#and yank is a term of endearment

[audioletter]

Day Thirty: Only One Bed (AR1 for @colonelshepparrrrd) (Author's note: Gregory, Queensland is a real place, and my father lived there for a brief time. The more you know!)

Ronon was inches from the kangaroo. A stare down of epic proportions was occurring - the kangaroo laying languid in the shade of a gumtree, and Ronon on all fours.

"This is going to end badly," Rodney whined. "Did he not watch the videos we sent him on Australian wildlife before coming here?"

Teyla walked around Rodney's left, putting one of their carry boxes down near his feet. "You know you cannot stop Ronon when he's on a mission."

Rodney spluttered, his tablet almost flying out of his hands. "And today's mission is get kicked in the face by a muscly marsupial?" A sudden movement and he ducked, squealing a little in a distinctly unmasculine way. "A BIRD just dive-bombed me! What is with this country?"

"That was a magpie, mate, did you need an ice cream container with eyes? Scares 'em off." A warm looking woman walked towards them with John by her side, and Rodney touched his head for injuries. "You'll be fine, they're just protecting their babies."

"Well, is everything out here planning to kill us?" Rodney asked the woman, who introduced herself as Sharon. "I'd heard rumours of your country but…"

Sharon laughed. "Welcome to Gregory, mate. I'd probably get your friend away from the 'roo though, he's going to get a swift biff to the face if he's lucky and one to the nether-regions if he's not."

John walked over and collared Ronon - not an easy feat - pulling him away from the kangaroo who seemed unfazed by the whole thing. "Not now, Ronon, we need to find this ZPM that's been detected here."

"We were just bonding," Ronon growled, but he gave the kangaroo one last dark look before dragging himself over to the group, now surrounded by the last cases of detection equipment from their very out-of-place SUV hire car.

"You'll need a place to stay, right?" Sharon said, putting her hands on her hips. "The Gregory Downs Hotel is mine, and I've only one room left but you're welcome to it."

"That would be excellent, thank you," John smiled, and Rodney rolled his eyes at Sharon's flushed cheeks and shy smile in response. "Where can we check-in?"

The sound of birds and rustling of trees broke through the oppressive heat, the humidity almost killing Rodney the moment they'd stepped out of the car in Gregory, Queensland's...well, "main town" seemed like a stretch, with a population of twenty-five max, but the landscape was, despite being extremely sparse, rather beautiful.

"Ah, nah, we can fix that up in a bit, let's get your stuff to your room." Sharon lead the way, pulling a worn key out of her pocket. The hotel was wood and corrigated iron - Queenslander architecture Rodney had learnt in his study of the area - and she reached a door, wigging the key and swinging the door open to display an even more sparse room than the outside terrain.

And only one bed.

"Sorry, mates, we're full because of a caravan party dropping in, but there's a couch - well, it's a bit buggared but you can make do." She smiled at Teyla. "No doubt these gentlemen will let the lady have the bed, and I'll get you some extra blankets and pillows, all good?"

"All good," John smiled radiantly again, but even Rodney picked up on his dread at the room. "Is there somewhere we can eat?"

"Oh, nah yeah, you can get a good feed at Murray's." She turned and pointed directly next to the hotel. "He'll set you right. Did ya wanna come sign in now, get it over and done with before you fang down?"

"'Fang down'?" Teyla muttered under her breath, moving into the room and testing the bed. It seemed servicable to Rodney's eyes and Teyla's expression confirmed that, and she stood happily. "'Fang down' means to eat?"

Sharon laughed, heartily. "Welcome to Australia, Yanks." She stopped as she turned to walk out. "Oh, 'Yanks' is a term of endearment here, so don't take it too serious, yeah?"

The four of them stared at her and nodded in unison, Rodney clocking the lack of air con and sighed as Sharon left them alone in the room.

—

"No one seems to know anything about a Zed-PM," Rodney groaned, entering the room and throwing himself down on the bed. "And stop trying to get into fights with kangaroos, Ronon."

"I could take one."

"No doubt you could!"

John sighed. "We should get some sleep. Sharon's left some blankets and pillows which is good."

Teyla frowned. "The floor is tile, and the couch seems uncomfortable - certainly we have slept in closer quarters than this bed which seems big enough for all of us?"

A silence fell over the group - awkward, embarrassed and thoughtful - and it was Ronon who threw himself down next to Rodney on the bed and grinned. "Seems fine by me."

"No snuggling," Rodney muttered, knowing he was in for a restless night of Ronon thrashing in his sleep, but he was so tired from the flight to Brisbane, then Cairns, then the massively long drive to Gregory, that he didn't care if he slept on a pile of rocks.

Everyone took their time to get ready, eventually all piling into the surprisingly comfortable bed. The ceiling fan rotated quietly above them, Rodney happily full from the shockingly amazing meal they'd had at Murray's as they lined up, four in a row, on the queen sized bed.

"Good night, all," Teyla whispered from her end of the bed, curled up. "This humidity may be hard to sleep in but let's try."

A chorus of good nights rang through the air, and Rodney found himself falling asleep before he could even complain about the thick air and thin sheet.

—

The next morning - well, it was a game of Jenga to work out exactly how to get them out of the bed. Teyla was still in her ball, but Ronon was very heavily leaning into Rodney, his arm thrown over him, John pressed against Rodney's other side and snoring soundly.

Of course I had to be in the middle, Rodney inwardly groaned, gently picking up Ronon's arm off him and trying to get out of the AR1 puddle. It was going to be impossible until -

"Good morning," Teyla beamed, waking John up in the process. An escape route, Rodney thought, ignoring Teyla and crawling over the top of them to freedom.

"Did you sleep well?" John smirked, stretching his arms above his head.

"Let's just find this Zed-PM before I die of heat stroke and Ronon gets us kicked out for terrorising local wildlife."

"Good plan," Teyla and John said in unison.

[kthsbelle]

STRAWBERRY HAIRCLIP 🌸🍓

★ summary: female! reader finds a tattooed stranger asleep on her bed in the middle of her squishmellows at a house party.

★ pairing: college!eren jaeger x soft maths major fem!reader ♡

★ warnings + tags: 18+, college au, tattooed eren, softcore cute reader , eren w a snakebite piercing , thick thigh reader , poetry from eren, smut .

★ wordcount: 3,395

a/n: this is my first fic here ! i read a lot of eren au’s today and this idea suddenly came to mind ! i decided to share . please enjoy !

“ not again…” an exasperated sigh fell heavily from your lips like it weighed a thousand pounds . you were standing in front of your house , a small pile of books you had borrowed from the library squeezed against your chest as you looked at the fluorescent lights peaking out of the windows . the bass from inside your house reverberated throughout the neighborhood , and even from the outside , you could distinguish the faint sound of a pop song .

another college party .

your brother was a heavy partier , but you strongly disliked when he did those at home without even warning you first . you had a throbbing headache from having your nose in books all day , practicing for mid-terms . the last thing you needed were drunk college kids slurring around and music blaring in your ears .

rest , you needed rest .

options - doja cat ft JID

you pushed the front door to your house open and instantly wished you hadn’t . as if it was waiting for a chance to hit you , the sound of music rushed to you and assaulted your ears , making you wince back in surprise . “ im gonna kill this asshole,” you grumbled under your breath as you started pushing past the squeezing bodies that danced in the living room .

you stopped in the kitchen which seemed relatively empty , except for a flury of red hair moving between the fridge doors .

“ sasha ?” you called out over the music . the red-headed girl in question jumped in surprise , her head yanking up to smash directly against the frame of the fridge . the force of the action caused it to shake a little . she yelped out in pain . “ are you okay?” you quickly questioned with your hand slapped over your mouth to hold in a laugh .

“ im good , im good !” she quickly said as she stepped away from the fridge with a bottle of tostios’ spinach dip . “ you’re not here for the party , are you ?” she said , eyeing your outfit with an amused look on her face .

you obviously looked misplaced and you knew it . with your printed , pastel yellow high-waist pleated skirt , yellow oversized ‘ LEMON’ sweatshirt and knee high socks , you rather looked like you belonged browsing an empty aisle in a CD store or at barnes and nobles . – and honestly , you wish you were .

your style has always been the epitome of soft girl core , with small stickers adorning your cheeks and orange blush at the tip of your nose . your requirement was to look like a cute fairy nymph at all times .

you’ve been like this for as long as you could remember and before the trend gave it this name . your brother found it endearing , even though he’d mask it by poking fun at you . you didn’t care though , it gave you comfort .

“ where’s my idiot brother ?” you questioned . watching her prying open the bag of chips and scooping up some of the dip . a lot of it .

“ oh – he’s gone somewhere upstairs with katie “ she paused to swallow, “ you don’t wanna see him now…” she shook her head and you quickly caught on to her suggestion .

“ ew!” you grimaced . the last thing you wanted to think about was your brother…doing it .even though he was two years older and you were relatively close , one thing you didn’t want to know about was...this.

you shuddered softly and stepped forward to make way for the drunk couple that stumbled in with their mouth glued to each other in an intense make-out session . your mouth lifted in an annoyed expression while sasha shielded her face away like she had looked directly into the sun for too long , ‘ gross ! connie i dont wanna see this !’

you laughed softly at these two before deciding that your hunt for your brother was over . you just really wanted to sleep – as much as you could despite the music. “goodnight , sash ! and…connie ?” the last part came out like a question as the man seemed to be too preoccupied by the blonde he was kissing . you smiled at the waving sasha before making your way out again.

you inhaled again before diving back in the crowd , looking to reach the stairs that lead to your room . you got a few stares which you completely ignored , not wanting anything to do with drunk college boys . your eyes stayed focused ahead of you , giving the clear message that you weren’t here to have fun . you balanced the books against your chest as you went up the stairs and into the hallway . the sound of the music was considerably lower , but still bothersome . you walked past a few people making out in the hallway , your eyes focused on your white bedroom door at the end of the hall , holding your breath at the mere idea of finally finding solace – peace in your sanctuary . you lifted your knee to allow one arm to reach for the handle while the books took support against the other arm steadily . you twisted the doorknob and wasted no time to walk in your room , but what you saw nearly made you scream for help .

i was never there – the weeknd

in the middle of all your squishmellows , sprawled out , and in a seemingly deep sleep , laid a complete stranger . he wore black cargo pants , a white shirt and a black bomber . he slept comfortably on his back with a tattooed arm draped over his eyes , glossy lips slightly parted letting air through as his chest rose and fell softly . the shiny metal on his lip caught your attention , and you identified it as a snakebite piercing. the position had allowed his shirt to ride up his hips , the V lines showing a sinful path that curved and dipped down inside his Calvin boxers which were peaking out of his pants . the fairy lights above your headboard shone soft golden orbs on him , painting an ironic picture as he laid against your avocado-patterned comforter . you felt your throat closing , strangely aroused by the scene .

 you couldn’t stop the book avalanche even if you wanted to . the book on top slipped out of your grip , dragging down all the other ones with it and  they subsequently hit the ground with a loud thud . ‘

“shh ! shh !” you tried hushing the book as if they were alive as you knelt on the floor to pick them up . the sleeper immediately froze at the sound before he quickly sat up , his messy bun almost coming undone at the abruptness of his reaction. he stared at you through confused , tired eyes before realization hit him . “ oh shit !” he croaked out , voice deep from his tiredness as he sank on the floor to help you pick them up .

“ w-who are you ?” you questioned while looking down , feeling the tip of your ears go red . why are you even getting shy ? he’s the one in your room .

“ eren. “ the stranger you know as eren held out a small pile of books towards you . you didn’t look at him directly . “you ?”

you mumbled out your name.

his green eyes peeked at one of books he held and a thick eyebrow scrunched in confusion , “ differential …equations…?” the confusion was evident in his tone as his head tilted to decipher the picture on the book cover . a few strands of hair fell above his eyes .

“ applied mathematics major ,” you answered after having swallowed the ball of anxiety that had settled in your throat .

his emerald eyes widened in surprise before a small smirk lifted the corner of his lips , “ for real ? damn . “ you were used to this reaction . most people thought you studied theater or fashion because you always looked like you could be in a winx club live action .

“you ?” you asked back . quickly taking the books from him and dropping them on your lap , the impact causing your thick thighs to jiggle softly . eren did not seem to miss this action , his eyes lasting a minute longer on the sight before looking up at you . you subconsciously thought of the typical college fuckboy majors; business , or music...

“ literature.” it was your turn to show surprise , and the boy chuckled softly at your expression . you couldn’t help but notice how white his teeth were .

“ah…” was your answer . you wanted to slap yourself for losing your social skills for a minute , but you were just too tired to handle so many emotions and words at the same time .the boy only chuckled in response , his hand brushing back the bangs that only managed to fall over his eyes again . “you don’t seem convinced .”

miss you – oliver tree , robin schulz

“i’m not,” you answered honestly , a small smile of your own dancing on your lips , “ you look like you study…”

“ business ? music ?” he took the words right out of your mouth as he stood up , extending his hand down towards you . you were suddenly taken aback by how tall he was and how he seemed to command all the attention in the room . you blushed when you realized how close you were to his thigh and quickly grabbed onto his hand to stand up , except he pulled you up harder than you expected and you crashed against his chest . the smug look on his face told you he did it on purpose . your chin rested against his chest , slowly assessing the height difference between you two .

for a moment , his eyes seemed to have darkened into something more primal before they softened again , a smirk curling his lips upwards , “ and you didn’t strike me as a maths major either . “

you rolled your eyes , feeling slightly offended . you turned around and stepped out of his embrace towards your desk , suddenly feeling chilly. you knew it was your insecurities hitting at you – people always had a hard time believing you were smart and it pissed you off . however , you had long moved passed this – or so you thought . how did eren manage to set you off so easily ? it wasn’t even that bad .

he felt the cold air coming from you and raised his hand in defense , “ hey , hey . not saying there's anything wrong with that , you know ? i wouldn’t be able to half of what they do anyway, “ a small smile drew on your lips at his attempt to reprimand . “ plus,” he added as you arranged your books on your desk in no particular order to distract you from your wild pulse , “ its ‘cause you’re really cute . in a…forest pixie kind of way…”

love lost – mac miller , the temper trap

a small giggle broke from you , “makes sense . thanks. “ you answered , bending forward a bit to work your sneakers out of your feet while holding onto the table . the cold air hit the cheeks of your ass which was unknowingly protruding out of your skirt and you heard a sharp breath being drawn behind you .

when you turned around , eren almost looked like he wanted to pounce on you . you cleared your throat gently , feeling blood rush to your lower stomach like molten lava .

“ what do you do in literature anyway ? analyze Shakespeare’s attachment issues ?” this ripped a laugh out of eren . his laugh was even more attractive than his smile - it chimed pleasantly in your ear , sounding boyish but deep .

“ good point . but we did study him a lot .” 

you arched an eyebrow and smirked , “ what’s your favorite quote by him , then ?” you asked challengingly , not really expecting him to answer . you just wanted to mock how boys challenged you whenever you expressed interest in something unconventional . eren shrugged before lifting his eyes towards the ceiling in a small moment of contemplation.

“ love is not love which alters when it’s alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken.” he finished the last part , teal eyes boring into your soul .” my favorite author is bell hooks , though.” he added with a small smile .

to say that you were taken aback was an understatement . the tattooed stranger that broke into your room just spoke the most meaningful words in the softest , yet firm tone you’ve heard. you wanted him to recite poems to you over and over.

the two of you stayed silent before you looked towards your bed and back at him . “ uhm…what are you doing in my room , anyway ?” you decided to address the elephant in the room which you should’ve obviously done a while ago .

“ oh , uh i was looking for a bed to crash and sober up and your room smelled good ... like strawberries .” he explained and looked at your bed and the array of squishmellows decorating it with a look that seemed endearing . “ not gonna lie , it’s the most comfortable sleep i’ve ever had .” he said and you smiled with pride knowing that you had invested a lot of money into making yourself the softest , most comfortable bed ever .

“ but , i can leave if you want...” his voiced trailed off as if hoping you would say no - which you did . “ i mean you can stay a while more...”

“ hell yeah ! “ he cheered and let himself fall back on the bed which allowed him to bounce back a few times before he grabbed one of your blue axolotl squishmallows and pressed it against his face . you laughed softly , oddly proud that someone loved your bed so much . your friends always loved staying in your room when they came over, but it’s the first time a stranger - who seemed so different from you expressed such content from being here .

you plopped down on the bed and brought your knees to your chest , looking up down at your hands while you chipped away at your pastel nail polish . eren pulled the plush down slowly , green eyes peeking over at you. “what ?” you asked feeling your face heat up uncontrollably. “ you’re cute. “ he simply said with a smirk before looking up at the ceiling . 

you bit your lip from stopping your smile from spreading too much . “you’re flattering me .” you replied as you looked down at your thighs which seemed to have been more exposed than you thought . the elastic at the hem of your thigh-highs sank slightly into your skin , squishing it out in a way that seemed more lewd than you intended . you quickly reached to pull your skirt down but ring-covered fingers pressed against your thigh , the cold metals sending chills down your spine as he blocked your action. 

“no.” he said in a semi-commanding tone . “ they look great.” you could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked at you and moved his hand away after letting it slide down a bit leaving a burning path from where he touched you .

your heart was beating inside your ears at this point and you needed a distraction . “where are your friends anyway... or girlfriend ?” you bit your lip .

white tee - summer walker

this was a bait to see if he had any girl in his life , which , why wouldn’t he ?

“they’re all drunk and annoying right now...and don’t have one” he answered the last part with a smirk on his lip as he looked at you teasingly , long and thick eyelashes that curled at the corner giving him a gracious aura . “ why ? wanted to know if position was empty? “ he asked in a teasing tone .

“ you’re such an ass!” you whined , pushing him with soft laugh to mask your embarrassment at the fact that you were, in fact , checking. eren chuckled and reached towards your face , pointing at one of the stickers adorning your eyes . you understood that he wanted it , so you pulled a little star and placed it against his hand .eren looked at it like it was the first time he’s even seen a sticker.

a small silence settled between you two as you played with your fingers . 

“ what about you ?” he suddenly asked after his silent contemplation . 

“ nope !” 

“damn...how ?” he asked , genuinely confused and you shrugged in response , “ they’re not business majors “ you replied teasingly which made him release another amused laugh . the vibration shocks throughout your body .

eren looked at you silently , bangs brushing agains his long lashes which clearly annoyed him . he tried swatting them away but it never worked . you giggled softly and motioned for him to come closer to you , “ come here,”  you told him as you removed one of the hairclips that held your ponytail . 

eren obediently scooted closer to you , resting his cheek against your thigh while his hand palmed at either sides of them . “ is that okay ?” he asked . to have the hottest boy you’ve seen resting on your lap ? 

YES , YES , YES , YES !!!

“ sure “ you answered and he simply closed his eyes with a content smirk on his lips . you were ready to combust as you reached down , brushing the soft strands of his dark hair away from his face and slicked it back into his messy bun before sliding the hairclip over it and securing it . you smiled as you looked at him . what a contrast it was - this edgy , tattooed man with a strawberry hair clip in his hair . he didn’t seem to care either . 

“i’d eat you out real good right now .” the words he let out almost made you choke on air. he opened his eyes looking back at you and he was dead serious.

the man let out a laugh at your expression before closing his eyes again , his lustful expression suddenly gone like it was never here . “ don’t worry , i won’t.”

you probably looked at him like he grew two heads . you didn’t say anything back , your stomach in knots. he was so hot , it hurt . would you really pass up an opportunity like this ? when the last time you even got laid ? this time by the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on .

“what if i want you to...?” you attempted back , voice coming out small but hopeful . 

suddenly the hands that were resting so softly against your thighs tightened their grip and eren smirked at he lifted his head . “good girl”  he praised

you gasped softly as he pushed your back to the bed , your cunt throbbing uncontrollably . he parted your legs and knelt between them , his erection pressing against your thigh . he felt so hard . you bit down your lip , feeling your wetness spill out . “ wanted to eat that pussy the second i saw you on that floor...” he admitted , his voice low and guttural . his fingers pulled your panties down and hooked your legs over his broad shoulders . his fingers separated your puffy folds , exposing your pussy completely to the cold air . you bit down your lip , letting out a needy whine causing your tiny hole to clench around nothing and eren nearly felt his mouth water . “shit...” he breathed before sticking his tongue out , letting fingers collect the saliva on them before rubbing them on your bare folds . you didn’t need any lubrification , but he just wanted his spit on you . he was convinced he’d never seen a pussy like this . he was about to dip his head down and eat you like a caveman when you stopped him mid-action. 

“eren ?” you asked , blushing beet red . he was confused but paused to listen , hoping you didn’t want him to stop already . “ c-can you tell me another poem ?” the man couldn’t help the smile on his face. “ you wanna be talked to while getting your pretty pussy eaten ?” he mused before nodding, “ of course, princess. “

he dipped down between your thighs , his hot tongue sliding down your folds .

“by my soul,”

his hands squeezed your thighs around his head even more , like he wanted be suffocated . you moaned out at the delicious contact of his tongue gliding down to your hole. 

“ i can neither eat”

his lips closed around your clit , his piercing brushing against it making your body jolt on the bed. “eren !”

“drink”

his lips sucked on one of your labia folds before releasing it. “fuck - eren !”

“nor sleep;”

he lifted his head and ran the flat of his tongue against your whole cunt before moving his head sideways to place kisses on your inner thighs , his warm breath fanning soothingly over your skin .

“nor– “ a finger dipped in your hole , slowly thrusting in and out. you screamed his name again, body shaking on the bed, “,what’s still worse , ” he placed another kiss against your pussy ,

“love any woman in the world but her.”

his head dipped down again, and this time, he wouldn’t stop eating you out. you felt pleasure ripple through your body in delicious waves as your eyes closed and you let yourself go . the last thing you saw between your thighs was his dark glossy hair and the strawberry hairclip that held his bangs together .

[kunikuma]

sorry i'm late, sweetheart

relationship | wriothesley x afab! fem! reader

synopsis | the duke had been held up for a little too long in the deep sea and... well. content | smut, no plot, MDNI!cw | pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, good girl, my love), usage of the term "fucktoy" but not in the degrading way? (bro is just feeling good), c.ock bulge, marking, biting, fucking from below, usage of “cunt”, trying to top but y/n folded fast (mb im y/n), praise kink, kinda meh a/n | i wrote this idea down after he took too long to come home. a shiny, drunken $30 was what convinced him. i got MAD but i literally got whipped by him mid fic and then lost my anger.

masterlist

“you’re late.”

he laughs hoarsely at your repeated words of the night. he leers at the swell of your breasts as they rise and fall with your movements when you steadily bounce on his lap. moonlight illuminated your left side and damn did the beams complement you well.

your perky nips were peaked by the cool chill of the night air and he had half the mind to just apologetically lave his tongue over them to warm them right up.

the man could catch glimpses of shiny slick coating your quivering inner thighs each time you impatiently wiggled on his lap. your pretty little fingers tugged at his crimson tie, yanking him close as you narrowed your eyes down at him.

waiting for an explanation.

gruffly, he laughs at your scrunched expression.

“sweetheart, you look quite—“

the compliment withers in his mouth as a moan cuts through his words and he clenches his jaw shut. you clamped down on his hard cock as you took him all in, a twinge of pain from the sheer amount of him shot through your body. your bated whimper failed to get smothered by the back of your hand as you started to ground your hips against his, wanting to see him crumble by your hand.

wriothesley’s head lolls back, exposing his scarred neck to your eyes as he chuckles in disbelief. his hazy eyes examine the teensy fluttering dust particles catching the moons’ light before he focuses on the upside-down clock on the wall.

the young duke drags himself back into the situation at hand.

your hand that was once at his tie had traveled to his shoulders, pressing him firmly against the back of the couch. your little rocking bucks of your hips were endearing, heavily contrasting the irritated creasing of your brows.

it was cute how you thought you could jerk him around and pin him to the soft cushions behind him, but he’d let that slide for now.

“compliments will get you nowhere, your grace.” you hiss his title in his face, half-genuine venom seeping into your tone. your slow yet methodical pace had come to a complete halt, ceasing the pleasure building in his exhausted bones. he quirks a brow at the sass thrown in his face and he grins.

tiredly, his chest heaves as he exhales, centering himself. wriothesley licks at his lips at the sight of you confidently handing him your iciest glare in quite some time.

sure, you were pissed, and he knew that. but could you expect him to take you seriously when you looked that cute when you were mad? could you expect him to focus with the way your cunt’s walls fluttered around his dick?

“‘m sorry,” he starts, his head rolling to the side as he eyes your form caging him against the way-too-small couch in your quaint home in the fontainian countryside.

your thighs had unconsciously relaxed against his, continuing to smear your arousal on the pants you were too impatient to allow him to remove when you found him resting on the living couch.

earlier, when you stormed over to demand where he had been, he peered from under his draped arm to sheepishly explain he didn’t want to slide into bed with you. he argued you’d wake up and he’d hate to disrupt your rest.

currently, his hands slid onto your thighs, giving them a firm squeeze and he sighed with glee at how your walls twitched around him. the warden gave you a genuine softly smile, hoping to disarm the metaphorical knife at his neck. he certainly did not need another scar marring that area, even if you did think they were oddly attractive.

you simmer at the way his stormy eyes seemed to flicker guilt before his lovesick gaze took over. he drummed his fingers on your legs. he continued his words when your sharp gaze seemed to falter, providing him an opening to deliver the go-to blow you despised hearing. 

“there was an emergency–“

when he saw you open your mouth to retort that there was always an emergency, he tuts and swats his wrapped hand onto your ass. his soft smile grows into a wolfish grin, “let me finish, doll.” he laughs lowly, sinking into the couch, combing his fingers through his matted hair as he makes himself comfy under you. you watched his ear-like tufts smoosh under his roving hands, only to stubbornly perk up once he finished. 

under the moonlight, he watched his hands seemingly waltz on the supple flesh of your body, similar to two mechs he had seen in the overworld.

his hands trailed up and down, admiring your dips and curves as he enjoyed the feel of you on the pads of his fingers. you always felt so soft in comparison to the scarred, rough skin on his body. every part of you was a delight to explore and he hummed appreciatively throughout his trek. wriothesley thought the moonlight on the surface tended to illuminate you best.

breaking the silence, your next words lacked bite and the man was never one to not take advantage of an opening. 

with goosebumps erupting on your skin, you shivered and muttered, “better hurry up before-“

“before what, hm?” he jumps in with a grin, suddenly tightening his grip on your body as he begins to press you onto his cock. you and the couch both whine at his ministrations. the seating was too rickety for shit like this and you felt the blunt tip of his cock harshly kiss against the deepest part of your core. 

“if you’d let me finish, i was going to say there was a genuine emergency.” he murmurs, his fingers doodling on the supple flesh on your body. “would you believe it if i said monsieur neuvillette was involved? ask him tomorrow if you don’t believe me.” the dark-haired man whispers, his hands traveling yet again to press against the small of your back. he nudges you close to him, your breasts pressing against his face. he chuckles at his new-found fortune before finally circling his tongue around one of your hardened nipples. 

with a hitched breath, you gingerly rake through his soft hair. “a-ah, i suppose if… he was involved, it must have been serious…” you shudder and respond absentmindedly, your anger and resolve beginning to melt at his touch. he hums and releases the nub with a quiet pop, resting his cheek against the flushed flesh of your skin. 

ah, you crumble fast.

his eyes wandered over to the small kitchen where his cold dinner was left on the table. all thanks to the issue down in the fortress. normally, he would come home once or twice a week. recently, it dwindled down to once a week and this time… he had left you home alone for exactly 12 nights straight. 

 “exactly. allow me to make it up to you.” he drawls lowly, his eyes flicking up at you for approval. when you give a slow nod, he suddenly roughly yanks you fully onto his cock, forcing you to grind your body against his. he pulled your body close, applying a sickly addictive pressure against your clit as his cock slides all of the way in. when he shoved your hips away, you’d whimper, wordlessly demanding to feel all of him again. wriothesley laughs when your keens morph into pleased, choked moans. biting his tongue, he’d hold back his own sounds when you’d clamp down on him or your pussy nearly drooled in his lap. 

you were still straddling the strong man’s lap, your back arching away from him to bare more of yourself to the duke.

“going to ruin my pants. hope you take responsibility.” wriothesley teases. within you, his heavy cock twitched at the warmth you graciously gifted him. from under you, you could feel him steady his legs, planting his feet into the cushions crumpled below. before you could respond, he nipped at your flesh, enjoying the surprised ‘ah!’ you bestowed to his ears. 

“i’ll — ah, fuck… ya feel perfect around me — make it up to you,” he grunts, his hips slamming upwards in sync with every word. you stumble forward, one hand resting on his chest and the other gripping his locks, hard. your head flies back and you cry out, and he shudders from the pleasured sting racing through him. from below, the man indulges in your teary glare before he continues his punishing rhythm to send both of you into bliss. each buck of his hips into your wet heat was sinful; the sound of his hips slapping against yours and the couch’s internal frame screeching echoed in his skull.

“s’good for me,” he coos, watching you struggle to steady yourself on his lap. his breath was no longer collected; quiet, stuttered grunts and heavy exhales filled the room each time his hips slapped against yours. shit, the sight of you struggling to take him in and the lewd wails spilling from your lips were divine. “takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

once he notices you have found some balance against his fast pace, he urges you to sit up straight again, helping you up. wriothesley’s quiet orders of ‘up, up’ and praise about being his ‘good girl’ gave you just enough strength to obey.

he slows down just a notch as one of his hands slides to your lower tummy in hopes to draw languid circles on your neglected clit. on the way down, the duke’s eyes widened when he felt the slightest bulge of his cock, and he laughs in disbelief before thrusting back up into your quivering pussy with renewed vigor.

“shit, sweetheart, you’re so good f’me–“

when you wail at the overwhelming pleasure of the duke fucking you dumb, your body spasms and you pull away, leaning away from him. the man was no artist, but with the way your body seemed to shimmer from the perspiration as his rough fucking made all your gorgeous bits jiggle in response, you were picture perfect on his lap. 

but wriothesley was moreso stuck on something else. something activated in his brain when he felt his cock through you and all he wanted to feel was to feel that again.

his thumb made their small laps around your nub, messily smearing your juices. his other hand tightened its bruising grip on your waist and fuck, he had hope that was going to leave a mark.

“so good for me, my love.” he repeats with a pant, his eyes darting around, struggling to decide on what part of your body he wanted to sear into his mind to replay during lonely nights deep under the sea.

your breasts that shook with each of his harsh thrusts?

the expanse of your cute tummy and the way his cock seemed to absolutely ruin – no, wait – enhance that sight?

or maybe the way your thighs seemed to have gone slack, allowing him to effortlessly buck up into you like his own pretty fucktoy?

your pretty cunt wrapping around his hard cock was a sight to behold, especially when he could catch the faintest of your juice splattering every time his hips met yours. “w-wrio…!” you cry out in response, feeling his cock ruthlessly bully the spongy spot within you. the wolfish man seemed to have made his decision and his eyes drilled at the slick coating where you were joined. he also stared at the cute little bump on tummy, as that was something he needed to worship. if he wasn’t abusing your g-spot, the tip of his cock was kissing your cervix. that dull ache from the size of him had long expired and—

“‘m’sorry,” he grits out, “should’ve never left ya home for so long,” his hand hastily flies to your back to hug you close to his body, his thrusts long losing their refined rhythm. your soft chest squished against his firm one and god, that was just the cherry on top of the soon-to-be creampie.

his arms wrapped around your body, caging you against him to take every buck of his hips into your warm cunt.

with your cries and begs to “p-please, make me cum make me cum make me—”  so close to his ear, he was hurdling straight towards the edge all thanks to you. the quiet night on the countryside was absolutely tainted by the sin coming from this small cottage. now, he was frantically burying himself in you, chasing release that was not too far away. “s-shit, pussy this good d-deserves to be–!”

you muffle your increasing moans at the crook of his neck, but before he can demand you to moan louder for him, you sloppily attach your mouth to a sensitive scar, clamping your teeth down on the flesh and he whimpers and shudders under you.

he blinks hard to rid his sight of the fireworks speckling his vision and he laughs breathlessly, “tryin’ to mark me up, pretty girl? fuck.” his eyes were glassy with tears from the juxtaposing pleasure and pain clouding his brain.

he was babbling, reciprocating your cries with his own rough groans into your ear as his orgasm was quickly approaching, “gonna fill you up, never shoulda left you alone—“

…how can a man go back to jerking off in a dimly lit office at the bottom of the sea?

simple. he can’t.

he might just ask if you want to become a new resident of the fortress.

not as an inmate, of course.

actually… if you were an inmate, would he get to use the cuffs?

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 8 (Breeding)

Kink: Breeding

Pairing: Male!Naga x Fem!Reader

Other Kinks: Slight Degradation

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1173 words

Kinktober Masterlist

Prince Dendra was everything a crown prince should be. Effortlessly refined, with a cool and detached voice which commanded respect in every room he entered. With a face and body carved like marble, the royal jewelry he wore around his neck and forehead evoked not greed but elegance, with jet-black hair always perfectly combed and brushed behind his ears. No action of his seemed unsightly, or unplanned. He’s the people’s and his parent’s favorite, he seems born to rule.

Even now, with his hair loose around his shoulders and his tongue deep in your pussy, there was no mistaking that he was the one in control.

“Your highness!”

Your legs shake and spasm around the Prince's head, another orgasm coerced out of you by his skilled mouth. This is the third of the night, having already been stretched out on the Prince’s fingers not 10 minutes earlier. Like everything else, Prince Dendra was thorough in maintaining your pleasure. And even though he insisted it was because intercourse was most effective when the woman orgasmed, he played your body with an eagerness unlike himself in other affairs.

You rarely heard sweet words from your future husband, usually just polite endearments and technical terms like “My fiancee” or the classic “Jewel of my crown” often used by Naga royalty.

But in the bedroom, Prince Dendra was voracious for them. His pet names ranged from loving to depraved: “My sweet” and “Darling” alongside “Whore” and “Cumslut.”

It may have been discombobulating, but in the heat if the moment those names just stir the fire in your gut. Dendra himself prefers only to he called “His highness” or “my king” in the bedroom; scandalous considering he was still yet to be coronated.

Prince Dendra pats your thigh, quickly pulling at your hips and flipping you on to your stomach. This is his preferred position for breeding, as he loves to dig his fingers and leave bruises in your hips, alongside watching your ass bounce against his cock.

“Fuck.” Prince Dendra swears under his breath, quickly sinking into your cunt. You moan into the pillow, fingers already clenching into the bed sheets, anticipating the hard spank against your ass before it comss. “You were made for this.” Prince Dendra growls, snapping his hips with a ferocity unbecoming of his station. You whine.

He snaps again, pressing hard against your g-spot. “Cunt, wrapped around my cock. Milking me for my royal seed.”

“Your highness…” You plead, wiggling your hips. Your pussy craves his cock, stretched into its shape by several nights of breeding.

“So desperate for it.” Prince Dendra begins thrusting his hips like a beast, raised up on his tail. You can imagine the way his abdomen clenches, balanced in the appendage as he fucks into you. “To think, my fiancee was such a depraved cum slut.” Prince Dendra enunciates the t, yanking your hips back into his cock. “So desperate to be bred, parading yourself around the castle in your new royal colors. You practically beg to be fucked, to be bent over and stuffed full.”

You nod into the pillow, tears dripping down from the side of your eyes. Bolts of electricity shoot up your spine with every thrust, already prepared for how your lower back will ache tomorrow morning.

You feel the defined bone of Prince Dendra’s pelvis hitting your backside, digging into the fat. But then you feel his stomach press against your back, his large hand pressed down on the pillows as he finds a new angle.

“These hips…” Prince Dendra pants right into your ear, his long hair curtaining your neck, “...we’re designed for my hands. For bearing my children. For bearing your king’s children.” His voice is a snarl, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “The gods themselves crafted you for me, sent me a wife to fuck and breed.” Fabric rips as the Prince’s claws dig open the duvet below, goose feathers sticking through the tears. His other hand, still on your hips, grips hard enough to leave bruises, just as the Prince likes.

That hand moves up from your hip and grabs your neck, yanking it back at an awkward angle. A moan strangles in your throat, morphing into a long whine when Prince Dendra begins sucking at your pulse. His serpentine tongue can wrap almost entirely around your neck, strong enough to leave collar like marks on the skin.

He’ll leave several hickeys, just like previous nights, but will always insist you cover them up. They’re for his eyes only, the mark of your husband, the mark of your highness.

“My k-king.” You whimper, feeling his cock jump inside you. “I’m getting c-close.” Prince Dendra pulls away from your neck, just enough to whisper-

“I know. I can feel your cunt tightening up, girl.” That tongue licks across your neck, eventually moving up to your shoulders and down your back. Prince Dendra rests his forehead between your shoulder blades, letting go of your sore nexk and setting his hand down onto the bed. “Arch your back.”

You follow the Prince's order, laying your chest flat on the bed and pressing your hips against him. The Prince pants above you. “That’s a good bitch.” The Prince purrs. “Chase your orgasm, milk my cock.” He derides, as if he is not as horny as you are. His cock throbs inside you, gushing pre cum as his tail flexes. He’s close too, but he always lets you cum first.

You’re too inebriated to argue, feeling your abdomen tighten as you get closer and closer. Your voice devolved into quick, high-pitched squeals.

“Yes, yes.” The Prince whispers. “C’mon, beg for it.”

“P-please!” Your throat aches, your body inching ever nearer to climax. “Give me your cum, my king! Breed me, my king!”

Prince Dendra rewards you with several hard thrusts, right up against your cervix. It’s enough to send you over the edge, pussy fluttering as it does in fact, milk your highness’ cock. Soon after, warm spurts of cum fill your pussy, enough to spill out from the side of the Prince’s erection and onto the silk bed sheets.

The Prince collapses on top of you, making sure to keep his cock sheathed and plugging your pussy. He sees it as sacrilege to waste his royal semen, and always makes sure to keep you full for at least 20 minutes after climax.

He does allow you to get in a more comfortable position, falling to the side and spooning your back, lovingly rubbing your hips and belly.

“I think we may have done it this time, my love.” Prince Dendra whispers in your ear. “I can’t wait to see you, round with my child. I don’t know-” The Prince chuckles, “-I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from breeding you, even when you're pregnant.”

You just nod, aching body slowly fading into unconsciousness. Hopefully the Prince is right. As pleasurable as it is, you’re not sure you could take 4 more days of this.

[halcyonwrld]

— A LATE BREAKFAST

PAIRING. Jennie Kim x Reader

With a big test coming up, you and your girlfriend make a bet to see who can stay awake the longest during your study date. Ultimately, you win. This is a brief glimpse of the cozy morning afternoon that follows. (1.3K)

TAGS. college!au, just some good ol’ domestic fluff, a suggestive mention or two, playful mention of suffocating 💀

Waking up feels like transitioning out of a daze and headfirst into a living daydream. Everything feels warm and hazy. Sunlight pours in slats through the blinds. Distantly, you register the sound of the humming air conditioner, and the soft lull of music from the apartment above you.

Being inside of these four walls brings you a feeling you can only describe as pure comfort. The kind that makes you wish you could stay in bed forever.

You yawn as you come to, sluggishly scanning your apartment.

The TV is on, paused on Netflix’s home screen.

With a groan, you stretch, careful of Kuma at the foot of the bed. The joints in your legs crack with a satisfying pop of pressure. That satisfaction is shortlived; you can’t help but grimace as you notice your arm is trapped.

Jennie snores softly against your shoulder, blissfully unaware of your predicament at the moment. Your girlfriend is practically on her stomach with the way she’s curled into you, black hair mussed wildly about on her forehead, arms contorted in such an awkward way you wonder how she’s sleeping so peacefully.

She’s lucky she’s cute.

You try to pull your arm, but no give. And an annoying blunt something is digging into your waist.

Turning fully onto your side, you blindly fumble with your hand underneath the sheets. You realize it’s your phone as soon as you get ahold of it.

Turning it on— your eyes widen: it’s nearly 2 in the afternoon! You can’t believe you’ve actually slept the entire morning away. Again.

It takes you mumbling her name at least three times before Jennie begins to rouse from her sleep. (Though, you think it's your weak movements attempting to free your arm that truly wakes her.)

She squints at the light, immediately screwing her eyes shut. Then, she loops an arm around your waist and nuzzles into your chest. “Five more minutes…” she murmurs, the ghost of her lips tickling your sternum.

“Jen…” you warn.

Like a child, she whines an indignant noise, burrowing further into your warmth.

You roll your eyes before you press a patient kiss to the top of her head. Your stomach grumbles; of course she smells like blueberries, of course.

“You… you know that you fell asleep first, right?” you murmur through a yawn, teasing despite the sleepy haze that still has a grip on you both.

"Mmm, no I didn't,” she rasps, lying straight through her teeth, “you fell asleep before me, but-"

"But nothing- unless… you have proof that I don’t?”

She goes quiet at that.

Too quiet.

"Babe… you're gonna fall asleep in five more minutes, and-” You huff, yanking your arm from underneath her. Tingles shoot down to your cold fingertips as the blood begins to flow back into your veins. “I need to piss."

Jennie groans. "Just hold it."

You scoff, pushing her away by the forehead. "How about I suffocate you instead?"

"Ugh… fine.”

Jennie rolls onto her back, allowing you to move. She cocoons herself in the sheets to the neck after you stand. Watches you with puffy, low eyes as you round the bed.

“Delete the photos… I know you have so many terrible pictures.”

You scoop up a random shirt from the floor, sending her a lovesick smile when your head pops out of the top. “Babe, please… you’re the most photogenic person I know.”

“Blegh,” she complains, face scrunched as she tugs your pillow over her head, “Too cheesy.”

You giggle as you make your way to the bathroom.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Jagiya…"

You hum at the term of endearment, glancing at your girl as you tug on a random pair of grey sweatpants, foamy toothbrush stuck to your jaw.

Jennie looks far more awake. In the time you’ve spent in the bathroom, she’s propped a pillow underneath her head, and found her phone. The sheets have slipped just below her collarbones, revealing the straps of her lace bra.

She places her phone on her stomach when you look at her, giving you her full attention. That soft stare of hers doesn't fail to give you butterflies.

"Thought you only needed the bathroom?" she asks.

You shrug. "Well, now I'm hungry."

She smirks. "No need to leave, I'm right here."

You roll your eyes and head back to the bathroom to finish up, ignoring her call of complaint.

"Since we missed breakfast, m’gonna make some. Want something specific?" you call before you turn on the shower for her, knowing she preferred to first thing in the morning.

You step out to hear her clearly, leaning your weight against the doorframe. She’s staring at herself in the ceiling mirror, rubbing an eye.

"Toast please,” she mumbles sweetly.

You hum, then collect all of your textbooks and loose papers from last night and shove them into your bag.

"What is-"

You look over.

Jennie is sitting up now, blankets bunched around her hips and a familiar paper in her hands. She smooths out a yellow sticky note, and you wince to yourself as she squints to read it, already knowing what it is.

She holds it up for you to see, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

You can barely make it out from where you’re standing, but you don't need to. You remember lazily scribbling the words ‘LOSER’ on it last night. Along with the click of your camera taking an incredible amount of pictures after sticking it to her forehead… how your drowsy laughter flooded the room as she didn't budge not once, too comfortable in your presence to once rouse from her sleep.

And yeah, maybe one of those pictures is your wallpaper right now, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

"Oh, where did that come from?” you drawl, scratching your head and glaring at the slip of paper as if you didn’t recognize it. “Weird.”

“Yeah… so weird.”

You glance around, trying to ignore the feeling of her knowing gaze burning holes into your face. Kuma scratches insistently at the door, whining. "Oh, Kuma needs to pee. Gotta go!" you rush, happy to have an out.

You swing open the door and let the canine rush out ahead of you, phone in hand as you escape Jennie’s grumbles to herself.

"Y/n!"

You pause mid-step down the hall, a suspicious squint to nothing in particular. Your girlfriend actually sounds upset. Kuma continues on without either of you, nails clicking against the floors as he jogs around the corner, not a care in the world as he races to the kitchen.

You shove your phone into your back pocket as you walk back to the room. You peek inside, blinking innocently as possible. "What?"

Steam wafts from the bathroom. Jennie is on the edge of the bed in nothing but a bra and some sweats, tying up her hair into a ponytail. The simple image of all of her beauty in a haze of golden light, is a sight that makes you swallow, hard.

She turns toward you, mischievous eyes brightening when she sees you've come back for her.

"Kiss please?" she begs in a voice you know all too well. She reaches out, expectant. Pleading with an expression that makes you a little weak in the knees.

Definitely a trap.

You’ll give her a 9/10 for effort, but you know any tricks she has up her sleeve will only prolong your day even further. Typically, you wouldn’t mind, but you’re nowhere near ready for an interrogation about the pictures you took last night, and you know she’s wondering.

You match her scheming smile, pretending to her request over. "Hm…. you can get all of the kisses you want, after you get up and brush your teeth.”

Just to be annoying, you blow one to her before you leave.

Jennie groans dramatically as you shut the door behind you.

[gaymaramada]

Rise! Boys reacting to S/O using their full name:

Y’all know that tiktok trend where ppl were calling their partners by their first name? This is basically that.

Leonardo

He’s definitely caught off guard, physically recoiling when you say it, “Whoa?? Government name??”

He makes a few jokes about it but inside he’s genuinely nervous that you’re mad at him.

When you don’t stop, he immediately assumes he did something to upset you and begins to defend himself.

“Look, I know I’ve had to cancel our last few dates, but these villains are getting crazy! I’m not trying to avoid you, I just— how about we do something tonight, yeah? I promise I won’t flake out, okay?”

Is low key on his knees begging for you to forgive him.

He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for, poor thing.

He’s extra sweet to you for the rest of the day, going out of his way to compliment you, ask how you’re doing, care for you—

You two are out and he breaks into a full sprint to open a door for you that you won’t reach for another three minutes.

When you eventually explain it was just a trend, he gets super embarrassed but tries to brush it off.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, I knew that. I was just playing along for the joke, heh. Duh.”

Donatello

Uh, no. He must have misheard you.

He does a full 180 at his workbench and all but yanks his goggles off his eyes, “Pardon, what did you just call me?”

He’s almost offended because that is not his name when you two are alone.

Hell, it’s not even his name when you’re not alone — it’s just Donnie.

He immediately abandons whatever he’s working on and starts typing up a list of all the pet names you two use with each other.

“As you are already aware, my terms of endearment tend to range from ‘dear’ to ‘darling’ to ‘my love’ in the majority of our interactions.”

“You often refer to me as ‘D’, ‘honey’, ‘love’, and — my personal favorite — ‘Einstein’. Never once in the length of our relationship have you ever called me by my full name.”

He’s petty about it because, in truth, he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

It’s just his name.

But something about the way you say it so casually just feels very wrong.

When you tell him about the trend, he’s even more perplexed.

“What kind of ‘trend’ is that? That is the lamest idea I’ve ever heard of. Please, for the sake of both our sanities, just call me Donnie.”

“… or Einstein. That’s good, too.”

Raphael

Oh, he is immediately worried and it shows, “Are you okay? Did… did I do something?”

The two of you use pet names religiously, so hearing you say all three syllables of his name is jarring.

He’ll ask you if there’s anything he can do for you and give you space when he thinks you need it.

Which would be very sweet if you were actually upset, but you’re not.

He misses being called ‘Raphie’ and ‘bubs’ and ‘sweetheart’.

Eventually he takes your hands and says, “I’m sorry if I made you upset, or if I’m just being dramatic, but… Raph loves you, and he just wants you to remember that.”

And that’s all it takes for you to cave in and tell him about the trend.

“Aw, honey, don’t do that to me! You know I get all worried about that kind of stuff. I’m glad you’re not mad at me, though — I was starting to miss your nicknames.”

“Sorry, bubs,” You say, and his tail is wagging immediately.

Michelangelo

He’s not too phased at first.

Like yes, that’s his name.

But then you keep doing it and he starts getting confused.

He doesn’t get why you’re doing it but he won’t stop you.

He does get a bit self-conscious after a bit, though, when it’s the only thing you call him.

He tries to subtly guide you into using nicknames throughout the day.

“Don’t worry, Mikey’s got it!”

“Hey, there you are! Your loving sweet potato made you some lunch!”

“Aw, come on Y/N! Could you say no to this cutie pie?”

Eventually, he’s had enough, and you find yourself in a stern confrontation with Dr. Delicate Touch.

When you explain that it’s just a trend, he immediately pulls back.

“Oh! That makes way more sense! I was starting to think you’d just forgotten all my pet names, or something!”

[jollyhaunt]

coruscant has the space equivalent to the cosmopolitan magazine, including those celebrity quizzes pertaining to things such as "which actor is your bestie" etc. except they come out with an issue about the jedi INCLUDING "which jedi master would be your soulmate"

the troopers have a riot with this, the jedi amused just as much if not more (no one has heard yoda laugh this much since a prank some padawans *cough cough obiwanandquinlan COUGH* had pulled on mace). cody had refused to participate in the quiz no matter how much heckling he received from the 212th. on the other hand, obiwan is having a riot with it.

when obiwan hears troopers who got him, he becomes more friendly than before—overuses terms of endearments, more pats on the shoulders, smiling a little sweeter, those sorts of things. 212th troopers who got jedi like anakin or plokoon, obiwan just waggles a teasing brow and makes teasing little comments whenever they're teamed up.

it's rex that finally gets cody to take the quiz. some off hand comment about obiwan and his eyes or something along those lines. cody just yanks out the nearest datapad and does the questionnaire with much more thought than he ought to.

and what'd ya know—he got obiwan.

rex leaks it to the 212th and cody receives so much crap for that. obiwan overhears it and bc he is such a bastard, participates in all the teasing, just outright starts flirting bc isn't it so fun to see cody, marshall commander of the 3rd system army, become pink in the face from all the implications?

the next issue is of the high ranking officers of the GAR, including the clones. obiwan gets cody and anakin gives him so much crap for it as well. cody gives obiwan a taste of his own medicine

[after-witch]

Feitan acts like a cat sometimes. A cat who can and will bite and (literally) scratch you just because he feels like it, but a cat nonetheless.

Honestly it's really apt.

And like a cat, if Feitan is giving you affection... you don't move, you don't acknowledge it, it is given on HIS terms and if you dare to appreciate or acknowledge it in any way (even by wanting to return said affection in your own way) you are going to fuck it up. He'll huff off and be in a bad mood.

Like yes, maybe he wanted to put his head in your lap while you're watching an incredibly gory horror move of his choosing... that doesn't mean you should rest your hand on his head or put your arm around his shoulder, unless he explicitly tells you to do so or simply yanks your hand and places it where he wants.

But then there are times where he doesn't mind it. Maybe it makes him far more endeared to you, if you gently return his affection. It's just that you'll never ever be able to tell when it's acceptable or not. Good luck.

Cat law, Feitan law, strikingly similar.

[itsnotgray]

We're living different lives

Heaven only knows

If we'll make it back with all our fingers and our toes

Five years, twenty years, come back

It will always be the same

For the first time since the end of August, all of the Fantilli siblings would be under one roof. Albeit, only for three days, but it was three days that they were determined to make count.

Luca was the first to fly home, following the conclusion of the first semester. About a week later, came the twins. First was Gianna, who left straight from the rink in Nashville (as Luca could tell by the wet hair she was sporting), nearly forgetting to even tell her teammates she was leaving, eager for whatever scraps of time she could get with her family.

The minute his baby sister stepped off that plane, it was as if someone had lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders. He threw his arms around her, smothering his face in her hair as he inhaled the scent of the shampoo she’d been using since she was 14. Gianna returned the sentiment, clinging onto her older brother as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. “Lu,” she cried into his shoulder, the relief of being reunited with one of her brothers, one of the people whose presence had been so distinctly woven into her life force, that the past few months of separation has been akin to torture, making it’s way to the surface. “Gi,” he said soothingly, tilting her head back so he could wipe her tears, the same way he used to when she was learning to skate all those years ago. A watery smile made its way onto his face as he uttered the words he’d been rehearsing for the past week, “Welcome back sorella.”

At the familiar term of endearment only her family was privy to, she launched herself at Luca, her arms encircling his neck as she began crying again. At last, her tears dried up, and she unpried herself from her Luca, mostly at the insistence of her stomach. “Now, can I go grab a snack before Mo gets here? I’d wait, but I haven’t eaten since before the game yesterday,” Gianna questioned while quickly taking out her phone to make sure her face wasn’t too terribly swollen from the tears she’d just shed. “Sure Gi, go ahead,” he responded while glancing down at his phone to check for any updates from Adam. A few beats of silence passed, before Luca glanced up, confused as to why she hadn’t walked away. He locked eyes with Gianna, who stood there awkwardly, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Do you want anything?” She questioned, voice as earnest as it always had been. He shook his head softly, and she quickly pivoted on her feet and made her way to the nearest coffee shop. Luca stared after her, a small smile on his face- it was like the old days. As long as he ignored the looming feeling of dread, dread at the fact that their time was limited, that she and Adam (who wasn’t even here yet) both left in two (technically three) days, he could pretend it was just like the old days.

Around an hour later, the third piece of their puzzle was getting off of his flight. Luca shook Gianna awake, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder shortly after returning with her snack, and barely got out the words, “Mo’s flight just landed,” before she shot up out of her seat, as if pure caffeine had just been injected into her veins. Without haste, Gianna threw herself to her feet, before quickly turning around and yanking Luca to his. “C’mon Lu, be ready- wait, which direction will he be coming from?” She spoke, the words rolling off of her tongue, too fast for her brain to comprehend, excitement taking over her body at the prospect of finally being in the same place as both of her brothers. “Should come from the left, if I scoped out the place correctly,” he said while wrapping an arm around her shoulders, as if to hold the girl back from sprinting to Adam the second she saw him.

About twenty minutes pass, before finally, Gianna catches a glimpse of the “stupid and entirely unnecessary” beanie she forced Adam to wear, so they’d be able to spot the boy from a distance. “Lu I think see him,” Gianna expressed excitedly, the girl beginning to bounce up and down on her heels, Once Adam got within a few feet of the pair, both siblings took off towards Adam, wrapping him in what their parents (who had elected to stay home, both to give the siblings time to reunite, but also to get some sleep- which they knew would be hard to do having all of their babies under one roof again) would call a “Fantilli take-down,” mostly because, had Adam not planted his feet on the ground in preparation, he easily would've fallen straight to the airport ground, which he was not about to do. The moment he felt the arms of his siblings encase him, he dropped his bags to the floor and wove his arms around someone, though he wasn't sure who, because their three bodies were so intricately woven together in this moment, it was impossible to tell where Luca ended and Gianna began. He tried to force a few words out of his mouth, but the emotional shell shock at finally reuniting with his best friends had seemingly made his brain short circuit. Yet, there was no doubt that the silent sobs that wracked his shoulders, and the tears on his cheeks said all of the words he couldn’t.

For this one brief moment, it was like the world stopped. For the first time in about four months, the pieces of the tattered, kindred spirits that resided in the each of three siblings, were at peace. At that moment, they were one soul, split into three hearts.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 6: Retribution (NSFW!)

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your husband seeks justice.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04 for beta-ing! Thank you also to @evisnotok​, @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ajthefujoshi for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, graphic violence, graphic depictions of blood and torture, graphic depictions of murder, erectile dysfunction.

He can hear you screaming the moment he alights upon the top of the stairs.

“Guards! Guards!” he roars, already running.

Bolting down the corridor, his mind whirls with terror. What will he find when he gets to your rooms? He braces himself, thoughts whirling uncontrollably. Thoughts of stained sheets and the scent of copper and death upon the air, your tear-stricken face wild and wretched with the anguish of being ripped apart by babes too small to survive, the still forms of infants in miniature, slick with blood and already greying upon the ground below you—

What he discovers is infinitely worse.

The Mallery knight is engaged in a tussle with an unknown assailant, the clash of steel ringing in his ears and reminding him of battles past. You lay on the stone floor beside a body, one of two, your face and hair and gown wet with gore. A man straddles your legs, brandishing a knife that inches its way toward your belly. Toward his heirs. You’re giving him a good showing, kicking your legs and shoving at his weight with all your might and shrieking—but you are not strong enough to sway the encroaching threat of the blade in his hand.

“Shut up, girl!” The malefactor grapples against your stubborn hands preventing the knife from reaching its target, holding it at bay. “Not ‘ere for you… just them babies in you. Hold still!”

“No!” you yell, spitting in his face. The man snarls, backhanding you. You yelp.

Daemon moves instantly, unsheathing Dark Sister and striding toward the fray with barely a second thought. The Valyrian steel slides through flesh like butter, piercing straight through the assailant’s back and up through his ribs while being careful to miss his heart.

Non-lethal, painful. I want him to feel this.

The man shouts, dropping the knife. He yanks the sword out and kicks him away from you, sneering as he watches his prey scramble through the ooze of his own life essence. He’s still alive. Daemon casts aside his sword and falls upon your attacker, taking up the other man’s blade and slicing cleanly across the jugular, just enough pressure to release a gruesome spray that wets his face and tunic. He wants this creature to die bloody.

“Daemon—”

He presses his thumbs into the cut, smiling darkly as the man thrashes and gurgles. Ichor stains his skin and fills his nostrils with the stink of metallic warmth, humanity reduced to its basest form and lashing about in its final throes—

“My Prince—ah!”

In his periphery, he catches a figure scrambling from the room through the narrow server’s passageway, Mallery falling to the ground and clutching his leg. The man below him is still twitching. He cannot let him go until he is certain he’s dead, until he has paid the price for daring to lay his hands on you.

The guards burst into the room from the main entrance, taking in the scene with shock. Fucking useless.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he growls, releasing his hold on the man below him. He’s dead. The knowledge that he has taken care of this immediate threat to your safety soothes him somewhat. And yet, not all have been vanquished. Jerking his head in the direction of the opening in the far wall, he says, “One of the attackers escaped. After them!”

They nod hastily, sprinting away with a clang. Daemon readies for the influx of more people; the Kingsguard, the servants, the nobles, his fucking brother—

“Daemon…”

Your weeping reaches his ears, little fingers brushing tentatively against his shoulder. The gentleness of the motion breaks him from his violent spiral. His gaze jerks to yours, the burning rage cooling to a simmering ember as he takes in your terrified demeanour: wide eyes and quivering lip and tears tracking through spattered crimson akin to grisly warpaint.

You swallow. “He—he—”

He is momentarily struck by fear. What if you’ve been wounded? What if your pains have started? That old urge to run at the first sign of strife rears its ugly head, but he tamps it down viciously. I am not that man anymore.

“Sh.” Pulling you bodily to him, he feels the weight of you solid in his arms and on his lap, a reminder that he has not yet lost what is most important to him.

She is safe. She is safe. The rest can wait.

He runs his bloodied hand along your jaw, down your spine, across your belly, cataloguing every iota of you as though it is the first time he has ever held you. It might have been the last. He cannot help that the movements are rougher than he’d like, frantic and desperate.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to plunge you further into hysterics. “The babes?”

You nod shakily, tugging his hand back to your swollen middle. And oh, what a moment to feel the thudding motions of his children, the first time he has been able to lay a palm there and experience the sensation himself. They are active within your womb, small thumps and jabs that are more delicate than he had expected—but they are alive.

Tears burn in his eyes, angry, boiling things that he cannot, will not let loose. Not now.

He bands an arm beneath your knees and lifts you from the ground—the cold stone is no place for his little niece, his sweet baby wife—reassured by the heaviness of you and his heirs all. Conveying you swiftly to the bed with hardly a care given to the large stains smearing across the covers, he supposes you shall need an entirely new set of chambers, what with the mess soaking the stone ground.

Several arrivals occur in quick succession. Four of the Kingsguard enter and move immediately to secure the perimeter, one breaking off to aid Mallery across the room by tamping the ichor oozing steadily from his leg. Good man. He’d have hated to have to slay your sworn shield for incompetence, but his performance had been admirable in the face of the odds laid before him. It looks likely that he will not be able to use the limb again, though.

The healer woman is the next to toddle in, exclaiming in dismay at the sight. Your lady-in-waiting—and oh, fuck, the body that had been beside you is the other, he realises—follows swiftly on her heels, immediately bursting into tears when she absorbs the carnage.

Ūlla picks her way around the debris in a manner that is almost comical. “Princess! Princess! Are you safe?”

One of the Cargylls—he can never fucking tell them apart—steps before her, blade pointed in her direction.

She scoffs. “Move, boy! Pah—are you ‘Princess’, then? Go away!”

As much as he’d love to see the ensuing standoff, now is not the time. It’d be best to have the physician verify that you and his heirs are well. No doubt the shrew will bring you a measure of matronly comfort that he cannot.

“Let her through,” he commands.

The knight steps aside reluctantly, allowing her to proceed onwards. Daemon moves away for the woman to begin fussing over you, for your attendant to step into place so as to comfort you. He is wrenched by the sound of your plaintive whimper when he has gone too far for you to reach.

But needs must—this is not over.

He rolls over each of the attackers lying dead on the ground with a foot, examining them with pursed lips. There’s a blotch on each of their cheeks. At first, he assumes it is no more than a discolouration of the skin, perhaps a curious disease or a sign of familial relation—but leaning closer and wiping some of the blood away reveals that they are in fact identical stars carved and scarred over. Seven points.

Mellos makes his way inside, no doubt summoned for Mallery. It is a rare occasion indeed to see him act decisively; he dithers in overdramatic fright but for a moment before moving along to his task.

Lord Cunttower himself appears then, accompanied by his bitch of a daughter with the King in tow.

Daemon sees red.

“You,” he whispers, or maybe he shouts it. He can barely hear anything over the pounding in his ears as he shoves his brother’s prized lackey against the wall, cursing his lack of a blade. “You’ll die for this.”

“Daemon!”

“Look at her!” he snarls.

Hands wrapped around the man’s throat, Daemon revels in the distressed gasps and choking gags as the lord’s face slowly turns purple. The snake tries to pull at his grip, but a pompous fuck from the Reach is no match for a seasoned Targaryen warrior. Viserys is at his back, pulling at his shoulder with his one remaining hand. No doubt that is the Hightower whore crying out from further away.

“Look at my fucking wife, Otto! Mark my words”—he hounds ever closer to see the panic and the fear in the eyes of a man so usually unshakeable—“if this is your doing, not even the King or the gods themselves will stop me from taking your head—”

“Guards!”

“Kepus!”

He is dragged back by the nearest of his brother’s soldiers, forced to release his punitive grip. Otto sags with a guttural heave, water streaming from his eyes and clutching at his neck. Alicent rushes to her sire, staring between him and Daemon with sheer distress painting her features. Her hands flutter uselessly over the bruise already blooming across the flesh, though her overtures are quickly batted away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Viserys asks, even greyer as he looks about the scene of your attack; the blood, the bodies, your sworn shield emitting a muffled howl through a strap of leather between his teeth as the Grand Maester cauterises the wound. “What—”

“They ca—came for the babes.” Your speech is slack and monotone now that the shock has properly set in.

I can’t fucking do this, Daemon thinks.

He nudges the healer out of the way and ignores her grumble to sit beside you on the bed, to clutch at you once again and remind himself that you’re here. You grip his hand for support, heedless of the dried gore flaking off between joined palms.

“Three of them,” you say, numb. “They—oh, gods. They killed Miriam. They killed her.”

“Sh.” He presses his lips to your head, the smell of the rose oil apparent even through all the blood. She’s safe. She’s safe. He turns to your present company, to the figures of the King and Queen and Hand, arranged in various poses of horror. “This was not an accident. These—these scum knew what they were doing. They made their way into your Keep. They meant to slaughter your daughter’s babes, and in doing so, murder my wife. This is treason, Your Grace, of the highest order.”

Viserys looks as though his spirit is about to part from his body, pallid and desolate in the face of this hidden menace. “But why?” he asks, a child at prayer.

Daemon scoffs at the naivete. Is his failure to acknowledge the wound he has let fester for so long really so great? Of all the people in this room, the King ought to know best that all choices have consequences.

“My daughter’s never caused harm to a single man, woman or child,” the King continues. “Who would do this?”

“Ask him.” Daemon glowers at Hightower, who is still covering the line of his neck with his own hand.

The man makes a noise of incredulity. “I have been ever loyal to your King and your House these many years, Prince Daemon,” he says, or tries to. His voice is gravelly, raspy in the way that belies a considerable trauma inflicted upon the area. He affects a moue of outrage, though the alarm lingers. “To accuse me of such a—grievous crime—as to engineer the slaying of the Princess’s babes is simply preposterous!”

“And to what cause?” his daughter asks, forcing an aura of regality. It does not suit her. She’s far too common to view as anything more than a descendant of wildling savages. “Where is the benefit to doing such a thing?”

This time, Daemon cannot help but snort aloud. He stands, passing you back into the care of the healer, who has gathered a basin of water and some rags with which to start shedding you of the layers of congealed blood upon your face. You do not need to hear this part, and so he strides closer to the trespassing forms before him.

This time, he directs his poisonous inquiry to the Hightower woman, finally laying the truth of the matter bare.

“Have you yourself not openly alleged that the Princess Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards, my Queen?” He keeps his tone deliberately light, though it is clear all can sense the danger lurking beneath each intonation. “It stands to reason that, to those who might be persuaded to believe such falsehoods, my wife would be her heir by right of precedence. And if my wife should bear a son? Well, that makes your son’s claim rather difficult to advance, doesn’t it?”

“How dare you accuse me—”

“Enough!” his brother say, hushing himself when he notices he has caught your attention across the room. His next words are spoken far softer. “Did I not say that such rumours would incur a stay in the Black Cells? I do not wish to hear speculation as to the legitimacy of my grandsons!”

“Your Grace.” Daemon genuflects.

His rage is a seething, smouldering thing, but he needs Viserys on side if he is to tear the capital apart to find this cunt and rend him into pieces. There are plenty who believe him to be an unreasonable beast when the fire burns through his veins, but he is more than just an unmoored conflagration; he’s a fucking Prince, and he knows how to play the game when the occasion calls for it.

Assuming a countenance as servile as he can manage, he appeals directly to his brother. “Close the city gates,” he begs quietly. “Give me the City Watch. Let me root out the last of these cu—these reprobates, street by street, door by door. Let me gift my wife the justice she is owed.” He steps aside so that Viserys can see straight to you, to the way you have begun to tremor despite the huddled warmth of the women who are tending to you, to your face streaked scarlet with the blood of others, to your hands clasped tightly against your belly in protection of your children. “Please. If not for me… then for her.”

Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls.

“This affront must not be allowed to go unpunished,” the King says, suddenly weary. “I give you leave to find this assassin, brother, so that we may learn who has placed a price on my daughter’s life.”

Daemon is one step closer to meting out punishment. He can already taste the death and destruction that awaits. Staring down the Hightowers, he says, “I will find the perpetrators, Your Grace. And there will be no mercy for those responsible.”

Let this be a warning to all who believe the Rogue Prince to be a tamed man. He is a fucking dragon, and this city will soon feel the flames of his wrath.

He gives Rollingford the orders to start the search without him.

“Thin build, dark hair, has a star cut into his right cheek. An old wound.” He rattles off all he has gleaned from his observations and yours and Mallery’s testimonies to the Commander of the gold cloaks. “Likely to be bleeding, probably limping on his left leg. I want him located. I want him surrounded until I arrive. No one is to touch him. This one is mine. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ser,” the solemn soldier says, snapping to attention jerkily before striding off with his captains in tow. He is already issuing directives as he rounds the corner.

Ser. It is easy to sink into the role of combatant, doing away with titles and courtesies to embrace the mortality and mayhem of battle—but he cannot allow the bloodlust to consume him just yet.

Though you insist in a small whisper that it is not necessary, he carries you from your (old, spoiled, defiled) chambers to the King’s rooms himself. It is a temporary respite for you and your staff until the final attacker has been caught. He chafes at relinquishing you to your father’s care—it tastes strangely of defeat—but even he cannot deny that these apartments are the safest in the city, if not the Realm.

There is a self-indulgent joy that seeps through the cracks of his fury at the sight of Viserys so flummoxed by your insistence that he remain as you are bathed and dressed in nightwear, finally free of the wash of thick crimson that had crusted in your silver hair and stained your blossom-soft skin. His brother’s own bed has been stripped and redressed for your use, a surprising concession—or perhaps not. You are one of two pieces left of Aemma, after all.

Daeron had been brought to you for comfort, and you hold him as tightly to you as you had held your dolls in gummy fists as a tot, meek and withdrawn. It makes his chest ache to see you so terrified.

He uses the very last of his patience to help the healer woman coax watered dreamwine to your lips, to bundle you in tight in the bed beside your brother, to stroke at your hair and your belly and hum some half-recollected lullaby from your childhood or his until your eyes droop, exhausted and overcome.

As he rises to depart from the room—to seek his retribution—he shares a glance with the King, one that is mayhaps a beat too long to lack meaning. In it, he tries to convey what he cannot say aloud. ‘Protect her for me. Keep her safe while I cannot. Do this for me, brother.’

It is the first time in many a year that he is united in common cause with this man. A single nod, and then he exits, the Kingsguard closing ranks and barring the door from all who may seek entry.

The air is sharp with the chill of night and the stifle of smoke wafting from lit torches, the dim orange smoulder a gloomy spotlight throwing the shadows of soldiers into stark relief. Daemon can hear the cries near and far of alarmed citizens and distressed patrons as the City Watch raids homes and taverns and storefronts. The sound is intoxicating, a pulse of vicious pleasure loosening the strain in his shoulders and the tightness of his breath.

This is what he does best—bringing chaos and cruelty to his enemies’ doorstep. It’s a reminder of the fate that awaits those who dare to cross the House of the Dragon. Until this man is found, the entire city is his enemy.

“My Prince.” Rollingford falls into step beside his horse as he crosses into the Great Square, seemingly appearing from the shadows. An impressive skill. He slides down from the saddle, absently patting the mount’s flank when he chuffs at the motion. With an arched brow, he wordlessly prompts the Commander to continue. “We have guards manning all seven gates, as well as postings along the Blackwater. The harbour has been closed and the ships at dock searched, and the men are working their way through the city.”

“Good. What of the High Septon? I want him questioned. Make use of Largent.”

“The—the High Septon?” Rollingford asks. He does his best to sound carefully blank, but Daemon can hear the underlying pitch of nervousness.

“Yes, the fucking High Septon,” he snaps. “He’s here, isn’t he? Some business with the King. Tell him that the Prince wants to know why three assassins bearing the Seven-Pointed Star attempted to murder my wife and heirs earlier tonight. If he resists—bring him to me. I care not for the wrath of his gods.”

“Ye—yes, Ser.”

He doesn’t actually believe the Faith to be responsible for the attack. Those petty worshippers have become unmanned since the days of Jaehaerys, and the High Septon is far too gutless a creature to conjure up such a scheme. He also doubts any of the man’s underlings have the capacity to act without first being thoroughly vetted by the circuitous bureaucracy of the Most Devout. But it will send a message that none are safe from his wrath, one he hopes will lure forth the real culprits.

It nears dawn when the search bears fruition. One of the soldiers—Cressey, he thinks, or perhaps Hayford—brings forth a location.

“We’ve got ‘im surrounded, milord,” he says, “so ‘e’s not likely to escape. But those nearabouts all say they saw a bloodied man with a star on ‘is cheek limp inside and not come out. That was some time ago.”

It might just be a form of irony that the answers I seek are to be found once more in the whorehouses of King’s Landing, he thinks to himself.

He retraces the familiar route to the Street of Silk—straight down the Street of Sisters, left onto the Street of Flour, right along Copper Street—the sound of hoofbeats against cobblestone overloud in the early morning. It is easy to tell which of these establishments houses his quarry, the glimmer of the gold cloaks easily recognisable even in weak light.

The men part for him as he stalks along the way directly to the heavy oak door. Curious. Run-down, moth-eaten and hosting some of the most common girls in the Realm, this particular brothel had been one of the cheaper bastions of debauchery in his youth. A fuck was a fuck no matter which way it was dressed, though, so it is not as though he had refused their attempts to solicit his coin. A good Prince is a fair one, after all. The door is new, and already he can see signs of refurbishment in the scrubbed-clean stone and the pale thatching of the roof.

Daemon barges directly inside, immediately being struck by the thick clogging scent of incense and sweat and bodily fluids. Gone are the thready chaises and faded portraits and the half-destroyed staircase. Instead, the space is dark and richly furnished in deep reds and blacks, the walls inlaid with lacquered wood and gleaming with the flicker of burning braziers.

Several whores squeal at the suddenness of his importunity, turning wide kohl-lined eyes to his form from where they sit in the laps of strangers in various stages of undress about the open foyer. He scans each of the patrons critically, seeking out one who matches the description of his target.

Bald, pot-bellied, pockmarked, old, young, yellow hair, black hair… A veritable array of men soused on drink and desperation, and yet there is no sign of your assailant.

A woman moves from the shadows, her speech carrying above the sighs and moans despite the soft, lilting cadence. “Welcome to the Gilded Doll, good Ser. What pleasures do you seek this day?”

I know that voice.

“Mysaria.” His long-time paramour smiles teasingly at his shock, flicking her dark hair over her shoulders at the recognition. Little about her has changed since their separation. “I thought you’d be in Pentos.”

He had left her there in the Prince’s palace what seems like so long ago now. It is strange to think upon the version of himself who had been so afflicted by desire for Rhaenyra. Sometimes, he forgets you have only been wedded to him for a comparatively short period. There is a settled comfort in his life with you, a conviction and dependence that still surprises him. Peace is not a feeling he thought he’d ever find in marriage.

“My place is in Westeros, My Prince,” she says. She steps closer—too close. His tense demeanour does not go unnoticed, for she wisely elects to drop the carefully cultivated mask of temptation to speak honestly. “You are not the only one who has been called back to these shores by those in need.”

He scoffs. Ah, yes—I’d forgotten about her delusions of grandeur. “And you’re doing your great philanthropic work as the madam of a brothel? I suppose it’s not a terrible advancement for a common whore.”

“Not so common, perhaps.” Her crimson lips twist, the old insult stinging still. She will accept a great many indignities, but never has she abided being regarded as someone unexceptional. “My women are well-cared-for, which is more than I can say for most of the brothels along the Street of Silk.”

He rolls his eyes, already growing bored by the conversation. He’s not here for a reunion. “Such a noble cause. Effigies ought to be built for you, I’m sure.”

“What brings you here, Daemon?” she asks.

“A trio of assailants tried to murder my wife earlier this evening,” he says, afforded some measure of privacy by the collection of sounds filling the room. Though his blood is up by the promise of violence, there is none left to fill his cock—and truthfully, he does not know if the sight of whores’ tits or the wet squelch of overused cunts or the shrill performances echoing from the second floor are even enough to elicit such a reaction now. He’d much rather stare at your tits and hear your moans and fuck your cunt. “Two have been dispatched, and the last has been tracked to your establishment. You’d do well to tell me where he is.”

She stares up at him but for a moment, something unreadable in the set of her features.

“I have a great many customers walk through these doors, My Prince,” she says, brow arching challengingly. That veiled insolence had been what had drawn him to her in the first place, when she was just an exotic dancer from Lys baring her body for him and his lackeys in the Blue Pearl. So few dared to test his famed temper, fewer still who’d let him fuck them whichever way he pleased. It rings hollow now. He wonders if her defiance had always been so trite. “You will have to describe the man to me.”

He rattles off the description in a short tone, a warning that she ought not to tarry much longer lest his malice seek out the nearest recipient. Her answer is prompt, wary: “Second floor, fourth door on the right.”

He pulls Dark Sister from its sheath in a pre-emptive motion, again startling those nearby, and makes to climb the steps.

“Daemon.” She lays her hand on his arm, stopping him briefly. “Try not to destroy the furnishings. It costs a pretty coin to maintain such luxury.”

She knows me well. He nods, and then pulls away.

The surprise of Mysaria’s return is one he discards to the recesses of his mind for the time being, allowing the ire to scald in his veins as he trudges to the far quieter upper landing. The sounds of groaning and rustling are muted, almost far-off, a mere backdrop to the thunder of his heart in his ears.

So close. I’m so close.

The fourth door does not open on first attempt. He tries again. Locked. Once more. He takes a few steps back and slams his full weight into the barricade, bursting the wood clean off the hinges.

The whore inside screams in fright, clutching her shawl to her chest. ‘Tis strange to see a clothed whore in a private room, he thinks, surveying the mousy-haired woman and her dull brown eyes and too-thin lips. How drab. That she is still dressed is a promising sign, one that suggests that mayhaps she is not alone. He looks around the room for another; there is no evidence of any company.

Then, he spots the wardrobe ajar, a slight wobble to its frame—as though a heavy being has flung themselves inside. There.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls, levelling the whore with the most vicious look he can muster. She squeaks and darts out into the hallway, vanishing from sight.

His focus affixes itself once more to that sliver of darkness, within which he is certain his mark has tried to hide. He tarries, waiting to see if the other will make the first move; he cannot help the incredulity that arises when he encounters nothing but silence.

Does he honestly believe he has successfully concealed himself from retribution?

With a baring of teeth that is more a grimace than a smile, Daemon strikes, darting forward to fling the door wide and grasp onto whatever part of the man he can reach.

“Lemme go!” your assailant yells, crying out as he is dragged free from discarded gowns and thrust onto the floor.

How… disappointing. He’s already pissed himself, and Daemon hasn’t even had the opportunity to make him regret ever stepping foot in this world yet.

“I didn’ do nuffink, good ser—”

He cuffs the man across the face, a return upon the strike so callously landed across your sweet little face. It knocks more than one tooth loose, leaving him dazed and groaning on the ground, the fight abruptly beaten out of him.

“You were in the Red Keep earlier,” Daemon says, pulling the commoner upright by the hair and dealing another wallop to the nose. An audible crunch sounds out as the bone gives way beneath his knuckles, and the man moans weakly, stunned and bleeding from his leg and his face. “Your co-conspirators are dead. Tell me what I want to know, and your end will be quick.”

He matches your account exactly—dark hair, thin, and that fucking star emblazoned in scar tissue across his cheek. There is a curious pin on his lapel, an insect of some sort rendered in metal.

“I dunno what you mean,” the wretch moans, caterwauling when Daemon steps down on his fingers and grinds them into the ground. Each digit gives way with small pops, pulverising into jagged puzzle pieces no healer is skilled enough to patch together. “I wos here visitin’ my sister, and I ain’t done nuffink in no Keep, Ser!”

I’m almost glad for the resistance.

“A pity,” Daemon says. The man relaxes at the affected resignation in his tone. His mistake. “We’ll do this the hard way, then.”

He shoves the man against the wardrobe and drives Dark Sister cleanly through the meat of his shoulder, pinning him to its surface like a butterfly on canvas. His screams are piercing, surely disrupting the business taking place throughout the brothel. The scarred star stretches grotesquely as he vocalises his agony.

“Who sent you to murder the Princess? Who?!” Daemon snarls, twisting the blade for good measure. Scarlet trickles from the wound, blooming dark down the fabric of the man’s shirt. The howl that releases itself from his throat is nearly inhuman, a drawn-out choking heave that tingles in his extremities. “Talk!”

“I—I—I’m sorry, we wos offered coin—there ain’t none to be had wif the Order—”

Pathetic. Daemon had hardly needed to incentivise him overmuch and yet the scum is already spilling everything. No wonder he had run. Cowards never change their stripes, after all.

“A Poor Fellow, are you?” he asks, angling the blade up slightly and pushing in just a little further.

Daemon had suspected as much. The Seven-Pointed Star is a sure indicator that the attackers are sworn to the Faith Militant, though it is obvious that the evening’s trials had not been the work of those particular sycophants. It seems that an attempt has been made to lay the plot at the High Septon’s door—which means the architect is intelligent.

He continues his line of questioning, manipulating the hilt of his sword to widen the wound, each press shredding fresh slices into overwrought tissue. He basks in the squalling and weeping below him, the singular sound of flesh rending apart, the rich heady aroma of fear and gore. The desire to split open his guts and feed him his own entrails is tempting, but this is not the time. He needs information.

“What price was enough to make you abandon your precious Faith and risk eternal damnation, hm? Three stags? Four? A gold coin?”

The man gasps, spasming with each shift of the blade. “Three! Three, Ser—”

Three gold coins. A wealthy mastermind, then. It narrows the field considerably. Only the nobles at court would have that kind of coin to spend on a plot with a variable chance of success.

Daemon brings his foot down on the Fellow’s knee, crunching the joint beneath his steel-capped boot. With an almighty crack, the bone gives way, its owner leaning to the side to vomit. The acrid stench of sourness permeates the air, tangling with the scents of blood and piss.

He sneers, kicking the man’s leg for good measure. It splays at a misshapen angle, bent back upon itself on the ground. The jagged edge of his shinbone has pierced clean through the back of his knee, a macabre lance of pearl-white tearing through skin and muscle.

“A measly three coins to murder a girl heavy with child,” Daemon mocks. “A Princess. Your gods must be so proud.”

“Please!” The craven weeps, spitting blood and bile from his mouth. “Please.”

“Tell me what I want to know. Tell me who ordered the attack.”

“I—I—I dunno his name, Ser. He wears a hood. Calls himself the Firefly.”

Daemon nods absently in acknowledgement, his mind ruminating over this discovery. It is not an epithet he recognises. Firefly. He’ll have to conduct a careful search to find the owner of this sobriquet.

He refocuses his gaze upon the last of your assailants, the remaining member of the trio who had so callously threatened your life and the lives of his children. As pathetic as this creature is, he has been rather valuable in providing enough intelligence to further his own search. But the man has outlived his usefulness. Daemon cannot afford for his benefactor to learn of his loose tongue.

“In the name of the Princess, I—Daemon of House Targaryen—sentence you to die.”

In a single swift motion, he wrenches Dark Sister from the place where it is embedded and basks in the vile satisfaction of hearing the man release an unearthly squall. He swings the sword in a high arc, the momentum slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew and bone and cutting the shriek off at its full. Blood sprays over his armour and across his face, the wayward Fellow’s head rolling across the floor.

Daemon removes the pin from the man’s shirt and stows it away for later examination, using one of the whore’s ruined dresses to wipe his blade clean of gore. He surveys the scene. The door is splintered upon the ground, the wardrobe soiled and defiled, the room itself a painting of crimson upon lumber and metalwork, silks and leathers.

Fuck. He’s made rather a mess of things. Restitution will have to be made.

He leaves the body where it lay, having little care for the remains now he is dead. For now, the job is done. It is with a sense of relief that he retraces his steps back to the lower level of the brothel. The whores and patrons stare at him with mingled shock and fright, taking in his red-soaked armour and ichor-stained face. At the sight of him, the whore from earlier darts up the stairs. She will find her brother dead in her rooms, his life essence puddling out upon the floor and seeping into the wood.

He turns to Mysaria, fishing out a handful of coin and holding it out to her. She takes the proffered gold with an arched brow, surveying his dirtied form with an unimpressed expression.

“For the damage,” is his gruff explanation, tipping his head in the direction of the upper landing. “Unavoidable.”

The whore starts to wail her lamentations from above.

“I see.” Her feline eyes glitter dark and mysterious, lips tipped up ever-so-slightly. She had always found his aggression captivating, and it seems such a sentiment remains unchanged. He shifts in discomfort. She leans further into his space, laying a careful hand upon the line of his arm. “I hope you found the justice you had sought.”

He grunts, making no move to encourage her.

“It is good to see you again, Daemon,” she adds, looking up at him through sooty lashes. Her body presses closer, just shy of touching. He doesn’t know if she holds back to avoid sullying her gown or if she intends to tempt him into closing the space. “You would be welcome here if you should want the company of one of my girls. Or mine.”

Her breath, wine-tart and candied, puffs against his jaw.

“I don’t,” he says stiffly. He is poised, rigid, barely restraining himself from the urge to throw her bodily from him, to backhand her for daring to touch what is not hers by right. “Take your damn hands off me.”

She is as beautiful and sensuous as ever, but she does not arouse desire in him the way she had once done. How the mighty have fallen, he thinks.

Should a version of Daemon from his youth encounter him now, he would make of himself a laughingstock for the single-minded veracity of his ardour for his own niece, a girl half his age. But how could one return to consuming boiled mutton after partaking in roast venison for the first time? Mysaria had been a companion and nothing more. You are his—niece, confidant, wife, lover, mother to his heirs. There can be no other now. That she thinks she might persuade him to wet his cock in lesser cunt is insulting.

At once, her seduction ceases, the veil of allure dropping and resettling into feigned amiability. He has insulted her—but why should it matter? Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

She smiles dryly, stepping aside to clear a path to the exit. “Then I wish you farewell,” she says.

There is nothing left for him here but the ghosts of a former life. It is easier than breathing to turn from her gaze, to cast her aside as a memory from long ago, to stride past her and leave her in the past where she belongs.

He departs the Gilded Doll without another word, mind already settling on returning to you.

You are still asleep when he enters his brother’s rooms.

“Gods be good,” Viserys mutters, hobbling over from his chair as he takes in the sight of Daemon covered in blood. What did he expect, he thinks in irritation, that I would sit down for a civilised meal with her attacker?  “I can only assume you found him.”

“The last one is dead,” he says, unbuckling his baldric and setting Dark Sister, scabbard and all, upon the table as quietly as he can. Through the gauzy drapes, he spies your still form ensconced in the bed. “I got the information I needed.”

“Must I ask for it, or shall you tell me?” the King asks.

Daemon glances over at him. Dark circles bloom purple-grey under his eyes, the contrast to his blemished skin so severe it is as though he is looking at a human skull instead of a living man.

“Not now.” He suppresses a shudder at the malformed creature his brother has become. “I’d like to get this shit off me.”

The bath is warm, but he takes no joy in it. Now that his enterprise is concluded, he is left with naught but his own thoughts. If I had been there, she wouldn’t have been risked so dearly. If I’d refused to leave, she’d be safe and happy instead of fearful and desolate.

He tries to tamp down the maelstrom, scrubbing vigorously at his flesh and his hair as though to physically force the notion from his mind. By the time he is done, the water is pink, flecks of dried blood forming a ghastly film upon the surface.

All he wishes to do now is sit by you. He bypasses Viserys, treading barefoot through the sheer curtains and settling himself gently upon the mattress beside you. In repose, your expression holds none of the fright or devastation that had marred it so many hours ago. You are young, sweet, mouth slack with sleep and cheeks plump and rosy from the heat of the coverings over you.

His eyes burn again. I’ve failed to protect her. Stroking your wild silver hair back from your temple, he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw, over the curve of your lower lip, your throat.

“She has not awakened,” the King says softly behind him. “The boy’s gone to his lessons, but—well, I thought it best not to rouse her.”

“Good,” he murmurs, hand wandering below the sheets to feel the swell of your belly. There is faint movement, and relief blooms anew at the liveliness of the babes within your womb. Tap. Tap. Tap. He had almost convinced himself that it had been a delusion conjured up in his maddened state. “She needs to rest.”

You stir faintly, and he brings his palm to your face once more. You lip insensately at his thumb, easing back down into unconsciousness. A creak to his left makes him think that Viserys has sunk into the chair beside the bed. He can feel the stare boring into him, though he has little desire to entertain whatever it is that has his brother so absorbed.

“When you sought my daughter’s hand,” the King begins, “I assumed the worst.” He knows that. “You are not the sort of man capable of providing the care she needs: patience, attentiveness, placidity… devotion. Someone who would regard her as the treasure she is. Yes, when you asked for her, I thought all manner of abhorrent things, even if you were the one she chose for herself. I was so certain you would destroy her.”

So little trust in me, as always. There is a point to this spiel, a mellow timbre that suggests the aim is not to remonstrate—but to hear how lowly his brother thinks of him is nonetheless cutting.

The King huffs a laugh. “Imagine my surprise, then, to see her so…  happy with you.” Daemon stills for a moment, then carefully resumes caressing your cheek, smoothing over the contour of your chin. “She is a new person to me now, and I regret that I was not able to grant what it is she needed to best thrive. I have many regrets… but I do not regret conferring her upon you,” Viserys says. “I was wrong, Daemon. You make a fine husband to my girl. And I am glad she can give to you what I never did.”

Oh, brother.

There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to earn his brother’s approval; when the attainment of such was a far-off dream, one that would have required him to unmake and reforge himself anew so that he might finally earn what ought to have been his all along. The denial of it had made him bitter and angry, a hot-tempered rake of a being that had terrorised nobles and commoners alike with debauchery and hostility and brutality. It is ironic that having the man finally—finally—proclaim that longed-for praise carries none of the weight he once imagined it would have.

His worth is no longer shackled to the whims of an ailing King. Perhaps it is unhealthy or even unfair to place the care of it in your hands—but for all his poisonous ambition, he knows his is not a nature meant for standing alone. The second son of a second son, he has been bred and built to seek purpose from those designed for a higher calling than he. How he had railed against his fate, once! And how very poetic it is that he has found himself so beholden to you.

He does not need Viserys anymore. But he nods and thanks his brother nonetheless, pays little mind to him as he departs from the room, and waits for you to rouse.

It normally takes time for your faculties to return to you after your eyes first open, but it comes to no surprise that consciousness strikes you with full force after the evening’s events. Your eyes snap open and you jolt, casting about for a half-moment before alighting on the form of your husband. He adjusts himself so that he reclines against the headboard, allowing you to easily wiggle your way onto his lap.

Fretful and fragile, a baby princess seeking protection in the arms of her big, strong uncle. Moisture wets his clean shirt, your face buried against his chest and little fingers clutched to his sides like you are afraid he’ll vanish. He pets over your spine and breathes you in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head, voiceless. He’ll not press you yet, not now—but there will come a time in the near future where you’ll have no choice but to recount the attack. He needs as much intelligence from as many involved as he can seek out if he is to determine the identity of the Firefly.

You are small and quiet and slow-moving as the day passes, wanting little else than to cling to him and doze. He doesn’t know what to do with this version of you. He is helpless to conceive of a way to break you from this strange trance. Guilt and fury and exasperation mingle like noxious fumes inside his body, pressing against his chest cavity and constricting around the organ there like a bloodied fist. Each hushed whisper, each tenuous tremble, each lamenting little-girl rebuff of all save him only serves to spur the tumult within.

“Is… Are they all gone?”

You finally string more than two or three words together, sat upon the edge of the bed in your new chambers. They are nice enough, he supposes, though he’s not particularly enthused by the prospect of being so close to Viserys and the Hightowers. For a moment, he thinks you are speaking of the attendants that had flitted in and out of your presence throughout the afternoon, but the uncertainty of your countenance suggests otherwise. His stomach drops.

“Those—those men?” you clarify, voice cracking.

Daemon lays Dark Sister back upon the desk and tosses down the cloth he’d been using to work away at the stray crusts of ichor, returning to you.

“Yes,” he says, sinking down upon the mattress.

You lean into him, warm and real and alive. Alive. “I was so… frightened. I thought I was going to di—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. I cannot hear it, cannot abide even the thought of it. “Don’t say it.”

You pause, staring up at him, nodding when you take in whatever expression has affixed itself on the planes of his face. He jerks slightly when you push yourself up on your knees and bring your lips to his, hot and wet and sweet. It is ingrained into the foundations of his very self to press into the kiss, to cradle your jaw in his hand and feel the throb of your pulse feed into his skin, his cock twitching in his breeches. There is no pleasure to it, but instead a disconcerting agony that prickles along his shaft and cools the fire that ought to stoke itself.

He draws away, suppressing the tremor that threatens. “What are you doing?” It comes out more abrasive than he’d like.

“Please?” you ask, mouthing at his lower lip, desperate and frenzied. “I—I just want to feel something good again.”

He understands that need. Hells, it’s a feeling that has fuelled many of his own debauched eves across the brothels in King’s Landing and the Realm beyond. Though he cannot fault you for the urge to drive away the memory of those who had nearly carved your babes from your belly (I wasn’t there, why wasn’t I there), his body is refusing to heed your wishes and rise to the occasion.

It tears at him to tilt back into you, to crowd against you and take your mouth with his own, to press his tongue to yours and pull the hem of your shift up. He drives you down into the sheets, nipping at your throat and shoving a finger then two into your grasping cunt, feeling the way the silky walls catch and ripple eagerly as he hooks into the high soft sponge of you, listening to you gasp. You writhe and moan below him, tugging at his pants and taking hold of his cock, and it begins to burst to life in your capable hand. He looks down at you and his mind flashes to the way you’d looked beneath that man, red-stained and terrified and scrabbling to save your own life, and he cannot—

He lurches away from you, from the memory of what had nearly happened. I wasn’t there. You try to pull him back down, but he shakes off your touch. “No. Stop, sweetling.”

“Why?” You pout, reaching for his shaft and making a soft noise of confusion.

Oh. Whatever blood had fought to stiffen him up has dissipated, leaving him limp despite your best attempts to coax it to rise.

“I said—” He bats your hands away, suddenly wrathful. Stumbling off the bed, he stows himself away and fumbles with the laces, whirling on you. “You almost died, and you want to fuck?” he asks, grinding his teeth and snarling at you. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

He regrets it as soon as he’s said it—even more so when he sees the bewildered tears begin to collect along your lower lashes, lip quivering and looking so, so small. Why wasn’t I there to protect her, she could have di—

The room feels like a cage, like iron bars squeezing tight against his flesh, he has to get out, he has to get out—

“Daemon. Daemon!”

He flees the trappings of your apartments, past the Kingsguard manning the doors to the bedchamber, the hall, Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving you there upon the bed alone.

Scarcely even realising he’s left his blade behind, he moves with purpose throughout the Keep. He knows not where he’s headed, only that he must find a safe haven where he might begin to pull together the edges of himself that are fraying to bits, threatening to send him crumbling.

It hurts. It hurts unlike anything he’s ever felt. The anguish only serves to wind him tighter, a maimed creature lashing out at the world for its suffering.

His steps lead him aimlessly around his childhood home, and he indulges the wanderlust. He avoids the main thoroughfares, not wishing to encounter the absurdity of courtly gossip on his day. The journey takes him past the Great Hall and the Small Council chambers and through the servants’ passages, down to the scullery and the royal cellars. He pilfers a carafe of wine from the kitchens, imbibing periodically as he trudges through hallways and up flights of stairs. Eventually, he makes his way to an old sanctuary from his youth, a lone balcony in an abandoned portion of the Holdfast overlooking the courtyard and, beyond, the Dragonpit.

Daemon leans against the edge and stares blankly at the horizon, taking steady draughts from the jug and letting the drink numb the sharp stabbing pains of his thoughts. The wine loosens him, slows the racing of his heart, and time finally starts to run leisurely again.

She might have—She nearly—

“Princess said you ran from her.”

Fuck. He ignores the healer woman as she shuffles forward, joining him in the dimming light. Her eyes bore into his side profile, but he won’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

“Said you were angry,” she croaks.

It is the truth, but it is still unpleasant to hear.

“How is she?” he asks. It is relatively easy to assume she’s ventured forth in search of him after making her customary rounds to her sole charge.

He hopes she can hear the words he does not say. Are my children well? Will they survive this?

“Good. Babe both good, too.” He despises how unlike herself she is being, how gentle and kind her tone is. It is not the way she speaks to him usually, and he wants at least one thing to remain normal and logical and sane around here. “You are very, very lucky,” she adds.

He grunts. He doesn’t feel it.

She sighs, thumping him on the back. “You are rude boy. But you are good to her. She need you now—no more hiding.”

“How?” It takes him a moment to realise it is he who has spoken, a rustle upon the breeze. That damned wine. He can no longer control the torrent that he has kept tamped down and locked away, the dogged attempt of a man long accustomed to outrunning all weakness. “How can I just—pretend?”

“Pretend?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to put into words the venom that is eating away at his insides. “That I’m not fucking—terrified.” Daemon hisses the term as though it has personally offended him.

To finally say it aloud is both a bizarre release and an epiphany of sorts. He’s overcome with the curious urge to laugh at the realisation.

Fear. How common of him. But it rings true nonetheless, and the rightness of the admission settles in his bones. How can he not be afraid? There’s an ever-present threat to your life somewhere in this place, a place that should be safe and happy and home for you. Someone has marked his children for death before they are even allowed the chance to breathe air on their own, to open their eyes and see what exists outside the safety of their mother’s womb.

And you are a Targaryen woman. In any other context, this makes you superior, a diamond nestled in amongst the coal. But he cannot help but recall those names once more, the names of your forebears who had undergone the toilsome task of childbirth and met their end there.

Alyssa. Daella. Gael. Aemma. Laena.

He will not survive your death, should it come. With the ever-expanding heft of the babes inside you, the possibility that he might have to face such a dreaded reality looms closer by the day. There is not a fucking thing he can do about it, either. There’s no physician or liniment or spell or prayer that he can avail himself of to keep you alive, to keep you with him should your body fall to the conquering force of childbed.

The woman—Ūlla—hums consideringly. “Fear is… natural. Human,”

He finally turns to look at her. Her countenance is warm, sympathetic, a tilt to the head that belies something other than the deep-seated vexation he had been sure was all she’d felt for him. She takes his hand, and he lets her. All at once, he is a boy again, clutching onto his lady grandmother as his mother’s pyre burns gold in the morning light.

“We all fear something,” she says. “It is stupid to try and push it away like it never happen. Do not waste time to master your fear, or you will forget to live. To fear is to love, boy—and you love her, yes?”

He nods. Gods help him, he does.

She smiles, squeezing his grip. “Then the rest is for later. Go to her—love. And let yourself fear. It is okay.”

The sky is darkening to deep amber by the time he is ready to return to you. He takes the long route back to your new chambers, concealing himself from public view as much as he can, for he does not wish to incite the rumour mill of King’s Landing to pass judgement on his dishevelled state.

You are almost exactly where he left you, though you’ve settled back against the pillows with a book, appearing for all the world as though it is an evening like any other. It isn’t. When you see him standing at the door, he fully expects you to rail at him, perhaps to cry or even avoid him.

Instead, your lips twist compassionately, eyes impossibly soft, and you put the tome aside. “Come,” you say, patting the space beside him.

And how can he refuse?

Daemon clambers onto the mattress, shuffling into the open space of your arms and collapsing there in your embrace. The hard bulge of your belly pushes against his chest, a reminder of everything pure and real and necessary, everything he has fought for. What I would die for.

He cannot speak his apology aloud. It sticks to the roof of his mouth, coagulating in the liminality between his body and the air. Cursing himself for his inability to perform something so simple, he buries his face into your breasts, breathing in the smell of you, the feel of you, safe and whole and alive. His eyes burn.

“It is alright, kepus. Sh.” Your palm strokes the back of his head, trailing between his shoulder blades and up again in soothing rhythm.

My darling, forgiving girl. You are everything to him, and you are here.

The tears finally fall.

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[loaksky]

“accidentally referencing them as "my"” with neteyam???? congratulations on 2k!!!

third installment for the party; thank you for participating !

neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader, fluff + f2l, wc: 648

It was a slip of the tongue, really. Neteyam hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but you were doing so well, made his heart go soft. And just how the two of you meshed like the sands, it was only natural.

The arrow’s nestled in the divot, lean muscles in the smooth of your back drawing taut as you take your aim. Neteyam’s hands are guiding, pads of his fingers soft against your skin as he adjusts your form with quiet hums. When he peels away, you release the bowstring with an exhale. The tip pierces the marker head on, nearly cracks the wood of the tree bark from sheer force, and someone whistles.

You relax, trying to suppress the grin that twitches at the corner of your lips when you turn and Neteyam’s already watching you with a gaze warm like liquid gold.

“That’s my girl.”

Your faces mirror each other for the shortest of moments, lips parted, brows raised. You hadn’t expected such a sound term of endearment to fall from his mouth. Seems like your forgotten peers hadn’t either when they start howling with laughter and jostling the two of you as they whoop and holler in the clearing.

You really can’t help it now, smile nearly cracking your cheeks with how wide you beam. Your face and neck is warm, butterflies tickling behind your navel as Neteyam swats his friends’ hands away and grumbles profanities.

His eyes meet yours from across the way, as you’re flocked by your girl friends who squeal at the first signs of affection from their most anticipated potential couple. You look shy, giddy almost, and he can’t stop the desperate thrumming of his full heart.

“Your girl, huh?” Lo’ak teases, yanking on one of his oldest brother’s braids.

Neteyam hisses in response, earning another round of rowdy laughter as his face blooms under the scorch of the sun’s rays. He’s too afraid to look your way again, too afraid that the heart he wears on his sleeve will overwhelm you as much as it does him.

“Quit it,” he warns when one of the boys tugs on your tail and you pierce him with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, come on,” one loud mouth in particular teases. “Nothing is official yet. Maybe ________ wants to give one of us a try instead.”

A murmur of silence ripples over the circle as Neteyam’s spine stiffens and his fists ball of their own accord. The young warrior has stepped into particularly sensitive territory, this much is clear when eyes begin to dart back and forth and your friends start whispering.

“What’d you say?” Neteyam asks, voice eerily steady despite a puffed chest.

“Okay, okay, it was just a joke,” Lo’ak tries, laughing uncomfortably as he steps between Neteyam and the crowd.

Neteyam shoves his outstretched arm away and everyone watches with bated breath as he draws nearer. But instead of teaching the childish villager a lesson, Neteyam’s hands reach for your shoulders, turning you both to face your friends.

You feel the way his fingers tremble against the skin of your biceps, and something tugs at your heart knowing that perhaps he’s a little nervous in this moment, having to solidify the nature of your relationship before being absolutely ready. One hand comes to brush comfortingly over his knuckles as you lean back into the heat of his chest.

“Give him a break,” you say gently, trying to tamp down the giddy grin that plays at your lips.

Your friends start giggling again, a few of Neteyam’s circle rolling their eyes when you shift to loop your arm through his and he softens under your touch.

As they begrudgingly turn their attention back to training, the girls still whispering and peeking at the two of you, you lean into Neteyam’s ear.

With a tender squeeze you whisper,

“That’s my brave mighty warrior.”

neng©️2023

[loliwrites]

October: I'll Be The Moon

part three of fountain of sorrow

pairing: javier peña x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother [reader has a young daughter][child won’t play a massive role], lots of f bombs, some dude gets a lil handsy, BAR FIGHT w/ a little blood, terrible exes, SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, soft sex, creampie, hand restraint [just by other hands], praise kink, catching feelings, cigarettes [are bad for you], one use of bitch [directed at javi], one use of slut [directed at reader], pre during and post-sex photos, terms of endearment [querida, good girl], female reader, no physical description, protective!javi, no use of y/n. word count: 7.4k series masterlist a/n: switching pov’s in this one. hope y’all are enjoying!

Two and a half months. That’s what it had taken for Javi to realize something was different. Previous women had been lucky if they lasted half as long. He generally wasn’t one for follow-through outside of work. And when he tried to pinpoint what exactly it had been that tipped the scales, it was an exercise in futility. It was just that he’d woken up on this particular Saturday – the weekend before Halloween – with a pang in his gut knowing that you’d be tied up the following weekend with the muñequita and your baby daddy. He’d questioned that… the baby daddy aspect of it… and tried not to sound too jealous or too offended. Doubt crept in that he hadn’t been too convincing.

Maybe it had been because his dad had started asking questions. What’re you doing on weekends? You never answer your phone. How come you never go to The Tack Room with us anymore? What girl have you got on the end of your line now? Oh, if Chucho only knew it was the chiquita on the end of Javi’s line, he’d probably have him drawn and quartered.

Or maybe it had been that night last weekend where, after laying side by side in the orgasmic afterglow, you’d turned into him, curled your hand around his shaft, batted those pretty please eyelashes at him, and did your best damsel in distress act about how the Halloween decorations were in boxes in the attic. Too heavy, too big for little ol’ you to carry down by yourself. And though it was already two in the morning (and you promised a thank you blowjob), he’d never moved faster to climb up into an attic, sift through the dust and cobwebs for the plastic bins holding skeletons and bats and little witches. Truth was he would’ve done it for you even without the blowjob offer; a point made evident when after he’d set the bins in the living room, you sank to your knees in front of him to pay up, only to be confused when he also sank to his knees. And instead of allowing any sort of sexual progression, he dragged the first of the plastic tubs between you and yanked the lid off. The muñequita will be happy to see the house decorated for Halloween.

All Javier knew was that by the time he was sitting at the bar on this Saturday night, something was stirring in him that was getting increasingly hard to pinpoint or ignore. If not only for himself, but because ever since his little shutdown last month – the let’s not talk about Colombia shutdown – you’d done an exemplary job of keeping things pure business. The sex was… efficient, for lack of a better word. Small talk was nonexistent. Any question that may have had you curious never saw the light of day. And except for the little favors here and there, nothing personal ever came up. He didn’t know how, but you were too good at it. Especially at the bar.

Which is why tonight… Javier had his beer bottle clutched in his hands. White-knuckled in a firm grasp. He’s surprised the thing didn’t shatter. He could understand that it was a job. He’d been around enough working girls to know that sometimes getting better tips meant flirting with the patrons. And he knew he had no reason to feel any sort of possessive. You weren’t his; he’d made sure of that when he shut you down and told you that this was just sex. Maybe it was only because this guy wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone.

He was a couple barstools down from Javi. No one sat between them, much to Javi’s chagrin. He couldn’t have ignored this guy even if he was so inclined. But this asshole… Robert, you called him… was way too much of everything with you. At least in Javi’s eyes. He was too flirty with you. Too monopolizing of your time. Too goddamn touchy. All the times Robert reached over and touched your hand or arm was one thing. Javi didn’t think it appropriate but it didn’t make him want to knock him out. 

But the times when you walked out from behind the bar, drink tray in your hand, and Robert let his hand brush over your backside… too much. To you, Robert was just the drunk that hung out way too much at the bar. But he was also the drunk that tipped you way too much and you weren’t about to tell him not to. Was it demeaning to have him groping you… maybe. And normally you wouldn’t let it happen. But the money…

The first time it happened, Javi nearly got out of his seat, but he was given pause when you turned around and faced Robert. He thought you were going to knock him to the floor. But instead, you only shot him a playfully disapproving glance and shook your head before carrying on with the task you’d set out to do in the first place. And that… Javi knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it. The second time it happened, Robert had gotten brave with a firm hand placement on your ass. That time you turned around and gently chastised him. Something like, “Robert,” your voice elongated the first vowel in his name. But the drunk just giggled and acted like a little innocent boy. Javi, however, felt his blood boiling.

But the third time it happened. Game over. You’d come out from behind the bar again, this time to clear off some tables littered with empty glasses and bottles. And Robert, not having learned from your previous two gentle reminders to keep his hands to himself, reached out again, this time giving your backside a pinch. The time between your surprised shriek and Javi getting off his stool, wrapping his fist around the collar of Robert’s shirt, was miniscule. 

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Javi growled, yanking on Robert’s shirt. The man, already unstable, stumbled backwards but not to the floor.

The one benefit of your past relationship – and working in the bar – was that you’d learned rather quickly how to de-escalate drunk, testosterone-ridden men. But instead of going to Robert, you went toward Javi, pushing on his arm. “Peña, stop.”

“Get off me, bitch,” Robert slurred at Javier.

Javi’s focus, which had only momentarily been on you, almost annoyed that you were telling him to stop, was now back on Robert. “How many times she have to tell ya’ to stop, fuckin’ creep?” Javi maintained he still did the right thing. If the situation had presented itself again, he would’ve done the same exact thing. Cocked his fist back in the same way. Made contact with Robert’s nose the same way. And stood over him the same way as Robert clutched at his bloodied, broken nose while now on the floor. “If I ever see you touch a woman here ever again…”

“Javier!”

His eyes shot over to you, finding pure fury. You stepped in front of him and pushed him back with all your might. He only went back a step, which you figured was more due to his cooperation than your strength.

“Get out of here, Peña!” You yelled right at him, but instead of getting a move on, he went to open his mouth to rebut. “Go home, Javi!”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Something was up with Javi. You’d noticed it first after he’d turned down your blowjob offer after getting the Halloween decorations from the attic. He had never turned down a blowjob before. Usually it was a matter of how quickly you could get your mouth open. And just when you might’ve started to think that his attraction to you was waning, he’d give you the most mind-shattering orgasm. Which begged the question: what was up with Javier Peña?

It also struck you as odd that although he didn’t stop going to The Tack Room completely, you’d made an observation that he no longer came on the nights Chucho came around. You’d still see him at your house after work, but he didn’t show up at the bar to hang out when his dad also happened to be there. Which maybe was for the better considering Javier fucking Peña decked one of your largest tippers tonight. And had Chucho seen his son do that, you had the notion that he might just ship Javi back to Colombia, free of charge to Uncle Sam. And as if just punching the guy wasn’t bad enough, Robert’s face was busted. Lip split, nose broken. Blood poured from new holes Javi had punched into his face. 

You’d told him to get out of there. To go home. But you knew you’d see him outside your house that night. Would’ve bet your life’s savings on it, and would’ve doubled it because when you pulled up that night, Javi was sitting on the porch step – the same place you’d seen him that first day with your daughter. As soon as you threw the car in park on the driveway, he was standing up, brushing his palms on the back of his pants. Time had visibly calmed him down but it had only riled you up.

“What the fuck were you thinking?! Do you know how much that guy tips me?!”

Javier approached you, holding up his hands in front of his chest. “I’m sorry,”

“Do you know how much he tips me?!”

Whatever calmness time had given Javi, you were managing to pull him out of it. Your elevated level… not to mention your apparent biggest qualm being how much money you were going to lose out on… brought him to a spot he wasn’t prepared to go. At least, not with you. 

“You let him touch you so he’ll tip you better?” Javi pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and sifted through it until he produced a hundred dollar bill, “if money’s what you want, I’ll put it on your dresser before we fuck!”

“Fuck you, Javi!

“Fuck me?! I defended you and the only person you got mad at was me! How about the fucker that was grabbing your ass all night?”

You got up in his face, ready and way too willing to continue this argument. Had you just taken a moment… a millisecond… to think, you probably would’ve chosen a different path. “How do you know I didn’t want him grabbing my ass?”

There was a chance steam was coming out of Javi’s ears at this point. If you’d been a medical professional, you might’ve asked that he sit down, put his head between his knees, and take a few deep breaths. But you were not a medical professional, you were just pissed. And that last statement? After the steam had fully evacuated Javi’s ears, he scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head.

“Okay,” he kept his fingers over his mouth and shook his head again. “Then go fuck that guy. I can’t do this anymore,”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You’d wanted a fight. Maybe some hot, angry sex. But you didn’t want him to back off completely. And judging by everything you knew about him, you didn’t think he’d back off so easily. “It’s just sex. Who cares if I get it from you or someone else?” Even that sounded a little meaner than you hoped it would.

Javier shook his head and let his arms drop back down to his sides, emphatically. “‘cause I’m not gettin’ it from anyone else,”

“That’s not my problem,”

“Yes it is,” he insisted and glared at you. “I’m stickin’ up for you. And I’m decorating your house for Halloween. And I’m fuckin’ jealous you’re spending next weekend with your ex.”

A smile crept over your face, and though you did your best to hide it – to not let Javi think you weren’t taking him seriously – you knew he’d pick up on it. It was kind of endearing that Mr. Famous Playboy was jealous.

He tilted his head to the side, “don’t look at me like that,” he begged.

But you continued to. In fact, you let your smile widen as you closed the gap and pressed your hands against his stomach.

“Quit it,”

You giggled and curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “You wanna come inside?”

He wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close. Fingers dragged absent designs at your lower back. “Only if you promise me something,” an earnest smile stretched over his lips. “Never sleep with that guy,”

“What guy?” You beamed.

“Good girl,” he patted your ass and turned on his heels with you. 

You unlocked the front door as quickly as your shaky fingers would allow. Maybe angry sex wouldn’t be happening tonight, but something potentially even better would be. Make up sex. It was unmarked territory with Javi. Up until now, there wasn’t anything to make up for. Up until now, outside of the ‘him being inside you’ part, the sex hadn’t been very personal. He’d made sure of that.

But now he was up in front of you and it felt so much different than all the other times. You’d found yourself cornered up against the wall in your entryway, Javi standing right in front of you. His knee had made a spot for itself in between your legs but his hands… they’d never been so gentle before. Slow hands. At one time they brushed over your skin without acknowledging the scars, marks, and blemishes that made up the entirety of you. But this time… they floated over skin with the lightest of touches, taking their time in exploring the expanse of you. Even the way he kissed you with the caution and hesitancy of someone not as sure of themselves. There was the fleeting thought that he’d remember who he was – what his intent was – and he’d pick up to the ravaging he was known for. Though he never did. Not tonight. Not as he cupped his hands around either side of your neck and used his gentle hold on it to lead you away from the wall and toward your bedroom. Not as his forward momentum was only thwarted when the back of your legs hit your mattress and he leaned his body over you, crawling forward to work you further up the bed. Not even when he’d gotten you fully reclined, with his knees straddling your legs, and started to help you undress. Fabric peeled from your body with the same amount of care painters took to canvas… sculptors to marble.

Shirt discarded to the side in an instant and his lips to your chest the next. Soft kisses traced your clavicle until his mouth met the notch at the base of your neck, then carried over across the other. Your hands migrated up over his shoulders and to the hair at the nape of his neck with gentle tugs. Maybe that’d get him to pick things up. 

But he was not to be riled. Even the act of you reaching behind your back and unclasping your bra was met with little acceleration. Javier simply reached up and pulled the now useless garment away from your body. Put his lips in its place. Let his tongue roll over your nipple until it pebbled in his mouth. And you pulled on the ends of his hair again, this time with more force until he relented and lifted his head. Stared at you with hooded, confused eyes.

“What?”

“What’re you doing?”

Javi looked down at your breasts and took a deep breath before he looked back up at you, “what?”

“There’s suspiciously no fingers, tongue, or dick between my legs,”

“M’getting you ready for me. I always do that,” he bowed his head and pressed his lips back to your chest, but when you pulled on his hair again for his focus, he groaned. “What?”

“You don’t need to. I’ve been wet since you punched that guy in the face,”

Javier’s jaw dropped. His eyes widened. Pure surprise raced through him. “You yelled at me for that and your fuckin’ pussy’s drippin’?!”

“Okay,” you positioned your hands on his chest and pushed against him, “you don’t have to be crass.” The distance you’d put between you by pushing on his chest was quickly made up for when you curled your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulled him back toward you. “Don’t go slow,”

Your hands tucked lower beneath the hem of his shirt, nudging it upwards until your fingers met his chest and he was all but forced to take it off completely. It soon joined yours at the end of the bed. But when your hands went for his belt, he snatched them away and lifted them above your head. You stared up at him, smirking, when he dropped his weight to you and pinned wrists down.

“Don’t be impatient. Let me take my time,” he pecked your lips and grinned when he pulled back and you jut your bottom lip out in a pout. “Put that lip away,” he ducked his head into the side of your neck and bit into your skin. “Just let me make you feel good,”

“You can do that without going so slow,”

Javi pushed himself up and sat back on his knees. Skilled fingers worked on the button and zipper of your jeans, “keep runnin’ your mouth and you’re not gonna get anything.”

“Peña–”

“Shhh, querida. Just take it easy,”

Convinced you would be – at least for a little while – he stripped you out of your jeans. As he continued on, leaning back over you and nudging the fabric of your underwear to the side so he could feel the proof of what you’d already told him, you realized the slow progress wasn’t as snail-like as you’d first complained about. It wasn’t that it was slow as much as it was intentional. For the first time in the two months you’d had this routine, it was settling in that this was Javier acting on something other than animal autopilot.

His lips came back to yours and took you into a searing kiss. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip. Tongue searched for entrance into your mouth, undeterred. Fingers found the opening they were looking for, too. Pushed into the tightness of your core and didn’t stop their forward motion until they were down to the last knuckle. Your jaw dropped, eyes fluttered open to find Javi’s already in a hungry stare at you. His mouth hung open over yours, sharing breaths as he curled his fingers inside you and brushed the tips against your gspot. A coo left your body, and the smirk that crossed over Javi’s face was undeniable. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Told you I’d make you feel good,”

You spread your legs further apart to give him as much free, open space as possible. Catching his lips for another kiss, the unhurried pace of his mouth and fingers was going to have you spiraling far quicker than you’d like to admit. Tongues lapped and rolled against each other in a battle both wanted to win but would gladly lose. And then he brushed his thumb over your clit, and you all but thought that was going to be your undoing. The way your legs flinched together around his hand, and the way every muscle in your body seemed to flex at once. Then, for better or worse, Javi eased his fingers out of you. Kept his eyes on you for any sign of too much discomfort, of which he only clocked a little. He backed off the bed until he was able to stand at the foot of it and rid himself of his jeans, all too thankful for the vision of you snaking your hand down your body. Fingers drifted past your breasts, to your stomach, and beneath the lace of your underwear to slide the flimsy fabric off your body. It caught on one of your ankles but you hardly paid it any attention; choosing to replace your fingers on your clit and massage yourself, equally thankful for the vision Javier was giving you. Of his hand wrapped around his shaft, jerking himself off with long, steady strokes. The sinewy muscles of his chest, shoulder, and bicep strained against his skin, and knelt back on the bed again. He used his unoccupied hand to free your ankle from your lacy underwear. 

Removing your fingers from your clit, you stretched your body out beneath him, grinning like a mad fool for the sight of him above you. For the way his sheer size and presence made you feel small; made for him to take at his whim. He released his member as he was now fully hard. The vein that ran along the underside of his length more prominent than before, and he lowered himself until the tops of his thighs were pressed against the backs of yours. His cock rest against your belly. From base to tip, he measured up to your belly button. A fact that was not lost on you as he held it in place as if to drive that point home.

“Camera,”

You flicked your glassy eyes up to his face, “what?”

“Where’s the camera?”

You swallowed, chest swelling with heat. You obliged, even if just to avoid his piercing gaze, and outstretched your arm toward the nightstand. He seemed to understand and bent over to carry on the plight. Though you watched carefully as he took the Polaroid out of the drawer and then quickly returned to his spot on his knees between your legs. Javi angled the camera downward, jaw slackening as he focused on the image in the viewfinder: Your breasts full and resting free all the way down to where your waists met. His length on full display for reference against your body. 

He snapped the photo and handed the grayed out picture to you. It was in your hands for just a second before he dipped his hips and sheathed himself inside your core. His eyebrows furrowed together and with the little coordination he had left in him, he set the camera down on the bed beside you.

“Javi,” you moaned out. It floated into nothingness in the space between you.

A groan released from his chest and he lowered himself to you, chest pressed to yours and his hands cupped together on top of your head, cradling you there beneath him. “Jesus Christ, you always feel so good,”

You grazed your teeth along his jaw until he lowered his head a little bit more, making it conducive for you to kiss him again. His hips began their slow thrusts forward. Each one only pulling himself out halfway before burying himself back in to the hilt. Little puffs of breath escaped your lungs each time he filled you back up.

“So big,” you whispered into his lips. The next thrust had his tip pressing against your cervix and you pressed your head further into the pillow, turning it to the side to catch your breath. His mouth went for your neck at first exposure. “You fill me up so good,”

The continued closeness of his hips on yours meant the friction against your clit was pretty much nonstop. Each pass of his body strung you higher and higher, and in an attempt to ground yourself, you reached up to curl your arms around Javier’s shoulders. The photo you hadn’t even bothered to look at yet discarded on the bed. But he all too quickly robbed you of that opportunity, and gathered both of your wrists in one of his large, strong hands. You whimpered at the lack of contact, but it then turned into a delighted hum when he lifted your hands up above your head and kept them pinned in place with his strong grasp.

“Worth the wait?” He chuckled.

You imagined the expression on your face showed pure bliss. Your pulse had already begun to pound, feeling it in your cheeks, ears, temples. Lips swollen and begging to be kissed. “Fuck me, Javi,” 

He smiled to himself, your eyes having drifted shut. There was one particularly hard and deep thrust before there was nothing at all. His hand no longer on your wrists. Chest and stomach no longer against yours. He wasn’t even inside you anymore. And that had you opening your eyes, whimpering, reaching blindly for him until you realized he’d sat back on his knees to get you in a different position. Limp for him to maneuver however he pleased, you shrieked when he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you back into him. Then taking one of your ankles, he crossed it in front of his body until your lower half was twisted to the side, legs pressed flush together. Contorted like this, your upper half was still mostly in the position it had been in before, just a little more turned to accommodate for the twisted angle of your spine and hips. 

Javi grabbed onto your ass and tugged it gently to give himself a better view when he sunk his length back into you. You winced and let out a sharp cry when he pushed himself balls deep; your body struggling to acclimate to his full size at this angle. Through he reached for the camera again, his eyes never left your face.

“Y’alright?” he murmured, winding the camera up.

“Too big,” you panted out, trying to relax yourself around him.

He held the camera up and took another picture. This one he didn’t even bother removing after it printed. Just set the whole thing back down on the bed. “You can do it, querida,” he grinned and set his hands back on your ass, using the leverage to rock himself in and out of you slowly. He could feel your body fighting him still, but just as he was about to say the words, your instinct beat him to it. Your fingers pressed between your legs and began rubbing your clit. It moderately helped. It being slightly easier for him to push into you, “atta girl.”

“Javi,” you whined and pulled your hand away from your clit, moving it to instead wrap it around his wrist. “Javi,”

“Tell me,”

You swallowed harshly, fingernails digging into his skin, “this is no good for–”

But he was already pulling out of you and grabbing your ankle before you could finish. He placed your leg over his shoulder as he bent back down toward you. Both his hands planted on the mattress by your shoulders. He pushed back into you and immediately caught the moan it pulled.

“Better,” you smiled breathlessly and returned your hand to your clit to match the steady pace he set. “Good. So good,”

“God, you’re just…” Javi’s breath caught in his throat and the muscles in his stomach flexed, “so fuckin’ tight.”

You reached up for him until he obliged and leaned in closer to you. It nudged him deeper inside you and kept him there. “Come inside me,”

He shook his head and moved one hand from the bed to your neck; fingers loose. “Not before you,”

“Please. Javi, please,” you let out a needy moan and tilted your head back against the pillow, elongating your neck.

Javi growled and curled his fingers against your neck, grip tightening as he fought with himself whether to listen to you or not. Truthfully, he was hanging on by a goddamn thread. It wasn’t that he wasn’t close. It was that he didn’t want to get in the habit of coming first.

“Javi,” you begged.

“Are you close?”

“Yes. Please,” you purposefully squeezed yourself around him, pulling his shaft deeper. “Just want to feel all of it inside me first,”

He wanted to think about it while he had the chance. While he could hold out. But then your body fluttered involuntarily around him and his heart almost stopped. His hips stuttered, he bit back a deep, guttural moan, and then not being able to stop it if he tried, he came, rope after rope of his spend coating your walls.

“Fuck,” he muttered, feeling his member twitch inside of you. And normally, he’d be able to catch his breath. Take a minute and pull out of you. But now you were writhing beneath him, grabbing at the sheets and white-knuckling them. Though normally his body would prepare to wind down, there was only one thing he wanted now, and he’d do anything to get it. He laid his weight on top of you, his head beside yours, mouth pressed to your ear, “come all over me, querida. Let me feel you squeeze me.”

Your body began to tremble and a whimper tore through your chest.

“Show me what a good girl you are. Give it all to me,”

Clutching on to him with all your might, your arms wrapped around his rib cage, you hung on for dear life as your orgasm ripped through you. Your thighs flinched tighter to his hips. Silent pleas that he’d stay deep inside you. And you buried your face into the base of his neck, muffling the scream that came from deep within.

Throughout it all, Javi keep his soft, filthy whispers in your ear. Talked you through the entirety of your climax until you were a breathless, sweaty heap laying limp beneath him. And even then, he kept himself right where he was, lips at your ear; his hand cupped around your waist with fingertips drawing light circles on the small of your back.

“Atta girl, querida,” he pecked your neck, taking deep breaths so you’d try to align your breathing to his. “That’s my good girl,”

That had you moving again. Your hands gripped into his side with a little more purpose. Lips laid tender kisses to his shoulder. He lifted his head and kissed you intently. Slowly. Happy to take his time here, even as his member grew softer inside you.

“Can I take another picture of you?” He whispered and waited for you to nod. Only then did he pull out of you, eyes locked onto your core. His fingers searched the bed until they found the camera again. “Turn over for me,” he smiled when you immediately stirred to obey, “chest down, ass up.”

You shook your head and let out a quick giggle, “pervert.” Yet still did as you were told. Turned over on the bed and kept your chest pressed against the mattress with your back end higher than the rest of your body.

Javi removed the previous photo from the camera – the one of you on your side, your body seductively twisted and contorted for him. He wound the camera and then held it up to his eye with one hand. Then, using the other he smacked your ass once before taking it in a firm grip and pulled your cheek to the side. “Let me see it,”

“Hmm?” You turned your head to the side.

“Let me see it. Push it out,”

Your face grew warmer at his request. Yet again, you didn’t take a second to think before obeying him. Wanting absolutely nothing more than to keep hearing him say good girl, you clenched your muscles until you could feel the mixture of yours and his come seeping out of you. The sound of the Polaroid capturing the moment came next.

“Javi,” you moaned. The feeling of his come dripping down you, stirring you up all over again. 

But his hand was on you next. Two fingers started at your swollen clit and worked their way up your slit to gather the come you’d pushed out. And when he pushed it back into your spent hole, you let out another exasperated moan. “I know,” he whispered and playfully thrust his fingers into you, pushing his come back inside, deep. 

Only once he pulled them out, did you turn over and flop back down to your back. He was crawling up to lay beside you, having collected the three photos he’d taken of you tonight. And you’d curled into his side, head resting on his chest as he showed them off to you, the last of which still developing and growing clearer and raunchier with each passing second. Just the sight of it… and knowing it was you… with his come… you buried your face in his chest nervously. 

Javier laughed and kissed the top of your head. He set the pictures down beside him and used his now free hands to wrap around you, holding you close. “Feel good?”

You nodded against his chest, “feel great.”

He smiled and took a deep breath which he held, thinking. It stirred you enough to look up at him, finding him contemplative. But your gaze was unwavering and he decided to bite the bullet. “You know, I never see you when the sun’s up,”

“I’m busy when the sun’s up,”

Javi nodded. “Maybe I can take you out sometime. During the day,”

You rolled over onto your back, “you know I can’t next weekend.”

“Another weekend, then.”

What came next was a cruel, cruel turn of events because you wanted to give him a resounding yes. A sure thing. An absolute. But before you could answer, the doorbell chimed, reverberating noise through your house. You and Javi both looked at the bedroom door as if that’d tell you everything you needed to know about the person at the front door. But after a second, the doorbell rang again, and this time, Javi slid his arm out from underneath you. He was halfway up before you pulled on his arm.

“Stay here,” you rose out of bed and walked to the small closet, pulling from it a thin cotton robe. Javi wondered what that garment would do in terms of concealing your body, but you were out of the room too quickly for him to ask, and pulled the bedroom door shut behind you.

Trapped behind a door, Javi strained his ears for any information to clue him in on who was there. He wondered if it was your ex. And if it was, Javi wondered if he’d amble out of your room and sidle up beside you. That thought had him fully out of bed and pulling his pants up his legs again. But he soon realized it wasn’t. No, because he heard the muñequita’s voice ring through the walls and he figured it was your mom at the door.

Javi looked at the clock on your nightstand when he figured he should probably hide the photos he’d taken tonight with the rest that you’d previously taken of him. And he kept staring at the clock, wondering when you’d come back to him. Wondered if he should just walk out without a care of who was there to see him. Ultimately he didn’t though. Just as you’d done as he asked tonight, he did as you asked. Sat at the edge of the bed and waited until you finally came back.

The bedroom door creaked open and you slipped inside, taking the utmost care to close the door so slowly that virtually no noise came from it. Javi stood as you neared him again and pressed your hands to his chest. 

“I forgot her dad’s coming over tomorrow morning. It’s his day with her,”

Javi nodded, trying to be as understanding as possible. “I didn’t know he got any days with her,”

You nodded, “be my guest to take that up with the judge.”

He sensed you weren’t thrilled at all with the situation, and the only thing he knew to do in this moment other than go full DEA, was to try to comfort you. He lifted his hand and cupped it over the back of your head, guiding you into him. Scritching through your hair, he kissed the top of your head and let the silence wash over you both.

But you tilted up and set your chin down against his chest, “you wanna stay tonight?”

Javi pursed his lips and cupped his hands over your cheeks. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,”

“I don’t know if coming inside me is a good idea but you do it anyway.”

Got him.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

By the time Javi woke the next morning, you were already out of bed. Squinting through the sunlight that filtered in from the window, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand and noted it wasn’t that he was rising late, but you had risen early. And judging by your slightly elevated voice elsewhere in the house, he figured you were running around, trying to get the muñequita ready before her dad showed up to scoop her away.

Though he’d been kept in the bedroom last night, he decided that didn’t carry over into the daylight. Searching the floor for his shirt, he picked it up and slid it back over his shoulders. He did up the buttons and gave himself a passing glance in the mirror on his way out of the room. The muñequita’s voice grew louder as he ambled down the hallway, and he turned the corner for the kitchen, where he came face to face with her sitting at the table. You stood behind her, fighting with her fidgeting to tie her hair up in pigtails.

“Hey!” 

You looked up and followed the direction of her outstretched arm to find Javi at the end of it, in the threshold. He was clothed at least, but you’d been hoping he’d stay out of sight until it was just the two of you in the house again.

“Hey muñequita,” he strode into the kitchen and reached out to take her hand. He served to keep her still enough so you could finish tying her hair up.

“Why are you in our house?”

Javier opened his mouth but looked back up at you in the same moment, finding that your expression was much less chill than his was. He nodded subtly, quiet submission to you knowing the muñequita was still awaiting an answer.

“Go get your shoes on. Your dad’s gonna be here soon,” 

Without argument, she hopped off the chair and ran out of the kitchen. Her little feet padding their way down the wood floor until she reached her bedroom door and nudged it open with a creak. But your eyes were back on Javi in an instant, frustration rising. “What the fuck, Peña?”

He smirked and side stepped you, having locked on to the drip coffee pot on the counter, full and ready to be consumed. “What?” He opened the cabinets one by one before he found the one with coffee cups and pulled one out for himself. Even took his damn sweet time filling it up with black coffee before he turned back around and saw you staring at him. Unimpressed. Hip cocked out to the side with your hand on it. “Sorry, didn’t know I was some sex object you kept locked away in your room,”

“Not in front of her,”

“She was happy to see me,”

“She’s five! She doesn’t know what she is,” you scrubbed your hands over your face. “She’s my kid. You don’t get to make any decisions where it concerns her, okay? On the topic of us, I get to decide how and when she learns about it.”

“Come on, it’s–”

“Okay?”

He nodded, “okay.” 

That was all you let him have before you crossed in front of him and continued down the hall in the direction of your daughter’s room. It gave Javier time to look around the kitchen; at all the little things that made this your well lived in home. The chipping paint on the drawers. The cracked floor tile by the fridge. The way a few of the cabinet doors hung slanted and off kilter, creating uneven lines in between them. The sorts of things you would’ve added to a list for the man in your life had you had one. And it only made him think about if there had been another man between your ex and him filling that void. He hoped not, if only because that man did a piss poor job at fixing things around here.

And the attention he was giving that thought had him failing to fully acknowledge the knock on the door. Half conscious of it, he’d thought it was the muñequita tapping her fist along the wall as she came down the hallway. But then the knock happened again and it didn’t result in either of you joining him in the kitchen. Javi set his coffee cup down on the counter and thought about calling out to you, but then the knocking happened for a third time. This time accompanied with a man’s voice shouting a slur toward you and well… if you’d known anything about Javi’s time in Colombia, it was that he hardly ever played nicely and he wasn’t about to start now. 

He pulled open the front door, making sure his shoulders and hips were square to the man standing on the other side of it. A undoubtedly threatening stance. And it was received that way when the man he came to understand was your baby daddy eyed him up and down. Disgust and anger, and something else, rising in his face.

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat, trying to look over Javi’s shoulder and into the house.

“Let’s call me a new friend,”

He laughed incredulously. “Yeah, I’m sure. Slut doesn’t know how to keep her legs closed,”

Here, there was little thought. It was an instinct that long lived in Javier. Before Colombia, he hadn’t been able to save his mother from hurt and pain. Couldn’t save Lorraine from (in fact had been the direct cause of it), and so in Colombia he honed the skill he now carried with him every day. Practiced it until it was second nature… with Helena… Elisa…

Javi took one giant step forward through the threshold; one hand gripping the wrist of the other man, and Javi’s other hand at his shoulder. Turning his body and using it as the perfect amount of leverage to incapacitate almost any threat, he pressed forward until the asshole in front of him now had his cheek squished against the rough stucco wall of the house. Javi took his hand from his shoulder and readjusted until his forearm pressed against his upper back, rendering your baby daddy immobile. 

Javier took another step forward, his mouth at the ear of the man you’d once called a lover, and now called him something else. And though he fought, Javi held his ground. “If you say one bad thing about her, I will fuck you up. She’s gotta be nice to you ‘cause you share a daughter. But I don’t. I will end you,”

“Fuck you!”

Javi pressed harder on his back knowing once he let up, the other man would have the prickled imprints of the stucco on his skin. “And if the kid comes home with stories of things you said about her mom, I will fucking find you and I will fucking kill you.”

“Javi?”

Your voice called out from within the house and Javi took one giant step back, creating space between him and the man you were about to hand your child off to. The muñequita came to the door, a backpack nearly the size of her on her back, and reached out idly toward her dad. He clutched her hand, all but dragging her off the porch with a mention that he’d drop her back off tonight. But he was gone in seconds and yet you and Javi still stood on the porch – him watching the car peel out of the driveway, and you watching him. Scoping him out for what might’ve gone down.

“What happened?”

“Nothin’,” he shook his head and carried on back into the house.

“Peña?” You followed him back into the kitchen. He so coolly went back to the counter to retrieve his coffee, but you knew something was up. Your ex had never looked so riled… or flaunting skin that matched the stucco siding of your home.

“We had a chat, man to man. I think he’ll be on better behavior moving forward.”

[wingedjellyfishflight]

All Aboard

You are one of the few people outside of the Admiral, and a few below him who know of the men riding below decks, catching a ride to their next drop off. You are the go-between, making sure they have everything they need in these few days until they leave. The only problem is that they have suddenly become extremely needy, constantly asking you for this or that. You've never felt so skittish as when you were surrounded by these tall, muscular men, their predatory eyes watching you closely as you drop off their latest request and pick up a new one. Finally, just a few hours before they are scheduled to leave, you refuse the latest request.

"I can't get this done in time, sorry, sir," you say quietly to Captain Price. "There just isn't enough time before you leave for me to get these specific rations. We don't carry them on this ship. The rations I brought this morning are the only kinds we currently have on board." He seems to consider this for a long moment before nodding.

"Understood, baby girl," he says casually, making your eye twitch. His terms of endearment have gotten more and more familiar and possessive sounding as you have dealt with him for the past week. "We will have to make do with what we have then."

You nod in acknowledgment and go to turn away, only to be blocked in by Ghost, Soap, and Gaz, who are standing behind you. "Excuse me, gentlemen," you say politely, trying to edge past Ghost. You don't expect his arm to shoot out, blocking your way.

"Mmm... pet," he says in a deep, rumbling voice as he looms over you. "We are going to make do... with you." You can't ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at his words, your eyes widening and pupils dilating with arousal. You close your eyes and shake your head after a moment.

"Sorry, sir, but I am not-" you begin before he cuts you off, tugging you close to whisper in your ear with his lips brushing your skin.

"You're not going to refuse our request, are you, pet? Not gonna make us beg to make such a sweet thing ours?" He kneads his fingers into your lower back as he speaks, pressing you against himself intimately as another man brushes against your back. "It's just a little request, after all. You be ours, and we will take care of everything else."

You feel overwhelmed in the most delicious way as the man standing behind you cups your breasts through your uniform, caressing them gently as he presses gentle kisses to your hair and neck. "I... umm... I don't..." you stumble over your words, trying to form a coherent protest even as you lean into Ghost's chest. "We shouldn't."

"That isnae no, is it lass?" The man behind you, Soap, whispers in your ear, and you can hear the teasing grin in his voice as he begins nibbling on your neck. You feel Ghost's hands slide down to grip your ass, tugging you forward to grind against his hard length. "Jus' say yes, hen." Soap growls in your ear, his Scottish accent making you weak-kneed.

"Y- yes," you whimper finally, and in a flash, the two men have you stripped bare between them, having only been waiting for your agreement to yank off your uniform. Soap's fingers tease your breasts gently at first, but he quickly begins pawing at them, tugging hard at your nipples as you moan and whimper. Ghost is teasing your slit, slowly working one, then two fingers into your clenching sleeve, stretching you with them, preparing you to take more. His thumb taps, swirls, and squishes your hard nub, watching your face as you struggle not to fall apart immediately. If you could focus, you would see the smirk on his face even under the skull mask he wears.

In minutes, the two men have you moaning between them, cunt dripping down your thighs. Your hands aren't idle, clenching at Ghost's shirt then wrapping around Soap's neck, holding him close as he bites and suckles at the expanse of skin before him from your shoulder to your ear, marking your skin. You squeak in surprise when Ghost suddenly lifts you, his broad tip notching into your slick entrance, your arms wrapping around Ghost's neck to help stabilize you. Soap tips your chin up, forcing you to look into Ghost's dark eyes as he lowers you onto his cock, relentlessly bullying his way deep into you despite your squirming.

"Fuck, pet," Ghost groans. "Carving out my own little place deep in you, ain't I?" You nod, trying to relax as he keeps pressing deeper, until finally, you feel his hips against your own. "That's it, lamb," he sighs quietly, eyes shut as he revels in the feel of your silken heat surrounding him. Ghost lifts you back up and lowers you again slowly, letting you get used to the feel of him inside you. Soap is still pressed against your back, and after a few slow thrusts, he gently tugs your arms from around Ghost's neck, making you lean against his chest, supporting your weight.

"Look at ye. All laid out pretty fer me n Ghost," Soap mumbles in your ear as he watches Ghost snap his hips into you, his patience worn thin as he allows his arousal to take charge. Ghost's hands wrap around your hips, holding you in place, one thumb rubbing your clit aggressively with little care to how much it is overstimulating you. "Yer gonna cum all over Ghost's cock, ain't ye, bonnie lass? Yea, yer gonna be a good girl fer us and cum." Soap's mumbling has you whimpering and clenching around Ghost who can't get enough of your wet cunt or the tears welling up in your eyes as he drives you to the brink, your eyes falling shut as you focus on the sensations.

"Cum for me, pet," Ghost growls. "Cum on my cock. Look. At. Me!" The authority in his command has your eyes snapping open, your orgasm overtaking you as you look deep into his eyes. You grunt, unable to form proper words, your body tightening around him like a velvet vise. Ghost chokes out a moan at the grip you have around him, his thrusts faltering slightly as he tries to hold off from cumming in you. When you dig your heels into his ass and pull him tight to you, he can't stop himself, grinding deep in you as his cock pulses, dumping weeks of pent up cum right at the entrance to your womb. His brain supplies the image of you swollen up with his child, making his cock twitch excitedly and pulse a few extra times as if to guarantee it.

After a few moments, Ghost pulls back, panting heavily, running his hands over your body gently before Soap pulls you away to lay on one of the bunks. "On yer belly or yer back," he asks, a thread of desperation in his voice as he nuzzles your throat.

"B- back," you answer softly, wanting to look up at him as he takes you.

"Good girl," Soap groans, gently laying you down before he lines himself up, wasting no time burying his cock in your core. He is thicker, but shorter than Ghost, stretching you wide over him as he quickly ruts into you. "F- fuck, hen," he gasps into your throat. "M'not gonna last. Make it up to ye next time," he mumbles before his words dissolve into grunts and whines. You wrap your legs around his back as you take him, sensitive, but eager. Soap forces your head to the side as he bites onto your shoulder, growling against your skin as he pistons into your cum-filled cunt, desperate to add his own load to the one Ghost already left in you. Your eyes are a bit glazed over, but you can't help but notice Gaz and Captain Price leisurely stroking themselves, waiting for their turn with you. The scene makes you clench tight around Soap, startling a whimper out of him. A few more thrusts and he finally releases his bite from your shoulder, roaring as he cums inside you. His hips never slow, rutting into you until he is too sensitive to keep moving, whining in your ear as he finally stutters to a stop.

You caress Soap's back, your hips moving slightly against him even as he softens and slips out, needing more after how well he worked your body. He finally moves off of you, and immediately, Gaz takes his place over you. "You look so pretty, baby," he sighs, looking down at your flushed, marked body and well-fucked cunt. "Such a beautiful body and so eager for us." Gaz wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling at it and lifting your legs up to drape over his shoulders as he lightly rubs his tip around your clit, teasing you. You squirm, trying to get more friction, whining as he holds back. Your hands fly up to grip his forearms, holding him tightly as you quietly beg him for more.

"Please," you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "I need more. Fuck... please!" Gaz just grins, his teeth scraping against your nipple.

"Keep begging for it, luv," he says teasingly as his hands reach down to pin your hips to the bed. You try to move, but he holds you in place with ease. "Nuh uh, pretty girl. Beg," he says, biting your nipple to admonish you.

"Please, Gaz," you whine. "Ugh! Please fuck me. Wanna cum! Let me cum on your cock... please, please. Need you-" Your voice cuts off when he plunges into you, driving deep into you and hitting somewhere deep inside that makes spots flash across your vision and your jaw drop open. A strained gasp is all that comes out as he smirks down at you.

"Like that, baby," he asks smugly as his bollocks slap wetly against your ass. "That's the spot, isn't it? The one that's going to make you scream for me." His tip punches against that spot again and again with hard, sharp thrusts. You can already feel the knot tightening in your stomach as the pain and pleasure mix together, making your brain feel a bit fuzzy as you babble at him, begging for him to make you cum. "You'll cum, luv," he promises as he thrusts even harder. "When I'm done bruising your insides, you'll cum with me. Ghost might have carved you open, but you'll feel the ache from me for days." Your nails dig into his forearms as you clench around him, his words making the heat in you threaten to boil over.

"Just a little longer, pretty girl. It's going to be worth the wait," Gaz coos to you, trying to last as long as possible inside your tightening cunt. He keeps thrusting deep inside, trying to get that little bit deeper into your core with each thrust as he feels the familiar ache in his bollocks building. "Ready, luv? Let go and cum for me. Show me just how much you love me, baby!" You squeal as he pushes you over the edge, your toes curling and your vision going white.

When you are somewhat aware again, Gaz is pressing kisses to your face and throat, mumbling words you can't parse out just yet as you tremble beneath him. You catch his lips, kissing him back for a long moment before you drop your head back onto the bunk, panting quietly. He slowly pulls out of you and stands up, backing up as a new set of hands cups your face. You look up to see Captain Price leaning over you. "How are you feeling, little one? That was a good one, wasn't it?" You nod, fighting past the languid feeling in your body to answer him.

"Good. Am good," you mumble, smiling weakly up at him before your eyes drift down, admiring his muscular, hairy body. You can't help but follow the dark treasure trail down his body, seeing the slight pudge at his belly, concealing his abs. Your eyes lock onto his heavy cock, seeing the angry red tip and dripping pre-cum. "Captain," you sigh happily. "Let me help." You reach up for him and wrap your hand around his length, gently stroking him. His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you away.

"No, baby girl. I'm gonna add to the little collection you have here," he says, rubbing your belly. "Roll over." You nod, carefully rolling over and letting him slide a pillow under your hips to get you at the right height. "That's better. Don't want to strain my knees," he says with a chuckle as he grips your ass in his hands, spreading you wide. "Gaz is right. You look beautiful with all that cum leaking out. It's covering your thighs so nicely." You feel him stare at you for a long time before he finally guides the head of his cock against your welcoming entrance, slowly sliding into you as if he has all the time in the world to enjoy your body. You try to press back against him, to urge him to move faster and he stops. Whining, you try again and this time, he spanks you, a hard swat against your ass. "I'm in control, little one. Not you. Behave."

"Yes, sir." You nod and relax under him again, knowing just from the last week of taking his requests that he does not allow for insubordination.

"Good girl," he purrs in your ear, leaning onto his elbows on either side of your head as he slowly rolls his hips against you, every inch of your bodies pressed together. He doesn't miss the way the praise makes you blush and tighten around him. "Knew you'd have a praise kink," he says, chuckling darkly. "You're desperate to be our good girl. Fulfilled every silly request we could come up with, making those sweet doe eyes up at us." Price grunts as he thinks about how innocent you looked just a little while ago and now here you are, taking your fourth cock in less than an hour, dripping seed from the other three men onto his bollocks as he lazily thrusts into you. "Taking me so good, little one," he praises you. "Think you'll fit into the team nicely with a bit of training. Would you like that? A transfer to our squad? Be our baby girl at home and our sniper in the field?"

You struggle to concentrate on the words he is whispering to you, his gentle thrusts taking up most of your attention. "Anything, Captain," you finally murmur, willing to agree to whatever he wants. The few words that register don't make enough sense for you to focus on them, so you just nod along as he keeps talking.

"You'll be the perfect addition to the team," he says decisively. "Now, you're going to cum nice and hard for me, aren't you? Just like you already have. I want to feel you squeeze me nice and tight." You lace your fingers in one of his hands, holding tightly as he starts pumping faster. His body presses you deeper into the mattress, surrounding you completely so the only thing you know is him.

"Captain," you moan, muffled slightly. He can feel you starting to tense around his hard length, and he growls in your ear. He doesn't speak, wanting to hear your needy whines and whimpers as he slowly builds you up and you don't disappoint, quickly becoming desperate as he stimulates your body. "Captain," you beg, turning your head to look up at him. He smiles encouragingly down at you and presses a kiss to your forehead, not adjusting his pace or angle.

"I've got you, baby girl. Fall apart for me. You can do it." Price squeezes your hand tightly and watches you closely as you feel your orgasm building higher and higher. When your eyes roll up and your hips jerk against his, the pleasure rolling over you, he finally lets go and fills you full, grinding his hips against you as he pulses shot after shot deep inside. He collapses slightly, pinning you down even more firmly against the mattress, and you reach your free hand back to wrap around his back, pulling his chest against you just a little tighter.

"We've got you, pretty girl. You've got nothing to worry about," Gaz promises, his voice like silk, soothing you even as you realize that they planned every moment of this evening out. They wanted you before you even gave into your desire. Wanted you on their team for some reason despite never seeing you do anything but bring them the things they requested. While it worried you that they only wanted you for your body, you had the feeling that Captain Price knew everything about you from your service record to your family history and wanted you because of your skill in the field, not in the bed. Though, the way Ghost's hand wraps around your thigh as he whispers quietly in your ear about keeping his cock warm on the flight home has you nodding eagerly and biting your lip, looking forward to it.

A throat clears across the room after a few minutes. "Captain, we need to be up top in twenty minutes," Gaz gently reminds him. You feel Captain Price sigh silently before he pulls away, standing up behind you. After a moment, you sit up as well, blushing slightly as you see the rest of the team dressed in their full gear, with their bags next to the door and waiting to leave for their trip back to their home base. Soap hands you the uniform you had been wearing, his fingers brushing purposely against yours with a small smile on his face. Dressing quickly, you try to regain your professional demeanor and guide them through the ship to meet the boat they will be taking ashore. Ghost, Gaz, and Soap cast lingering glances at you before they disappear over the side of the ship, climbing down the ladder quickly. You turn to tell Captain Price goodbye, and instead, he grips your arm gently and guides you to the ladder.

"C'mon, baby girl. It's your turn. Ghost already packed your things, and your transfer was finalized yesterday. You belong to us now." His tone is firm, and you know there is no arguing with him. Not when the officers are watching your interaction with him. You give him a sharp nod, your eyes making it clear that you will be having a full discussion about this later. Climbing down the ladder, you feel your nerves starting to build, worried about what all this means. But when you reach the bottom, Ghost is there, steadying you and guiding you to sit between him and Gaz. Both men rub your back gently, the darkness on board hiding the way they press close to you and whisper encouragement into your ears.

[catboyieejeno]

your lazy morning drabble w donghyuck was super cute 🥹 could i request a slight angst/fluffy drabble with how jaehyun would spoil his partner when he realizes they are going through a hard time? thank you 🤍🤍

comfort; jung jaehyun

pairings: bf! jaehyun x gn! reader (mentions of reader having hair tied back, but no pronouns)

contents: cursing, established relationship, slight angst, jaehyun cheers reader up, ending is all fluff :,(

Your boyfriend prided himself in learning and knowing everything about you; he knew you better than anyone, and even you couldn’t deny that.

Jaehyun had memorized your endearing quirks and habits, learned to appease your unique sense of humor, mentally noted your list of pet peeves, watched warily for signs of your stressors. He knew these things about you practically better than he knew himself. He was observant, patient, a good listener. All of the qualities that made you so very sure that you were in love with him, and he with you, because who else would make the time and effort to know you so well, if they weren’t.

A few months into the relationship, Jaehyun noticed the slight mood changes you would go through, where for a month or so, you would feel fine, happy, whole. Then, out of nowhere and entirely unannounced, a wave of stress would hit you. You had a sensitive soul, one prone to be affected by the external factors that were out of your control, and when too many things went wrong all at once, you would break down.

His heart ached every time he realized that he couldn’t always make it better, but nonetheless, he never stopped trying.

Today was one of those days. Your really, really shitty days.

Earlier in the week, you and one of your long term friends had a fight and stopped talking. A mere two hours later, you got stuck in the middle of a rainstorm waiting for the train home. The rain caused you to get sick with migraines, nausea, and fever galore, which you had to endure every day of class for the remainder of the week. Your sleep schedule was suffering, since you were in a constant battle with your illness which wore you down. The medication you needed barely aided your symptoms, only serving to make you drowsy, and the countless stacks of notes you needed to study for today’s midterm were relentlessly packed with information. A midterm worth a considerable, significant amount of your grade, which you failed with a 47%.

The front door slammed behind you, bag crashing to the floor as you stepped inside your apartment. You kicked your shoes off to the side, disregarding where they may have landed, keys flying onto the couch. With your lip caught between your teeth, which you were convinced was the only thing keeping you from crying out of pure frustration, you shuffled down the hall and straight into your bedroom.

As you stepped inside, Jaehyun’s head snapped up, eyes momentarily lighting up at the sight of you until he took note of your expression.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he cooed, arms pushing himself off the mattress. He hurried over to you, ready to pull you into his arms, but your outstretched hand halted him and kept him at a distance.

With the most docile tone you could muster, you muttered out a single phrase, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jaehyun gave you a curt nod and watched, frozen in his spot, as you stormed around the room, grabbing the clothes you would wear after your shower. His eyes followed you, seeing as you drop them on the corner of the bed. In one motion, you yanked the tie out of your hair and left it on your nightstand, fingers scratching at your scalp to soothe the soreness of having it tied back for so many hours.

Your gaze landed on the desk in the corner of the room, where all your study guides, notes, and cheat sheets laid sprawled out, mocking you. Maybe if you had studied harder, if you had stayed up later. Unable to look at them any longer, you ran over, piling each stack one on top of the other and slamming the papers face down against the wooden surface. You shut the textbook with a boom, and picked up the now useless notes you had made, crumbling them up within your fists, hoping you’d find some relief by crushing them into nothing.

It wasn’t until Jaehyun came up behind you, placing his hand ever so carefully on your shoulder and uttering a small “Babe?” that you noticed the hot, angry tears pooling at your eyes.

“What?” You snapped, turning around, “I’m not in the fucking mood, Jae. I already told you I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

His lips pursed, taking in your words. “Okay.” was all he managed to say.

You continued on your track without sparing him a second glance, grabbing your clothes and going straight into the bathroom.

You spun the shower handle to the highest degree and began to peel your clothes off your body, discarding them in the hamper. For the first few seconds that the hot water hit your skin, you felt relief, as if just for a moment, everything terrible that had happened this past week was not real, like it was not hurting you. You squeezed your eyes shut, basking in the blissful feeling, until your ears pick up the sound of your front door closing and your heart dropped.

Your hand flies to shut off the water, and you wait for a moment in silence, yearning, pleading with yourself that you had only imagined the click of the door.

Timidly, you call out, “Babe?”

There was no response.

“Jae?” Your second call is louder, although somehow weaker and tainted with guilt.

Jaehyun had stormed out, undoubtedly because of the way you spoke to him.

“Fuck,”

Finally, for the first time this week, your tears come spilling out as you switch the water back on. It muffled your sobs, but it no longer soothed the hurt in your chest.

You can’t remember how long you stood there, pouring out all your pent up emotions; you had no defined measure of time, but you were there long enough for the water to start going cold, leaving you no choice but to step out.

Your tears eventually stopped as you finished dressing yourself, and you wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself in your blanket and go to sleep.

Truthfully, you wanted to be in your boyfriend’s arms, to feel held and loved by him as you rambled on about all the things that had upset you, knowing he would not only listen to you, but hear you.

The bathroom door opened and shut behind you, and as you turn to your bed, just about ready to collapse into it, your feet skid to a stop.

Sat on the edge of the bed was Jaehyun, a bouquet of the prettiest pink tulips in one hand, an iPad in the other. Organized on the bed was an assortment of your favorite snacks and comfort foods. You take a look around, mouth agape, as you notice the white sheet hung up on the wall opposite of the bed.

A projector illuminated the opening credits of your favorite movie, the one you had been begging him to watch with you for forever, onto the smooth surface. The room light had been dimmed, replaced by fairy lights that glowed a light shade of purple. The pillows and blankets had been propped up into the shape of a fort. Your nightstand was full of your favorite skin care masks and creams, along with a new and neatly folded silk pajama set and white slippers that matched the exact outfit Jaehyun was wearing.

“Are you insane-“

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about what happened and I’m sorry for pushing it earlier, but I couldn’t just let you be-“ he cut you off, but you were quick to interrupt him, kneeling in front of him where he sat on the bed.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you, it was just misdirected anger and I know that’s not an excuse,” You rambled, bringing a hand up to cup his face, “Baby, you didn’t have to do all this,”

“I don’t care about earlier. You’ve been so upset all week, I couldn’t stand to see you like that anymore.” he explained. Jaehyun sets aside the two gifts in his hands, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you.

“I thought you stormed out,” you confessed, “I heard the door close and I thought-“

“I would never, love,” he pressed a soft kiss to your lips and gestured around, “I only went out to get all this,”

“I can see that,” you giggle, “You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

His fingers came up to brush your wet hair behind your ear and he kissed you again, moving his mouth smoothly against yours. The feeling of bliss returned, and you swore you could’ve melted right then and there in his arms. The comfort you felt in his hold was incomparable.

When you pulled away for a breath, you looked around once more, taking in the sight of the room and gifts.

“An iPad?” you raised a brow.

“I was tired of seeing you scribble in those notebooks every day.”

Your head tilts back in laughter as you hold him close, thanking him. He started going on about the matching PJ’s, urging you to put yours on so the two of you could match, and you sighed, just about ready to get off his lap and change. Admittedly, you were anticipating his reaction to the movie and the night ahead. Before you get up, however, you remind him of a simple fact.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

+.*·

requests r open

+.*·

[babyboibucky]

What You Want

Pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (with mentions of Steven Grant)

Summary: Marc doesn’t like the idea of sharing you. Not even with Steven.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Unprotected penetration, cunnilingus, ass eating (f receiving), anal play, anal, double penetration 👀, choking, edging, overstimulation

A/N: I don’t know why I wrote this 🤷🏻‍♀️

MAIN MASTERLIST

You’d only met Steven a couple of times since getting into a relationship with Marc.

He was sweet, funny, endearing— it was easy to enjoy his company. In the few times you’d spend time with Steven, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with him instead.

It was just genuine curiosity though, not like you were going to act up on it, more so bring it up to Marc. Although he and Steven were on good terms, they set some clear boundaries especially when it came to relationships— romantic ones to be specific.

And well, Marc had some possessiveness in him too. What’s his will remain his and that includes you.

Your curiosity for Steven though became a bit difficult to control and soon spiraled into something more— fantasies.

Does Steven kiss differently than Marc? Was he more gentle, perhaps shy with his approach? How was he in bed? Would he be capable of being just as rough as Marc? Was he vocal? Does he curse as much as Marc whenever you’d take him into your mou—

“Baby?”

You looked up from your book— not that you were reading it anyway— and saw Marc standing by the doorway of your bedroom. His brows were furrowed as he stared at you.

You cleared your throat, “Hi, what’s up?” You asked with a smile.

Marc returned your smile but his eyes remained the same, full of wonder. “I could ask you the same thing, you’re gripping your book a little too tight.” He said, motioning his head towards your hands.

True enough, your knuckles were almost white from how hard you were holding onto your book. You nervously chuckled as you closed it, relaxing your entire body and letting go of your thoughts about Steven.

“Got a bit carried away, the chapter I’m on is quite stressful to read.” You lied, biting down on your lip.

Marc nodded before looking at you from head to toe. He tilted his head as soon as his eyes went back to yours, “I think I know how to get all that stress out of you.”

The roughness in Marc’s voice sent shivers down your spine, you slowly got up from the couch and approached him, “Yeah? Tell me about it.” You said, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss on his chin.

Marc smirked, sliding both his hands behind you to squeeze your ass before landing a hard smack on it, making you yelp in surprise.

“Can’t tell you, but I can definitely show you.”

-

Thoughts about Steven no longer lingered in the back of your mind, in fact, it was close to impossible to even think of anything. Not when Marc was fucking you so good from behind.

You could barely stand on your feet as you were bent over the foot of the bed, fingers gripping the sheets tightly in order to hold yourself up.

“Oh god, Marc…don’t stop…” you mewled, mouth agape as your moans uncontrollably spilled out.

Marc tightened his grip on your waist before letting one hand grab a fistful of your hair, yanking you upright. His sweaty chest was pressed against your back as he continued to thrust into you while his lips latched onto your neck to suck and nip.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” He grunted into your ear as he wrapped one arm around your hips while the other reached for your neck, securing you close to his body.

You hummed in response, eyes barely opening from how good his cock felt inside of you.

“Tell me how you like to be fucked.” Marc said.

You clawed at his forearm wrapped around your body and he slightly loosened his grip on your throat to let you speak, “Rough…want it rough…” you choked out.

Marc twisted a nipple before slapping your breast, the speed of his thrusts unforgiving as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Sit on the bed, open your legs. I want to taste this pussy.” Marc said, swiftly pulling his throbbing cock out from your cunt.

You whined at the emptiness you felt but sat on the edge of the bed, leaning on back on your elbows for support as you opened your legs wide.

Marc’s eyes went straight to your cunt while fisting his glistening cock. You loved it whenever his eyes looked like that— glassy and lidded with carnal desire. He continued to jerk his cock a few more times before kneeling in front of you, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy.

He didn’t waste his time and licked a fat stripe against your cunt. You threw your head back and moaned out Marc’s name as he went in for another lick before wrapping his lips around your sensitive bud.

Your toes curled and your fingers found purchase in Marc’s hair, tugging on the roots as he flicked his tongue in quick but hard strokes.

He was grunting and groaning against your pussy, making obscene noises as he ate you out until your thighs trembled. Each time Marc could sense you getting close, he would pull back and roughly kiss you until you were squirming for more.

Marc wasn’t one to make you cum multiple times, he preferred edging you and teasing you until you were crying for release. That being said, your orgasms with him were always intense and mind-numbing, sometimes to the point of passing out.

“God, baby…your pussy tastes so good. Fuckin’ love your cream and scent, want it all over me.” Marc growled and spread your lips with his fingers before diving back in.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head the same time you fully laid down on the bed, back arching and hips grinding against Marc’s mouth. Your grip on his locks tightened, pulling his head closer to your cunt.

When you were nearing the edge yet again, Marc pulled back but only to lower his head until you felt his hot breath fanning against your puckered hole.

Marc chuckled when you stiffened, “Look at this pretty asshole, all puckered up for me.” He praised, pushing your thighs back to get a better view of your ass.

“Marc, what are you—“

“Can I lick your ass, baby?” Marc cut you off, his voice breathy and tone sweet and gentle but dripping with desire.

The two of you may have gotten rough and kinky, but anal play was something that was never explored nor brought up. You weren’t sure whether you were comfortable to try it out, but the way Marc was looking up at you with those eyes? How the hell were you going to say no?

A slight nod was all that Marc needed from you before leaning forward to lick your asshole. You keened at the new sensation, it was odd but pleasurable.

Marc exhaled through his nose before growling, “Fuck, so good.” He said before licking your hole again, this time flicking just the tip of his tongue in a swift pace.

You pulled your thighs higher while keeping your legs bent at the knees and Marc took it as an opportunity to prod your asshole with his tongue.

“Oh my god, Marc…fuck!” You moaned out loud when he pressed his face further in between your cheeks, his nose bumping your clit just right.

Your toes curled and your body shuddered from immense pleasure; you could feel the sheets stick against your sweaty back as you writhed on the bed.

Lifting your head up, you were instantly met with Marc’s eyes as he pushed his face further into your cunt and ass, almost as if depriving himself of oxygen.

His face and neck were flushed, bullets of sweat trickling down from his forehead— he was fucking famished and you were his meal.

Marc was grunting, his nose still pressed against your cunt as he ate out your ass with a vigor that had you clenching. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before he finally pulled away, gasping for air before spitting on your asshole.

Before you could even say anything, Marc prodded your hole with his finger. You whimpered at the sudden intrusion, it wasn’t painful nor uncomfortable though.

“Relax, baby.” Marc coaxed, pumping just the tip of his finger in and out of your hole.

You swallowed and nodded, bringing your hands to squeeze your breast. Marc continued prodding your hole until he felt you relax further. He then pushed his finger deeper until he was knuckle deep.

You let out a breathy sigh, squirming and wriggling your hips. Still, it wasn’t painful even after Marc began to speed up his pace. Truth was, you were starting to feel some pleasure build up within you.

Marc removed his finger to gather the wetness dripping out of your pussy, smearing it down to your asshole before fingering you again. This time, he carefully added another finger.

“Feels good, yeah?” He asked.

With your brows furrowed and eyes half-open, you uttered a small, breathy “yes”. You could feel your asshole getting stretched, wincing at the slight sting you were starting to feel.

“Marc…” you called out, reaching down to grab at his wrist, stopping him from his movements.

“Shh, baby…it’s okay. You trust me?” Marc asked, cradling your face with one hand.

You nodded again and tried to relax. Marc swiped his thumb along your lower lip, “I’m gonna fuck your ass, make it feel really good for you. You gonna let me do that? Huh, baby?” He asked again.

Marc didn’t wait for an answer and instead, pulled his fingers out from your ass before lining up his cock. He noticed your body freeze so he distracted you by thumbing your clit, rubbing it in slow circles as he slowly pushed the head of his dick into your asshole.

Your jaw went slack at the stretch, eyes watering from a mixture of pleasure and pain. Marc shushed you and and continued to rub your clit, sliding his thumb down to slip it into your pussy.

“That’s my good girl, you’re taking my cock so well. Fuck…looks so good inside your ass.” Marc grunted, pushing his cock further and further until he was fully sheathed.

You’d never felt so full before, like you were filled up to the brim. Marc continued to rub your pussy, helping you to take your mind off from the slight discomfort of having his thick cock inside of your ass

“Fuuuck, baby…” Marc groaned as he fully pulled his cock out of you, watching your asshole gape at the emptiness.

You arched your back and moaned out loud when he slipped back in, this time with a rougher thrust. The line between pleasure and pain slowly becoming a blur with every cant of his hips.

One hard pound had you clinging onto Marc’s forearms, “Fuck…Marc…” you whimpered.

Marc continued to fuck your ass, his hand moving to press your neck down onto the mattress. He watched your tits bounce and god, seeing your pussy get wetter and wetter? It almost sent him to the edge.

You started rubbing your clit when you felt like his cock in your ass wasn’t enough, surprisingly, Marc allowed you to touch yourself.

The relief only lasted for a short while because Marc suddenly stopped pounding your ass and slapped your hand away from your clit.

“You’re a greedy girl, aren’t you?” He asked, bending down to bite your lower lip until it bled.

He kept his hand wrapped around your throat, tightening its grip as he licked the blood from the corner of your lips.

“You thought I didn’t know about you and your fantasies about Steven?” He hissed.

Your eyes widened at Marc’s revelation, “I’m s-sorry…” you choked out, holding onto his wrist.

Marc snickered, “Are you really?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you, “Seems like you really want to fuck Steven, been dreaming a lot about him lately.” He said.

Fuck.

You thought they were just dreams, the harmless ones that made you wake up bathed in sweat with a familiar throb in between your legs. You didn’t expect that you might have moaned out Steven’s name in your sleep.

“Oh baby, you could have asked me. I might actually consider letting Steven have you.” Marc said, letting your neck go before straightening up.

Marc chuckled as he walked over to the bedside table, opening the drawer as he turned to you. You were speechless, eyes full of regret and fear as you laid there panting.

“You should have just asked.” Marc shrugged, “But you didn’t and it makes me think that you’re just a greedy whore.”

What Marc pulled out from the drawer made you gasp— it was a dildo that looked exactly like his cock. Your eyes were wide as you watched him walk back to the foot of the bed.

He grabbed your knee and spread your legs wider before sliding his cock back into your asshole.

“Marc, what—“

“So now you’re gonna know what it’s like to take the both of us.” Marc cut you off with a rough thrust, grunting at the tightness of your ass.

Your whimpers died on your tongue when Marc started sliding the dildo up and down your folds, teasing your weeping pussy while fucking your ass in a steady rhythm.

Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes when Marc slowly slipped the tip of the dildo into your cunt. You let out a shaky breath at the sensation of having both your pussy and ass penetrated at the same time.

“You know how much I fucking hate sharing.” Marc hissed, scrunching his nose when you clenched around his cock.

“Do I not satisfy you enough that you had to fantasize about Steven fucking this pussy?” He growled, fully shoving the dildo into your cunt.

You let out a string of curses, your voice loud and strained from all the moaning. Drool started to seep out from the corners of your mouth. Your mind was hazy and your body was buzzing from the overstimulation. You felt like you were on fire, like you were on the verge of exploding.

It was hard to focus on anything else but the way Marc was fucking both of your holes.

“Baby, if you want more from me all you need is to tell me and I’m gonna fucking give it to you.” Marc said, gritting his teeth.

You nodded eagerly, arching your back as you held onto the sheets, “Marc, please. Please I’m so close!” You cried out.

Marc exhaled through his nose and sped up his thrusts. He was fucking your pussy with the dildo so hard that your wetness was starting to spatter all over your inner thighs.

“Goddamn look at you…fuck, greedy whore. So fucking ruined for me, baby.” Marc moaned, throwing his head back.

Your eyelids fluttered and your mind went blank when Marc swiped his thumb against your clit. One swipe and you were a shaking mess on the bed as you violently came.

The moan you let out was loud and long, your orgasm was so strong that your entire body was shuddering that Marc had to hold your legs in place to stop them from shaking.

You clenched around him tightly, both your pussy and ass pulsating as you came wave after wave after wave. Marc removed the dildo from your cunt and pulled his cock out, fisting it until he spilled his release all over your gaping asshole.

The veins on his neck and right forearm bulged out as he continued to jerk off his cock, pressing the head against your pussy.

“Shit, baby. Gonna fucking cum again.”

Marc clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring and eyes rolling back as he made himself cum for the second time.

By the time Marc was done, your pussy and ass was covered in his cum. He let out a grunt as he slapped his softening cock on your pussy, smearing his release all over the insides of your thighs.

You were so out of it that you didn’t notice how Marc carefully moved you to the top of the bed, laying your head on the pillow before cleaning you up.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re done.” Marc whispered before pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You hummed and forced your eyes to open, “‘’m sorry…it’s just you.” You apologized.

Marc shushed you, “I know, baby.” He reassured, pushing your hair away from your face before kissing your lips.

He cuddled with you afterwards, hugging you close to his chest while rubbing you back in soothing circles. It took you a couple of minutes to recover and when you did, you looked up at Marc with a cheeky grin on your face.

“If this is what happens when you get jealous, I should dream about Steven more.”

Marc quickly looked down at you, first with a look of disbelief. His expression quickly changed into amusement as he burst out in chuckles.

“You’re a filthy, filthy girl. But like I said, just ask and I’ll give you what you want.”

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Can we get a Charon nsfw alphabet? 🥺 please for the holidays?

Charon NSFW Alphabet

➼ Word Count » 1.0k ➼ Warnings » Size Kink, Marking, MDNI ➼ Genre » NSFW, Romantic

A - Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Charon isn't the greatest at aftercare, but he certainly tries. He'll carry you off the bed, place you in the nearest bath (or general water source), and wash you. He doesn't speak, just silently does his best to take care of you as you lean back in his arms.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes the way your eyes stare up at him when he's on top of you. There's something about the sheer amount of trust they hold that turns him on.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes to cum inside of you (he's sterile after all), although he does sometimes worry about the amount of radiation you'd contract when he does so.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets off on the idea of you squirming underneath him and loves the thought of keeping you trapped.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's only ever slept with a few others before you, but he's got enough experience to feel confident in what he's doing.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Charon likes being on top of you. He loves seeing how much smaller you are compared to him and how easily it would be for him to crush you under his weight.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

No, he's always serious. Humor is dumb, especially in the bedroom.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

There are a few bits of red hair down there, but most of it's gone due to the radiation.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's quiet, maybe whispering a few terms of endearment into your ear, but that's it. He likes to keep these moments as intimate as possible, meaning he'd rather not let anyone else hear your whimpers.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates every once in a while if you're busy, but otherwise, he'll grab you by the back of your shirt and yank you a bit to let you know.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He has a size kink but that's the farthest it goes. He's fairly vanilla, however, if you ever wanted to suggest anything he'd gladly oblige.

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere that he can lock the door. He refuses to let anyone walk in on you, and if they did, he'd contemplate shooting them.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you be all sweet and polite. It makes him want to take your face in between his fingers and stare down into those lovely eyes of yours. You're so much more different than the others who've held his contract before and he finds the change so... thrilling.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There's nothing he wouldn't do. You give him the word and he'll go through with it.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Charon prefers to go down on you, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't adore the way your eyes looked up at him when you sucked him off.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to go rougher. If you're not covered in tears and sweat, then he didn't do it right.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn't really like them. He feels as if they're too much of a bother to actually go through with and would much rather just wait till you both have time.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as it's something you want. He'd never experiment with anything that would cause you permanent harm like radiation or any type of scarring.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

4-5. Charon's a pretty bulky guy and has a ton of endurance. He'll go for as long as you need him too.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own any and would prefer not to use any at all. He can give you everything a toy can and would like to keep it that way.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Sometimes, but he normally prefers to just get straight to the point. He's a service dom and loves pleasing you the fastest way he can.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Besides the occasional grunt, he's not very loud.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Although he prefers to keep sex disclosed, he loves leaving a trail of hickeys along your neck for good measure. It helps to ward off other men and gives him a slight feeling of pride in what he's done.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

5 inches long and really thick.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's fairly average, he gets horny about 2-3 times a week, but that's all.

Z -Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Charon doesn't like falling asleep after, opting to clean you off and watch over you while you rest. He likes it better that way.