the water. My little sister, Tsireya, dives in after him, a playful smile on her lips. 

“Argh!” Neteyam growls. He whips around in annoyance and leans over the edge of the Mauri pod. He makes a clicking sound, calling for an ilu. He’s been so stressed lately; we both have. It’s hard being the oldest ones in our families.  

But I’m tired of it. My eyes harden before I reach out and grab his arm. “Neteyam, please.” 

 An ilu swims to the surface clicking happily as Neteyam stiffens. The warmth of his bicep seeps into my hand. I rub his arm softly, trying to calm him. 

“Lo’ak can’t get in trouble again. My dad—” he sighs, “He is my responsibility. If something happens to him…”

I pull my hand back. Neteyam’s shoulders are tense. His eyes dart across the water nervously as he unconsciously picks at his fingers. He needs to relax. A smirk grows across my lips. I know just what to do tonight. 

“Come on.” I grab his hand before he has a chance to protest. 

I yank him to his feet. He stumbles forward slightly, surprise flashing in his eyes. I grin at him before taking off through the village with his hand in mine. We’ve never held hands before. While we’ve grown close during his time here, we mostly just follow the rules. I’ve taught him how to hold his breath and to fish. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at me. Or other times, I’d hear him telling Lo’ak to stop teasing him about me. We often shared glimpses of annoyance, when our younger siblings did things they shouldn’t. We shared the same kind of burden. Understanding passes easily between us. Understanding and the shimmers of something else. 

 Now, it’s nearly eclipse and Neteyam’s hand is warm in mine. People are returning to their homes. I run quickly between different pods, the wooden floor bouncing beneath my feet. I duck under a woman carrying a tray of fish and spears. 

“Woah!” Neteyam cries behind me as he ducks just before the sharp head of the spear can cut him. 

“Children!” The woman scolds. 

I laugh as I continue down the village, heading for the beach. I don’t need to turn around to know that Neteyam is shaking his head. I don’t need to turn around to know that he’s also wearing a small smile. He grips my hand tighter. 

It’s dark when we step onto the beach. The ocean creatures glow beneath the smooth waves and the palm trees blow in the sweet breeze. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of my home. I refuse to feel trapped, not to tonight. Neyetam shakes his hand that’s intertwined with mine. 

“What are we doin’?” He asks playfully. 

I open my eyes. He’s watching me. His eyes are bright with interest but there is something hesitant in the set off his mouth. Like he wants to let go but is too afraid. Time for him to learn, time for us both to. I let go of his hand. Hurt flashes in his eyes but he conceals it quickly. He begins to stiffen like a soldier returning to his post. 

“Follow me and find out.” I wink at him before sprinting down the beach. Neteyam’s mouth falls open as he looks around incredulously. 

“Try and keep up, treehugger,” I yell behind me. I run right down to the surf and dive into the small waves. The ocean envelopes me. It’s warm against my skin as I swim away from the village. 

Neteyam dives in behind me, his entrance making small ripples along the surface. I pause after a few moments of swimming to make sure he hasn’t fallen behind— but he isn’t there. I freeze. My heart begins to pound. This was a bad idea. I swim back to where we dove in, paddling frantically. 

I look all around me but there is nothing but fish and coral. I shouldn’t have done this, what was I thinking? I start to swim up to the surface, ready to call for help, when something grabs my ankle. I scream, letting out a bubble of air. Neteyam grins up at me from the darkness of the water. I kick at him causing him to laugh before releasing me. Relief floods through me as I swim up to the surface, followed by Neteyam. The second I hit the surface, I’m no longer relieved; just irritated. 

“You skxawng!” I splash him. His face glows beneath the dark sky as he smiles at me. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t believe you,” I hiss and splash him again. I splash with all my might, sending water right into his nose and mouth. 

“Okay, okay!” He says between bouts of ocean water hitting his face. He reaches out and grabs my waist. I stop splashing the second his long fingers sprawl across my skin. I don’t fight against him, I don’t move at all as he pulls me closer to him. My heart begins to pound. Our faces are nearly touching. He leans in, I begin to close my eyes when I realize he’s leaning towards my ear. 

“Where are you taking me?” His hot breath hits the side of my neck. 

A shudder runs through my body, I try to conceal it to no avail. He sees right through me. A smirk grows on his lips. I shove him, snapping back to my senses.

“It’s a surprise, forest boy.” I dive back beneath water and swim quickly toward the underwater cove. The cove belongs to my mother, or at least it’s her that found it. We occasionally have family meetings there, when we want to discuss things that we don’t want others to hear. But mostly, my parents and their peers use it when they want to do things and don’t want the children to see. 

From the outside, the cove is just a large circular rock, tucked between colorful coral reefs. I swim towards it, dive deeper, and swim up under the rock. Blackness covers my vision for a moment before I break the surface. The water is still and warm inside the cove. A soft glow comes from the ceiling and spreads throughout the enclosure,  like a starry sky. 

Neteyam pops up beside me, gasping for a breath. He looks around quickly as though to survey where his new surroundings are and if there’s any danger. I raise an eyebrow at his apprehensive face. 

“It’s just us here, warrior.”

He gives me a look before observing his surroundings more peacefully. His mouth opens slightly in awe as his cute eyes grow wide. “What is this place?” 

“It’s my parents underwater cove,” I reply and begin to swim towards the small rocks that run along the small enclosure. “More like their hideout.” 

“Hideout?” Neteyam questions as he paddles after me. 

I pull myself out of the water and squeeze my hair, causing water droplets to drip down. I can feel Neteyam’s eyes on me. His gaze burns into my back as heat creeps onto my cheeks. 

He jumps out of the water and settles down on a nearby rock. “Why would your parents need a hideout?” 

I turn around to find him staring at me. His playful demeanor from earlier is fading. His flushed face is turning from lighthearted to nervous. “Look, I can’t get in trouble,” he says. He starts to get up as though he’s going to leave. I quickly walk over and push him back onto the rock. 

He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “I’m serious—”

“No, I’m serious,” I interrupt. “You need to relax. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. We don’t have to be.” 

“Tell that to our parents,” he mumbles under his breath. 

I slip my hand under his chin and force his eyes to meet mine. I’ve never done anything like this before. My hand trembles slightly against his smooth skin. He blinks slowly, his gaze steady as he watches my face. “So,” he begins softly. “How am I supposed to relax?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” I whisper back. I pull away from him and turn towards the wall of the cove. It’s damp and cool as I place my hand on it. I push in harshly three times until a little compartment shoots out of the wall. I turn towards Neteyam with a smirk. He cocks his head to the side.

I wrap my fingers around a wooden bottle and lift it up. “Drink, anyone?” 

Neteyam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “No, I can’t.” 

I ignore his protest and walk calmly over to him. I sit beside him, the wet rock rubs my thighs. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long sip. The alcohol burns as it goes down my throat. It’s a Metkayinan drink, made for adults, and special occasions. I’ve only ever had sips before, from my mother at celebrations or by Aonoug sneaking some for us. But tonight, I feel like breaking free. I’m going to make tonight a celebration in itself. 

Neteyam watches me carefully as he chews absentmindedly on his lip. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“Aren’t you tired of it?”  

He doesn’t respond so I continue on. “Aren’t you tired of watching Lo’ak have all the fun while you clean up his messes?” 

I take another sip of the bottle, taking my time, letting it sear against my throat and warm my stomach. “I know I’m tired of being the oldest, the most responsible.” 

Neteyam reaches out and yanks the bottle from my grasp. He shoves it to his lips and swallows. He pulls it away and coughs before drinking more. I raise an eyebrow. Alcohol drips down his chin and onto his muscular chest. Damn, he’s hot. 

He stops drinking, the bottle shaking slightly in his hand. He blinks a few times and looks at me. “Yea. I’m fucking tired of it.” 

“Pass the bottle then.” 

He obliges and I take another drink. We continue like this for a while, passing the drink between us, letting the alcohol drown out our thoughts. We don’t speak but it isn’t awkward, there’s a sort of peace between us as we listen to the sounds of the ocean, feeling completely isolated in our own little world. 

I’m starting to feel a little dizzy. Warmth spreads through my entire body, and I can’t stop smiling, especially when I look at Neteyam. I think he feels the same way because he is swaying slightly and giggles each time I catch him staring at me. 

“What are you laughing at?” I ask after he laughed another time. 

He smiles, a small, sweet smile. “I’m,” he begins before looking up at the glowing roof. “It’s so beautiful here.” He looks down at his hands before meeting my eyes. “And I’m here with you.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“No. It’s, I just, I didn’t expect this,” he stutters. 

My stomach churns nervously. “Are you okay with being here?”

Alarm flares in his tipsy eyes. “Yes!” He scrambles off his rock and slides onto mine. The warmth of his body spreads through mine as our legs touch. He looks down at me, his face inches from mine. I turn my head, suddenly too nervous to meet his gaze. “I really like being around you,” he says, the smell of alcohol drifting off his breath. 

“You’re drunk,” I reply, trying to act like his closeness doesn’t affect me. Like it doesn’t make me want to wrap my arms around him and press my lip— no. I’m fine. 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “You’re drunk too.” He pokes my side. 

“Hey!” I try to swat his hand away but he turns his fingers around and wraps them around mine. My breath hitches in my throat as he slowly intertwines his fingers with mine. I look at his deep eyes; our stares cut into each other. There’s the fierceness in his eyes and the tenderness that he always has. But there’s also an undercurrent to his stare, one I’ve never seen before, one that burns, and makes my heart pound. My body feels alive in a way I’ve never felt before. 

Neteyam’s breath comes out quickly and shakily. His hands tremble in my grasp but he doesn’t let go. I inch closer to him. My skin feels like it’s on fire, there’s a burning hole in my stomach. I want to get close to him. I want to feel his skin beneath my fingertips. I want to entangle my hands in his hair. 

“Neteyam,” I breathe. I’ve never heard my voice sound like that. Raspy and— full of desire. 

He groans slightly and leans his forehead against mine. “I mean it.” 

I pull back, my whole body protests the movement. “What?” 

“I meant what I said.” His eyes drink in my face. They trace every inch of it. “I like how you make me feel.” He brings his fingers to my face. He caresses my cheek, holding me gently, as if I were the most delicate, precious thing in the world. “Understood, safe, and free.” 

My face breaks into a smile so wide it hurts my cheeks. “You make me feel that way too,” I whisper. 

He smiles back at me, a relieved smile, as though he didn’t know I felt that way. How couldn’t he have known? His fingers trace my jawline, his eyes never leaving mine. I reach my hands up and place them on his shoulders. He shudders at their touch. The pit in my stomach grows. I move my hands along his chest, letting them roam as though they have a mind of their own. 

His grip on my jaw tightens as he leans towards me. I meet him halfway, our lips brush against each other. He kisses me tentatively as he spreads his long fingers along the side of my face. His lips are soft. He is kind and good, and I adore him. I grip his shoulders. But I also want him, with a kind of want I’ve never felt before. I pull myself into his lap and wrap my legs around his back. 

He jolts slightly at my sudden movement before using his other hand to hold my legs in place. I pull my lips away from his and place them on his cheek, then his jaw, and onto his neck. I kiss softly before sucking on his damp skin. He groans beneath me as his grip on my legs tightens. I leave a trail of kisses along his neck, taking my sweet time, listening to the soft moans he tries to hide. 

Suddenly, he yanks my face up and kisses me, hard. His mouth is frantic, his lips collide with mine with a newfound urgency. His hand leaves my face and makes its way down my back. I kiss him back, tasting alcohol and salt water. He bites my lip and pulls it between his teeth. I moan before meeting his lips again. I entangle my fingers in his hair, pulling softly against his braids. A groan escapes from the back of the throat as we kiss. I smirk against his lips. 

His hands continue to roam from my back to my waist and my stomach. They continue downward before stopping. I pull back and look at him. Our breaths come out heavily, mixing together in the small space between us. Desire burns in my stomach causing my body to throb. “Neteyam,” I whisper. “It’s okay.” 

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

He moves his hands from me. I go rigid on top of him. Does he regret this? The desire that was running through me runs cold. I move to get off him when he grabs my wrist. 

“I want to kiss you for as long as I can,” he says. “But I won’t do more. Not now. You deserve more than something like this.” He motions to their surroundings and the empty bottle beside them. 

I nod, feeling light headed. He leans forward and kisses my cheek before whispering, “Where were we?” 

* I’m thinking about adding another part where Aonug catches them and then drama ensues when their parents find out. Would anyone want to read that? PART 2 IS UP!

*Also, this is my second fanfic so please leave me feedback and let me know if anyone wants to be friends!

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere Vox x Secretary Reader Pt. 2

Eh, what have you guys done to me. I swear, we Vox fangirls are the thirstiest on the internet right now. Also, officially, I’m making this a three part series, but that’s it. So much for a oneshot. I'll make a title for this series, eventually. Also, if you want to be tagged, please put your age in your bio.

Part One - Part Three

Triggers: Dubcon-y vibes in scenes. Violence and threatening. Read responsibly, stuff is gonna get a little dark this chapter.

Word count: 3,142

---

Vox thought you looked perfect. For once, you were wearing something decent that he bought you instead of one of the plain outfits from before you had moved in. Somehow, you had been convinced to put on actual jewelry and makeup as well. The only flaw you held was the dirty look on your face, which you refused to face towards him directly, and it only got dirtier as you downed more and more wine.

“You know, you could at least attempt to have a good time after all the effort I put into this evening,” he said, “You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Not hungry,” you said, voice ice cold. It always was nowadays.

“If you’re not in the mood for dinner, we could watch a new production I oversaw,” he said, “I think you’d enjoy it.”

You snort at that.

“I’d rather listen to Alastor’s radio program than watch any of the hot trash your production company creates,” you said.

“I’m sorry? What was that?” he said, putting a warning hint into his tone.

“You heard me,” you said, “I’ve gotta say for someone supposedly so modern, you’re still just an old man. Alastor is what? Like twenty years older than you? And you think he’s elderly? You’re practically a decrepit bygone as well. You think anyone gives a shit about cable nowadays? At least Alastor has the decency to make stuff with class and not just forgettable, cheap cash grabs.”

Against his will, he felt a circuit spurt. His hand clenched around the glass and slammed it onto the table, causing you to jump. A small noise left your mouth, as panicked as the look in your eyes was now. You looked like you knew that you had pushed a little more than you probably should have.

“You know what?” he hissed, “You think you can just talk to me like that? Fine. You wanna play rough with me? Well guess what, I’m going to fuck that bad attitude right out of you!”

“Excuse me???”

You didn’t even look scared at that just shocked and baffled, as if that had been the last thing you had expected to hear.

“You heard me!” he grabbed you by your shoulders and shoved you flat onto the couch, “I’m sick of you fighting me. Well, you’re not going to after this.”

“W-wait, Vox, stop-”

He smashed his lips to yours, purposefully being harsh, biting you when you tried to keep your mouth closed. When you attempted to turn your face away, he grabbed your chin rough enough where he knew it would leave a mark before kissing you harder. You pounded your fist against his chest, but he ignored it, straddling you. He eventually used his other hand to grab your wrist and push it into the couch.

He didn’t know when it happened, but at some point in your struggle something shifted in the air. Changed. You had finally stopped fighting, slowly wrapping your arm around his neck, kissing him back. It was heavenly, you finally submitting to him. Yes, yes, yes… He paused to look you in the eyes, to see your timid gaze and red face. There was still a look of anger glazed across your features, but it was fading. He brought his hand up to play at the buttons on your blouse. You looked at each other for a second longer before you initiated a kiss for once, using the arm around his neck to pull him close. Your tongue felt so hot, so right, as if your body was as electric as his own and-

Vox gasped, a spark running through his head. He woke up alone in bed, a literal hot mess. He felt like his head was overheating, running a million miles a minute, despite the fact that he should feel cold from sleep. Mixing this with the slick sweat and fluid he was covered in, it was an uncomfortable feeling. Groping for the robe hanging next to his bed, he climbed out. What a dream. He needed a second to wire down from that before trying to go back to sleep.

He picked up his phone and opened it to check on you. The camera in your room showed you curled up on your mattress, blanket half off your body and arms wrapped around one of your pillows. It pressed into your dozing face, which held a peaceful, relaxed look that he rarely saw now that you had decided to go to war with him. His finger absently stroked your image on the screen.

Why did you have to be so difficult? He didn’t know what had been the powder keg that had kicked off your little rebellion, but whatever it was, all his attempts to nip it in the bud had made you more temperamental. Clearly his irritation with your behavior had seeped into his mind enough to create some… darker fantasies deep in his sleeping subconscious.

He shook his head. It was just a dream. It didn’t mean anything.

Besides, he already had been thinking about what to do next, to give you that little push you needed to be more agreeable.

---

Later that day he scoffed at how ridiculous his own morbid imagination was. The idea of you dressed all pimped up like one of Valentino’s whores. You barely got out of bed nowadays. If he was being honest, your imprisonment had caused your mood to swing between defiant temper tantrums and a hopelessly depressed sloth. Today, you were in the latter mood, still in pajamas that he swore you were wearing two days ago, lying on the couch and mindlessly eating as you watched some random reality show.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he said, trying to sound pleasant, “Looks like you’ve had a relaxing day.”

You glance at him for a second before looking back at the television. The blanket is pulled tighter around you, as if you were trying to hide any inch of yourself from him. Ever since his last attempt at showing his affection had ended in you headbutting him – hard – you had been particularly prickly at even the slightest hint that he might want to touch you.

“What do you want, asshole?” you said, voice lacking emotion.

Charming as always.

“Well, dearest, I was thinking. Now that you’ve had some time to think things over, I was hoping we could finally come to an agreement that would make us both happy,” he said.

“I highly doubt that’s possible,” you said.

He sat beside you, which caused you to curl your legs in tighter. You inch up on the arm a little, as if to sit as far away from him as possible without having to actually put any effort into getting up.

“We both have something that the other person wants, something that could be easily settled with a written contract,” Vox said, “You would like to be allowed to roam around this cesspool of a city and I-”

“Let me guess, it includes a whole paragraph about me never leaving your sight as well as a clause about how often you get to stick yourself in my various orifices?” you grumbled.

“You’re so melodramatic sometimes,” he said, “You always assuming the worst about people, F/N. Makes me wonder if you were double crossed a lot in your previous life.”

You don’t even respond to this, just continue to stare ahead. He’d noticed that lately you’ve been avoiding his gaze. He wasn’t sure how much you had figured out about his abilities, but you seemed to have pieced enough together that the more you avoided his eyes, the less direct influence he had on you at the moment. He was sure that it was one of the many reasons you were so moody lately; you stubbornly refused to be soothed by him. Regardless, whether you were trying to avoid his hypnotic gaze or not, it’s no matter. It’s not like you’re going to be able to avoid the overall influence he has over this city, especially if you spend your free time watching television he’s created.

“It’s rather tame, considering the situation you’re in. Contract or not, it’s not like you’re going to be going anywhere anytime soon,” he continued, “You’re lucky I care for you as much as I do, trying to work with you like this.”

“Hooray for me,” you said.

You really were a brat sometimes. Vox at times wondered if it was because he was too soft on you, and you didn’t realize the amount of actual power he held over you. Either that or you just didn’t care anymore. Whatever. It was all big talk because at the end of the day, you both knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation.

“You already have lots of benefits, which you would retain. Nice apartment, clothes, up to date tech. Besides that, you can come and go regularly, as long as you’re back here within twenty-four from when you last left. You can do whatever you want during that time. You also would be working for me a minimum of forty hours a week, with the occasional granted vacation at my discretion. That’s pretty much it, along with you occasionally being cooperative with my… desires,” he said, “So you’d have plenty of time to yourself. I didn’t put in anything that would force you to do anything too unsavory with me.”

Though he certainly would have liked to be more pushy in that department, he knew going too far could result in the kind of hate fueled relationship Valentino and Angel Dust shared. He honestly didn’t have the energy to have that much drama in his own life. Good night, he could hardly handle the drama that was in his life now. Besides, he was sure you’d come around willingly, even if it took a few centuries.

You glared at him as he finished speaking, as if to say, how generous of you.

From inside his vest, he pulls out the contract and holds it out to you.

“So, we have a deal?” he asked.

You sit up and take the paper, still avoiding his eyes. You seem to be reading it over, though your hold on it is lazy.

“… This still says you can fuck me at least once a week if you want to, or else I’m not allowed to leave the building,” you said, “Did you really think I wasn’t going to notice shit like that?”

He laughed a bit awkwardly.

“I mean, I did say I would like you to be at least a little cooperative,” he said, crossing his legs, “We could wait a little while if you’d like. I mean, you’d still have more freedom than you do now, even with that minuscule restriction. You should know by now that I’m a patient man.”

You stare at it again, forehead wrinkled.

“You know what… I see where you’re coming from,” you said, finally making eye contact, “Tic for tac, eh?”

“That’s a crude way for you to put it,” he said.

You shrug.

“Crude or not, it’s the truth,” you said, a sardonic smirk appearing on your face, “You want me to give a little to get a little.”

Before he could say anything you hold up your hands with more energy than he’s seen you have in days.

“No, no, no! I understand. I’ve been in hell long enough to know how people like you work. I get where you’re coming from, I really do. I’m not stupid! So trust me, I’m being completely serious when I say that I think you should take this lovely contract of yours and shove it up your glowing blue ass!” you ripped it in half on the last word, your smile still present but a nasty look in your eyes.

Vox felt his eye twitch as you continued to smirk at him, tossing the paper at him like you would throw trash across the room. You then lie back down and turn back to the TV, ignoring him again as if the last few minutes hadn’t even happened at all. Though you were attempting to pull your face back into the blank expression of earlier, he could see in your eyes a mixture of emotion, rage, yes, but also a certain smugness. What, did you really think you were tough shit for mouthing off to him like that?

He felt like his head was going to explode. Before he even registered how he was reacting, he had grabbed you by the hair and was pulled you back over.

“Ow! What the hell are you doing, Vox?” you yelled, the smug look gone from your eyes, “You’re hurting me!”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? I’m trying to be generous to you because I actually like you, but you know what? I’ve clearly spoiled you rotten already!” he fumed.

He was practically seeing red as he dragged you over, causing you to yelp. You try to kick him, but he only grabs onto your ankle and pulls you closer to him, spinning you around so that you were pressed against the back of the couch, his arms on either side of you. His fingers are still gripping your hair, forcing you to turn your head towards him.

“You know, you’re right, who needs a contract?” he said, “I can do whatever the hell I want with you, and what are you going to do about it?”

Your voice cracked as you attempted to speak, but he didn’t pay any attention to what you were trying to say. He could feel his systems overloading with the amount of rage he was feeling, shouting over you.

“I hope you like the view from up here, because you’re staying here for the rest of your miserable eternal exist. You can work and live here 24/7,” he said, “Anything else we should change in the arrangement? You didn’t like the idea of fucking me once a week? Fine by me. Why not once a day? Twice a day? Every hour? Would you like that better? Huh? Answer me!”

As he finished speaking, he finally heard what you were saying, “-m sorry! I’m sorry, please, stop!

As he heard your pleading, he felt himself being brought back down to earth. While his rage was still present, your begging brought him back to reality, and it was finally registering how upset you were. Hysterical. Terrified. You were sobbing, more afraid of him than he had ever seen you, even on the worst days of your fighting.

“D-d-don’t hurt me. I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt me!”

He released your hair with a rapid exhale, and you automatically moved your head away from him, arms shielding your face. Shaking, it was sinking in just emotionally distraught you were, as well as the damage he had done to the couch. He hadn’t even noticed he had been digging his claws into the polyester, a row of gnashes beside your head. The situation was completely getting out of control. He pushed himself off of you and turned away. He didn’t even say anything, just left the room and went through the wires to his office. His head was overheating, and he was going to crash at this rate if he didn’t calm down.

Damn it! He hated how out of control you made him feel. It was pathetic. There was only one other person he could think of that made him get near as frustrated as he was feeling with you at the moment. He wasn’t the kind to act out, and here he was acting almost as ridiculous as his business partner did. The only saving grace was that Vox at least tried to keep his infatuation as quiet and private as possible.

It was more than his emotional irregularity though. The fact that he felt this way at all about you was humiliating. Affection, fondness, it was a weakness, and he knew it. Valentino got away with just having simple lust and taking what he wanted, but genuine affection demanded gentleness and tenderness. It was beyond him just not being able to do as he pleased with you, he didn’t want to. He wanted you to come to him willingly. It was the thing holding him back from just hypnotizing you into his arms or using a “love” potion, and now he had probably set any progress towards your affection back significantly.

He rubbed his forehead, which was starting to cool down a little. What was going on up there? He was going to end up doing something rash, something he regretted, if he didn’t get things under control and under control fast. Something needed to be done, but he didn’t know what. Nothing had gone how he had wanted it to. He would need to rethink his approach.

---

You spent a long time shaking on the couch, arms and blanket wrapped around you, crying. You were an idiot. Clearly your brain was turning to mush just sitting around the house all day. Did you actually think you’d be able to get away with speaking like that to an Overlord of Hell?

There had to be a way out of this place. Had to. But the more you thought about it, the more impossible it felt. Even if you did manage to get out of the building in one piece, Vox had this entire city under constant watch. Every corner of Pentagram City was crawling with his tech and media. It would take minutes if not seconds for him to find you and bring you back by force. At this point, maybe you should just sign a contract with the douchebag. Surely, he’d get bored of you eventually, right? Maybe if you got lucky he’d even get killed off one of these days in an extermination, and you’d be off the hook completely.

But how long would that take? Decades? A century or two? What if he never tired of you? Eternal death or not, you didn’t want to spend that much time living and sleeping with some psycho you hated. No. That wasn’t an option. You weren’t going to do that. But what then? You had thought he was going to literally rip your head off just a few minutes ago for telling him no. You were pretty sure things weren’t going to get less volatile around here if you kept rejecting him.

You wiped at your tear soaked face with a tissue and tossed it across the room. It’s light material just sent it floating to the ground though. It looked as pathetic as you felt.

“Damn it,” you cursed, smashing your head into a throw pillow and lying back down, “I hate this fucking place.”