#and now be in CONSIDERABLY MORE PAIN THAN BEFORE

[dairyfreenugget]

(Going insane boinkinh one AU in my head)

Hey hey hey

May I interest you in

(Slowly slides my FaaF AU towards you but void just Disappears without a trace one day before the accolade)

Teehee

[ronanlynchbf]

haiiii question for the masses <333

[alittleemo]

.

[cntloup]

"Hey! What are you doing?!" he nearly shouts as he quickly rushes to take the bags of groceries from you.

You're eight months pregnant and your husband has been immensely loving, helpful and considerate, but safe to say overbearing at times.

"I just wanted to help." you say sheepishly, a slight pout forming on your lips.

"I've got it." he says, tone harsher than he intended as he grabs the bags without even looking at you, then leaves, thinking nothing of it.

You stomp your feet to the bedroom, well, as well as you can in your state and slam the door behind you.

He's startled at the sound and it dawns on him just now what he has done, "Fuckin' hell." he grumbles under his breath.

He finds you lying down on the bed and walks over to sit beside you.

"I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have talked to you that way." he apologizes in a much softer voice.

He places one hand on your waist and the other on your belly, tenderly rubbing soothing circles only for you to pull away and turn your back to him.

His heart shatters in his chest as he stares at you with desperate, apologetic eyes.

And shortly after, he hears the soft sound of your sniffles.

He shuffles on the bed to get closer to you, lightly touching your arm, "Love?" he beckons softly, eyebrows furrowed as he feels truly concerned now.

"Please, lovie. Talk to me." he pleads, fingers gently brushing against your bare arm.

Your hiccupped cry gets louder by the second until you’re full on sobbing as you curl into yourself.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry, love." he apologizes again, feeling more and more desperate and helpless.

He lies down behind you and pulls you closer to him by the waist and his hand rests on your belly.

He murmurs 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' into your hair over and over again, not really knowing what else to do in order to calm you down.

Until suddenly he hears your burst of giggles, not sure if he heard correctly.

"It tickles!" you giggle again as his breath tickles your neck.

He slightly shifts in his place, supporting his weight on his arm and lifting himself up to look at you in surprise of the sudden change in your mood.

You turn your head to look back at him with a lovely smile, making his breath hitch in his throat.

"Yeah?" a mischievous smile forms on his face and his hands move to your sides.

And before you can react, he's tickling you mercilessly.

"Siii!" you whine in between uncontrollable laughter and thrashing your arms around trying to stop him from his brutal tickle attacks as he smirks and laughs at your attempts, enjoying this way more than he should.

Until all of a sudden a loud drawn-out gasp leaves your mouth and he immediately stops, "Fuck! Are you ok? Did I hurt you?" he asks in deep concern as his eyes stir around, looking for any sign of damage.

You just take his hand and place it on your belly with no words and at first, he looks confused, but quickly realizes what you meant, his eyes lighting up as he feels your baby's kicks against his palm.

He feels tears prickle the corner of his eyes and can't help but kiss you with such flaming love and fierce devotion that he feels for both of you.

And you spend the rest of the day in each other's arms, feeling your baby's kicks with pure happiness in your hearts and he soothingly rubs your belly and kisses you when you whine in pain.

[youronlydarlin]

warning: Sex pollen :), noncon/dubcon, some of them are mean on this one, horny desperate men going insane for your hole, not proofread 😭

Jus' over here havin thoughts about sex pollen infecting your favorite boy man

Finding yourself in the middle of a botched mission, you desperately try to open the door that separates you from your lover. You can hear him hacking, n coughing on the other side. N'd your sweet soul's nearly crying at the thought of what's happening to him. Is he dying !? Pink gas escapes from under the door and you don't even have the time to react before it suddenly opens.

Captain John Price who tries keep some of his composure. You must commend him for it, really. But you turn around to see if the coast's still clear and that's all it takes for his composure to break. Before you knew it you're being lifted into the air. Back pressed tightly against your Captain's chest while he holds you up with the back if your knees. He's got you in a full nelson :( And all of a sudden there's a knife in his hands. You cry out at the thought of what he could do to you but you're silenced the moment he uses it to rip an opening through your trousers, all the while he's rutting against your ass, cause he's just so pent up. Oh, you have to understand!

His dick is inside of you the moment it's freed. Tries to be considerate about it, gives you a few seconds to adjust before he's drilling into you with wild abandon. Fucks you so deep, there's a bulge in your tummy and spots in your vision. Sinks to the floor with you the moment he cums, holding you close to his chest and trying to come up with a decent enough explanation.

Simon "Ghost" Riley who let's out a loud grunt before falling on top of you. The impact makes your head spin, and it momentarily knocks the wind out of your lungs. His body crushes yours beneath the concrete floor and you don't have time to recover before the feeling of phantom hands start to roam your body. And you can no longer blame it on your fall, because your trousers are being ripped away by rough gloved hands.

Poor, little, you can't even object when he wrestles you into a mating press :( Shoving two of his thick digits inside of you with no warning. He's moving them in a scissoring motion, and you cant help but cry at the dry, and painful insertion. He's so mean!

"Shhh, puppy... 'I need this..." Doesn't even say please! Doesn't even give you a warning before the mushroom tip of his cock is breaching past your entrance. It's definitely way thicker than his fingers, and a lot more harder to get used to. He uses your bunched up knees as leverage to fuck you deeper, n deeper till your pretty eyes roll to the back of your skull.

He sounds like an animal when he cums. Growling pure filth to your ear while he grinds his dick inside you. Ready for a round 2?

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish who doesn't even wait. He was already hard as a fucking rock, hearing your cute voice cry out for him on the other side of the door. But now that it's opened, the only thing in his mind is dicking you down till your addicted to his cock.

Very impatient. You're literally like a ragdoll to him and he jus' manhandles you so you're face down, ass up :(

Shoves his fingers in your mouth while pulling your trousers down. He eats you out like a man starved. Like this was going to be his first, and last meal. Not a moment later and he's bullying your hole with his fat cock. Babbling nonsense about how fucking tight you are and how he's "waited to do this for so long". But he cums, and he cums deep.

The definition of painting your insides white.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who looks like he's in so much pain. Unlike the other boys he tells you not to get close. He's not right in the head, can't you see that?? But you're sweet. Too sweet, and he wonders if you taste just the same. He's wetting his lips before knows it. He feels terrible. Eye fucking you while you're just trying to get him to talk about what's happening. Is he ok? He's not dying, is he? Tell me where it hurts, please.

You fret over him, and he's never felt such embarrassment in his life before. He feels bad, looking down at the massive tent in his pants. But he feels worse when he's pushing you against the wall. He's tried to hold back. Really, he did. But there's just so much a man like him can take in a situation like this. And he's trying to whisper apologies to you while he hasn't fully lost himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just please....Fffuck–let me fuck you. Please..."

He's so desperate n'd whiney. As if he's not making your thighs shake and your brain into goo. He's fucking your mouth with his tongue, sturdy hands grabbing hold of your legs and wrapping them around his firm waist.

It's all too much. You're brain moving slower than your mouth can say "slow down". In a second he's got your trousers to the side, and his pants bunched up on his knees. He's shaking so much you're worried he might topple over. But he doesn't. Instead he slams his hips directly into yours. Your mouth opening in a silent scream.

He cums the moment he gets his dick in you. He's just so sensitive, ok :( And he doesn't stop at just one round, not even two. Three and his cum's leaking out of you, staining the floor and both of your thighs. Still moving his hips like a man possessed. Four, you're nearly passed out. And there's a slight bump in your stomach from where you're sure his cock, and cum is.

Head lying limp on your shoulder, you wonder how many times you've cummed already, or if this was even going to end. He smiles at you, so brightly he looks like your Kyle again. But he's kissing the side of your mouth before biting at your lips.

"Jus one more. Jus' one more, I promise..."

a/n: I literally don't know what bought this on. Are the parts where I lost motivation obvious? Yes? Ok. Fuck Some characters parts are longer than others I'm so sorry 😭 This has been rotting in my drafts for about 2 days. Hope you enjoy this more than I do 😞. Eat up, my loves!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[anantaru]

DAY 30 — hate sex

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, ayato, scaramouche, alhaitham

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, hate fucking, mild choking, they're assholes, exhibitionism, fingering, lots of teasing & they're meanies

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"i don't, fuck— even know if i told you this," you whine out through a clenched jaw, your trembling frame luxuriating in the feeling of wriothesley's thick cock rubbing against your spongy spots as the spreading warmth of his body fuses inside of your own.

nevertheless, you continue your taunting— truthfully, there was nothing better other than uttering out words that you knew, would drive him absolutely crazy, "but i really fucking hate you."

amusement swiftly settles on the duke's face when he notices something happening in front of his eyes, in spite of himself, he can see it plain as day.

that your sweet, angel face, combined with those lewd sounds and your pain in the ass, as well as bratty attitude, would ultimately make him lose his mind beyond salivation— right now, his face reminded of someone who was on the brink of leaning into this, the thought of stepping your relationship up and breaking free of this, occasional hook up scene between two people clearly harboring distaste for each other.

yet, instead of melting into those hidden emotions, wriothesley then, leaves one hand to fall against the headboard before jerking his hips back into you, this time much harder and in attempt to conceal the fact that you've evidently turned him on with your attitude, fuck, he'd never get tired of hearing you.

"oh, don't worry sweetheart," wriothesley grins, your body trembling when you hear him, and as always, he senses how you shiver under his large weight, your chest rising and falling when he wraps one hand around your throat, lightly, while the other remained on the headboard to steady himself and to not suddenly suffocate you with his figure.

"the feeling is very mutual," he winks, the only thing that seemed appropriate to you personally in this situation, was to punch him, especially due to that stupid, handsome, dumb smirk on his face. (you didn't punch him)

"oh fuck you," you spat angrily before feeling how he softly draws his fingers into your throat, mesmerized when you swallow the assembled saliva down and make him sense your pulse underneath his palm, ugh, it's so hot— and you're impossibly sensitive, constantly fluttering your hole around his girth, always so cutely reactive and moaning when his cock twitches through your walls.

your mess of a body was shaking, quivering and jerking up when he teases you once more, proudly showcasing his strength on your throat while never stopping the aching drags of his erection that was making your face twist in pleasure.

𖧡 — AYATO

ayato thinks you owe him, in fact, he believes you owe him a lot more than you're currently giving him— aside from that, the most unfortunate fact was that he secretly liked having you close to him, pretending that it's a way of paying him back for whatever reason, more so share your sweet company and yes, of course, it's a bit of a predicament taking into consideration that he literally cannot stand your guts and neither can you force yourself to like his.

it's a bit embarrassing and you're barely being able to grasp on how much you you were capable to hate another person, yet the second you hear his voice, it's a horrible sound, one that you eagerly wanted to choke right out of him.

well, if only ayato wouldn't be so adapt with your body— remembering every part of you, didn't matter to him if it's been a week or a month, he remembers and targets the spots he knew had to be taken care of.

because the yashiro commissioner knows how to fuck you, please you and make you sob out uncontrollably— you have clearly had the opportunity to experience it yourself and even now, while pressed down against his work desk, with both legs tightly shut around his waist, you almost forget about all the deep-rooted hatred that was growing inside of your heart.

every dip and curve, his hand would find when he drags his cock through your walls with each whimper of his name littering across his ear shells, his sensitive tip repeatedly pushing in and out of your soaked walls that the constant pressure of penetration was making your head spin, your shaking frame twitching under him as he curves ever so wonderfully into your warm cunt.

it's too good, too delicious to pass up on when you forget all circumstances and focus on the hate induced thrusts of his pelvis rutting against yours— both minds being drunk of lust and that sensual taste of sex and euphoria lingering across the room, your pussy convulsing as his lips melt against your own, shushing all your worries.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"look at that," scaramouche grinned down on you, excited from head to toe, his ego downright overflowing when his tip pushes and presses into your warm, pulsing spots as he stares down on where your bodies connected.

his cock was slipping in an embarrassingly easy pace that it's quite shameful now that you think back on it, well, almost— at least scaramouche knew what places to target in order to make your spine curve and quiver when he leans his weight over your body to split your cunt a little better as he bucks backward, driving the intruding force of his length deeper with one hand steady on your shoulder.

you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a warm, passionate kiss before he sloppily groans into your mouth, his tongue lapping across your own when repeated thrusts power through the tight ring of your hole, his pelvis continuously kicking against you and forcing your spine to bend into his chest, "hah, i can barely move," he smirks, "you're too tight— embarrassing," he drawls, your walls fluttering as he leans his sweaty forehead over your own.

"seems like you missed me," scaramouche urges, hovering on top of you with a toothy smile, despite that leaning in for more, his fastened breathing close to your flustered cheeks as he grinds his cock deeper, finer and better— a small, little shade of pink manifesting across his face, everything about it was so sensual, so exposed.

without a doubt, whenever you would cross paths it would always end in the same story playing on repeat, almost like a broken record— and despite the fact that you weren't fond of him, or, scrap that, despite the fact that you hated him, a lot, you did like it, like him, kind of— most definitely when he fucks you like he hates you, because he does, but kisses you like you're in possession of the most delicious and softest lips.

or, digging a little deeper, when he, sometimes, wraps his arm around your waist when he accidentally falls asleep right beside you, hiding his fatigued face against your neck, leaning into your touch as he intertwines one hand with yours to stroke his thumb over your knuckles.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

it's a hard punch in your gut when alhaitham first stated that he didn't like you, nope, wasn't a fan of yours at all— and the way he phrased it infuriated you the most, it was so arrogant, detached and almost like he wanted you to know and feel bad.

it's not like you were forcing him to like you or anything, but the fact that he thought it was appropriate to tell you out of the blue while disregarding any negative emotions such confession could cause— to say it made you loathe him, detest his being with every vein in your body, was an understatement, truly.

but now, suddenly it's anomalous, like the first bite out of a warm home-made pastry you have never tried before.

then, a sudden wave of pleasure hits you, strong enough that you whimper when he first places both hands on your figure, when you find yourself pressed against a cold wall, a new sensation that was laced in thrill and excitement lusting up from deep inside, aflame and alive through your flesh like liquid fire in your veins.

your bodies were moving while concealed beneath the darkness with the scribe's hand long since stored under your panties and rubbing slow, precise circles on your clit— and the thought of doing something so sinful in the midst of the night, not to mention outside, was almost enough to turn you on entirely, drench his palm with your slick when the boiling heat inside of you changes its shape, manifesting into something exceptional.

"that— that doesn't change anything!" you argue, scowling as you lean your head against his chest, "you're still a snob."

"huh, what?" alhaitham huffs in between a relatively normal breathing, as if he didn't just fuck two fingers into your hole and was the single reason for your legs turning to jelly, wantonly destroying your stability, "i think you don't know what that word means," he mutters before rolling his eyes at you.

archons, you're so annoying, alhaitham could honestly tell you those exact words over and over again until he'd get a headache— and it fucks him up, you do, you never fail to irritate him but also make him intrigued. ugh, it fucks him up so dearly and you destroy his rational thoughts, he wanted to do nothing more other than distance himself from you if only you wouldn't be so damn addicting, and soft, or reactive when he prods one finger against your hole.

awakening at the touch, your desire for him flares anew as you buck your hips forward, driving his finger deeper, his digit spilling right into you when you greet him with a broken cry, your hips rolling and needful for more— alhaitham's eyes never averting their gaze from you, your hips searching and clinging on his body, a slight tremble reaching your spine when you hold your gaze on him, all now feeling in different way.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[goodbird1]

My firecracker

Alastor x fem reader

Word count: 634

Summary: Charlie learns about Alastor wife.

Warnings: mention of death and murder (please tell me if I miss any)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌹🥀🌹~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor stood on a balcony overlooking the city. The hotel was celebrating for some reason or another he didn't particularly care. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a locket. Unclasping it reveals an image of a woman.

“I thought doing this would make me feel better in some way, or at least dull the pain for the time being” Alastor began, looking down at the locket. “It was foolish of me to think that would happen. It's happening all over again, and I don't think I have a chance to see you again.”

Tears started swelling in his eyes. Quickly pulling out a handkerchief and wiping them away.

“You know I always took you as someone who likes entertainment and parties are pretty entertaining” Charlie said coming out on the balcony.

“Oh I'm just getting some fresh air, it's far too stuffy in there” Alastor replied, shoving the locket back in his coat. Not before Charlie notices.

“What's that?” Charlie said, reaching out.

Instinctively Alastor slapped Charlie's hand away, holding the locket even closer now. Towering over her with a cruel look on his face, he saw the fear in her eyes. Normally he'd relish in it but this was no sight he wanted to see on charlie. Signing he pulled out the locket again shifting it through his fingers.

“My apologies dear,” he said, turning back to the city. “I didn't mean to snap, it's a locket with my wife's photo in it, it's the only thing I have left of her.”

“You never told me you were married,” Charlie said, coming to Alastor's side.

“I don't much like to talk about it” Alastor signed.

“Can I ask, what was she like?” Charlie questioned.

“Oh she was wonderful” He began. “She was a firecracker, always 3 steps ahead of everyone. Beat you in any game and once you thought you had the upper hand she'd pull the rug right out from your feet. She was kind and considerate, and believed in second chances. She'd taught me that. And oh she could sing like an angel. I would play the piano, she would sing and the world would fade away.”

“She sounds amazing, you know maybe if you redeem yourself you can see her again in heaven!”

“Haha oh darling, anybody worth knowing comes down here!” Alastor said between laughs. “She would always tell me she would rather burn in hell with me than sit alone in heaven. Did you know that our fathers decided to put us together to ‘contain our unnatural behavior’? And she came up with a plan to kill both our families and then burn the evidence! Oh it was then I knew she was the one.”

Memories started flooding back when they were both alive and then both died. But this time they didn't hurt so much now.

“What happened to her?” Charlie asked, bring Alastor back to reality.

“The first or the second time?” Alastor joked trying not to spiral.

“Both?” She whispered hesitantly.

“The first time she was in a tree, mistaken for a bird and shot down the fall was what killed her. The second time…” Alastor choked clutching the locket for dear life. Clearing his voice he started again. “Well you don't make it as far as I have without making a few enemies. They sent her back in pieces.”

“That's awful!” Charlie exclaimed.

“No need to worry they won't hurt anyone now.” Signing, he stepped away from the edge. “Come on dear, let's join the party.”

“Hey Al, can I ask one more thing?”

“And what would that be?”

“Do you think she would have liked the hotel?”

Turning fully around to face Charlie. A kind smile across his face with a hand reaching out for her.“Oh she would love it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌹🥀🌹~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[reiderwriter]

Okay but, flirty reader majority pointed at Reid, and the scene where he has to get hosed down and says "I'mma bout to get naked, I don't think you wanna see that" and reader's just like raising her hand and says "don't worry I'll stay". And after she walks out to go to the hospital and sees everyone and with an open mouth and wide eyes just goes " woah" cause big dick energy

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for your request! I've been a bit sick lately, so I haven't had a chance to write much, but this was fun and quick to write! I might do a part 2 with the actual smut in the future, so if that's something people would want let me know in the comments!!

Warnings: suggestive content, public dirty talk?

“I really want to see that.” 

You heard the words but weren't sure where they'd come from for the longest time. It had been a confusing morning, with a high alert for anthrax and your coworker trapping himself inside a contaminated lab to save you from dying a presumably very painful death, you couldn't be blamed for not realizing that you'd said the words in question. 

He'd meant the words sarcastically, of course, and they'd warned Morgan off immediately with a chuckle and a “You better survive this, kid,” but you'd stood rooted to the earth until he'd repeated them again. 

“Y/N, they're going to strip me down. You don't want to see that.” 

“I really do, though.” Your eyes unabashedly trailed down the contours of his body, soaked from the hoses currently decontaminating him. You could've sworn that he was moving in slow motion as his hand pushed back his hair and cleared his face of water. 

If there weren't this many CDC agents around, you'd have likely joined him in his impromptu shower to feel your way along the lines of his clothing, checking to see what was outline and what was the thick layers of shirt and pants that unfortunately still obstructed your view. 

Another minute of you ogling him went by before your eyes finally returned to anywhere near his, and you realized that your desire for the man could no longer pass for camaraderie. 

“You better not die, Spencer. Not before I can enjoy the meal I'm about to sample.” 

His doctors were either ignoring the conversation completely or were busy focusing on other things, and luckily, they didn't react to your words. Other than to take Spencer's temperature one more time when he flushed bright red, and stared at you slack-jawed. 

“We're going to have to speed this along, Doctor Reid. Please start unbuttoning your shirt,” one of the hazmatted men said to him, but his eyes were fixed on you. 

“Yes, please do, Spencer. It's for your own good. And mine.” 

You expected him to blush and fawn again, but his day had been as long and confusing as your own, so you were unsurprised when he looked you directly in the eye and began unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his descent, and your breath faltered, seeing the water drip down his bare skin now. 

“I'm not sure which of us is wetter right now,” you tried to joke in earnest, but you felt a sharp jolt of lust in your gut as soon as his hands reached his belt. 

“Y/N, you need to leave now. Before you make this any harder for everyone here.” The innuendo in his words were clear, but you were thankful again for the considerate and/or oblivious doctors either side of him bagging up his discarded shirt and jacket. 

“Only if you promise I can make your life as hard as I want to when you're in the clear.” You smiled again, hoping the full force of your lust would reach him. Spencer was always oblivious to genuine flirtation, you'd observed enough women throwing themselves on him (had discouraged a few too many with a hand on his arm and a finger playing with the abandoned curls at the back of his neck, too) to know that for sure. 

You needed to make your need for him explicit. 

“I mean it, Spencer. I really mean it.” 

His eyes locked with yours for the last time ad you made to turn around, doing your best to convince him without becoming distractedly horny. 

“I know. I'll see you at the hospital.” 

“At the hospital? Risky, I like it.” You winked and turned away, leaving him calling back after you as you walked over to the car Derek had pulled around the front of the property. 

“Wait, not the hospital! Those beds aren’t comfortable. Y/N! Y/N, really!” 

You giggled as you sat down in the car, but you bubbled with anticipation still. 

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, non - con, pet play, victim - blaming

Eric laid it out since day one - you can be his lover or his pet, and it all depends on you and your behaviour. But you don’t believe him - you push at his chest and you turn your head when he tries to brush his lips against yours. You squirm when he wraps his big, muscled arms around you, and your lips pucker in denial when he tries to feed you. But what’s even worse, what really makes him tick, is when you try to run - when you wait for him to cross the threshold, all soft and doe - eyed as you finally, finally let him kiss you goodbye. When you act like a good fucking girl for once, just so he can let his guard down and forget to lock the door. 

You don’t make it far. You spend approximately thirty seconds in blissful unawareness, having the sun caress your naked skin for the first time in months, the birds chirp and tweet, spring is in the air… And then the alarm goes off, triggered by the tracker installed in your shoulder.

It’s all your fault, really, Eric says. You could have everything. You could have a hot breakfast in bed and hundreds of kisses adoring your warm body. He could take a shower with you every day before work, carefully washing your hair, thoroughly rubbing the sweet flowery shampoo into your roots and massaging your scalp just like a husband would for his wife. He could adore you with his whole being. He could make love to you, softly, gently - slowly working you to wet ecstasy with his fingers and tongue before he finally takes you on your back just so he can look at your face lovingly the whole time. 

You could be his equal, he reminds you. You could have all these teeth rooting - sweet, painfully domestic moments - when he hugs you from behind as you bake a pie, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he inhales your lovely cinnamon aroma. When you fall asleep in the middle of a movie and he sighs with unhidden tenderness, carrying you to the bedroom - careful not to wake you up from your adorable, peaceful sleep. When you grow old together, thirty years from now, and he still remembers to buy you your favourite newsletter along with your coffee, the one with the double sudoku pages.

But you won’t, and he won’t, because you fucked up. You decided you needed less than him - less than his love. And that’s fine by him, he still loves you. He could never stop loving you, and if you want him to play the villain, if you want him to be your cruel master - for him to shorten your leash, who’s he to deny you? 

So he buys a thick pink collar with his initials on it and the most adorable heart - shaped pillow which he lays by his office chair. You stare at it, dumbfounded, unsure what he means by all that - yet Eric is anything if not clear in his intentions. He drags you in by the hair, kicking, screaming and all, shoving you towards what he calls your new home. You feel your eyes prick with hot, humiliating tears, growing even more puzzled. But your captor just coos at you understandingly, patting your head as if you’re a wild animal, as he explains that, if you really want to act like a bitch, he has no problem treating you like one.

He has no problem fucking you instead of making love to you, knees spread far and wide apart in the air, almost reaching your chest as he plows into you with little consideration for your pain aside from a chuckle here and a pinch there. He can live without kissing your soft, beautiful lips if it means he still gets to bite and squeeze and abuse any warm flesh available. He can bear not hearing your breathless voice sing him praises if you can still scream and cry for him just as prettily - when you bruise and mark just as darkly, when you let him grip and grope you just as possessively. 

And when you whine and sob, asking him if he still loves you - and if he does, how he lives with hurting you so, he reminds you that this is the path you chose yourself. After all, he doesn’t need to be a lover, not when you refuse to hold your end of the deal. He just needs to love you, even if that love ends up crushing you. 

[safetypinxtales]

400 years | Azriel

summary: drinking with your best friend takes a turn when you happen upon some of Feyre's art supplies.

words: 3.2k

warnings: steamy 18+ mdni, nudity, sex is insinuated but not described, kissing, alcohol consumption (drink responsibly), reader and azriel are drunk, making out, big dick azriel, fluff, no use of y/n, neutrally described reader/no reader description

notes: happy valentines day, here's some azriel for youuu🤍 I got the inspiration for this whilst reading this fic by @solbaby7 bc who wouldn't want to draw az like one of your French girls?? Frankly there is nothing I would like to do more. Their fic is amazing and you guys should totally check it out if you haven't already! Anyways, I'm sorry for the "shut the door" type ending, but I cannot write smut to save my life so this will have to do. Hope you enjoy!🤍

masterlist

Thud.

The sound of Azriel accidentally smacking his head on the wall as he plopped down on the sofa across from you echoed within the walls of the cabin, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of you. Azriel’s own shaking shoulders and scrunched up nose let you know that he couldn’t help it either. 

But that was to be expected wasn’t it? The past hour had been filled with nothing but bubbling laughter from the both of you, giggles from Az, and some very graceful snorts… also definitely from Azriel. 

The reason why he had brought you to Rhys’ cabin in the mountains was long forgotten after the two nearly empty bottles of alcohol on the table in front of you. The heartache of getting stood up on your date earlier that evening buried under a considerable amount of drinks. 

“As long as the glass is never empty in between refills, they don’t count.”

Azriel’s words from earlier came back to you, only fuelling your cramp inducing giggles. 

That had always been your motto in times like these. A consistency that had lasted centuries. 

“I can’t breathe,” you wheezed out in between fits of hysteria, your arms coming up to wrap around yourself. But your laughter didn’t die down, and neither did Azriel’s. Your uttered words only seemed to fire him on as he tipped over on his side, hand landing a slap on the armrest.

Seeing him like this, so free and relaxed, was rare. You could probably count each separate occasion on your hands. He only really let go like this when you needed it. When the urge to drink your walls down and flush the pain away seemed like the only remedy to whatever situation you were dealing with.

It was a very rare occurrence indeed. But one of your favourites. 

Azriel’s carefree giggles, that luminous light in his eyes; you swore it could make budding flowers bloom.

You sat up straight, and the situation stopped feeling so funny as you laid eyes on Azriel’s still laughing frame. The uncontrolled giggles, and the way his wings shook in time with his chest. It was enchanting, the sight of your best friend being so relaxed, so happy. 

The shadows that were usually crowding his frame were nowhere to be seen – with the exception of the lone swirl of darkness slowly snaking its way around your wrist, coming down to entwine with your fingers every now and again.

It took a couple more minutes until Azriel’s laughter had finally seized. You both sat on separate sofas, smiles stretched wide and eyes glazed over from the alcohol you had ingested, and as your breathing started to return to normal a thought struck.

“What?” Azirel asked as he leaned forward on his elbows, a curious glint in his eyes. 

“What?” You prodded back, more confused than curious, blinking a few times to try and rid the alcohol-induced veil that surrounded you. What was he on about? 

“Well,” he waved one floppy hand in your direction, “you just perked up, it was like you grew ten inches,” he exclaimed, before continuing in a slightly lowered, bemused voice, ”and that means you just had one of your ideas.”

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards as you slowly nodded your head. He was right – you had come up with an idea.

“Well, I was just thinking about how Feyre mentioned after the last time she was here,” you stood up from your seat, swaying slightly but quickly finding your balance, doing your very best to not bump into the table separating you. “Something about forgotten art supplies.”

Like a predator sighting a prey, Azriel’s interest piqued in a moment. His razor sharp focus was on your every step as you walked towards the supply closet at the other side of the room. 

The closet was unusually dusty, a strange thing for being Rhysand’s property. He was usually very meticulous when it came to things always being spotless and presentable. But you supposed that a small, rarely used supply closet in the family cabin wasn’t a priority of his. Keeping it clean was not a good enough use of his magic. 

Luckily for you, that just made your quest easier. You just had to look for whatever was covered in the least amount of dust bunnies.

“Aha!” You whipped around to face your friend, triumphantly displaying the sketch pad and charcoals in your hands. 

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up at your revelation, grin still present on his beautiful face.

“That’s your big idea? Drawing?”

“You should know I used to be quite the whiz with the charcoals when I was younger,” you rebutted and Azriel’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. 

“I have seen your penmanship, so I will believe this talent of yours when I see it,” he muttered and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer audacity in his words. Your penmanship was not that bad.

Taking a few steps back in his direction with a huff, you flipped through the sketch pad in search of an unused sheet of parchment. You were gonna show him, alright…

You couldn’t help but admire Feyre’s old sketches as you went through the pages. Some you recognised as early-version sketches of paintings you had seen around the river house, and some were–

“Oh!” Your fingers froze as your eyes landed on what seemed to be an anatomical study. A very detailed, very beautiful, anatomical study of – oh my Gods. You felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Is that Rhysand?!”

At the screech in your voice and the mention of his brother’s name, Azriel shot up off the sofa to get a peek at whatever had managed to pull such a reaction from you. 

The warmth of his body radiated into your side as he peered over your shoulder at the drawing of the very naked high lord. 

You noticed him stiffening out of the corner of your eyes and then, like a tether snapping, laughter started to boom inside the walls of the cabin. With a steadying hand on your shoulder he doubled over in giggles so contagious it didn’t take long before you joined in with his hysterics. 

“No way,” he wheezed, “oh Gods – I can’t wait to tell Cassian!” 

The mere thought of how Cassian would react to such a revelation, the look on his face, had you clutching your stomach. Poor Rhys would never hear the end of it.

And by the cauldron, if you don’t wake up with rippling abs tomorrow from the amount of laughter this night had brought….

“You can’t blame her though,” you mused once you managed to get your giggles under control, “I mean, nice job Feyre.” A low whistle left you as you peered down at your clearly blessed high lord.

The laughter quieted down beside you and you raised your gaze to look at Azriel, only to be met with an incredulous look. 

“What, I’m just calling it as I see it!” You exclaimed and raised your hands in defence, charcoals and disrobed Rhysand still in your grasp.

His eyes flicked down to the sketch pad, before slowly coming back up to meet yours, that look never leaving his face.

“Oh, please.” 

The words fell from his lips with such cool confidence your smile faltered momentarily, eyebrows knotting together.

“You can’t be serious?” He asked, and when you stayed quiet he continued, “that’s nothing.”

Nothing?

From where you were standing, respectfully, it looked like everything.

“What? Like you can do better?” 

Your challenge seemed to light a spark in his eyes and time slowed as he took a step backwards, fingers coming down to grip the hem of his t-shirt.

One swift movement and his shirt was off, muscles rippling under his bronzed skin as he tossed the dark fabric on the floor, his eyes not once straying from yours. 

He kept backing up, step after torturous step, until his legs hit the sofa. The corners of his mouth tugged up in a smirk as he plopped down, arms behind his head, far leg propped up, large wings casually draped over the armrest.

“Draw me then, whiz,” he challenged, using your word from earlier, “let me be your muse.” 

The heat crawling up your neck, scorching the tips of your ears, were not solely from the liquor as you padded over to the opposite sofa. 

No, it was from something very different. Something strikingly sobering, yet oh-so intoxicating. 

You sat down and carefully placed the pad in your lap, flipping through it until you reached a blank page. You moved some hair out of your eyes and tucked it behind your ear, picked up a charcoal and brought it to the parchment – when you felt yourself hesitate. You took your lip between your teeth as you contemplated your next move. The risk. The absurdity. The excitement. 

He was your friend. Your best friend, and yet…

You lifted your gaze to find Azriel’s eyes locked to yours with such focus, such challenge. Like he was sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. 

His eyes flicked down to your hand, if only for a split second, as you gently put down the charcoal. He cocked an eyebrow when his gaze once again found yours. 

“I just,” you took a deep breath, “I just don’t think it’s really fair on Rhys, you know?” The shadow around your wrist flickered, as if sensing what you were about to do. The lines you were about to cross.

You watched as Azriel’s eyebrows drew together, and you fought the twitching of your lips as you continued, “I mean, you are still half clothed.”

With a slight shrug of your shoulders, you watched as your words sank in. How his eyes seemed to darken, the corner of his mouth raised in the smallest of smirks. 

“Is that so?” He mused, and you tried your best to level his stare. To not back down. Not shy away. 

With an incline of your head, you nodded. And watched his hand inch closer to his pants. Down past that dark trail of hair, to the laces tied together at the waistband. Watched as he grabbed a hold of the string… and pulled. 

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus on anything other than his hand. How his fingers untied the font of his pants so slowly, so delicately it felt like torture. You were transfixed by his fingers. Loosening the laces, his thumb slipping beneath the waistband…

You snapped your gaze up to his face, to find him still looking at you – studying you. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sound of his pants hitting the floor. With your eyes still locked to his, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into. Here you were, in front of your fully naked best friend – about to draw him. 

Let me be your muse.

His words from earlier echoed in your mind as you tore your gaze from his face and dragged it lower, and lower, until…

Your head emptied. Your tongue felt about as dry as the beaches you had visited in Summer last year. Because the sight that beheld you was breath-taking. 

The length between his legs, standing aroused and proud, really did make Rhysand’s portrait look like nothing. 

A part of you had almost hoped that Azriel’s confidence had just been for show. That it was just his competitiveness shining through, a feat to best his brother. 

The reality?

Monstruos would have been a fitting word had the sight not compelled you so. Had it not caused you to burn for him. Crave him. 

Delicious seemed to be a better word to describe your friend. Beautiful. Mouth-watering. A thing of art.

Which is why you picked up your discarded charcoal and put it to the parchment. 

You studied the planes of his body, the hard lines, the soft skin. The muscles that could have been carved by the Mother herself. You avoided looking at his face though, instead focusing on the various scars that marred his skin, telling stories of battles and fights. Of brawls with his brothers. 

You felt him looking at you, however. He hadn’t stopped looking at you. Not since the sketch pad came into play.

It made it annoyingly hard to focus. 

The scratching sound of charcoal on paper stopped. 

“How long have we known each other?” Your voice wavered, mouth dry. You cleared your throat and raised your gaze to finally meet his. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, contemplating, “about 400 years.”

400 years. And never before had you seen him naked. Not like this. Not splayed out like a feast, waiting to be devoured. Not with his gaze so burning you were afraid it was going to singe your clothes to ashes. 

“Right,” you mumbled, eyes flicking back down to your hands. They were smudged with soot, your thumb and index finger blackened, that lone shadow still curiously snaking around your wrist. 

That is a very long time.

Azriel seemed to notice how the little confidence you had faltered, for he straightened somewhat from his leisurely sprawl. 

“You okay?” There was only soft concern enveloping his words, a drastic change from the tension flooding the space between you just seconds before. 

It was a very long time, indeed. So why didn’t this feel wrong? 

You let out a deep breath, “yes, I think so.” 

Your answer apparently didn’t settle his worries though, because he raised from the sofa and rounded the table between you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as he stopped in front of where you sat. 

Only when he lowered his hand – fingers coming to rest under your chin, tipping you face up – did you meet his eye. 

The heartbreaking concern written all over his face seized your heart. The soft furrow of his brow. The slight dip at the corners of his pouty lips. The brutal softness swimming in those hazel eyes. 

It took your breath away.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t trust your voice, not with the vulnerable proximity between you. All you managed was a meager nod. A small up and down bob of your head. 

His fingers tugged on your chin, and as if in a trance, you followed the wordless command and rose to your feet. 

“I need you to use your words here, sweetheart,” his voice was soft, but the underlying command was undeniable, “please.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you swallowed and managed to breathe out “I’m okay.” 

That seemed enough to ease Azriel’s concern, a breath of relief fanning across your face. 

“Good,” he murmured, almost as if more to himself.

His eyes left yours, and flicked down. To your mouth, you realised, as his thumb moved from your chin up to graze your bottom lip.

That intensity was back in his gaze, that predatory focus – all directed at you. His thumb pulled at your lip before letting go, and the shudder that overtook your body could have made the earth shake.

There couldn’t be more than a foot of space between you. 

So dangerously close.

He was your friend. 

Right? 

“400 years,” you whispered, eyes flicking down to follow the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “400 years of friendship.” 

You felt light headed. 400 years, and all could be thrown away as easy as breathing. All you had to do was take half a step.

“Three,” Azriel’s voice grumbled above you as your eyes trailed down to inspect the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“Hmm?” Your mumble was absent minded, your thoughts being too preoccupied by the male in front of you. What he would feel like. Taste like. The sounds he would make if you dipped your head and licked up the drops of sweat beading at the center of his chest.

“That’s how long I’ve loved you. Three hundred years.”

You froze. 

The thickness coating Azriel’s voice was not something you were familiar with. Nor were the words he uttered.

Your gaze snapped up to his, scanning his features for any sign that he was, for some reason, making the cruellest joke in all of Pythian’s history. But all you found was open, unguarded truth. 

Azriel loved you?

Azriel loved you. 

The rapid beating of your heart was a stark contrast to just how very safe you felt. How right it seemed to take that half step forward. To cradle his face in your hand, the other coming to rest on that glorious chest – right over his own heart. And as you felt that wild drumming beneath his ribs echo your own, nothing seemed as easy as rising up on the tips of your toes and slotting your mouth against his. 

The kiss was tentative, like the two of you were just dipping your toes in – testing the waters. You moved your lips against his, gently, savouring the feel of his pillowy lips. The feel of his body so close to yours. How the scent of him seemed to envelop you. You savoured how easily he took all of your senses hostage. 

He was everywhere.

The sound of Azriel’s wings rustling behind him, the rapid beating of his heart in his chest, the taste of liquor on his lips – it intoxicated you in a way you didn’t know was possible. 

You stayed like that, gently exploring each other's lips, savouring each other's closeness, until you had no other choice but to break away for air. 

You pulled away only a few inches, rapid breaths fanning your faces. The pounding of your heart didn’t seize, and neither did his. You could feel every rapid beat under the hand still planted on his warm chest. 

“Your heart is beating very fast,” you whispered, voice shaky from your breathlessness. 

He swallowed, “It is.”

“So is mine,” you revealed. 

“Yes, I can hear it.”

Oh. 

“Will you kiss me again?” Your voice was so low, you wouldn’t have known he heard you if not for the strangled sound he let out. 

Or for how he grabbed you by your waist and captured your lips with his. 

This time the kiss was less gentle. This time he pressed your body against his as he devoured you. It was all tongues, and teeth, and needy gasps.

His teeth pulled on your bottom lip and you thanked the Mother he was holding you so tightly, for your knees almost gave out. A throaty groan escaped you as his hand cupped the back of your neck, angling your head upwards and deepening the kiss further.

Your own hands found his hair – and pulled. The deep rumbling in his chest and the way he moaned your name into the kiss was your undoing.

This kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative.

It was claiming.

And so you let him claim you. 

Your clothes were quickly discarded as you laid down on the sofa, Azriel’s body on top of yours. And as you crashed together, entangled limbs and sworn promises, you let those 400 years of friendship, of tension, of longing dictate the start of this new chapter.

A chapter of what would hopefully be 400 years of something more.

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[thejujvtsupost]

Suguru Wants A Baby

F!reader holds a friend’s newborn baby, and it took exactly one moment for it to hit Geto. When he saw you holding your friend’s newborn, looking so natural and making silly faces to make the baby laugh, it clicked, he wants a baby with you. Your own little one to nurture and protect.

Notes: fem!reader, breeding kink, soft dom Geto, smut, vaginal sex, oral (f!receiving) and dirty talk. I’m serious this is literally just filthy - more under the cut.

Visiting with your friend who just had a baby boy was the highlight of your week. His little face and tiny feet had you cooing and making faces to keep him laughing.

Geto couldn’t look away from the scene, his pretty wife holding a cute baby so naturally- you didn’t think twice before getting him a bottle and burping him. You were happy to help your friend while her own husband was at work.

And when you were leaving, and you handed the baby back to your friend, your arms felt empty. You schooled your features before anyone could notice your utter disappointment and sadness.

Of course Geto noticed, which only made his thoughts run faster. If you want a baby, and he wants a baby… oh he was determined to give you a family on the spot.

He bided his time, as soon as you got home he would pounce. The car ride home was quiet but he didn’t interrupt your thoughts you were obviously deep into. He was patient, so patient despite his need for you, up until you started crying before you could take your shoes off.

“Sweetheart what’s wrong?” He held you to his chest and you buried your face against it. Shaking your head to deny any problem existing. “C’mon, let me in. I can’t help unless you tell me what happened.”

“‘Want a baby ‘guru, I’m sorry.” Your sniffles were breaking his heart, as if he’d ever want you to apologize for something like that.

He tilted your face up and kissed you, slowly at first until it gave way for his urgency. You had to push him back to breathe, “You okay? Not mad?”

Geto groaned and spoke against your lips, “I’ll give you as many babies as you want, right now. Say the word, please say the word. Tell me you want my babies- our babies.” He was spiraling, unwilling to get distracted by anything other than you.

“‘Need you- want your babies in me.” Your thighs had been clenching from the first urgent kiss for any semblance of relief.

He took his shirt off and threw it behind him. “Jump.”

And you did, your legs around his waist; his hands tearing your shirt over your head and tossed somewhere unknown. Your bra was practically ripped from your body, nothing was going to keep your body hidden from him.

You shrieked and broke your kiss when he tossed you on the bed, he didn’t waste time before getting the rest of your clothes off and diving between your legs like he would die if he waited any longer to taste you.

“Fuck this pussy is so good to me, gonna get you pregnant and keep you that way- cute and round, ‘won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” You don’t know what came over him, but he was eating you out so good and adding his fingers to the mix, playing you like an instrument.

“C’mon need your cock, need you inside of me.” Hips unable to stop moving, your need for him only grew. You were more than wet enough, he typically pulled an orgasm out of you to make sure you wouldn’t feel pain from his considerable length and right now you hated him for it.

He pulled away from your folds and placed a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “Don’t rush me baby, my little pussy needs attention and I’m givin it to her. I’ll take care of you ‘n give you what you need.”

You moaned when he returned to sucking your clit and stroking you from the inside- it hit you so fast. Your orgasm caught you off guard and your legs snapped closed around your husband’s head. Your brain went fuzzy.

“That’s it sweetheart, so good f’me.” Geto took his time and let you come down nice and easy. There were few things he liked seeing more than your blissed out expression.

That’s not enough for him though, you were never left unsatisfied but you were in for a night of orgasm after orgasm. God he wanted to fuck his cum into you, breed you thoroughly until there was no possible way you weren’t pregnant. His pretty little wife round and swollen with their unborn baby- he couldn’t hold back.

Fully covering his body over yours to demand your attention, “How do you want it, how do you want me to breed you?” Your moan at his words was music to his ears.

“Need you deep” you pushed him off of you and flipped to your hands and knees, then arched your back and let your upper body rest on the mattress.

“Oh fuck…” your pink cunt dripping on display for him was too much for him to handle. Geto rushed to get the rest of his clothes off and lined up behind you and slid in.

As slowly as he could at first, he hadn’t stretched you out beforehand. But then you slammed your hips back onto him and- oh god he got so deep inside of you that you saw white. “Please- gimme everything daddy.” You looked back at him with glossy eyes and that was the last thread snapping. He drilled his cock into you with a pace that you didn’t know was achievable, you loved it.

“This what ya wanted baby? You need my cock in this little pussy of yours? Need bred like a good girl?” You wouldn’t be able to hear him over your own sounds if he wasn’t directly in your ear, his large frame dwarfing yours.

You could only nod with a high pitched keen that sounded like fuck me daddy. “Yeah ‘m gonna give ya every drop when this cunt milks me, gonna give ya baby after baby, keep ya pregnant for me. Just gotta stuff you full of my cum, knock you up.”

He’s losing himself in you, he pulls you up to your knees with his arm holding you up, his other hand holding your throat gently. The contrast between his thrusts and the care he put into his hand around your neck, only squeezing the side the tiniest bit to increase your pleasure; it had you fluttering around him.

“Pussy so tight f’me fuck feel me? Put your hand on your stomach, right over your womb m’bout to fill. Thats it, daddy’s so deep inside of you baby.” Pressing down over the bulge of his cock inside of you has you both getting loud in your shared pleasure.

It was over when he got his unoccupied hand down to your clit and rubbed it the way you liked, you tightened around him like a vice, your release squirted out around his cock and he spilled inside of you.

The few thrusts of overstimulation had you clenching tighter until a second mini orgasm followed.

‘S’good for me sweetheart, so good.” You’re not sure when or how it happened but you were laying on your side with your back against his chest, him still inside of you with his hand rubbing along your slightly bloated stomach. You let yourself be lulled into a nap from the post orgasm haze. Suguru sounded way too smug when he praised you.

Maybe you’d go again when you wake up- if you weren’t too sore that is…

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[kkvqwrites]

Bedside Manner

Reader goes into labor while Simon's away and calls the first person she can think of. The task force (and some other friends in high places) rally around the couple on the most important day of their lives.

Word Count: 2,587

Characters (in order of appearance): fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Capt. John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kate Laswell

CW: childbirth, hospital setting, medical procedures

A/N: Am I a Ghost girlie? Absolutely. Am I also a sucker for the found family trope? Til I die. This idea wouldn't leave me alone and I'm so glad I stuck with it. I love the way this came out and hope you like it!

"Dear? Everything okay?"

The captain's voice on the other end of the line sounded worried. Both he and Simon had drilled it into you to never hesitate to call Price if you needed anything while your husband was away, but you couldn't help feeling a bit guilty.

"Um, I think so," you began, willing your voice to stay level and upbeat. "I think I just - oof.." Another contraction hit, stealing the air from your lungs. They were coming more consistently now, and hard enough to stop you in your tracks.

This could not be happening.

"What's wrong? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" You could hear movement in the background, him gathering his things to be out the door and on his way to you.

"I'm fine, John. I just didn't know who else to call. I think the baby might be coming?" The words came out pinched as you worked through the tail end of the contraction. The captain swore loudly.

"Stay put, love. I'm on the way - everything will be alright. Want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No, no, that's fine. Stay safe and I'll see you when you get here." You hung up before he could argue and fuss like a mother hen.

______________________________________________________________

The knock at the door startled you. You looked at the clock - surely that couldn't be John already. The man lived across town. Not trusting yourself to make it to the door, you called out.

"It's open!"

Turns out it wasn't Price, but Gaz, who stepped into your living room and began taking in the scene. It was a sight to be sure: you, doubled over sitting on your yoga ball, rocking back and forth to try to alleviate some of the pressure in your hips, towel around your neck because you were sweating like a pig, ambient white noise filtering through the bluetooth speaker to keep you calm. For all his usual swagger and poise, Gaz looked a bit frightened.

"Kyle, did John call you? I'm so sorry - I'm sure you were busy-"

"Not at all, I rushed over as soon as I got word." The sergeant came to your side and knelt until he was eye level. "The captain's on his way but I was closer. We didn't want you to be alone any longer than necessary."

"You and your task force are worse than a quilting circle." The jab came with a joking smile, but the smile was cut short by the stab of another contraction. At the sight of your face screwing up in pain, Kyle's eyes got big.

"Can I do something? Do you need anything?" He wrung his hands as he fussed, seemingly unsure whether to touch you or whether you'd bite him if he tried. Admittedly, you weren't too sure yourself.

"Need you to reset - the timer." The words came out through clenched teeth as your muscles tensed and screamed. "Contractions - need to time them."

"The timer - right." He sprung into action, undoubtedly happy to have a defined task to accomplish. As he was fiddling with the device, Price stormed through the door, his demeanor all-business.

"Gaz? What's the situation?" The sergeant hopped to attention as if he was at roll call.

"Got here not long ago myself, Cap. Just reset the timer for contractions."

"Where are we at?"

"Thirteen minutes, sir."

The captain turned to you, assessing you from top to bottom. His expression and his voice softened considerably as he spoke.

"Ready to get to the hospital, love?"

"Can't - they told me to wait until they're five minutes apart." The man looked bewildered.

"And just let you sit here and suffer? Not on my watch. Gaz, grab my keys - "

"John," you interrupted. "I already called. They won't admit me yet. We just need to wait it out."

"Nonsense, love. You wait til I get someone's ear over there. Five minutes my arse." He moved to help you stand, but stopped in his tracks as he took in your face, your lip trembling. "Is there something else?" As if on cue, a fat tear rolled down your cheek, the first of its kind since the pains began.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," you squeaked out. "Not for a few more weeks. Simon's supposed to be here."

The men shared a glance, looking stricken. Price leaned down next to you, a broad hand gently squeezing your shoulder. His voice was soft when he spoke, a renewed slowness replacing his prior rushed pace.

"I know, love. I know it's not ideal, and I know you're scared. I know Simon would give anything to be here, that he'd split heaven and earth to be with you right now. But I also know he'd want you and your little one taken care of, yeah? He wouldn't want you to wait."

You nodded, despite more tears threatening. "Doesn't change the fact they won't admit me yet."

The captain's mouth quirked defiantly. "You let me worry about that. Gaz, help her up. I'll drive."

______________________________________________________________

Simon was tired down to his bones, feeling like a wrung out rag after the most recent mission. Despite that, the man was a ball of energy as he hopped off the plane, desperate to get back to you.

"Someone's antsy," Soap drawled, taking a more leisurely pace. He slid his sunglasses on as Simon switched on his cell phone anxiously. "Got somewhere to be, LT?"

"'Matter of fact I do - home." Simon impatiently hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "See my wife, eat a real meal. Finally build that godforsaken changing table. Who knew a baby needs so much furniture?"

Soap barked a laugh, but Simon tuned him out as he put his phone to his ear. He'd gotten a voicemail from you, and everything else ceased to matter.

"Hey babe, it's me. I'm not sure when you'll get this, and I hate to worry you. I'm sure it's fine. It's just... I've been feeling some contractions-"

Simon didn't hear the rest, nearly dropping his phone as he broke into a run.

______________________________________________________________

True to his word, Price argued with the hospital staff until you were taken up to a room. You were sure he must have pulled rank, threatened to call people, but he refused to let you worry about it.

The ride had been smooth, despite John driving like a bat out of hell. Gaz stayed in the back seat with you, clinging to your hand and fussing. Later, you'd think it was funny how he seemed to need more encouragement and support than he offered, but at that moment very little was funny.

You had been able to stay in denial for an admirably long time. The past few days, you were able to tell yourself it was just Braxton-Hicks contractions, not the real thing. That even when it became evident the real thing was starting, that it wouldn't progress quickly. That even though it was progressing, that Simon would walk in the door just at the right moment and sweep you into the car and off to the hospital and all would be well. Even when your gut told you to pick up the phone and call the captain, you had managed to make yourself believe that you were wrong, that it was a false alarm, that you still had more time.

Now, here you were, connected to monitors and being poked and prodded by nurses. Medical history, allergies, birth plan, you felt like you were in interrogation rather than a patient receiving care. And if it wasn't the nurses it was the two men standing off to the side, one wringing his hands in worry and one watching the nurses like a hawk and barking questions. The contractions were closer to eight minutes apart now, progressing quickly. Now the situation was very real, and as thankful as you were from the support from Price and Gaz, your heart threatened to shatter at the absence of the one person who mattered most.

______________________________________________________________

"Bloody fuckin' hell, no one will answer their phone!" Ghost barked, ready to throw his out the window. He'd had radio silence other than a second voicemail, this one from the Captain:

"Simon, Price here. Just got word from the missus that the baby's on the way. I'm headed there now. I don't want you to worry about a thing, I won't leave her side. I'll update you as I'm able."

"She knew to call the captain; he's probably with her now," Soap offered from the driver's seat. He'd practically had to arm wrestle Simon for the keys, but ended up convincing him that he'd be able to call for updates if he wasn't worried about driving. Silently, he thanked the saints Simon had agreed; who knows what carnage he'd unleash on the roads as worked up as he was.

"He better be, or I'll - not now, Laswell!" Simon rejected the third call from the station chief since landing and tried Price again. He was sure he'd hear about it for skipping debrief and jumping in the car, but right now he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. When Price's phone again went to voicemail, he was about to go nuclear when the car's Bluetooth lit up with Laswell's number.

"Shite; let me answer it LT." Soap pushed the button. "Laswell, it's Soap. Here with Ghost."

"I know," she said impatiently, her voice filling the space. "I've been trying to call all afternoon. I know what's happening and I'm here to help."

"What? How do you know?"

"Price called me as soon as he got word, asked me to find you. Anyway, you're wasting time heading in that direction; there's a lane closure ahead and you're about to be neck deep in traffic. I've mapped an alternate route for you. Take the next left."

The two men looked at each other in confusion before both starting to speak at the same time.

"Left? That takes us the wrong way-" "How do you know where we're at?"

"Boys! Boys, listen," she continued, exasperated. "Don't worry about how I know, just do as I say. We're gonna get you there as fast as possible. Now turn left!"

Soap cut the car to the left, ignoring the indignant honks of other drivers as he began to cut through the city under Laswell's watchful eye.

______________________________________________________________

"The doctor says you'll be ready to start pushing soon. How are you feeling?" The nurse was genuinely trying to be nice, so you bit back on your retort of how the fuck does it look like I'm feeling? My insides are exploding! and instead chose a weak smile and a head nod.

Once the nurse whisked away, Price was back at your side. You could tell by his expression he wanted to give you a pep talk like you were one of his soldiers about to head into battle, but he was searching for the right thing to say. You broke the silence first.

"I'm scared." Your voice sounded small, the words escaping almost of their own volition. The captain took your hand, blessedly avoiding sugarcoating the situation.

"I know. But you're doing great - a real trooper. Even with the needle in the back! Simon's gonna be so proud of you, love. And Gaz and I are gonna be right here. Right Gaz?"

"Right, Cap." The sergeant slid back into the room, cup of ice in hand. While the captain had taken point and begun advocating for you with the hospital staff and asking a million questions, Gaz had been dutifully making sure you were comfortable. Anything from getting you an extra pillow for your back, to helping you tie your hair back, to getting you ice chips since you couldn't have food or drink during labor, he was on it. If either man was uneasy about what was about to happen, they dutifully kept it under wraps and maintained their game faces.

One by one, the care team took up positions around you to get started. Price and Gaz got next to you, each taking one of your hands, ready to offer what support they could. You shamed yourself, one last time, for being ungrateful for their presence. A lot of people give birth with less, you tried to tell yourself. He’d be here if he could. 

 The doctor walked in, donning gloves and getting a quick status update from one of the nurses before meeting your eyes. “Evening, ma’am. We’re going to-” 

Her words were cut off by a commotion in the hall, a door slamming and what sounded like some raised voices. Everyone in the room exchanged confused glances, and Price motioned for Gaz to go investigate. He poked his head out into the hall for only a moment before returning with a big grin.

“You’re not gonna believe who’s here."

Then your husband was in the doorway, and then he was at your side, and suddenly those honey brown eyes drowned out every ounce of pain and fear you’d been holding onto, and that warm, calloused hand took yours, and you were ready.

______________________________________________________________

You would have thought it would be difficult to fall asleep under fluorescent lights, with monitors beeping and staff bustling around. But you had never known tiredness like this, and wanted to take the nurse’s advice and rest while the pain meds were still working their magic. The delivery had been uneventful once the show was on the road, and Simon never left your side, his steady presence grounding and his voice in your ear keeping you calm. Then there she was, a baby girl, the most precious tiny thing you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d stared at her and cried for hours, stroking her tiny hand and welcoming her to the world until you could barely keep your eyes open. And so, with a squeeze of your hand and a kiss on your forehead from Simon, you found yourself drifting off. You were aware, as you floated off, of his slow pacing back and forth with your newborn daughter in his arms, of his whispers to her that were too low for you to hear. Of the guys popping in, as unobtrusively as possible lest the lieutenant tear them limb from limb for disturbing you and the baby, bringing him food and coffee and admiring the bundle of joy.

“Doesn’t look a thing like you, Simon,” said Soap.

“Thank God for that,” he replied.

“You should have seen it, Simon really - needle this long, right in the spine!” Price remarked, not for the first time. “She didn’t even flinch.”

“I’m just glad you made it for the gross stuff,” mumbled Gaz.

“Kyle, you’re in the military. You’ve seen arms and legs blown off.”

“Completely different, Johnny. Not the same at all.”

On and on they bantered, brothers in arms stepping into their role as uncles for your baby girl with delight. One of the last things you heard was Simon, his voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you, all of you, for being here. For today.”

“Oh come off it Simon,” replied the Captain. “These girls mean something to you, so they mean something to us. That’s what a family is. Now quit hogging her and let Uncle John have a turn.”

You wouldn’t remember this conversation when you woke up, wouldn’t be able to articulate where it came from, but you’d carry with you the bone-deep feeling of connection with this little makeshift family forever.

[tearsofcalamity]

Boothil has me on a chokeholdI want to fuck him so bad.Maybe install a few softwares, up his sensitivity, play with his mind.. Or maybe a lewd virus.. Make him so horny and needy, his head can literally think of you fucking him so good..Or him accidentally plugging the wrong USB, thinking it's his usual data after rebooting, but it's your USB and it messed with him.. I want to fuck his pretty hole so bad

hi anon this is tasty oml

imagine his sensitivity's been all off, some kinda glitch maybe from an incident during one of his missions. one moment it's been too low, and the next (just like now) it's way, way too high. for every other touch it's just annoying, but every time you've brushed past him today, he's failed to mention his issue with just how aroused he feels himself getting. it's different when it's your touch.

when he finally bucks up and admits that he's been having issues, you're so caring, so much more considerate of his senses (he wishes you wouldn't be - he really just wants you to fuck him dumb every time you so much as graze him) as you set out a few USBs and ask him to wait while you go grab some other tools to fix up his sensors. he asks what they're for, and when you tell him they're various types of sensations compiled into USBs to better test each type of touch, he figures he might as well just get a jumpstart with the testing so he doesn't waste your precious time.

he opts for the USB sitting the furthest away. the fool, he hadn't even asked you what sensation each one was before trying it out. it could've been pain, a ticklish feeling, but no, he got arousal. it was like he was overwhelmed like an animal in heat at once, his eyes shooting open as his cock strained against his trousers painfully. images of you involuntarily flashed through his mind, and he had to fight to keep himself breathing normally, but it was no use...

you get back to find him practically humping the air, strands of black and white hair sticking to his forehead as he pants and moans and begs for your help. you're concerned until you see the USB sticking out of his port and realize at once what he's done, lightly chastising him (horrendous torture for him in this state, surely, to have your breath so gently tickling his ear as he suffers) on not touching your tools without asking you first.

unfortunately, it'd be too risky to go in and fix this via his inner wiring while he's this worked up... it might burn you with how much he's overheating. so the only solution is to fuck his brains out until he's at least semi-conscious enough to cool down. good thing you made sure he'd be able to fuck in any way a normal man could when adding his sensitivity! giving him all the facilities is coming in handy.

poor guy doesn't even have the time or mental faculties to ask why the hell you had an arousal USB among the testers present.

ooooh, maybe use a toy on his cock while you pound into him... it'll give you a nice view of his face while he's being completely overwhelmed, his eye filled with hearts, rolling back as his tongue sticks out from behind those pretty lips of his. a nice, slick onahole should do wonders to cool him down after one, three, five... maybe more orgasms, even as he begs you to stop despite his hips continuing to rut into the gadget. the fun thing about fucking a robot is that he can go a lot more than a human can, and as much as boothill tosses his head from side to side, actual tears beginning to spill, you can also see the drool beginning to fall from his lips, his lolling tongue as he groans your name over and over.

he's got a pseudo-prostate that you make sure to nail with precision every time your strap slides inside of him, the impeccable design of his insides allowing you to slip in and out with ease. you remove the onahole from his weeping cock (another feature that aids the toy and your current activities as a whole), pushing his legs up and folding him in half into a mating press, just to see if he can cum only from his prostate. and cum he does - his voice coming out higher and higher pitched as he wails in both euphoria and humiliation at your treatment of him.

finally, you slow when you realize he has indeed begun to cool. his eyes are rolled back, hair messy and splayed across the table, harsh scratches made by his metal nails into the steel table (somehow). he's not quite unconscious, but he certainly can't form any further words, his breathing heaving with small, scattered moans as he tries to regain himself. his emergency cooling procedure had kicked into high gear at last, aiding you in fixing up his sensitivity.

oh, but perhaps leave that special USB lying around. mark it clearly, and pretend not to notice when boothill digs through your messy desk to find it and plug it back in, acting for all the world that he didn't mean to use that special little one on himself again. he's got too much pride to admit it, after all. oh well, it seems you'll have to help him once more!

[dearest-nell]

homebrew.

j. potter x reader, 3.6k

summary: james wants to do something nice for the reader. best friends to lovers, mentions of reader menstruating, james being a big softie

a/n: this is the first time i've written in a long while, so hi there! nice to be back

It was safe to say that today was somewhat of a write off, at least in your own humble opinion. The familiar blunt pains of your period shook you from an already groggy, restless slumber, cyclically pressing somewhere deep inside you until you were drawn into a terrible state of nausea. You could feel the deep bruised marks hanging low beneath your eyes, hard earned and unwelcome, marring your already paler than usual complexion. You had avoided the mirror entirely, knowing something sallow would be the only reflection waiting. 

It was battle enough to make your way down the stairs from your dorm, your head hanging low as you ghosted your way towards an already raucous common room. Heavy eyes landed on the two familiar figures seated in the corner, and even in your dreary state, you couldn’t keep the small smile that tugged on the corners of your lips. James sat comfortably, splayed across the couch in his usual unapologetic stature, arm hanging heavy across the back, legs parted wide, head tipped back in laughter at something Sirius had surely uttered before your arrival. Sirius seemed much the same in his own right, though you took less pains to notice. James always seemed to snatch your attention, after all. It was his effect. 

You felt no need to greet the boys as you settled slowly beside James, slouching into the crook of his arm with entirely too little consideration, dropping your head to his shoulder with a distracted sigh. It was normal, after all, this kind of thing. James had always been affectionate by nature, and you craved the intimacy he had to offer more than you would ever admit. 

James moved in an automatic response, his arm swiping to encase you in his hold as if that was how it was always meant to be. He couldn’t see the little furrow on your brow, not properly, but he could feel the tension that held each and every muscle in you tighter than a bowstring. 

“Mornin’ there, sweetheart.” He chuckled, squeezing at your side affectionately only to receive a mumbled reply in turn. His brow rose towards Sirius, a silent conversation passing between them over your head. 

Sirius cocked his head. “Didn’t sleep well then, I take it.” 

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block out the light. Migraines were easily built when you were already in such a delicate state, and the widely opened windows of the tower had played the villain on you this morning. Ordinarily, the sunlight would have been worth a warm welcome, but this morning you had only wished for rain. 

James tutted beside you, his free hand inching to brush back the hair that had crowded your face, the back of it pressing gently against your forehead. James didn’t need to excel in divination to know that something was off with you, you certainly weren’t trying to hide it, but it now had become his own little mystery to solve — a distraction from the rest of his day. There was no temperature, though, so he hoped he could at least rule out a trip to Pompfrey.  “You feelin’ alright there?” 

You breathed out a soft yeah, though neither of the boys were too convinced by the answer.  

“You’re really gonna make us jump through hoops for it, aren’t ya.” Sirius teased, earning a narrowed, piercing glare from your tired eyes. 

“You don’t want to know, Pads.” 

Sirius shrugged, unphased by the response, and leaned back in his arm chair with his usual sort of smugness. 

James tried again a little softer, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. “Try me, then. You wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, love?” 

You were sure James couldn’t have known the effect that little nickname had on you, and you felt the familiar warm tug of your affection towards him slowly water down your reluctance to share. 

“It’s not a secret, Jamie. It’s just that time, y’know? I usually make a stock of potions and I just forgot, so I’m feelin’ a bit…” you trailed off, angling your face up slightly so he could see your queasy expression. “It’s nothing to write home about.” 

“Well in that case,” Sirius emphasised, pushing broad palms into the plush  arms of his chair to hoist himself up, “I’m going to go track down our other little monthly invalid. I’d rather face Moons than this one.” 

Sirius didn’t need to look back to see the vulgar motion you tossed his way, though James couldn’t help the chuckle that rippled from him as he watched you burrow in deeper after. 

“Can I do anything, then?” James queried, rubbing circles into your side with the warmth of his palm. “You look like you really ought to go back to bed.” 

“Can’t.” You grumbled, nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder. “I promised Dorcus I’d help her with her essay.” 

Besides, you knew this was par for the course. How many people in the world faced the same battle as you and soldiered on — you didn’t feel like it was enough of an excuse when a third of Gryffindor tower was likely menstruating right along with you. Communal living, what a gem… 

“I’m sure she’d understand.” James offered, furrowing his own brow in thought. He didn’t  like there being a problem he couldn’t fix, and more so, he didn’t like you having a problem that he couldn’t fix. You were his little love, after all, his very best friend, it was his job to take care of you whether you wanted it or not. 

How the two of you weren’t in a relationship was anyone’s guess, and a frustration that plagued all of your friends and acquaintances to no end. You never sat like this with the others, never used such darling terms of endearment for the rest of the gang. Yours and James dynamic was something entirely of its own; too sweet and tender to be just friends, and yet never classified as anything more. You wouldn’t argue it, though, not when it allowed you this kind of closeness with him. If this was all you would ever get, then you would take it gladly. 

“She would, but I’m going anyways.” There was a decided tone to your voice that James knew would be a losing battle to argue with, so with a gentle sort of sigh, he focused his attention on a new objective. 

“So what’s the potion, then? Can I go buy you some?” 

You wrinkled your nose at the question, well aware that James was a dog with a bone at the best of times. It was sweet of him to offer, but the last thing you wanted was to feel helpless. You’d survived this long, after all, and the idea of you putting James out of his way was one you wished to avoid.  “It’s okay, Jamie. I’ll make up a batch tonight or tomorrow, or somethin’. You don’t need to do anything.” 

James would’ve knocked your martyr complex right out of you if he could, but that wasn’t his way. Besides, your stubbornness made up a part of you, and he loved all of you too much to ever want to change that, even if it was a pain in the neck. 

“You know I’m useless on my own. Maybe I’m bored and want something to do, hm? You don’t know.” 

He was being cheeky, and he had the shit eating grin to match it. That sort of energy always seemed to ripple off of him, settling a warmth into your bones that eased you somewhat. 

You managed a small, amused chuckle. “Then I’m sure the boys’ll have plenty to keep you busy today. I just wanted a hug before I was on my way.” 

“Oh yeah?” James’ voice was delighted as he circled his arms tighter around you, pressing you against the heat of his body with expert hands, fingertips massaging into your back and waist with reverent touches. “James hugs makes it all better, don't it.” 

With a scoff at his ego, you allowed yourself a moment to soak it all in – this closeness and intimacy that you wished you could bottle. James was the perfect boyfriend, after all, even if he didn’t belong to anyone. There was never a day where his friends did not feel the weight of his love, of his affection and regard. It felt almost greedy to want more from the man who gave so freely. 

But you did. You always wanted more of him. 

“Yeah they do, you smug bastard.” The teasing lilt was not lost upon him, and it only made James squeeze you tighter. 

“Y’know, I figure maybe I just won’t let you go. Then you’d have to rest right here where I can make sure.” 

You thought about biting him – you really did – just because it was cheeky and you knew it would make him laugh. Your restraint, however, could only be considered admirable, and instead you moved to pinch at his side with a sneaky manoeuvre, one that would unfortunately cut this perfect moment short. 

He yelped in surprise, his grip loosening enough for you to begrudgingly slip out of. It ached a little to see the way he was still reaching for you, trying to pull you back down to his side. Your traitorous, bleeding heart couldn’t help but hope that maybe he craved your touch as much as you craved his. But once again, James had nothing but adoring smiles for you, feeling all too bested in his own game. 

“Careful, love – if they see you moving that quick, I might have competition on the Quidditch team.” 

You shrugged, smiling a little coyly. “It won’t be my fault if they put you out of business, James.” 

He huffed out a laugh, clutching at his chest with enough melodramatics to level the castle. “You’re breakin’ my heart.” 

You tilted your head softly. “Don’t miss me too much. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

His soft okay was enough for you to be on your way, though if you had heard his little, woefully mumbled I miss you already, then maybe you’d have turned back around. 

-------✿-------

Dorcus had been supportive enough during your studies, much to no one's surprise, but even she could tell that this round of pains seemed far more severe than usual. You spent the better part of the session hunched over your library desk, legs curled up beneath you in some feeble attempt to ease the pain. The heated pillow behind you helped somewhat, but by the mid afternoon, it was starting to feel like a losing battle. 

Once the bulk of the work was over, you resigned to give in, sending yourself back to the common room with a huff, energy far too spent for you to even consider making another round of potions. Pomfrey tried her best to keep a steady stock at all times, but between unsure first years whose potion making skills were not refined enough for such delicate casting and older students who were lazy enough not to bother, her supplies had once again been depleted, much to your chagrin. 

It left you with nothing to do but burrow deep down into the warmth of your duvet, hooking the blanket over your head as you drifted into another groggy, all too short sleep. Even with noise muffling and light repellant spells, your body could not seem to comply, and within the hour you were back on your feet again, lazily pulling together something warm and cosy to wear down to the common room once more. 

It was only when you opened your door that you noticed the small package at your feet, wrapped up prettily in a crimson ribbon that felt far too festive for something so mysterious. 

There was no note attached, no sign of where the gift had come from, but with a steady hand you unravelled the packaging, opening your gift to discover twelve identical potion bottles stacked neatly in rows, a small card tucked carefully in between that read your name in a scrawled writing. By sight you could identify the contents – the familiar purple tinge was one you had learned to identify from Pomfrey herself – though you were sure she wouldn’t have had the time to brew a new batch from when you last saw her only an hour beforehand. 

Chewing your lip, you pondered the possibilities, hooking the gift under your arm as you slowly descended the stairs to find the culprit. Of course, you were certain there was only one person who might have been responsible. James had been all too eager to help, after all, and far too free on his Saturday to be left to his own devices. The handwriting was unfamiliar, sure, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d attempted to throw someone off his trail that way; he was a prankster at heart. 

Even now you found him perched happily by the fire, wrapped up in his favourite armchair, eyes drifting lazily across the pages of a book in hand.Coming up from behind, you leaned yourself over the back of the chair, elbows holding you up as you watched him examine the box now resting in his lap.

 “So you’ve been busy today.”

Without missing a beat, James rated his head back onto the plush back behind him, smiling up at you with an innocence that seemed all for show. “Me? Well I’ve been trying to read, yes, though I wouldn’t call that busy.” 

“Oh? So you’ve got no idea what these are, then?” Your tone was nothing if not incredulous, but what was the harm in humouring him in something like this. 

James shrugged, passing a quick glance over the box in question before turning his eyes back to you. “Potions? Are they more of the ones you need?” 

Your lips curved as he feigned his innocence, though the smugness that seemed to tug at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He’d never been a good liar, after all. James was earnest to the bone. 

“You know, it’s funny, I couldn’t really say. There’s no labels, you see, and no note, so who is to say what they are.” You paused, gasping softly for a sort of dramatic effect, cupping your cheek with one hand as your eyes widened comically. “Oh no! They could be a nasty prank, now that I think about it. Probably best not to drink them…” 

You watched it live, that flash of regret that passed before his eyes as he realised his mistake. He tried his best to cover it, clearing his throat and adjusting in his seat, eyes blinking up at you nervously. 

“Or it’s just… I mean it doesn’t look all that harmful, does it? Who’d wanna give you a rotten potion anyways.” 

You levelled your gaze at him. “Literally anyone that you share a room with, Jamie. I don’t need my hair falling out or my words coming out in Pig Latin, so I think I’ll pass.” 

James reached up for you on instinct, his fingers curling around the meat of your forearm with a tender sort of touch, his gaze somewhat imploring now. 

“Or you could just drink it, for… fun.” 

“Fun?” You quirked a brow, smile widening at this little game that you were sure to win. “Why would I do that?” 

James huffed. “Yeah, fun. I think they look fine, so maybe you should just—” 

“James.” 

He’d been backed into a corner and he knew it, though his little sigh of defeat did nothing for him to remove his touch from your arm. He spoke with a gentle whine, frustrated that the game was now at an end. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh.” 

“I don’t know why you don’t want to. It’s really sweet of you to find me some, though I don’t know how you managed twelve; the school seems tapped.” 

You shrugged your arm gently, enough to shake him from his grip so that your fingers could settle between his own, locking into place with such ease and familiarity. James’ gaze followed suit, watching the way his hand seemed to dwarf your own. 

“It is. Pomfrey’s out and the girls didn’t have any to spare, so I just made ‘em instead.” 

Your brows furrowed in surprise. “You made them? How?” 

James surely would not have had access to the recipe, and you knew that it wasn’t a quick potion to make. He must have spent hours on it, and the thought made your heart squeeze with affection inside your chest. 

Perhaps your affections were written right across your face, because you watched as his own expression softened to something equally adoring, his smile brightening at your astonishment. 

“I got Mary to show me. Or really she just talked at me for a bit, but I took heaps of notes, and she checked at the end to make sure I’d done it right. Figured killing you with the wrong mix would’ve done nothing to cheer you up.” 

You laughed at that, shaking your head in disbelief. Your breath felt caught in your throat, something large and unavoidable stuck and ready to spill out. “You didn’t have to.” 

James shrugged. “I wanted to. I just didn’t want to make a fuss is all. Didn’t want you feeling like you’d owe me anything.” 

You felt your lip catch between your teeth, already feeling that sense of obligation starting to pool in your gut. You had never been good at accepting gifts, after all, nor compliments – you always wanted to pay things back. James, however, was as stubborn as you were, and the resolve in his gaze was enough to show you that he was unflinching on this notion. 

“Well I… I want to say thanks somehow. This was really kind, Jamie. Too kind.” 

He shook his head, squeezing your hand in his. “You don’t even need to say the thanks part. Just take the potion and I’ll be happy. I hate seeing you hurt, love, I really do.” 

It was an impulse that had you moving, your body bending at the waist until you were lowered down just enough, James’ face angling to meet yours. You stayed like that for a moment, a blip in time spent with the two of you just watching one another, breaths evening out until you moved in sync, a pattern that only you two could follow. You nudged your face slightly, lips brushing tenderly against the scruff of an unshaved cheek, pressing there far longer than ordinarily you might have ever dared. 

You heard the shudder in his breath, felt the way his hand gripped yours as you pulled back, gaze meeting his own in an unavoidable stare. 

“Thank you, James. I really mean it.” 

You watched as he swallowed, that same sort of lump caught in his own throat as he tried to find the words, tried to make himself speak in a way that you would understand. How could he make you see that he would do anything for you, anything at all, whether you asked or not. 

He settled on the one thing he knew he needed, using his grip on your hand to urge you out from behind the couch – behind the wall between you two – guiding you until you settled comfortably in his lap, curled up and safe, just as you ought to be. You didn’t question the movement, just tilting your head curiously at the intense way he seemed to be watching you, tugging your entwined hands into your lap, cocooning his within your own, rubbing circles into the back of his hand. 

James reached for your face with his other hand, deft fingers hooking your loose strands of hair behind your ear, circling at the softness of your cheek and jaw with newfound tenderness. 

“If you want to thank me next time, then you can just let me look after you. It’s all I want to do.” 

His kiss was quick as he pressed his lips to your own, somehow so casual for something so foreign between you both. You’d have almost believed you’d made the whole thing up if you couldn’t feel the electricity it left behind, feel the way such a small thing had awakened so much inside of you. 

“Okay.” 

You could see it in his stare, the way he was reading you, trying to understand if you wanted this as badly as he did. Your soft sigh as you nuzzled into the warmth of his palm was all the reassurance he needed, nodding to himself as he processed the lines he had just crossed. 

“Okay.” He breathed, angling your face to kiss your brow, his touch reverent as he lingered far longer this time, unable to bring himself to pull away until the very last second, that teasing, boyish grin now spread across his features. “Take your potion, then, and sit with me a little while. I wanna make sure it works.” 

It was hard to tell what was changed between you two, but all you knew was that whatever had occurred here in this armchair would linger in the back of your mind for days to come. There was a new intimacy here, one far deeper than had ever been explored between the two of you before, and even without words, you knew James felt it too. 

Maybe it didn’t need words. Maybe it was enough for you to drink the potion and settle against him, your nose pressed against the pulse beating steadily at the crook of his neck, his hand pressing soft circles into the dip of your back. Maybe that was the only step that needed taking, for now. Something felt all too assured in that moment that this was just the beginning, and that was all the both of you needed to know.

[randomdragonfires]

Pieces of a Woman | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Even when his life takes a turn for the worse, Aemond Targaryen endures.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Smut; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Miscarriage; Yearning; ANGST

WORD COUNT | 7.2k

A/N | This is my personal favourite out of all the stories I've ever written, reposted with a new header and all that fun stuff! Beta read by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs ❤️

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. 

They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. He had watched as her once bright and hopeful eyes became empty and devoid of emotion. He had watched as she was pulled into the darkness completely, becoming a shell of the woman she once was.

As much as he wished he could turn back time, he had accepted his fate. He accepted that he would never have his wife back. He would never hold her in his arms again and never get to lay his head on her lap as she embroidered. She would never read to him in her mellifluous voice ever again, despite the fact that he would give everything he had to have her with him once more. 

What good was all this power and wealth, if he could not protect his own family? What good was his title as Prince Regent, if he did not have her to stand by his side? If he could not protect his little boy?

His hair, once braided to the side by her deft and nimble fingers with love, remained uncared for, left loose in all its glory. Training his one dark-rimmed, tired eye at the crypt that held the ashes of his heir, Aemond Targaryen let the sadness take him - for when his son’s life was brutally snuffed out, his wife’s very soul had been too.

There was nobody to blame for it all apart from himself.

Ever since their wedding, she had been a steady and calm presence in his life. She was the quiet to his rage, the water to his fire. He had always been a sullen and lonely child that harbored resentment for those who had wronged him, but he felt his heart steadily calm down with every moment he spent in her presence.

It wasn't until he met her that he realized he was lacking love and consideration, both of which he believed had never received before - not like this. She gave him an opportunity to be a better man; one that he took eagerly with both arms. 

In return, he was a respectful husband who did his very best. He wasn’t adept at great gestures of love, but he always made sure that his wife woke with a kiss to her hair and his arms enveloping her body. He wanted her to never know loneliness for as long as he lived, he would make sure of it. 

For all his reading and knowledge, Aemond was not good at making his appreciation known verbally. Instead, he would bring her huge tomes from the library so he could read to her. These books covered topics that he was passionate about, so everytime he brought one, he was offering up a part of his soul. Who better to give it to than the woman he has sworn his heart, soul and loyalty to? 

He needed her. He needed her from deep in his soul, and he needed her carnally, always. She was all that was missing in his life, and now that he had her, he would always need her. 

But right now, as her screams erupted through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, Aemond’s heart lurched in his chest, becoming heavier with each passing moment. The babe was arriving, and it would seem that the child was taking her for all that she was. Everytime she groaned in pain, he held onto the railing tighter than ever, as though it would make her pain go away.  

They would not let him in, no. Childbirth was a woman’s fight, and the men would have to wait outside - much like the women did when the men went to battle. There was nothing he would not give to hold her hand right now; to tell her that she would be an absolutely beautiful mother, and that all she had to do was summon all her strength and emerge victorious. 

As though she had heard his thoughts, her pained wails slowly died down, replaced by the first cries of a newborn. Boy or girl, the babe had an incredibly strong pair of lungs on them, their mighty cries could overshadow even the loudest of thunderstorms. The cries echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the servants outside immediately jumped to work. A new royal babe had been born after all - there was work to be done, celebratory feasts to be organized, chambers to be prepared, nothing but the best for a Targaryen.

His mother stepped out of the chambers and laid a hand on his back in comfort. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled in congratulations. “Mother and babe are well, my son. She has made me so proud. The little one is beautiful, he would go on to achieve many great things. Just like you.”

A son. She had given him an heir to carry his bloodline. How would he ever repay her? 

He walked into the chambers with speed that he did not know he possessed, his purpose made clear with each stride. The midwives and maids moved to make way for the One-Eyed Prince, and in he went. 

She laid in the middle of the chambers, looking like she had braved the worst experience of her life. Her hair was askew, with sweat coating her entire body, her fatigue was palpable. Blood and waters coated the floor, and the chambers smelled like death. The bloody spots on her shift alarmed him, and it concerned him to see his usually happy and energetic wife look so thoroughly worn out. But then she smiled. 

Through all her weariness from the challenges of the birthing bed, she had meekly smiled at him - and all was alright in his world again. He held her cheek in his palm and kissed her forehead, heart full from knowing that she was alright. She reached for his other hand, holding onto it like it was the last thing that kept her tethered to reality.

“Are you well, wife?” 

The seemingly simple question certainly did not project the waves of concern that had plagued him outside while he waited with bated breath, but she knew. She saw it in the crinkles on his forehead and the widening of his good eye.

“I am now.”  

She had braved battle, and had never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. Her voice was hoarse from all the pained screaming, and she certainly had no business being awake right now - but by the Gods, he was the happiest man in the realm. 

The maids were done with wiping the blood off of the babe and had handed the boy to her. Aemond knew right then that he would have to compete for his wife’s attention from then on, for his little son had clearly stolen her heart, and his, within moments of his birth. 

Her weak voice called out to him once more. “Aemond, husband… look what we made.” 

He was exquisite. Aemond reached out to the babe, his son, and his son's pudgy rose finger latched onto his long, sturdy one as he continued to cry. “He has a strong grip. He shall be a storied warrior." She smiles at the possibility, and he cannot help but kiss her hand once more.

"You’ve given birth to a boy as strong as you are, wife.” He watched as she nudged her nose to the babe’s and smiled, her face glistening from sweat and tears. His newborn son’s cries got louder with each passing moment, but despite being a man of silence and solitude, Aemond had never felt more at peace.

“Thank you.”

Aemond would be the first to deny that he was a doting paragon of a husband that the bards would sing about, but he certainly was a good man who loved and respected his wife. 

In the days that followed the birth of his child, he had spent every waking moment that he could spare with the pair of them. Both mother and son had the fierce One-Eyed Prince wrapped around their fingers. Between sparring sessions and battling his family’s idiosyncrasies on the daily, his little family had given him quite the reprieve, one that he was infinitely thankful for. 

But now, his son is gone, and his wife is too.

“The heirs need to be kept safe. The twins, little Maelor, all three of them,” his mother said.

He may be in the middle of a war, but it was moments like these that seemed hardest to him. Aemond sat quietly by the hearth, in the very same chair where he always rested. His wife used to sit by him or at his feet as she embroidered. Now, her absence was a gaping hole each time he sat.

“Aemond…”

He turned to the sound of his grandfather calling out his name, looking cold and calculated.  It did not escape Aemond that he was discussing the safety of his brother's children while he had lost his own child. The irony of it all was stark and jarring.

“Yes,” he curtly responded.

“It is in our best interests that you…” His grandfather paused midway through his words, and Aemond knew well that the man did that only when unsettling news was to follow. “...that you take a new wife. We’re in need of an alliance, and she can be sent to the motherhouse at Oldtown. She will be cared for, she will be fed-”

He saw red. “My son is dead!” The words tumbled out of Aemond’s mouth like shards of glass before he could even comprehend the gravity of his grandfather’s heavy, cutting words. 

"My son’s death is on my conscience, his blood is on my hands. I did not do the deed myself, but it certainly feels like I was the one who wielded the knife that killed him.” The people had taken to calling him a kinslayer, and Aemond felt it in his bones everyday - not because of Lucerys Velaryon, but because of how his rash actions had resulted in the death of his little boy.

“My son is dead, and my wife has not been the same ever since. How do you think I can start a new family, with a new woman, when I know very well that I have caused all the grief that has driven my wife to madness? When I caused the death of my own child?” 

Aemond Targaryen always made for a menacing sight, but his grandfather was not prepared for the kind of anger that his grandson had kept stored in him - for himself, his wife, and his son. They were not here, and he was angry enough for all three of them.

The Dowager Queen watched the entire conversation unfold, and she held her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat become frantic with each moment that she saw her son in distress. She knew how content he was in his wife's presence, and how much he loved her. To watch a child grow and fester in his own resentment - no mother should have to witness it. And yet, the Gods saw fit to give Alicent Hightower the closest view to her son's heartbreak.

“Get out,” he seethed. Otto Hightower took Aemond’s raw and angry words in stride before walking away, his head still held high. 

His mother stood in front of him, held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my boy. I’m so sorry…”  

She wept until she could not, and it took everything Aemond had in him to not do the same.

When he tossed and turned in his bed in the middle of the night, he would always reach out for her. 

She would always welcome his touch and curl into him, her forehead resting on the smooth planes of his chest and her warm breath making goosebumps rise on his skin. He would hold her tight until neither could ascertain where one ended and the other began, and sleep that normally eluded him would come to him faster than anything else.

Tonight, her spot on the bed is empty.

When he woke in a hurry, he noticed the crumpled sheets and the pillows left askew, the only evidence of her having retired to bed alongside him. He quickly rose from the bed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, wondering as to where she could have gone at this ungodly hour. 

Gods, was she hurt?

He did not have to wait for the divine deities to answer, for his answer came in the form of the sweet humming sounds that he had grown to love. He followed her voice as he walked through their apartments, and it led him to the chamber where his son’s crib was kept. She was sitting next to it in her white shift, her head peeping in as she let her hands rest on the crib. She hummed softly and happily, marveling at how beautiful her little boy looked as he slept - looking much like the man she shared her bed with.

Aemond wanted to ask her to come back to bed immediately. The maesters had advised lots of rest for his wife, given the stress of the labors and the damage her body had taken. But as he watched her and his boy, he knew he couldn’t. He needed a moment to drink in the sight of his wife and son - his entire world, all in one chamber.

He held so much love in his heart for them both despite seeing them only with one eye. Perhaps he’d be able to love them more if he could see them with two.

“He’s going to be there when we wake, wife. Come back to bed.”

She turned to him and smiled, a warm smile that he wished he could brand into his mind for all eternity. “Did I wake you?”

“You did not. Your absence from our bed did.” 

She chuckled softly, and he walked over to her. He positioned himself behind her chair and kissed her temple, letting his hands rest on her shoulders. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of looking at him,” She said.

“Hm.” His gaze rested on the sleeping babe, tired from all his crying throughout the day.

“My son, a dragon prince,” She mused. “He’ll be charming, strong and intelligent, just like his father.”

At that, he chuckled darkly and she rose, turning around to face him. Her hand found his cheek and he leaned into her touch, leaving a light kiss on her wrist as he held her hand in place. “What’s so amusing, husband?”

“Charming is not the first word anyone would use to describe me, wife.”

“Well, you are. To me.” Her whispering siren-like voice was like music to his ears. 

She reached up on her toes and left a light kiss on his brow, and Aemond was quick to hold her to him by the waist, wanting to have this - this quiet solace - all to himself for a time.

Who was he to argue with the woman around whom his entire world revolved? The very one that held his heart in her hands?

He stands in the middle of what used to be their shared chambers and sighs. 

The entire room is covered in pieces of her - fragments of her that he desperately clings to for dear life. Robes and dresses that she had not worn in a long time, but still manage to somehow retain her scent. Quills and ink that she used to write her correspondence with, now left to gather dust. Ten Thousand Ships, her favorite book, one that he had given to her as a name day present, laid abandoned on the bedside table. 

This was the very same chamber where he had claimed her. This was where he had first admitted to loving her. This was where she had told him that she was with child. This was where they had spent countless nights talking well into the night, their bodies entwined and voices coming out in hushed whispers and low giggles. This was where they had discovered and learned of the passions of the marital bed, together. This was where their marriage had grown and bloomed.

If he walks a little further, his feet will take him to the adjoined room where his son used to sleep - but try as he might, he does not have the strength for that. Not yet.

He sits by the edge of their bed, the sunlight passing through the windows in streaks of yellow gold. He closes his good eye, hoping for a little time to adjust to the light. Perhaps if he closes it hard enough, he will be able to picture her sitting by the window with her focused eyes trained on her embroidery or one of his books, waiting for him to come back to her after his daily duties. 

His nose flares at the unearthly reminder that his wife is no longer his by side. She had been full of happiness and life, and she had brought light into his life. He welcomed it for as long as she was around, but now that she was gone, he closes his eye and avoids it like the plague, much like he does with the sunlight that now warms his skin.

Her world has become dark because of him. How can he sit in the light in good conscience, when he knows he has lost all right to it?

The waves crashed by the shores of Blackwater Bay and she sat on the sands, watching them. She had a book in her hands, and a basket of food that she had the maids prepare for them to take.

Her eyes closely followed her husband as he held their baby son’s hands upright, his little pudgy feet resting over his huge boot-clad ones as he led them forward. The little boy’s gurgling and laughing echoed through the wind, and she took a bite of a juicy apple while holding a book in her other hand. 

They were the picture of a happy family, the stories of whom may be immortalized in songs for years to come.

He had not yet begun to walk, and his words were all a blubbering mess - but Aemond Targaryen was not known for being patient. He insisted on guiding his son to his feet so his first steps would come to him quicker, and spoke to him in High Valyrian in hopes that his first words would be in his native tongue.

Her boys had walked all the way toward her with her baby’s toes pressing onto Aemond’s feet harshly. He picked him up and held him then, and his son’s hands landed on his eyepatch. It had become his favorite little plaything these days - the boy took to wrangling it off his father’s head and swinging it with his two fat fingers until he grew tired - that was if he did not notice the sapphire first. By the Gods, if he did, he would insist on taking that off to play with too. His son, like him, had a taste for the finer things in life, it would seem.

“He’s taken well to the waters, I think,” she said. Her fondness for the little lad and her husband was evident in her face as she watched them. Her son had taken to swinging his arms in all directions, occasionally hitting his father’s face.

“Water does not mix with fire and blood. He should not be taking so well to the waters.”

“Suppose he can embrace it all then. Perhaps he’s… special.” She rose to meet her son’s eyes, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The boy smiled, a handful of his father’s alabaster hair in his hands as he pulled. Aemond winced, and she giggled. 

“Zaldrītsos…” Aemond murmured, a quiet plea to his son to stop. It fell on deaf ears, but he did not mind. [Little dragon]

A maid had come to inform them that their presence was requested in the keep, and Aemond handed the boy over to her before walking back to give his wife his hand. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and rubbed her hand with his before leading them away, their steps slow and relaxed.

“We should have another,” she said. Her smile, the source of all his content, was as bright as the sun. “You should take me tonight,” she murmured then, eyes quickly blackened by lust. He watched as the girl with childish wonder transformed into a seductress, and he lost even before he tried - defeat had never felt sweeter.

He could never deny her anything she wanted.

“Do you want me, wife?” He muttered darkly as he halted his steps, turning towards her. He held her by the waist and kissed her brow, waiting for her to respond. 

“I always want you,” she murmured, eyes fluttering at the closeness of his lips. Her bright eyes sought his lilac one as the sound of the waves rippled through the air. “I also want to bear you another child. Would you like that, husband? Another little babe for us to love…”

He nodded and kissed her, pouring all his passion into it as he devoured her lips. “You do look beautiful, belly round and full with my child.”

That night, he choked her name out like an urgent prayer while he spilled into her, his peak following soon after hers. He then peppered kisses across her face and neck as the smell of sweat and coupling engulfed them, while she held onto his hair and let her hand wander over it in a soothing manner. He rubbed a hand over her belly, praying that his seed had taken. If not, he would seek her out and touch her everywhere once more - he would never be tired of her.

If another child was what she desired, then she shall have it - for how could he ever deny her?

The burns and injuries had ruined any spirit Aegon may have had as King.

He had watched his brother as he grew into a fierce protector of his family soon after being crowned. Ser Criston had made clear the dangers that they posed to Rhaenyra with their very existence, and it was all Aegon needed to grow into his role as the rightful monarch. However, he had gotten ahead of himself and underestimated his skills as a dragonriding fighter and gotten himself hurt.

Aemond’s role as Prince Regent was something that he slid into seamlessly - he had always known that he was the better fit for the throne after all. His first action was to ensure the safety of his own wife, Helaena and her three children.

“They’ve been moved to our father’s old chambers. Deep in the Holdfast, far away from any possible intru-”

“I know where the chambers are, Aemond. Will you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.” Aegon interrupted, words slurred as he sipped on Arbor Red. The wine sloshed in the cup as it moved in his unsteady hands. 

His eyes were trained on his brother, a tired and tested man who was now incharge of running a Kingdom. Aegon knew that the crown was heavy, but it did not compare to the weight of the world that Aemond always carried on his shoulders. It only seemed to have gotten worse since his son’s death and his wife’s isolation.

“Does she fare any better?”

“No.” It is all Aemond wishes to say on the matter.

While he may not want to speak of the family he had lost, Aemond knew that he would protect those he was left with every breath in his body if need be. He may not have been there for his little boy, but he would die before he let a hair on any of his remaining family members’ heads be touched. The regret of being an inadequate husband and father pricked at him like the heat from the bright blaze of the fire in the hearth, and he walked out with purpose.

He knew where he was going next. After all, his feet always carried him to her at nightfall.

When Aemond came home dripping wet from the rain that had drenched him at Storm’s End, he was convinced that he had ruined everything good that he had. He could not imagine a simple scratch on his little boy without feeling angered - how could he expect Rhaenyra to simply accept her son’s death? 

He had to get them safe. He had to keep them safe. He had to keep them safe. Safe, safe, safe.

She had just left the babe with the nursemaid and come to their chambers to find a moment of quiet before her son’s inevitable crying began again. Her eyes widened when she opened the door to find her husband completely drenched, looking like he was inviting death with open arms. He may as well have.

“Aemond..” She rushed to him immediately, hands going to his damp hair and clothes. “Gods did it rain on your ride back home? Let me fetch you some clean clothes and something to dry yourself with.” He reached out to her before she could go too far, and she gasped at how cold his touch was.

It was always warm, and tonight it was not.

“Stay, please.”

“I need you to put on something warm first, Aemond. You’ll catch a chill.”

She was too distracted by his wet state to notice the tears mixed with the raindrops. He said nothing as she walked away and brought back fresh garb for him to change into. She quietly bade that he raise his arms and he obeyed, not having the strength to do anything else. Slowly, each garment fell with a wet thwack to the floor and she took to wiping all the water off of him. 

His grave silence unnerved her immensely, and she knew something was wrong. She would wait for him to say it.

She dressed him in a linen undershirt and breeches and took him to his beloved chair by the fire, in hopes that it would warm him up and encourage him to tell her of what plagued him. He sat in silence for a long while as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her forehead leaning on one of his thighs while her finger drew mindless patterns on the other. 

His hand always reached for her hair when they sat like this, but tonight, that was not the case. She looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and as he caught her vision with his one eye, he did not have the heart to tell her what he had done, but he had to.

“I killed Lucerys Velaryon.” His voice is hoarse and the words are choked out with difficulty, and while the weight of his actions hit him hard, it was harder to watch his sweet wife’s concerned face morph into something else entirely.

“What?”

“He was sent as an envoy. I only meant…” He gulped, and the tears fell freely once more. 

She quickly lifted herself up and straddled him, holding his face in both her hands. Her fingers caught every tear that fell in quick succession. “Tell me, go on.”

“I only meant to scare him. I need you to believe me, I did not mean to kill him.” 

Her husband was a proud man, and it made her stomach churn to see him sound so broken. She feared that she may not like what she was about to hear, but she had promised to be his other half for all his life, and now he needed her. 

He may be fearsome, but he was not a cold-blooded murderer. He did not mean to kill him - but how much weight did his intent hold, now that the boy was dead?

“I believe you. Go on.”

“The dragons…” He let out a hoarse breath and she continued to wipe at his tears with the tips of her thumbs - softness that he right now felt very undeserving of. “Arrax breathed fire at Vhagar and she retaliated, she bit into the dragon’s neck and Luke fell, so did Arrax.” 

She felt light headed with worry. How could she stomach the thought of a young boy falling to his death from the skies? How could she, when she was a mother to a little boy herself?

His uncle, Daemon, was going to come for them, Aemond was sure of that. But he could not bring himself to think of much else as he watched his wife digest all that he had told her, never once ceasing to remind him that she believed him, even if nobody else would. 

When they rose, Aemond’s anger knew no bounds. The possible consequences ran through his mind as he pushed his desk onto the floor with brute force. The sharp edges of her vanity had drawn blood from the back of his hand as he moved in frustration, and she was quick to hold onto him and remind him of her presence. He was not alone, he had her.

“Take me. Take it out on me.” Aemond could not think straight, and she could not bear to see him hurt himself, any more than he already has. It is this very thought that drives her to take his hand and lay it upon her clothed chest.

He took her from behind that night, hands clutching onto her bouncing breasts. Every string that was stretched had snapped with each rough thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping skin somehow seeming too rough that night. “We’re going to be fine, wife,” he groaned - and she did not know whom he was trying to placate - her, or himself? 

“I will keep you safe, the both of you.”

When he was done with her, she was left looking ragged with dried tear tracks on her face. He wanted to apologize - it seemed as though he hurt everything he touched, and after his now dead Stong nephew, his own sweet wife was his latest victim.

She held him between her breasts that night as they both wept, at a loss for words at what he had done. She did not know how to comfort him or rid him of the guilt or paranoia that his mind now played host to.

What she did know is that her husband needed her, and that she was not going anywhere. So when he suggested sending her and their son away, fearing for her safety, she begged him to let her stand by his side.

“If something were to happen to me, there would be nobody to protect you and our boy.”

“If something were to happen to you, our son and I would much rather follow you than brave many years alone.” 

He reluctantly gave in, thinking that an increased guard and his constant presence around them would be enough to keep them unharmed. 

How wrong he was.

He had walked away only for a moment. 

His wife had wanted to eat some cake during the night - he suspected that she was with child again. Little did he know that it was the last moment of their happy marriage. The sight that he had walked back into was something that would never fail to haunt him.

Dead guards, a whole litany of them. His wife in her bloodied white shift, holding onto their son’s decapitated body. All the light in her eyes had dimmed as he stood frozen in place, his eye widened at the harrowing sight before him. 

She wailed as she clutched the corpse to her chest, with no care for the injuries on her own body, or the blood of their babe that was now mixed in with her own.

“My boy, my precious boy…”

The rest of the royal family soon followed and his mother pulled her away from the babe’s lifeless body. He fell to the floor with no one to hold him, and Aemond could do nothing but watch.  Aegon’s angry calls for his nephew’s head to be brought back along with the killers slipped into one ear and slipped out the other, and he went numb as he realized that the consequences of his actions had caught up to him. 

Him, he could understand. But his sweet wife, his little son? What had they done?

A son for a son.

The rational part of his mind would have argued that Luke’s death probably left Rhaenyra feeling the same tragedy that he was faced with - but he was anything but rational in that moment. His fists clenched as his knuckles met the wall, and Aegon had to physically restrain him from walking out to catch the rats himself.

“She needs you. She needs you. She needs you. Listen to me, Aemond!”

Helaena had collapsed onto the chair entirely, repeating ominous words that he did not register at all. 

“Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese. Blood and Cheese.”

Aegon had gone to join in the hunt for his nephew’s killers, and she kept rocking herself back and forth at the sight of the blood that now painted the walls and floors of her brother’s chambers until she was led away. Aemond stood, all alone in a pool of his son’s and wife’s blood. 

When the Silent Sisters were led into the chamber by his grandfather, Aemond froze. His wife had held their lifeless son to her breast as she cried, but he could not bring himself to look at him, much less touch him.

Hours later, with patches of his own son's blood soaked through his clothes, he had gone to see her. He held her in his arms as she sobbed through the night, trying to push him away with each firm hit to his chest. Aemond shushed her over and over to no avail, holding her closer each time she tried to separate herself from him. Sometime during that night, her eyes had become lifeless; a deep abyss. The sight of it finally drove him to tears too, with his good eye becoming a glistening violet ring floating in a sea of angry red.

They say madness is a slow disease, and that nobody truly knows when it begins. They were wrong. Aemond Targaryen knew very well the exact moment when the madness had sunk its claws into his wife. 

It was right then as he held her, comforting her and apologizing like a madman for tainting her life with his presence. 

The moonlight diverged through the stained glass windows that directly faced the room where she now resided. She had been kept in these chambers before their wedding, and she often spoke of how beautiful the lights were when they fell directly onto the corridors, reflecting the colors of the glass that they slid through. He wondered if she still thought the same. He wondered if she even looked.

In the day that followed their son’s death, they had burned their little boy and watched as his body was wheeled around the streets of King’s Landing for their benefit. Aemond had wanted to retch then, but he held his wife tight as the people empathized with the kind princess whose time as a doting mother had been brutally cut short. 

She fared worse - she looked dead in her eyes, and he was sure she was lost on the inside too. He did not know if she even sensed his hold on her as she kept muttering their dead boy’s name in a series of weak whimpers.

Two days later, she had lost their second child. He held her from behind and rocked her gently as the blood flowed from between her thighs for hours, the babe coming out in clumps of bloodied skin, having never drawn breath. Every moment of his wife’s torture plagued Aemond’s existence, and he questioned his abilities as a protector while grieving his son and his unborn child all alone. 

The Gods were cruel to him in their games. They made him watch as his son’s life was taken, and they took bits of his wife’s mind and soul with each passing day. He supposed that this was the hand that kinslayers were dealt.

It was a slow death for Aemond, and it had begun the day his son was killed. Now he had to watch as his once vivacious wife completely lost hold over all her senses, and lived in a world where he could not reach her.

On some days, she would receive him with love, as though his presence in her life had not destroyed her completely. He would be able to revel in her touch once more, if only to simply be able to remind himself that she was still alive - in body, if not soul. He missed her, his wife, his woman, his entire heart. But his actions had killed her from the inside - did he have a right to his yearning anymore? He did not want to know, for he feared that he may not like the answer.

On other days, she would be the complete embodiment of madness. She would fight the maesters and scream at them, begging for them to let her die and throw herself off the window. She would pull at her beautiful hair, blame him continuously and shriek, mourning the loss of their child. 

When she was done, she'd lower her voice and murmur words into the air. Speaking to no one in particular, almost like a ghost, she'd fidget with her dress and say, "His body twitched after they hurt him. My baby boy suffered. Oh, my boy!"

He may not have wielded the knife that removed his head, but his actions caused it. He may as well have killed his son himself. Guilt was not an emotion that Aemond Targaryen knew well as a boy, but it was all he now knew as a grown man.

She would bawl and cry at him to go away. She would scream at him to leave her alone, and blame him for killing her children - and rightfully so. And though it pricked at his heart, he would come back every night. 

He wonders how she is feeling tonight. He wishes she was ignorant and unaware, for he is desperate for her touch, her company. It has been weeks. He is brought back to reality when the Maester’s gown billows behind him in the night wind. 

“Your Grace.” he bows. 

“How is she?”

“Somewhat calmed tonight and not lucid, my prince.” The old man sighs before continuing. “The Princess continues to ask for her little prince. We have given her milk of the poppy, so she may fall asleep soon enough.”

 “Hm.”

He is mildly relieved to hear that she is not herself tonight - for it allows him to relive some of their happier days. 

In his hand is a book - Ten Thousand Ships, the very one that he had gifted her. He dismisses the maester and his stewards follow behind him. Aemond walks into the room with his mind steeled, ready to be brave - for himself and for her.

“Husband! Come, come!” Her cheery voice is not quite hers, and it unnerves Aemond - her words are not from her heart, and it takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and apologize once more for what he has done to her. “The Maester said our boy’s learning to walk! Did you see him? I was promised that you would bring him tonight! Where is he?”

Gone, where we cannot see him, he wants to say. But how could he, without wanting to throw himself at her feet in regret? “He is tired. All that walking has exhausted him.”

“I suppose, yes! They tried to force me to take that vile concoction once more tonight, I managed to push it away and evade them! Look!” His gaze follows her hand and sees the spilled milk of the poppy on the floor. His wife was a calm and steady woman, and now she was behaving like a child and mistreating maesters.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You should not do that, wife. It is not proper.” 

He holds her hand and kisses her knuckles, before leaning his head back to look at her. Her hair has not been combed today, and he gently turns her around to run his fingers through her hair, digits trembling at touching her once more. She could come to at any moment and remember who had caused her such distress, and then she would cry until he walked away - the very real possibility rakes at Aemond, so he remains prepared for her to push him away any time now.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

"I know. I drank it the second time. I'm sorry."

He then turns her back to face him and notices the dark rims around her empty eyes. He sighs and lets out a long, heavy breath. If he was drunk enough and she was unaware, he would fool himself into thinking that they were alright. But they aren’t. 

“It is time to go to bed, wife. Will you come with me?”  I love you, I miss you and I am sorry. Will you come back to me? Please?

He kisses both her eyelids and leads her to the bed in her shift. He gently helps her lay down, following her immediately as he lays next to her. She leans into his hold seamlessly and he tightens his arm around her - it hurts him how despite her madness, her penchant to seek out his touch never changes.

He takes the book from the bedside table, and she squeals. “Will you read to me tonight, husband? I do love it when you read to me. Perhaps a quiet moment between the both of us before the maids bring our son back? You know how he makes a fuss and refuses to give us a moment of quiet!” She laughs, and Aemond holds his tears back once more.

“Of course.” He kisses her temple.

He begins reading and the dry sounds of his throat lull her to sleep in his arms as he rakes his fingers through her hair. When she has completely drifted away from him, he allows himself a moment of thought and kisses her on the lips - watching as she murmurs his name.

He had taken her to wife, and sworn to protect her from any harm that may come her way. In the end, the only one she had to be protected from, was himself. He failed her, and now, he would not rest until he picked up all the pieces and put her back together.

When morning comes, she may still be unconscious of her surroundings and allow him some more time, or she may be lucid and scratch at his face until he leaves her alone. The uncertainty kills him, but he will allow himself to enjoy her tonight. 

It was on this very day that he had kissed her for the first time, in the Sept, between the statues of the Mother and the Father. On this day, four years ago, they were married. 

And on this day, he continues to read to her because she had asked, even when she had fallen asleep - for how could he ever deny her?

BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS FIC, HERE.

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MASTERLIST

[lxvebun]

A millennium of unsaid I love you's

Synopsis: love is the most twisted curse of all. Yuuji wonders if it's twisted enough to have even Sukuna in its grip.

Content: Sukuna x gender neutral reader. Fluff+little angst. Lovesick!sukuna, I repeat, Lovesick!Sukuna he's so in love with you it shows in everything he does!! Mentions of character death but its open for you to decide. Slight mention of canon violence. Around 1k words♡ eng is not my first language, lmk if there are any annoying mistakes♡♡

"Have you ever been in love?" Yuuji wonders out loud, not necessarily expecting a serious answer. It's a little past midnight if he's reading the blurry red numbers on the digital clock correctly, and despite sleep clouding over his eyes, he can't seem to find rest. Blankets are carelessly kicked to the edge of the bed in an effort to relieve himself from the summer heat but it doesn't do much to help him ease into that sleepy state either.

(Talking to Sukuna seemed a lot more interesting than counting sheep)

The question hangs in the air for a moment, silence twists around it like a vine, and just before it completely swallows it up, the answer floats across his mind similar to a thought but eerily spoken in a different voice.

"Yes"

It's said quietly, almost as if trying to maintain the tranquility of the summer night, but this is Sukuna we're talking about. He doesn't take others into consideration. There's something else that keeps him from voicing his answers out loud.

(Perhaps it's the way he can't talk about you without sounding like a love-sick devotee)

"How!?" Yuuji blurts out before thinking, not realizing the question is rather rude until a sharp flash of pain surges through his body, a little corrective behavior sent from Sukuna, no doubt. "Sorry, sorry. I just didn't expect it, that's all.

It's quiet for a bit. Yuuji takes the time to admire the stars and moonlight shining through the sliver of the curtains. It feels like the moon is extra radiant tonight as it spills a wonderful illuminative light across the room. 

"I don't know"

There's not much he doesn't know, but to this day it's still a miracle to him that you weaved yourself so effortlessly into his very being. Managing to do so without an ounce of resistance from him. Partly believing you were some kind of heavenly punishment sent to bring the king of curses to his knees. To rid the world of a darkness that never should have existed in the first place.

(He'd let you)

"I just was"

There's another part of him that theorizes that maybe you were something that remained of his human self. A soulmate to complete his when his soul wasn't half as dark and twisted as it is now. Born from the same star, hearts carved from the same moon. A red string binds you to him, regardless of the form he takes. How cruel of fate to tie you to a monster and keep it that way.

Quietness tunes back in as Yuuji's thoughts drift elsewhere. For a second, Sukuna thinks he's done with his late-night interrogation.

"What were they like?"

He's not indulging Yuuji, really. But his heart beats back a little warmth into his soul every time he thinks of you. Every time he thinks of your voice, how his name sounded so syrupy and sweet falling from your lips, a stark contrast to how it's usually uttered.

Every time he thinks of your touch, how you always handled him with a gentleness he probably doesn't deserve. As if under all the scars and cursed markings he was made of the most delicate porcelain. Even when you were angry, it never bled violence into your touch.

Gods, your entire being shined so brightly he could pick you out from among the stars. You dug yourself into his chest, ripped out his darkened heart oh so deliciously, and buried yourself in its place. As if you always belonged there.

Just thinking of you stains his mouth all too sweetly, a millennium of unsaid I love you's building up in the back of his throat. He swallows it down.

"They were beautiful" he speaks aloud this time, voice booming around the room. Yuuji flinches a little at the intrusion "And that's enough of your questions tonight, brat"

"Just one more, please"

.....

Yuuji takes the silence as compliance.

"Are they gone?" He puts it into softer terms. Sukuna's a little annoyed at the consideration.

He doesn't know... and he's not sure what hurts more, being oblivious to your fate, or assuming that you have passed. Surely, Uraume would have taken care of you. Then again, are they even around still? A dullness grows in his chest, splinters its way through his ribs, and weighs down into his lungs suffocatingly so at the uneasiness of not knowing.

Looking through Yuuji's eyes, he catches a glint of a star beaming down into the split in the curtain. Shining an ethereal light so brightly he has to avert his gaze.

( he could pick you out amongst the stars. He refuses to believe it's you)

The ache lessens again as the starlight seems to clear his head. You're bound to him by a string of fate, there's not a single universe out there where you're not with him. Even if it's cruel of fate to do so, even if those thousand years apart have turned him into someone almost unrecognizable. You'll be together again. Perhaps your soul is just waiting for the right moment to appear.

"they'll be back" is all he says, and the finality in his tone urges Yuuji to keep his mouth shut despite the whirlwind of questions still racing through his mind. Memories that don't belong to him flicker through Yuujis's mind as Sukuna seems to dream off. They're blurry and foggy and disappear all too quickly for him to make sense of what he's seeing, but he can feel the overwhelming presence of love dripping from the edges. He doesn't question why his heart starts to race too.

Sukuna has been a rot in his side from day one. but if there ever exists an opportunity to save everyone, if he could give him his happy ending should you come back, he thinks he'll grant it to him.

Thank you for reading angels!!♡ i had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you enjoyed this too!