#as evidence that she's going to give him SOMETHING good as his mother.

[pyramidofmice]

Sally's apology to John really struck me as a raw, meaningful parent-to-child apology. She didn't dumb anything down, she didn't lie to soften anything, she claimed all of her actions... he was so young, and Sally reacted to his age not by talking down to him, but by finding a way to describe the whole truth so he could understand

Most importantly I think is how she kept saying that John is a good person. Like...she thought she was about to die. And she didn't spend that time asking John for forgiveness or to remember her in a good light. She dedicated her words to making John feel loved. She spent that precious time giving him something to make sense of it all, to heal somewhere down the line even when she's not there

[rinhaler]

sigh… toji is a good dad…. so i’m holding you at gun point for you to make a oneshot abt toji and his bimbo sugar baby or else

aaaaa my first request and ofc it's a toji one! i love the idea of bimbo reader going shopping all of the time with daddy's credit card, and she always gets megumi some treats too!

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, soft dom!toji, age gap (reader 20s toji 30s), pussy eating, ddlg, squirting, established relationship, (reader can be mamaguro or step mother, whatever you prefer!).

words: 1.5k

He always gets home so late.

It’s 4am, now, and usually your eyes are too weary and heavy to welcome him home. But you’ve been prancing around the penthouse since you got home from a particularly lengthy shopping spree. The damage all contained to daddy’s credit card.

Megumi doesn’t cause too much trouble for you these days. He sleeps through the night so long as you read him a story and leave on the night light. It reminds you of yourself when you see him cuddle up and drift off to sleep with his favourite plush.

Daddy doesn’t mind if you’re sleeping upon his return.

In fact, he prefers it.

It gives him time to shower and clean up the evidence of his misdemeanours before climbing into bed beside you. But he’s surprised when he gets back and sees the lights still on and R&B music softly plays throughout the apartment. You realise he’s home when you hear the door lock sharply behind him.

He saunters through the penthouse, his pace quickens as he ascends the stairs. He’s careful as he opens the door to Megumi’s bedroom, smiling as he sees his son sleeping soundly.

You spritz some perfume when you hear his footsteps approaching. It’s crazy how nervous he makes you, an unrelenting desire to be his perfect girl at all times. Maybe you shouldn’t have been chugging back champagne like it’s water, though.

“Baby?” he speaks, softly, not wanting to scare you if you’d just fallen asleep with the lights on. “I’m home, princess…” he smiles as you come into his view. Sitting so sweet ‘n patient on the end of the bed for him.

“Hi daddy.” you smile, crossing one leg over the other as you take another sip of champagne. “Missed you s’much…” you confess.

His eyes scan the room and takes in the countless shopping bags from high end stores. The aged scar on his lip pulls deliciously as he smirks at the sight, and then seeing you staring up at him so innocently makes his heart and his cock swell.

“Looks like you had some fun today. Gonna give daddy a heart attack if you keep this up.” he laughs, only half joking as he approaches to kiss your forehead. It’s soft, like you’ll shatter if he applies too much force. You’re so precious to him, so delicate.

“Wanted to get somethin’ nice for Shiu’s birthday party… wan’ you to be proud of me.” you explain, batting your lashes like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Daddy’s always proud of you.” he assures you, kissing you again. “This little outfit new?” he asks, eyes raking over your body to examine your new clothes. A short tight skirt and a plunging crop top that leaves little to the imagination. His body sinks so that he’s kneeling in front of you, caressing your thighs and rubbing soft circles into them.

“Mhmm, s’all new.” you nod, your legs uncross so that he can settle between them with ease. His green eyes still staring up at you like you are the first woman he’s ever seen. The only one that has and will ever mean something to him. “The boots are new too…” you tell him, showing off the tan over the knee platforms.

“They’re beautiful baby…” he tells you, head dipping to plant a chaste kiss to your thigh. He moves to pull away, though his movement halts before he can fully raise his head. His right hand smooths up your thigh and under your skirt, a single finger cocking the material to reveal your bare cunt. “What’s this? You couldn’t afford some pretty panties on my card or somethin’?” he grins.

“They’re over there.” you point, your perfectly manicured finger forcing his gaze to follow to see a sky-blue thong rolled up on the ground beside a bag filled with that very same thong in every colour.

“Oh dear, princess, how’d they get over there?” he teases you, widening your legs one at a time to ogle at your glittering flesh.

“I dunno…” you shrug, cheeks warming as he keeps grinning at you. “Think they fell off.” you lie, the little pout on your face hiding a shameful smile desperate to form.

“Awe, sweetheart. Been touchin’ yourself waitin’ for daddy?” he wonders, already knowing the answer. “Of course you have, look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself in.” he takes the champagne flute from your hand and places it out of reach, your hand briefly holds the crown of his head as he continues to kiss between your thighs.

“Maybe,” you giggle, biting your lip. “Need your help, daddy, please…” you beg. You look down at him as he rests his cheek on your thigh like a pillow. He sighs, though it isn’t filled with malice or disappointment. He’s tired, and he knows you should be sleeping.

“Okay, darlin’.” he nods. “It’s late, though, we’ve gotta sleep. Just my fingers, okay?” he suggests, though he means it like an instruction.

“No, daddy… please use your tongue.” you request, the words sound so angelic as they break free from your needy throat. “Promise I’ll sleep right after.”

“My tongue, huh?” he smirks. “Alright, baby. Cum in my mouth like a good girl.” he commands. His arms hook around your thighs as he allows his head to fall between them.

A raucous moan leaves you as you hear him slurping at your slick. You keep your legs open wide as both of your hands hold his head, petite fingers carding through obsidian locks. Your body shudders as lips wrap around your clit, easily sucking and almost forcing you off balance.

You release him from your grip and balance on your hands behind you, neck craned to look up at the ceiling despite your eyes being welded shut. Your mind and body controlled entirely by his mouth. Your thoughts swirling with the feeling and the building pleasure as he licks and laves and sucks and kisses.

He doesn’t say a word, but he can’t take his eyes off you. Watching how you react to everything he does. Seeing how you twitch and shudder when he changes his actions. You gasp as he reaches up to push your little crop top to rest near your clavicle. He encourages you to rest your newly freed leg over his shoulder as he nips and tweaks at your nipple.

“Fuh— daddy!” you cry.

The authoritative label never fails to make his cock leak whenever it spills from your pretty lips. He wants to touch himself while you cry out his name, and while you flood his mouth with your essence.

But he can’t.

He can’t because he knows if he does, he can’t rest there, he won’t.

He knows he’ll have to slip it between your puffy folds and fuck into you until your cunt is gushing and dribbling with your juices and his sticky, potent cum. He’ll fuck you until you’re unconscious and oblivious but so full and happy because he’s taken care of you just like a good daddy should.

He wants it all.

But he wants what’s best for you.

And he knows you should be resting, and so should he.

So, for now, straining against his pants while he devours your flavour is enough. Tears roll down your cheeks as he suckles and slurps again and again with no restraint, watching as you fail to hold back your bliss. His breath fans over your cunt when you look down at him. Crystalline tears clinging to your lashes like diamonds making his heart pound as he grunts into your heat.

“D-Daddy… think I-I’m close.” you tell him, a panicked strain in your words as you warn him. He keeps his pace and changes nothing, determined to bring you to your climax sooner rather than later. “Ah.. ah—! Feels funny, daddy! Ngh—!” you finish.

He pushes your legs apart as wide as they’ll go, he watches your pussy squirt clear liquid as you finish. He drinks it up like it’ll give him eternal youth, still swirling and licking his tongue over your cunt as he attempts to prolong the feeling for you. You stroke his head and play with his hair as he lets up on you, your body overcome with a chill as your tension leaves you.

You smile as he coats your body in gentle kisses, a silent action to note how proud he is. How much he adores you, how beautiful you are. He loves you more than words can begin to say.

He rests his head on your thigh again and stares up at you, his gaze filled with nothing but devotion. You feel him carefully pull down your boots without breaking his stare until he kisses down your legs behind the cold wake the absence of your boots cause.

“’m sleepy now, daddy.”

He smiles, happily. “Good girl.”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[siriussslut]

Regulus receiving head for the first time, all whimpering and whining and gasping??? Yes pls. First time he gets deep throated? He swears he’s seen God.

Honestly, I’m not one to give head just like that but people’s reaction to getting it for the first time is so scrumptious to think abt

(I’ll just leave this pretty thing here)

- 🦕

oh my god stop i love ur reqs

warnings: explicit smut, oral sex (m receiving)

masterlist

pt 2, pt 3

“never?” you ask, the disbelief in your voice evident.

“never,” regulus confirms.

you wrinkle your nose. “is it like weird looking or something? or is it tiny?”

blood rushes to his face, cheeks flushing red. “no, it’s not weird!” he splutters. “and it’s not tiny.”

you squint at him, doubting. “but you’ve never gotten head?”

he shakes his head.

“show me.”

his blush somehow deepens. “sh-show you?”

you nod, as though asking your best friend to show you his dick is totally normal. “show me.”

he reaches for his zipper, clearly uncertain. you nod your encouragement. he lowers the zipper, letting his pants fall to your bedroom floor.

you laugh immediately. “are those minecraft boxers?”

he glares at you. you try to look away from the hideous green briefs, looking down at his thighs. they’re a lovely milky white, moles dotting the pale skin, creeping below the cloth.

“go on.”

he pulls at the boxers’ hem, before finally letting them fall to the floor. his cock springs free.

without thinking, you blurt out, “oh, it’s not tiny.”

regulus smirks as you stare. he’s definitely not tiny, coming in at least nine inches.

you squeeze your thighs together, picturing his length between them.

his dick is erect, clearly having hardened during your conversation. the tip is as red as his cheeks, the rest of it pale white.

you reach out, hand grazing the air in front of the tip.

you meet his eyes, asking. his grey eyes are foggy, clearly confused, but he nods.

your fingers touch the head and it twitches. you smirk, gaining more confidence.

you slide your fingers down, running them along the veins. you reach his balls and stroke. he gasps at the touch, thrusting his hips forward. you looks back into his eyes, and see lust shining back at you.

you slide off the bed, knees landing on your carpet with a soft thud. never once breaking eye contact, you lower your face, sliding him inside of your mouth. his hips thrust into you, groaning.

you shove as much of him as you can down your throat, letting his cock cut off your air supply. the taste of him fills your mouth and you suck with fervor, needing more of his dick.

“f-fuck.”

you reach down to grab his balls in your palms. you tug on them as you stimulate his tip, swirling your tongue around the erection.

he’s gasping and groaning the whole time, beautiful whimpers filling the air. your brain blocks out all the other sounds in the world— the chirping of the birds outside, your mother’s soft singing from downstairs, the clatter of pans as she cooks.

all you hear is the downright sin spilling out of the regulus’ beautiful wet lips. you grind your thighs together, wetness seeping through to your carpet.

“holy shit!” he groans, his voice an octave too high. “oh, fuck.” his voice is whiny and high, and he sounds dazed.

he comes in seconds, unable to hold it back. his seed floods your throat, painting your tongue. he twitches and thrusts in a fucked-out stupor before seemingly coming to his senses. he pulls out and a bit of cum covers your cheek.

you meet his eyes again, biting down on your lip before swallowing his load. he whimpers at the sight of you.

“was it good?” you ask, your voice low and sultry.

“i think i’ve met god.”

you laugh. “we’ll have to practice you lasting longer.” you stand up, readjusting your clothes.

“p-practice?”

[losersiren]

𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭

"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒽, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒.” CW: Fem reader (she/her), possessiveness, suggestive Note: This is my first time writing something like this and posting it...go easy on me o(>< )o

The chandlers decorated the ceiling above the spacious ballroom, giving a gentle glow to the people filling said ballroom. The social season has just started to blossom, giving men and women room to court each other if one is blessed with the opportunity for such an experience. Catching the eye of a reliable suitor is quite troublesome– most of the men here do not fit any of your requirements, and if they did, they would suddenly be caught in a scandal of sorts, causing them to be an outcast. Not a good look on you or your family name.

You idly toy with the fan in your hand, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces in the room. The task at hand feels insurmountable, and finding a suitable suitor in this town is daunting. Perhaps, you muse, debuting late was a misstep, a decision that now seems to mock you. You could always become a spinster…and ruin your reputation and lineage because you choose such an idiotic choice… regrettably it may be the easier option. 

“Pray tell why you’re glued to this corner as if you’re some wallflower,” A witty baritone voice whispers in your ear, the hairs of your neck standing upright while a cold shiver runs down your spine.

The sense of familiarity washes over you, and the resentment still lingers from years ago makes its way forward. The Earl’s son, your childhood close friend, who left you without a word after he said he’d be there for you.

What a bastard

“Have you ever heard of personal space? Or have you forgotten the amount of lectures your mother ingrained into your head on etiquette when you were just a brat?” You bite back with venom coating every word you spit out. You place your fan on your left ear.

”Ah, I see.” He steps back and gives you space. “You’ve become cold-hearted towards me since my departure overseas. I was only gone for a mere moment.” He switches his position from behind you to in front of you. He takes up your whole vision, his maturity, more evident now since the last time you saw him as a juvenile boy. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Yet he still has his teasing nature; no boarding school or amount of lectures can take that away from him. He bows a little lower than he should, his right hand to the opposite shoulder and his left arm behind his back. He looks up at you with those oh-so-regretful grey eyes. “I wholeheartedly apologize for departing overseas in such an impulsive matter without even notifying you in any way. I should’ve sent you letters and a hoard of messenger doves to accompany you”. “But I did not, and for that, my Lady, I've made a significant sin in your eyes– I do not deserve your forgiveness, but oh, if you could grant me such a pleasure.”

His voice is as quiet and soft as a starving mouse stealing food from a kitchen, careful for only your ears to pick up his pleas for forgiveness. Just as though you were a goddess punishing him, which he should be reprimanded tenfold in his eyes, who was he to abandon you without a trace? Though the situation before was entirely out of his hands, he didn’t want to go to that goddamned private school that was away from you; he fought tooth and nail not to go. Every house servant had to push and hold him down because he kept fighting; even his family members were victims of his wrath. His father, The Earl, still has fading scars from that night years ago.

He should’ve fought harder for you.

People around you start noticing; who wouldn’t? One of the most prestigious Earls of this country’s only son is bowing dishonourably low, borderline grovelling like a peasant caught stealing a measly loaf of bread. You feel eyes turning onto you, women whispering between their fans to one another, wondering in what predicament the next-in-line Earl would be for him to be embarrassingly bowing to a one-of-a-mill daughter of a viscount—a rank lower than him and a woman at that; your fan placement is not making it look better. Immediately change the position of your fan from your left ear to twirling it in your left hand, hoping he understands the situation he has put not only him but you in.

 He only smiles in return. “Stand straight; You look like a fool.” You hiss, “Do I have your forgiveness, Darling?” a scoff escapes your mouth. “That is either here or there! Be proper. Others are watching.” That doesnt deter him, nor does he care about them. “So my apology wasn't sufficient? Since you are thinking about everyone else but me.” More eyes make their way onto the pair of you, and whispers grow with the exchange of gossip. “You’re acting like a child-” He cuts you off. “Shall I go on my knees for you? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but preferably, I would love to be in a more…secluded environment.” A smirk graces his lips at the thought. “Or shall I kiss your feet-” 

“You are a soon-to-be- Earl! Has that school taught you nothing? God, you’ve become more insufferable, I swear.” Your face feels warmer now, and embarrassment takes over you from his childish yet sincere teasing.

The young lord’s eyes fixated on you, on your lips, how your dress accentuates your already perfect self, your hands, oh, how he wishes to feel them against his. The years it's been since he saw you, he could listen to you scold him for hours on end; it doesn’t matter what you are saying. Just hearing your voice is enough. God knows it's been too long since he’s been deprived of you. He thanks his past self for sabotaging whatever male decided to even think of courting you. Though he was far away, his social standing never changed.

The lord decided by the second month he was away from you to pay his old servants to send him as much information as possible on the vermins that would try to nestle their way into your life. He would…No, he has ruined anyone who wanted to get in between you two. And he’ll keep it that way. You’ve stolen his heart since meeting him as a lad.

“So you wish for me to kneel? As you wish.” He starts to kneel; gasps can be heard. But you stop him, holding his shoulders upright; his eyes widen as you touch him.

You’re so close

“I forgive you…I forgive you…”

“I forgive you, Ambrose…”

Oh…

His name on your tongue….

His mind blanks. Has he gone to heaven? Oh, you sweet angel, you have him wrapped around your finger. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

His smile is blinding as he stands and looks down at you.

“Then now that's settled…May I have the honour of a dance with yours truly?”

.." Or shall I beg more?"

End Notes: Fun fact (not really): I based most of this post on The Regency era, and that includes fan language! That is why I described the readers' actions with it. Placing the fan on your left ear means "I wish to get rid of you." Twirling the fan with your left hand means "We are watched." Thought that would be something fun to add (^.^)

[mariclerc]

Dad duties | cl16

Summary: where you meet an adorable dad and his little girl at the beach. Warning: none, just dad!charles, a little emotional, instant crush and FLUFF, pure fluff.

a/n: Hii, a long time ago I was thinking about doing a story about what Charles would be like as a single dad... Something crazy, I know, but I hope you like it!! Let me know if you want a part two of this <3

Part 2

Sun gleams off the turquoise water, gentle waves lap at the shore. You walk along the beach, toes sinking into the warm sand. Giggles suddenly catches your attention, you turn to see a little girl, barely a year old, with bright eyes and a head full of messy curls, crawling determinedly towards you. She reaches you, grabbing a handful of your sundress. You smile, kneeling down to her level.

“Hey there, little one. You seem a little bit lost.”

The girl babbles happily, reaching for your sunglasses. You chuckle and gently remove them, placing them on top of your head.

A shadow falls over you. You look up to see a tall, handsome man with kind greenish eyes and sun-streaked hair... He looks slightly flustered.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry, that's my little escape artist Ava, come here to Papa munchkin.” He smiles apologetically.

Ava squeals and reaches for him. He scoops her up effortlessly, her tiny giggles filling the air.

“Don't worry, she's adorable! How old is she?” you asked.

“One year old, going on a hundred!” He winces as Ava grabs a fistful of his hair. You can't help but laugh. “Ouch, sweetie that hurts!” He says and Ava giggles.

“Looks like she has you all wrapped around her little finger.”

“Definitely.” he chuckles.

He introduces himself as Charles, you tell him your name. To your surprise, the conversation flows easily, you learn he's a single dad, the love and devotion evident in his gaze as he talks about Ava. He opens up about his complicated relationship with his ex (Ava's mother), the challenges of dating as a single parent. You listen intently, impressed by his honesty and dedication to his daughter.

“You seem to be doing a great job, Charles. And that's impressive, you know, how hard you work and try to be the best every day for her.” you smile.

Ava snuggles closer to him, burying her face in his neck.

“I manage to do a good job... It's definitely a handful, but she's worth it all.” he smiles.

A comfortable silence settles between you. You steal a glance at him, then quickly look away, cheeks warming. You sense a similar flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

“Well, maybe I should let you get back to building sandcastles with your princess.” You say with a bit of haste.

“Actually, I was wondering... Would you maybe, I don't know, maybe... Want to grab some ice cream with us sometime? Ava loves company, and frankly, so do I.” He speaks hurriedly.

You feel a flutter in your chest. This unexpected encounter has taken a sweet turn. “I'd love to. Thanks!” you smile.

Ava lets out a delighted squeal, as if sensing the possibility of ice cream, You and Charles giggle at her reaction.

“Great! How about next Saturday? Same place? How does that sound?”

You nod. “Sounds perfect.”

He smiles, you can see how the corners of his eyes wrinkle, something very cute for you. “Perfect... Ehm, here! Write down your number and I'll write down mine.” He says as he takes out his cell phone to give it to you and you take yours out of your beach bag to hand it to him.

You wrote your number on his cell phone with the name of: "y/n the life-saver 🎀". When he finishes he gives you your cell phone back and you see that he has registered himself as: "Charles the handsome dad 😋" you can't help but laugh at the name.

“Well, then I'll write to you to keep in touch... Handsome dad.” You say with a giggle and he blushes.

Ava yawns, nuzzling deeper into his embrace.

“I think someone's getting tired.” you giggle while looking at Ava.

“She probably is. Sand and sunshine can be exhausting for little ones.” He says and then smiles a little. “This was unexpected... But so nice.” he says quietly.

“Yeah, definitely nice!” you say meeting his warm gaze.

A blush creeps up Charles' neck as he finally pulls back slightly.

“See you next Saturday then, Y/N, it was nice to meet you!”

You smile. “It was also nice to meet you both!”

He nods, a goodbye lingering in his eyes. Charles walks away, cradling a sleepy Ava in his arms, you watch them go, a warm feeling spreading through you. This chance encounter has blossomed into something promising, and as you turn towards your car, a smile lingers on your lips. The beach seems a little brighter now, filled with the promise of sunshine, ice cream, and maybe, just maybe, something more.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes in your pocket. It's a text message. You pull it out, expecting a message from a friend, but your heart skips a beat when you see the name displayed on the screen - Charles the handsome dad 😋.

Charles the handsome dad 😋: Ava just fell asleep. She kept asking for "y/n." Any chance you have a favorite ice cream flavor? Trying to win some brownie points for Saturday afternoon.

A laugh escapes your lips. He's charming, that's for sure. You quickly type a response.

y/n the life-saver 🎀: Chocolate chip cookie dough, always! And tell Ava I said goodnight. See you on Saturday cha!

You hit send and a warm feeling washes over you. This unexpected encounter has taken a delightful turn, and with a giddy anticipation for saturday's ice cream date, you turn back towards the ocean. The waves seem to whisper a promise of something exciting to come, and you can't wait to see where this newfound connection might lead.

***

The cheerful clinking of spoons against ice cream sundaes fills the air. You sit across from Charles at a brightly colored table, a giant chocolate chip cookie dough sundae melting in front of you. Ava, nestled comfortably in a high chair, digs into a kid-sized strawberry sundae with a look of pure bliss.

He chuckles “Looks like someone's enjoying their treat.”

Ava lets out a happy gurgle, a smear of red adorning her cheek. You laugh, you leaned towards her to wipe her cheek.

“She's definitely got a sweet tooth.” you say while wiping her cheek.

Charles takes a bite of his own sundae, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just like her dad. Thanks for the recommendation, this cookie dough ice cream it's fantastic!” he smiles.

“My pleasure, I'm glad you both like it.”

Ava reaches out, grabbing a stray piece of cookie dough from your sundae. You laugh, helping her bring it to her mouth.

“Careful, little one, that's a big bite!”

Charles watches the interaction between you and Ava, a smile playing on his lips.

“You seem to have a way with kids.” He says softly while looking at the two of you with adoration.

You shrug. “I guess so, I have a younger brother, so I've had my fair share of practice.”

The conversation flows easily between bites of ice cream, you learn more about Charles' life as a single dad, the challenges and rewards that come with it, he talks about his passion for racing, a twinkle in his eyes as he describes his dream of one day competing professionally. You share your own dreams and aspirations, surprised at how comfortable you feel opening up to him.

As Ava starts to get cranky, signaling the need for a nap, you suggest taking a walk along the nearby park. Charles readily agrees.

A comfortable silence settles between you. You both steal glances at each other, the unspoken attraction hanging heavy in the air. You reach the edge of the park, the familiar beach stretching before you.

“Looks like we're back where it all began.” you blush slightly.

“It does, doesn't it? Funny how things work out.” he smiles.

He stops walking, turning to face you. Ava lets out a whimper in her sleep, prompting Charles to gently bounce her in his arms.

“This was... so nice, I mean, this sweet afternoon and last week at the beach, it's very... Unexpected, but very good.” He says quietly with a smile on his face.

You meet his gaze, your heart fluttering in your chest.

You smiled. “I also liked it! Ava's such a sweetheart, and you seem like... a good guy, a really good and nice guy.”

He smiles back, a genuine warmth radiating from his eyes.

“I, uh... I was wondering if maybe, sometime next week, you'd like to have dinner? Just the two of us, after Ava's asleep?” He says with a bit of hesitation.

Your stomach does a nervous flip-flop, but a wide smile stretches across your face.

“I'd like that very much Charles.”

A wave of relief washes over Charles. He leans forward slightly, his eyes searching yours.

“Great... In that case, how about I give you a proper goodbye this time?” He says with a bit of flirtation in his voice.

Before you can respond, he leans in further, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is brief, sweet, and filled with unspoken promise.

Ava lets out a startled gurgle, breaking the spell. Charles pulls back with a laugh, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Looks like our little chaperone wants to get home.” he chuckles and blushes.

“Seems that way.” you giggled while blushing.

He walks you back to your car, Ava snuggled contentedly against his chest.

“Text me when you get home, so I know you made it safe. And maybe, just maybe, you can tell me what your favorite dinner is.” He says while blushing a little.

You laugh a little bit. “Don't worry, you'll be very well fed.”

He smiles, a hint of something deeper lingering in his gaze. You wave goodbye as he drives away with Ava, a warmth spreading through your chest. The unexpected encounter at the beach has blossomed into something exciting, and as you watch the sun disappear over the horizon, you can't wait to see where this new path might lead.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol

technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3

The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening. 

The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground.  The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.  

It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.

The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer.  “Honey!  Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen.  She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade.  The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself.  She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.

Your parents were always really… energetic.  They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house.  To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…

“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.

“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.  

“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside.  “Wo-hoah!  You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…

As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.

He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something.  Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?  

“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.

“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.

Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily.  In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath.  He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church.  So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard.  It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it 

“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.

“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit.  He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…

“Let me make you two some drinks!  What are you having?”

He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now.  He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked.  He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.

“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen.  He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair.  She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to.  “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”

“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied.  “I’ll help with the silverware.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them. 

“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand.  You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.

He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work.  “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”

“What?” 

“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed.  “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”

You scoffed a bit.  “And where should I put the opium spoon?”

“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing.  “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.

“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret.  Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…

“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up.  “Food’s coming out!  Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”

Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side.  “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.

“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted.  She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party.  She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.

And you.  She’d never mentioned you.

As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least.  He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.

Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence.  “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.  

“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy.  What have you been doing?”

“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.

“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Shit.  That illusion didn’t last long.  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”

You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was.  Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?

“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”

“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered.  “I graduated a semester early.”

“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great.  You’ve always been really smart…”

“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.

“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”

Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.

The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase.  He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet.  But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…

So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything.  Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him.  Now was it okay to look at you?

He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in.  He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.

“You look bored,” you noticed.

“Yeah?  I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.

“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered.  “What’s boarding school like?”

“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true.  “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”

“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.

“Some,” he said.  “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”

“Like what?” you pressed.  “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”

“Oh, all the time,” he laughed.  “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly.  I mean, I never got caught, so…”

You raised an eyebrow.  “You smoke?”

He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble.  He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little.  “What?” he wondered.

“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.

“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone.  But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.

“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered.  He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.

He grinned excitedly.  “Right now?”

“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.

“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”

~

“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind.  “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”

You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.

You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.

“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.

When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you.  Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night.  No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.

You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.

You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything.  He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.

“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside.  “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers.  “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?” 

You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly.  “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.

You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end.  His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.

“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked.  “Or did college make you more rebellious?”

“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.

“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.

“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready.  “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”

He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.  

You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.

He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times.  You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.

“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.

He cleared his throat and shook his head.  “N-not really, no,” he admitted.  “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”

“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.

“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer.  He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.

You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face.  He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.

“Better?” you asked.

“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”

“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat.  You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?

After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier.  You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.

“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.

“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled.  “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”

“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.

“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.

“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.

“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.

“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement.  Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.

After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high.  You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence.  “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him.  “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”

“I did,” you mumbled.

“R-really?” he choked.  “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”

“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”

He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.

“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you.  “I’m eighteen.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Right.  Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that.  I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature.  At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you.  I can’t really compete with college guys…”

“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head.  “What are you competing for?”

“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.  

“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again.  “My attention?”

“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.  

“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car.  “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp.  “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.  

You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already.  You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time.  Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop.  He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.

His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back.  You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow.  It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.

You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it.  Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little.  What a polite boy.

“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips.  One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence.  He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.

Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser.  You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.

One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin.  “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg.  You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass.  You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t.  It was still Angus, after all.

In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did.  He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra.  “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.

You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.

He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.

He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response.  “Fuck, are my hands cold?  I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.

“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath.  You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.

Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them.  “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth.  You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you.  “Fuck, Angus—”

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats.  He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.

You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully.  You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would.  You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t.  Not very much, at least.  Certainly not enough to stop you.

You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt.  “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach.  “We're really gonna—?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.

He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.

“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”

You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression.  “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him.  “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”

“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.

Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch.  “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.

“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.

“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him.  He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.  

“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.

“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured.  “I can turn the light off if you want though—”

“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light.  “No, I still wanna see.”

You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly.  “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.  

He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.

“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge.  The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”

You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan.  “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him.  “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”

He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.

“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly.  “You feel so fucking good…”

He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.

A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you.  Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you.  “Did you… just come?” you asked.

He was still panting, his face starting to flush red.  “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly.  “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”

“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”

“Uh…” he stalled anxiously.  “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him.  “It’s cute, honestly.  I don’t mind being your first.”

“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted.  “I imagined it like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car.  “Like this?”

“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed.  “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed.  And whipped cream—”

“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”

You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”

“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.

“No, they don’t care— please?  Please just keep going?  I’m still hard, I can—”

“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced.  “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright?  We just have to get back inside now.”

He lit up instantly.  “Really?  So we can— we’ll do this again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged.

“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort.  “Of course I wanna see you again.  I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”

“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.

You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.

Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead.  “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.

“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on.  “You ready?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be.  W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”

You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask.  You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected.  Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming.  His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.

Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.

You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind.  “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”

[series masterlist here]

[norrisleclercf1]

Bad Reputation

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Sainz!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Words: 2.2K

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Omg this is random but can you pls write bad reputation max x super good girl reader? Like everyone says she shouldn’t go for max and criticising their relationship, saying he’s bad for her and whatever but they just don’t know him like she does and we all know max is the sweetest person irl (and Netflix is a bitch for pushing a bad agenda about him) and it’s just all the sweet secret moments they have between them? Kinda like the song ‘call it what you want’ by taylor swift & delicate (‘my reputations never been worse, so you must like me for me’) 🥺

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, secret relationship, Papa and Carlos are fuckers, Carlos is a petty bitch, nothing major honestly

Max Verstappen The Notorious Bad Guy That Stole A Championship 

You scuff at the news article on your phone. How ridiculous. Not only was it dragging up old wounds, but distasteful simply due to Max dominating right now. 

"Something wrong?" Your eyes peer at your brother over your sunglasses. "No, just another distasteful article about Max again." You try to reign in the anger of your words, but it's evident as the man across from you raises his eyebrow. "You defend him too much." Rolling your eyes, you want to bite back that you don't. 

It'd be a lie, of course. You knew Max better than everyone else. Yet, you had to keep that hidden from the world. "You're just jealous because he's been kicking your ass." Sticking your tongue out at your brother Carlos who flips you off. "Carlos, you put your finger down right now." Your mother hisses, fixing your hair which has you moving away. 

"She's not a baby, Mama," Carlos grumbles, leaning back into the lawn chair. "Carlos, your sister is a good girl. Don't sully her eyes." Your mother sighs, placing plates of food down. "Mama, stop. I'm not a child." You grumble, lowering the brightness on your phone. 

You hated having to hide your relationship with Max. But, he was known to have a horrible temper, foul-mouthed, cheater, thief, and everything else under the sun. But, to you? He was calm, a boy who grew into a man too quickly, chasing the records to be etched into greatness. Max's foul mouth was never pointed at you. That mouth gave you soft promises and sweet nothings. 

Everyone judged him because of DTS, his radios, and the fact he had no remorse when it came to the races, driving hard and winning hard. They needed someone to blame, and Max was the easy escape for fans and teams alike. 

I saw the article. You didn't steal it. You won fairly. They don't want to admit it. 

Hitting send, you place your phone on your lap, waiting for a reply. You knew it'd be late in Monaco as you enjoyed the summer break with Carlos back home in Spain. Throughout the night, you kept checking your phone, unable to help yourself. A soft buzz on your lap has your smile growing more than usual as you look at your phone. 

I could care less; I'll only care if they involve you. No one knows yet, and that's for the best. When do you come back? I miss you. 

Those three words have your heart beating faster. He missed you? Max and you haven't been together long, just shy of 7 months. Still, in that honeymoon phase, you always made excuses to your brother and his friends about why you couldn't hang out. Carlos was going suspicious, even once tried following you only to see you go to a bookstore. 

I miss you too. Have to go. Carlos is about to- 

You hit send just as Carlos snatches your phone. "Carlos! Give it back!" Swiping for the phone, Carlos steps back as he looks at your screen. He laughs as you two fight for the phone, but it dings, making you frantic. "Carlos, please. Please give me back my phone. I'm begging you." Desperation evident. "What? Texting your boyfriend?" Carlos jokes, but that smile of his slips when he reads the text. 

"Carlos, I can explain." He tosses your phone back, all traces of your brother gone, replaced with a pissed-off man. "Max answered your text. We'll talk later." He whispers in your ear, going back to his seat. The rest of the family joining the two of you now. Looking down at your phone, you see the text and know Carlos is about to lose his mind. 

Call me. Love you buttercup 

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

Lying on your bed, you stare at Max's contact. You want to call him, but you know Carlos is waiting for the party downstairs to die so he can slip away. Max had texted you multiple times since the afternoon, ranging from asking how dinner was to asking if you were angry with him. 

"Y/n?" Shooting up, you fix your shirt as your older brother Carlos pokes his head in. "I'm still awake." Carlos pushes the door wider, fitting his body through before closing it with no sound. "Do I need to ask, or will you tell me?" He moves from the door to lay on your bed, you following him. "Carlos, please don't make me." He huffs, his larger hand holding yours. "Why? Because you'll know what I'll say? And I will say it, pequeña." You sit up, staring at your phone screen. 

It lights up, Max's smiling face staring at you. Unable to look at it, you hit decline and mute it. "He's good to me, Carlos." Your brother snorts, rolling his eyes at those words. "So what? You know his reputation. He's a loose canon that doesn't care who he hurts. You'll be a casualty in his warpath." Carlos sits up, rubbing your shoulder as he stands. "Dump him, pequeña. He'll only hurt you." Carlos doesn't wait for an answer, leaving with a sense of accomplishment, thinking you'll dump Max. 

Standing, you look at yourself in the mirror. The small silver bracelet with a little lion hides slips from your sleeve, reminding you of the day Max gave it to you. 

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

3 months ago 

"Max, I'm going to be late. Carlos and Papa are strict about curfew." It was stupid, but the men in your family still gave you a curfew. You did have the good girl image as the youngest Sainz to uphold. "We've got 30 minutes. Besides, I can get us back in 5," Max smirks, tugging you through the crowded festival. 

Smiling, you tug him back, wrapping your other arm around the one holding your hand. Unable to help himself, he leans down, kissing you without a care who saw. "Come on. There is one stand I want to visit." High off the kiss, you nod as you move around the people. Max stops before this tiny little stand with an older woman making jewelry. 

"Excuse me, can you make this for me?" The older woman smiles, taking a slip of paper in Max's hand. Opening it, her smile grows as she nods and gets to work. "What's she making?" Max shushes you, kissing your ear. "Be patient, buttercup." Unable to stop the blush, you turn away, hiding your face in his side. Laughing, he kisses the top of your head as fireworks explode above. 

The older woman finishes what she is working on, handing it to Max. Pocketing it, he hands over more money than needed. Before the woman notices, Max tugs you away. "Where are we going?" You yell over the loud music and fireworks. "Somewhere, quiet." The farther you walk, the music starts to fade, but the fireworks still burst into colors above. You gasp, seeing a little gazebo with a pond around it. "Come on." He urges, pulling you out of your haze. 

The two of you run to the gazebo, you jumping up the ledge so you can look Max in the eye. "How'd I get so lucky?" Max whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I think I should be asking that." With a hum, you rest your head on his chest, watching the fireworks. Max says nothing as you enjoy the show and others' warmth. "Oh, this is for you," Max whispers, leaning down to grab something from his pocket. 

"Max, you shouldn't have gotten me anything." Hating when he spends money on you. "Stop. You're the light in my life right now. Let me be the one to make it burn brighter." Shutting you up with a kiss. Pulling away with giggles, he places the silver bracelet in your palm, looking away. Peering at it, your heart squeezes as you stare at a little lion head dangling off it. 

"We can't always be together when we're so close, sooo," Max groans, shy at admitting this. "This will prove that even though I can't always be next to you, I'm here." Pointing at the lion's head, looking up, he stops seeing tears in your eyes. "It's perfect. I love you." Your eyes grow wide as you both take in what you have just said. 

"Oh, Max. God, it's so earlier. I'm so-" Words get swallowed as his lips mesh with yours, kissing away your apologies. "Don't apologize. I love you too, Y/n Sainz." The two of you laugh, losing yourself in one another. Curfew be damned. 

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

Present Day 

"Stay away from Max. Today is a race day, we don't need you getting caught and your name being ruined." Your father hisses so others don't hear. So much for trusting Carlos. He told your father immediately, not even giving you a chance. "Yes, Papi." Your father nods and lets you go, heading to talk to your cousin and Carlos. 

Carlos looks at you smiling, but you lift your hand, flipping him off; no shame in showing off the bracelet Max gave you. Carlos's face turns sour, leaning in, whispering something to your father, who turns his face filled with rage. "Mama, going for a drink." Your mother waves you off, slipping through people, careful not to be spotted by cameras or media personnel. 

It was stupid and reckless. You knew that walking that way was asking for trouble. You just couldn't help it, wanting one glimpse of Max. Stepping back and into the shadows, cameras come rushing past saying they just saw Max. Looking up, you feel a presence behind you and a hand on your mouth. Letting out a scream, it's muffled as that warm voice soothes you. "Buttercup, it's me." Automatically your body relaxes into his.

"Max?" Chuckling, he drops his hand, spinning you around. Fingers going for the lion head rubbing it. "Papi and my family know." Max's smile falls, fingers still, and he steps back. "Oh." You hate that he's doing this. Shutting down and refusing to talk about this. "Max, hey." Grabbing his hand, you pull him back close. "Please don't shut down on me. Please, I don't care what my family says. I love you." Max sighs, looking down at you as he yanks you into a hug. 

"I love you too, but I don't want my reputation to harm you." He whispers into your hair, his racing heart calming by holding you in his arms. "Fuck that. I want you, Max. I picked you. You were my first and last choice." Max leans down, kissing the bracelet, then your lips. "I have to go. Race is about to start." You nod, giving him one last kiss as you watch him rush off. 

"Where were you?" You control the urge to roll your eyes at your brother. You're tired of hiding how you feel, and you weren't going to be ashamed of it. "I was with Max. If you have a problem with it, deal with it." You hiss before joining the rest of your family, refusing to say a word. 

"YES!" You knew it was wrong to scream loudly when Max crossed the line, a photo finish with your brother. You didn't care. Max deserved this win, but Carlos didn't. The backstabber needed to feel this sting, and you're glad he would. Ripping off the headphones, you make a run to parc ferme, only to be yanked back. 

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Your father snarls. "LET GO OF ME!" People turn, your father letting you go immediately as you take deep breaths. "I love him! I love him, Papi! He's the only one who understands me and is a good man! But you and Carlos are so blinded by the media and the rumors that you don't see how happy I am! So fuck you and this stupid image! I'm going to kiss the love of my life." Laughing, you turn, bolting off, watching Max jump out of the car, celebrating. 

"MAX!" Hearing your voice, his helmet turns, looking at you. Without a second thought, he rushes over, scooping you up, pulling you over the rails as you hug him tight. "I love you, I love you." You repeat before you lean back, kissing his helmet. You can see his eyes scrunch in happiness. 

"I don't care what people say; I don't care about your bad reputation. You're mine, good or bad. I choose you." Max laughs, spinning you around as people scream and cheer. From the corner of your eye, you see a red storm past, not even looking at you. He'll get over it. Even if he doesn't, you still have Max. 

[drysdalesworld]

“who is this? what’s his name? you know what, mark!”

luca fantilli x fem!reader

blurb based on the tiktok voicemail prank trend

“What do you want for dinner, babe? I was thinking fettuccine, but we don’t have any chicken so it’d just be the sauce and the noddles,” Luca asked, focus completely on the cook book in front of him.

The cook book was completely new and something that Luca hadn’t really touched before. His Mother decided to get him one once he had decided to move into the Sophomore house knowing that his cooking skills were very limited. The two of you had frequent dinner dates and his Mother thought it was a good idea to get him the book as she knew that you were the most experienced in the kitchen and didn’t want you cooking for the both of you all the time.

“That sounds good,” you replied, shooting him a gentle smile before redirecting your attention to the screen in front of you.

The smile on his face caused you get butterflies in your stomach, both from the jitteriness you experienced in your relationship and from the potential of ruining his happy mood.

Beats of silence passed by for a few moments as Luca moved from cabinet to cabinet to gather all the needed ingredients for the recipe. The domesticity of the entire situation made you not want to perform the prank and play the audio. But, you already made your mind up and genuinely wanted to see how he’d react to something like this.

You heavily sighed as you groaned out in fake frustration, dropping your phone onto the kitchen counter, the privacy screen blocking your boyfriend view of what truly was displayed on the screen.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Luca asked, shifting his body from the barely boiling water on the stove towards your figure, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and confusion.

You simply shook your head and gathered your phone back into your hands, resting your chin on your palm as you began the beginning stage of the prank.

“You know that psychology project I had a few weeks ago?” You asked, eyes focused on the screen in front of you.

Your boyfriend only simply hummed and nodded to himself as he crossed his arms and leaned on the side of the fridge next to him.

“Well, he won’t leave me alone. Like, he calls me all the time and leaves me a hundred voicemails. I haven’t listened to any of them though,” you continue, eyes darting up to gauge Luca’s reaction.

If he felt any anger or uncomfortableness, you couldn’t tell as he simply urged you to continue from where he stood, “Play the last one he left you”.

You bit your lip in anticipation as you hit record and play on the audio.

It looked like Luca couldn’t believe what he was hearing as the audio continued. His whole face contorted into something that you couldn’t quite exactly place, eyes narrowing and lips pursing as he listened.

As the audio was nearing its end, Luca interrupted, cheeks slightly pink, “Who is this dude? What’s his name? Wait, let me get Mark. Mark!”

The minute Marks name left your boyfriends lips, you let out a laugh as you tried so desperately to not give up the act just yet.

“What? What’s up?” Mark called out, stumbling down the stairs as he entered the kitchen. He looked completely disheveled, probably woke up from his nap when Luca began calling his name.

“You and I are going to knock some sense into this dude bothering (Y/N),” Luca replied, turning off the stove before quickly grabbing his phone and keys.

Mark quickly looked between you and Luca as he tried to gather what the hell was going on, sleep still evident in his eyes.

“Luca, no. You don’t even know where he lives!” You countered, turning off your phone as you tried to convince your boyfriend of finding this fake dude. “It’s a joke! It’s a trend on TikTok. It’s all fake I swear!”.

The look Luca gave you was one of a wounded puppy, completely surprised at what you just did.

“A prank?” He asked, phone and keys still tightly clasped in his hands, “Babe, you scared the shit out of me. I thought I had to go hunt this guy down and kick his ass for speaking to you like that”.

He sounded relieved, head shaking as he visibly relaxed at the information you told him.

“You woke me up to beat some imaginary dude?” Mark groggily asked, body in the same position he was in as he first rushed into the kitchen, “I was in the middle of a nap, man!”.

You could only laugh as Luca and Mark began bickering at how Mark shouldn’t be the first one Luca thinks of for beating someone up while Luca disagreed.

You could only shake your head as you stood up from your place at the counter, quickly saving the video before turning the stove back on and getting started on the dinner Luca completely forgot about.

[aonungsmate]

Hellllooo

So I was reading ao’nung x reader fanfics and like I came up with an idea that was stuck to my head ever since. So like there’s a sound on TikTok where it’s like : “you’re not good enough for my daughter and I don’t want you to be around her, end of story” …..”so why don’t you give me one last chanc-“ but on ao’nung x sully!reader where she’s like younger than neteyam and Lo’ak, she’s the kind of girl who can be strict but gentle at the same time, help her grandma and mom to make food, heals, the type of girl that dads would be like “girls like you shouldn’t be bla bla bla” the type to walk grandmas on the cross way, type to open a bakery by herself and call it the Sully’s Family Bakery 💀 . So ao’nung wanted to court the reader but Jake, Neteyam and Lo’ak aim buying it so ao’nung had to come with some Metkayina specialty and gifts and maybe even fruitier a song 💀 but Jake is just a protective dad and it turned down to reader scolding 4 dudes who’s like almost twice her size about how she’s mature enough to know who would treat her right and stuff and kiri, Tuk and neytiri is just enjoying the scene 💀

I Hold The World, But You

Ao'nung x Sully!Reader[Word count: 2.8k]

Ask and you shall receive- This is me ditching my written reports to feed all of you <33 Thank you so much for requesting anon!

Warnings: Nothing notable! Please do inform me if there is!

Ao’nung has never really known what it means to be alive.  He never faced any oppression nor any hardship of notable difficulty due to his social status.  Being the son of the olo’eyktan entails so much prestige, but he’s never really known how to live.  Not until he met you.

The moment you were born, you have always known the dangers of living.  Having been born into a family with warrior parents, who were both victims of war, evident pain is still visible in their eyes.  You were Jake Sully and Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite’s third child, their first-born daughter after they decided to call Grace’s daughter, Kiri, their very own.  Growing up as the daughter of the Toruk Makto and olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya meant bearing the horrors of reality that the na’vi have been facing for years.  Your father was deemed responsible for leading the forest people into many victories against the sky people, along with your mother and the former olo’eyktan, Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyitan, one of the finest warriors that the omatikaya clan who was known for leading the na’vi against the RDA forces in the assault on The Tree of Souls.  

“I tried to kill your father the first time we met.”

Having been born into Jake Sully’s family meant so much more than being a warrior’s child.  Your childhood was filled with love.  Your older brothers, Neteyam and Lo’ak, complete polar opposites but are both very protective of their younger siblings.  Neteyam, the finest candidate for the next olo’eyktan, the one who obeys to live up to expectations and earn the title of being a mighty warrior, and Lo’ak, the older brother who gets into so much trouble  to try and live up to expectations, most protective of you, but incomparable to your father, who acts as both armor and bow against the dangers of the world.

You grew up being taken care of by your older sister Kiri, befriending nature through her imaginative mind and immense affinity for connecting herself with the things that surround her.  Your family always knew that there was something special going on between Kiri and the world itself.  As if she’s connected to the things you see everyday, she would always see things from a perspective that you would assume Eywa would have.  

The scientists were not the only people left in Pandora.  You have also been introduced to Spider, a human child that was too young to be put through the cryo chambers.  He has greeted each of you as friends, and you do the same with him.  Despite your mother’s distaste in his presence, she couldn’t really do anything, for you and your siblings loved him as you would a friend.  You thought he was a strong person.  Someone you look up to, because he always seems to overcome his limitations as a human.

It wasn’t long before Tuktirey was born.  The most adorable sister you could ever have, although a bit of a telltale, much to your brother’s chagrin, she was loved by the whole family.  She looks like a bit of your father, and a bit of your mother.  Tuk practically looks like a mix of your parents.  You love it when she would play with your braids.  But most of all, you love it when she would turn to you for more stories and dreams that you would have, carrying the innocent curiosity that a child like her would have.  

You loved your siblings.  You really do.

But right now?  Things are just being so ridiculous.

“No, you cannot court my sister, Ao’nung,” Neteyam shook his head firmly, placing a protective arm in front of you, attempting to shield you from your suitor.  There your brother was again.  He’s having one of those stingy fits where he would deprive you and your lover of spending time together.  Apparently, there was this thing called ‘codes’, where you cannot see your friend’s sister in a romantic way.  The idea of it was ridiculous for you.  

Really.

“Brother, you cannot have a say in this.  You are not the one who is being courted,” you pushed his hand away, flashing a bashful smile at Ao’nung, being enraptured by his viridian eyes.  Your eyes were swirling with love and a mix of nervousness as they met those of Ao’nung’s, only to be interrupted by Neteyam.  “You are not to be courted by him (y/n), that is final.” 

Just what bad deed have you done to deserve this?  You obeyed your elders, went to hunt when told to, helped your fellow na’vi when being asked for help, learned healing, and healed others.  Eywa!  You even learned to cook many dishes after hearing your grandmother complain about how the food being prepared is becoming bland, if it were not for her cooking teylu.  You would always say yes to anything that your family asks of you.  

You always thought that you would not be able to say no to your family.  Maybe there are things that do surprise you.  Just like how your brother Lo’ak, is hissing at Ao’nung at this very moment.  

“What is going on?” you ran towards the direction of the two young men, carrying firewood that your mother had asked you to fetch for her.  There, you found your older brother hissing at your friend, for an unknown reason that somehow, you didn’t want to know.  Therefore, being the most resourceful person in the scene, you opted for the firewood, pushing them in your brother's arms and pulling him away from the metkayina boy.  “I am sorry Ao’nung, we will see you tomorrow!”  With a sweet smile on your lips, how could Ao’nung complain?  A boy who’s as smitten as him could never go against your wishes to stop the fight before it escalates.  Ao’nung’s head always tends to tell him to go big or go home, but right now, that saccharine smile was his priority.  He wouldn’t take the risk and make you cry, no.  

He would rather battle a hundred akula than do that.  He vowed to protect you after all.  

Even from himself.

But that one just seemed impossible.  He feels Eywa whispering to him that you are his muntxate.  

He sees you as someone he would spend the rest of his life with.

Arriving at your marui, you sighed at your father’s questioning gaze after just seeing you drag your older brother back, as if he was asking just what trouble he got up to.  

“What is it this time, Lo’ak?”  He crossed his arms, tapping his left foot in impatience.  You squinted at your father, knowing how he’d react if he knew he was in a disagreement with Ao’nung.  

“Dad, I found him hissing at Ao’nung again–!” “You telltale–  I knew that bastard had a bad influence on you!” Lo’ak hissed, his tail swaying back and forth with betrayal written on his eyes.  You scoffed, side-eyeing him for a second before facing your father with pleading eyes.  

“Bravo Zulu–” “Dad!” you yelled in disbelief, your jaw dropping when your father shook Lo’ak’s hand with pride evident on his face, menacing grins both on their faces.  You could feel a migraine turning into aneurysm when your eldest brother entered the marui, “Dad, you wouldn’t believe Ao’nung– Oh, you’re here baby sis!”  He chuckled nervously once he noticed your small figure in front of his father.  You responded with a glare, crossing your arms at the three men towering over you who take pleasure in making Ao’nung suffer.  

Clearing his throat, Neteyam puts a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you out of the pod, telling you that he has something to share with your father and Lo’ak.  Refusing to be excluded in a conversation you knew was going to be about how they were going to torment the metkayina you love, you stood your ground and bore your fangs, something that you did very seldom towards your family.  

“No.” 

Neteyam squinted at you in return, turning to your father for help, instantly getting his support in a matter of a few seconds.  “Yeah babygirl, we really need to talk about that trouble tailing your shadow every minute of the day, ‘kay?”  Your father said, giving you a smile of reassurance and pressed a kiss on your forehead that did not faze you, even for a bit.  Fate seems to be on your father’s side as you heard your mother calling for you in the background.  You groaned in annoyance, rubbing a palm on your face causing Lo’ak to snicker at you, “Oh yeah sis, best get moving before mom gives you a whooping huh?”  

You’d definitely get back at him when the time comes for him and Tsireya.

Bearing no choice in the matter, you were forced to evacuate your home and walked towards the direction of your mother. 

Your brothers and your father on the other hand, were having the time of their lives imparting their knowledge about your suitor and what they would be doing whenever they would see the boy approach you.  They have devised ‘the most sneaky’ plans to make Ao’nung back out in his courting, but were not able to deduce that the said young man was actually on his way to their pod as they were conversing with each other, bringing them to this very moment.

“I would like to court your daughter, sir.  She is as beautiful as the ocean, and her whole being might as well be my sustenance as I cannot imagine life without her.”

The na’vi are known to be spiritually connected to Eywa, singing and dancing is embedded in their hearts.  So no one could really blame Ao’nung when he broke into a song.

“I want to court your daughter,” he started, undulating notes while clenching his fist.

His eyes meet Lo’ak’s and then Neteyam’s, going back to Jake’s, “I know you don’t think I ought to.”  He smiled, reminiscing his earliest memories with you, a smile tugging at his lips, “I’m not bad, I’m a great guy you’ll see,”

“I think that you should be–”

They were all sitting on the marui, silence overtaking when Jake suddenly slammed a hand on the floor, hiding his face from view, until Lo’ak burst into fits of laughter, wheezing at Ao’nung his father and Neteyam following suit.  Ao’nung chose to ignore Lo’ak’s outburst, pursing his lips in deep contemplation.  He would definitely get him back for this when he asks his parents to court Tsireya.  Ao’nung licked his lips out of nervousness, seeking validation from your father’s eyes.

“I’ll be honest Ao’nung.  I don’t care if you're the goddamn chief’s son,” Jake straightened his posture, emphasizing that he was much mightier than Ao’nung was at the moment, he was Toruk Makto for god’s sake.  “You’re not good enough for my daughter, and I don’t want you around her, end of story.”  

Ao’nung winced at Jake’s statement, his insecurities taking over his mind.  He was the mightiest hunter in the clan that’s for sure, but who’s to say that you were looking for a hunter?  A na’vi as charming and lovely as you is sought by most men.  He would know because you were much like his sister, whom he finds himself being protective of, most of the time. 

“With all due respect JakeSully, I understand why you are being protective of her.  I have a sister myself, and might I remind you, your son desires to court her too–  So why don’t you give me one last–”

“Get outta here.”

He sang his heart out, yet he still got denied?

Does Eywa hate him?  Ao’nung immediately mutters an apology after thinking that way, his mind going in circles as he thought about his options.  Then he remembered, go big or go home.  Of course the answer to his problems has always been inside of him.

And so, Ao’nung prepared all sorts of things that he could give to show you and your family that he’s a good provider.  He foraged in the morning, hunted in the afternoon, twisted the most intricate design he could do on a necklace.  This very process went on and on for days.  He figured that he would rather put his feelings into action than waste his time bumping shoulders with your brothers to convince them to let him see you.  He knew that they would be as stubborn if he didn’t show them what he could do.  

His preparation did not go over five days, eager to please you in a matter of short time.  He wants to prove himself and he will.  After putting his gifts into baskets, he asked Tsireya to come with him in an attempt to distract Lo’ak and avoid disruptions from him.  His sister was aware of the Sully brothers’ antics and pitied her own brother, giving him a nod of agreement and took one of the baskets to carry towards the direction of your home.  He carried in his left arm the biggest catch he could find that day to offer to your family, along with numerous baskets balancing on his right arm.  

It didn’t take long until he reached the opening of your marui, catching the whole family on the floor, preparing dinner.  He carefully placed the baskets on the side of the marui and kneeled before the entrance, making you raise your eyebrow at the sudden gesture.  Your heart soared when you heard him speak, “Yawntu, I ask for permission to extend this gesture as the beginning of our courtship,” his voice growing smaller as he went on, “So, I offer you this necklace as a promise of love and declaration of commitment to you and only you..”  

He pulled out a smaller basket from the satchel he was carrying, presenting you with the most exquisite necklace you have ever seen, precious stones attached to both ends of the fang in the center.  You could feel your face heating up, getting nudged by your mother, with Kiri snorting at the corner as soon as she laid her eyes on your flushed face, and Tuk, she was giggling on your mother’s lap, casting a knowing grin at you.  

“I accept–” 

“No. no. no.”  Jake immediately interjected the proposal, standing up from his position, towering over Ao’nung in a matter of seconds, effectively making Ao’nung feel intimidated, his tail swishing in newfound threat, whilst your father’s was flicking from left to right, the end of his tail dragging on the floor to display his protectiveness over you.  Proving to be your father’s sons, Neteyam and Lo’ak copied him, standing behind their father, hissing at your suitor.

You have prayed to Eywa that she would somehow bless you with everlasting patience, but perhaps she simply does not want to show mercy to your father and older brothers.  

As if Kiri, Tuk and Neytiri were anticipating what was going to happen, they all huddled up together in one corner, deciding to watch things unfold.

“Yes, I accept.”  You said with gritted teeth, walking towards the entrance, your tail in full display as it seemingly found vigor from all the pent up anger that you have been feeling ever since your brothers found out about Ao’nung’s plans to court you.  Your mother’s smile widened in pride as she saw you display protectiveness over the mate you wanted to choose.  You glared at your father, walking in front of Ao’nung to shield him from their gaze.  

“This is my life, and I will find a mate for myself,” you said, “I have been nothing but compliant my whole life, and I will not break that streak by not following my heart!”  

The three tall men feet taller than you gulped, their ears flattened at your dilated pupils and snarl, currently afraid for themselves.  You momentarily turned at Ao’nung, smiling at him sweetly and showed him your neck, gesturing for him to put on the necklace that he had assembled for you, earning angry hisses from your father, making you huff, unfazed by his threats. 

“I will rip your throat into shreds if you so much hurt a single hair on–”  “Ma’Jake.”

“Oh no, dad we are not done yet,” you crossed your arms, making Jake look away in defeat.  Neteyam chuckled at his father’s surrender, making you raise an eyebrow at your brothers, “The two of you have a lot to explain as well.”  “We do?” Neteyam frowned, making him elbow Lo’ak.  “Damn sis, I have a good reason for–”  “No you don’t!  You are in the middle of asking Tsireya to be her mate too!”  

As if on cue, they all sat before you simultaneously, their tails tucked between their legs.  They could only wince at your words, a flurry of apologies thrown at Ao’nung, making you raise your nose up at your brothers and father, threatening them that if they so much treat your suitor badly again, you would find a way to live in a separate marui with Ao’nung.  

And they knew to take your words seriously.  

—

Muntxate - wife

Bravo zulu - military slang for well done

Teylu - beetle larva; delicacy in Omatikaya

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #30

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

There's already chattering and the smell of coffee lingering in the air by the time you're coming down the stairs. The kitchen is already occupied by Jungkook's parents and Jungkook himself as they greet you cheerfully.

"Ah, good morning!" Mrs. Jeon beams as soon as she sees you walking into the kitchen, causing Jungkook and his father to look up from their cups.

"Good morning." you smile, looking at Jungkook who gives you a wink before he hides a smirk behind the cup as he takes another sip, muttering 'morning'.

Just like he said, he was gone before you or anyone woke up. He sneaked downstairs before his parents, more like his mother, could notice. You slept so well that he didn't even wake you up while going back downstairs, but that had to be because of how tired you were. You feel sorry for sleeping so late, noticing everyone's already awake and ready for the day. Thank god you made yourself a human again before coming downstairs.

"Coffee or tea, sweetheart? I'm making us breakfast, not sure what you like but Jungkook told us you're probably okay with anything."

You smile at Mrs. Jeon's kindness, not surprised by her hospitality but it still makes your heart warm.

"Tea is perfect and yes, I'm okay with anything." you smile, sitting down next to Jungkook as he gives you a little nudge while wiggling his brows.

"Slept well?" he asks, the mischief underlying his tone which goes completely unnoticed by his father that looks up from the newspaper at you, nothing but curiosity evident on his face.

This little shit.

"Yes," you choke out, smiling nervously at Jungkook's father who just gives you a quirk of his lips before he sips from his morning coffee. "How did you sleep Jungkook? Was the couch nice?" you ask, pursing your lips at your best friend that looks dumbfounded for a second and even gives you a tiny glare.

Mr. Jeon chuckles underneath his breath but doesn't react further, probably thinking the two of you are just teasing each other like two siblings, reminding him of all the times Jungkook and Jungwon used to tease each other, even during breakfast.

"Very." he grits through his teeth, the amusement dancing in his eyes.

Before he can say something else, Mrs. Jeon is already hovering over the two of you and serving you scrambled eggs for breakfast. "See, Jungkookie. It wasn't so bad, was it?" she says, pushing Jungkook's buttons without even realizing it as you snicker underneath your breath, feeling the side glare he's giving you.

He grumbles something in return, agreeing with her before everyone's breakfast is served and ready to be eaten. To be honest, Mrs. Jeon has given you such a big serving that it makes your eyes widen at the amount on your plate. There's no way you'll be able to eat it all.

"I'll eat it after you if you won't be able to finish it." Jungkook mutters softly, noticing the look that you're giving the plate and also, he knows you're not a huge eater when it comes to mornings.

You prefer lunch and dinner. You don't like to stuff your stomach in the morning, you usually grab a fruit or something that's quick and not so heavy on the stomach.

The breakfast goes smoothly, few chatters here and there until the topic of today's plans is being mentioned and Jungkook jumps to say that the two of you are invited to Jungwon's house.

"Is Haru fine? He said she was having fevers." Mrs. Jeon says, clearly voicing out her worry when it comes to her first and only grandchild.

"He texted me this morning, she's fine. Her teeth must've been growing." Jungkook answers, before taking a bite.

"My poor baby," Mrs. Jeon pouts, sighing at the end. "I thought we could go out tonight? We talked with your father and thought we could take you both out for dinner and maybe show Y/N around."

She looks at the two of you but you just shrug, looking at Jungkook since you don't think this decision is totally and purely up to you. There's nothing specific you had planned for this trip to Busan, you're more accompanying Jungkook rather than a tourist.

"Yeah, sounds good. But I've got some plans for us after we visit Jungwon. Maybe when we get back?" he asks, hopefully glancing at his mother who assures him that it's fine and she understands.

You peer at Jungkook curiously, wondering what he's got planned for today besides the visit to his brother. He notices your stare, giving you a smirk before he mumbles; "You'll see."

Knowing it's no place or time to pry, you go along with it and eat your breakfast. And just like Jungkook predicted, you're not able to finish the breakfast but he luckily swipes your plate with his empty one as he happily munchies on your unfinished breakfast while you sip onto the herbal tea Mrs. Jeon has made you.

"So, what is it that you've planned for us?" you ask Jungkook, leaning against the back of his car as he opens the truck.

You've just arrived in front of the apartment building where Jungwon lives with his family. It's not too far away from Jeon's house, closer to the center of the city in the middle of apartment complexes and even though the buildings look a little bit scrappy, the expensive cars parked on the side of the road tells you that it's probably a middle class neighborhood. Jungwon owns a coffee shop after all, from what you have collected by observing and listening to Jungkook, he doesn't live badly and has enough money to provide for his family. Still, Jeon's and Jungwon too, aren't rich but they're doing well financially.

"You'll see." Jungkook hums, pulling out a box that's wrapped in a pink wrapping paper with white straps on it before he closes the truck, giving you a satisfied grin when he sees the roll of your eyes.

"You can't just tell me, can you?" you grumble, watching him closing the door before he stuffs the car keys into the pocket of his jeans.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asks, scrunching his nose as he cackles at your annoyed expression.

You should've known he wouldn't tell you just like this. He likes annoying you and clearly your reactions are his source of amusement.

"You're annoying." you comment, walking towards the building with him by your side as he rings the bell once he finds Jungwon's name attached above to one of the buttons.

Grinning at you, he opens the door for you as soon as Jungwon buzzes you in, or you suppose it's Jungwon, before you make your way inside. When you make your way into the elevator, Jungkook presses the button to the tenth floor as you both stand in the silence.

"What's in the box?" you ask, glancing curiously at the medium size box, trying not to gawk at Jungkook's bulged out biceps even though he's doing a bare minimum with holding it.

Why did he think it's a good idea to wear a short– sleeved shirt, oversized at that? It's unbelievable how he managed to look fucking good while wearing a complete casual outfit. It's not fair.

You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to decide what to wear today. You settled on mom jeans, white tank top tucked in it and a purple cardigan that's thin and short (just right for this weather) that ends right above your high waisted jeans. This cardigan has to be one of your favorites, the material is soft and thin, and you tied the two thin strings. It still shows your tank top underneath and the silver necklace with the first letter of your name. It was Jungkook's birthday gift for you on your eighteenth birthday. Your outfit is simple but nice. But Jungkook still looks ten times better and it's completely unfair.

Who does he think he is? Flashing his tattoos, earrings in both his ears and soft looking locks.

"A gift for Haru." Jungkook answers, cutting off your thoughts from your attractive best friend that's standing beside you completely unaware of your thoughts. Thank god he doesn't know, he wouldn't let you live if he knew what you were just thinking. It'd stroke his ego for sure.

He confirmed your assumptions about the gift, knowing it probably is for the youngest Jeon family member and you hum in response, before the elevator's door is opened. Jungkook guides you through the hallway, stopping in front of one of the doors as he gives a simple two knocks. Jungwon opens the door right after with a huge and welcoming smile on his face, ushering for you two to come in as you greet him. Just as you and Jungkook are taking off your shoes, little paddling feet and blabbering is heard causing you both to look up.

There is standing a toddler, barely standing on her legs and if it weren't for her mother clasping her tiny hand, it'd surely be the matter of time before she'd plop onto her butt. She eyes the two of you, her little brown eyes widening at the sight of Jungkook who quickly takes off his shoes and crouches down not to appear so big.

"Aw, look at you Ru!" Jungkook coos, your own lips stretching into a huge smile as Haru starts smiling and ushering towards him.

"Haru, wait!" Jungwon's wife laughs as she does the best not to let her go.

"Kookie!" The little toddler squeals, recognizing her uncle from all the video calls and pictures as her uncle is already outstretching his arms for her.

She doesn't hesitate, almost jumping into the comfort of her uncle's arms as he envelopes her in a hug.

"Hi Ruru, missed you so much!" Jungkook says, preparing her cheeks with kisses as she squeals and laughs.

Your heart warms up at the sight, not seeing him being this warm and soft towards a kid. There never was a chance, you know Jungkook likes kids but Taehyung usually had been the one who couldn't stop cooing at unknown babies on the street at every chance he got.

He picks her up, stroking the little black hair that is growing on her head. Jungkook's whole attention is on her, watching her while smiling down at her. Her eyes flicker towards her father that's standing beside you, before her eyes settle on yours as she watches you curiously.

"Oh, you got her attention." Jungwon calls out, laughing when Haru opens her mouth while a drool dribbles down her chin, landing on Jungkook's shirt.

He takes the bib with a cartoon butterfly on it that's tied around her neck, and wipes the drool with it. You stare surprisingly, never seeing a man doing such a simple but caring thing to a kid that's not his own.

"Hi, baby." you coo, standing closer as she stares at you with wide eyes. You take her little hand into your own and shake it as she looks at Jungkook, almost questionably.

Everyone in the room starts laughing, her little uncertainty slowly fading away as she sees everyone being comfortable and smiling before she gives you a tiny smile. She wraps her arms around Jungkook's neck and buries her face into his chest.

"You must be Jungkook's best friend, right?" Jungwon's wife and Haru's mother asks, stepping closer to you as she gives you a warm smile.

"Ah, yes. I'm Y/N," you smile, outstretching your arm towards her as she shakes it.

There's no wonder that Jungwon's wife is beautiful. She's slightly taller than you, and if you didn't know that she's just a year older than Jungwon, you would say she could be your age. Her skin is slightly tanned and her hair is without doubt dyed, but they look soft and beautiful just like she does. The strawberry champagne color contrasts with her skin nicely.

"I'm Sona, you can call me Sona," she assures you as soon as she introduces herself to you, noting that there is no need for honorifics. "Welcome to our home! Come on, let's sit down." she says, leading everyone to their home and the warmth of their living room.

Their home is nice and modern, the living room filled with toys scattered everywhere you look as a child's foam carpet is right in front of the huge grey leather couch. Just as you're walking, Jungkook doesn't notice and steps onto the block, grunting as he bites his lip harshly not to swear. The plastic toy digs into his feet painfully while Jungwon laughs, patting Jungkook's back before he says; "Welcome to my world."

Jungkook groans, looking at you, seeing you trying to hide your smirk as you quickly turn around and follow Sona.

"I'm sorry, I tried to clean up but it's hard with a kid around." Sona apologizes, a hint of joking in her voice as she stares lovingly at her daughter.

"Ah, it's okay." you tell her, knowing she probably feels bad about the mess around. But you totally get it, assuring her that's okay and she shouldn't worry about it.

Fifteen minutes talking and you're sure Sona is without a doubt a nice person, no wonder Junwon had chosen her as his wife and the mother of his kid. Surely, you know her for twenty minutes or so, and maybe she's just polite but she seems interested in you, asking you some basic questions which you answer with a smile on your face. Your stress has easen up and you find yourself being comfortable in their home and presence.

Jungkook brings the present from the corridor once Haru lets him go, too interested in the blocks that you're building with her on the floor. Everytime the few blocks fall, she claps happily not minding that hers and your effort has just failed. You giggle, noticing Jungkook grinning as he crouches beside you. Haru's eyes lighten at the mysterious box in her uncle's hands and she stands up, wobbling on her legs. You hold her hand, letting her go as she steadies herself against the box.

"Look what I brought you," Jungkook tells her, his tone sweet and tender. "Should we open it?" he teases, grinning at her as she starts to wiggle on her little legs that makes everyone laugh at her cuteness.

Jungkook helps her, by that you mean opening the present himself as Haru stands by and excitedly claps. Haru squeals at the baby toy that's inside the box, clapping her little hands before she squeals; "Baba!"

"Yes!" Jungkook beams, pulling out the baby toy out of it, holding it out for Haru as she takes it.

"Jungkook, you didn't have to." Sona says, eyebrows raised as she looks at Jungkook with gratitude before her little girl catches her attention.

"Don't mention it," he waves his hand, looking at Haru who clumsily makes her way over to you. "Just the best for my only and the cutest niece."

She surprises you by sitting on your lap with the baby in her hands, looking up at you as she grins happily. You stroke her thin hair, talking to her while you glance at Jungkook who's already pulling out his phone and snapping a few pictures of you and Haru.

So cute. Haru, of course.

And maybe Jungkook a little bit too, especially when he looks down at the photos he has just taken, scrunching his nose cutely as he shows Jungwon and Sona.

"She likes you." Jungkook says as he puts the seatbelt on, you do the same thing while you smile at the mention of his little fourteen month old niece.

"She's so adorable," you tell him, already missing her but it was the right time to go.

It was time for Haru's nap and she wouldn't want to go with her mom, whining whenever they tried to pick her up. Deciding it's better the two of you leave, already having other plans anyway, it was heartbreaking hearing her soft cries as she saw you leaving.

"You're so good with kids, Jeon. I didn't know that." you tease, looking at him as he rolls his eyes and starts the engine while a cocky smirk makes its way on his lips.

"Of course, I am. I'm good with everyone." he jokes, causing you to snort.

"Yeah, right," you murmur, chuckling under your breath when you feel the glare he gives you.

He rides out of the parking lot, driving somewhere as soft music plays through the radio. You chit chat throughout the ride, mainly talking about Haru and even mentioning Sona about how she's nice. Jungkook tells you Jungwon and Sona used to date when they were teenagers and then broke up over something stupid, and then they met again and tried it one more time. It ended up with a marriage and a little baby along the way. It's funny and interesting how the world and fate works.

One thing you can't quite shake off is how good Jungkook looked while playing with Haru. You can't help it, he obviously knows his way around kids but there was something about him taking care of her. It was simple things, like handing her the bottle or feeding her with animal crackers. It's stupid but one thing is sure, Jeon Jungkook surprised you again. Maybe it's the lack of sex in your life once again, but it made him look even more attractive and you never thought that's possible. It's surely your hormones acting up, but you find your throat dry at the memories of him fucking you.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" Jungkook chuckles, glancing at you for a second before his eyes are back on the road.

Huh? He was saying something?

"Sorry, spaced out." you chuckle, gulping trying to shake those memories off.

"Yeah, I could see that," he jokes, checking the crossroad before he's allowed to continue, driving forward. "I was saying, we're around ten minutes away--"

It all happens quickly. Jungkook's eyes are on the road and yours are too, clearly seeing the car that doesn't stop on the sign on the left side, speeding up. Jungkook's words die halfway, his own eyes widening.

"Jungkook, watch out!" you yell, already thinking of the worst as you expect Jungkook's car to collide with the other one.

Jungkook's senses are increased, stomping on the brakes as the tires of his car screech his arm shoots in front of you, stopping your body from going any forward, even though you've got your seatbelt on that uncomfortably digs into your chest. The car stops, the other one stopping just a few meters away from you as you breathe heavily.

"Are you okay?" Jungkook asks, alarmed, turning to you as he checks your flushed face and heavily breathing body.

"Yeah," you answer, shaken up from what just happened.

Jungkook unbuckles the seatbelt, opening the car's door before you can utter a single word as he stands up from the car. "Are you fucking insane?!" he yells at the guy that stands up from his car bowing and apologizing to Jungkook who's fuming.

His face is red, his voice booming on the road. "Who gave you a driving license, idiot!"

"Jungkook," you call out to him, seeing him glancing towards you before he yells something explicit to the driver, sitting back into the car.

"Fuck," he curses, sighing as he tries to calm down himself. "Are you okay?" he asks, focusing his attention on you once again as he puts the seat belt back on.

"Yeah, I'm just glad nothing bad happened."

He starts the engine, throwing a nasty glare at the driver's car who's already in the car and driving away like nothing happened.

"He could've killed us, fucking idiot," he swears, tightening his hold onto the steering wheel as he still fumes. "I should've punched him in the face, asshole."

"Kook," you start, "It's fine. We're fine."

"No, it's not fine," he scoffs, "If I didn't step on the breaks, something could've happened to us."

"Yeah," you agree because you understand his anger. You'd be angry too if you still weren't a little bit shaken up. The sight of the car almost colliding with yours is still clear and horrifying.

"I'm sorry." Jungkook blurts out suddenly, your head snapping to his as he makes sure his eyes don't leave a road.

That's what he did the last time, it's not his fault that the other driver wasn't paying any attention and was ignorant. And the fact it happened in the bright daylight... it makes you even more angry.

"What? Why? It's not your fault, Kook." you remind him, already recognizing the tone of his voice as guilty.

"I should've drove slower." he murmurs, sighing as you shake your head not agreeing with him.

"Jungkook, you kept the speed just right, you weren't even driving that fast. That guy is a dick who doesn't know how to drive properly and safely. It could've happened to anyone."

He's silent for a moment, still processing what just happened and your words too, not reacting to them properly as he lets out a low sigh, turning right. "Just no word to my mom, okay? She would freak the fuck out."

You can't even imagine what Mrs. Jeon would do if she knew what just happened. She'd freak out like any other mother would, there's no denying in that.

"Of course," you nod, "We're safe, okay? Don't beat yourself over this. I know you drive safely."

It's true. You've never trusted anyone like you do trust Jungkook. He's a safe driver and you never doubt that. Clearly, none of this is his fault and you all can be glad, nothing more serious happened.

"A tattoo? Are you serious?" you almost shriek as soon as the tattoo artist disappears into another room to grab something, your eyes wide and staring at your best friend that's laying on the black leather chair.

He grins, the anger he had felt long gone as mischief runs in his eyes that glisten underneath the lightning in the dark room. It looks exactly like you'd imagine a tattoo shop to look like. Dark, full of pictures of tattoos while the whole place smells of disinfection and leather. Surprisingly, you don't feel that uncomfortable here, even though your jaw fell as soon as Jungkook parked in front of the tattoo shop.

"What's a life without some adventure in it?" he teases, grinning at you with that cute bunny grin that makes you shake your head at his absurdity.

"You're crazy." you tell him, sitting on the stool that's next to the chair he's laying with an arm underneath his head, plopping himself comfortably as if he's not about to have a needle piercing through his skin soon.

"You could get one too," he suggests lightly, "I remember you mentioning something about wanting to have a tattoo."

"I was drunk back then," you deadpan, "You know I say shit when I'm drunk."

Jungkook chuckles at that, boring his fingers into his black hair as he brushes them through it. "That's not true. You get sleepy and all cute when you're drunk."

You almost blush at that, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks for some reason. Probably embarrassed because he's got a point. Not the cute part though, you can't imagine anyone being cute while being drunk other than... Well, him. Even though he was annoying while being drunk the last time, there were times when you just thought 'cute' and just had to laugh at him.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with needles and being in pain willingly." you cringe, scrunching your nose as Jungkook chuckles at your reaction.

"It's not that painful, depends where you get it."

"Okay, you tattooed God." you tease, causing him to laugh as he throws his head back before he looks at you with those glistening dark and big eyes.

"God?" he teases, earning another roll of your eyes.

"Anyway," you purse your lips, "What are you getting?"

He doesn't answer, simply pulling out his phone before he shows you a picture of a flower which you look at curiously. "Is that...?"

"Yeah, an aster. Just something to fill up the rest of the tattoos. Also, it's my mom's birth flower, I thought that's cool." he says, shrugging before you hand him back the phone and he tucks it into his jeans.

"It is," you hum, eyes falling down onto his tattooed arm as you find yourself staring at them. "I like them. I mean... all your tattoos." you admit, remembering that you showed your interest in his tattoos before but maybe you've never voiced it like this.

"You do? Thank you." he says, genuinely smiling at you but you're too focused on his tattoos.

You scoot closer, taking his hand which he allows unbothered as you start tracing the quote tattoo following the peace sign one. Some of them are random, something that necessarily describes him as a person but you can tell it's his taste and he probably wanted to get something cool.

"You like them that much, huh?" he says, voice deep and quiet as you glance up at him, surprised how close you're to his face.

Too close to notice every imperfection that brings you unwillingly back to all those times you got to stare at him from up close, under different circumstances. Circumstances that it was about seconds before you got to taste his lips and kiss him. It's awful how much those memories come back, clouding your mind as you find yourself gulping at the sudden temptation.

"Yeah," you breathe out, your voice almost embarrassingly uneasy while your heart beats somewhere in your throat.

Why is the air so hot all of a sudden?

"So, you wanted to get only that one today, right?" The guy that's tattooed from the neck (and guessing) to his toes comes back, interrupting the awkward atmosphere in the room that you're not sure if Jungkook detected because he doesn't seem to be affected one bit.

You let go of his arm as if it burns you, scooting with your stool slightly away as you focus on the tattoo artist instead.

"Yeah, right here." Jungkook says, showing him the empty place on his skin where he'd like to have the tattoo.

The tattoo artist nods, already preparing all the stuff while he chit-chats mainly with Jungkook, your presence almost forgotten as you're trying to calm down your beating heart that beats at an uncomfortable pace.

And when Jungkook lays lazily on the chair, outstretching his arm as the bicep bulges out naturally while veins pop underneath his soft and sunkissed skin, you're in a desperate need of fresh air. Air where Jungkook isn't close and doesn't awaken the temptation, suffocating you with it by his presence.

But you sit throughout the whole session with an uneasy smile, acting as if you weren't salivating over your extremely attractive best friend. The memories of him fucking you, probably chocking you or the mental visual of his cock certainly don't help.

Fucking hormones.

"Does it hurt?" you ask him through the buzzing sound as if he slightly scrunches his nose.

"No, not really. It's a bit uncomfortable but nothing I can't handle." he answers, cockingly smirking as you snort.

"Alright, you muscle pig."

"Thought I was a tattooed God?" he responds innocently, cocking his head to the side totally unaffected by the needle piercing his skin. However, you see the mischievous glint in those eyes and the tiniest smirk that spreads on his lips when you raise your brows knowingly at him.

You pray you'll get through this session because Jeon Jungkook is definitely not making it any easier for you.

The same darkness surrounds Jungkook's old bedroom just like the night before, with the difference that there are droplets of rain meeting the window in a calm and uneven melody. Tucked in the blanket, you snuggle to the pillow that Jungkook laid on last night. You convince yourself that it's only a coincidence and you don't want to find out if the pillow smells like him. And it does smell like him, even though it's very faint but it's there.

Closing your eyes, you wonder if Jungkook already fell asleep since his mom stayed downstairs by the time everyone went to bed. She started packing some homemade kimchi for Jungkook and also for you, which you assured her that it's not necessarily but you appreciate it nevertheless. Of course, she insisted on packing some of it for you as well, saying that homemade kimchi is always the best. You specifically remember the teasing roll of eyes that Mr. Jeon gave her when she said, quoting "I don't mean to brag, but my kimchi is the best one".

However, he did assure her that she's completely right saying; "Of course, honey. You're absolutely right."

After being together and married for so many years, knowing they raised their kids who are adults now, it makes you wonder if you'll ever find that kind of love. It's never certain and shouldn't be taken for granted. There are so many marriages failing and ending with the divorce, it scares you to think that you'll get married one day believing that your significant other is the right one, just for the relationship and marriage ending up with divorce.

Breaking up with Haechan wasn't easy, maybe he hadn't been the love of your life but you still liked him. Maybe even loved him but you'll never know, not until you'll truly understand the meaning and the feeling of love. Still, even though you both agreed it's best to break up, it doesn't mean it was easy for you to let him go. Your relationship wasn't just about the dry sexlife in it, there were other things and most importantly, you felt that he wasn't the right one.

Seeing him in the grocery store that day made you speechless. Not just from seeing him after such a long time but to realize that he changed. He looked more mature than ever, probably started working out more. You remember him going to the gym more often, saying that he enjoys it. You wonder if he's still the same person that you were dating. Did he change other than just physically?

Although, you hadn't felt any hard feelings when you saw him, there is still a strike of curiosity inside of you.

Jungkook's parents are the living proof of a healthy relationship and marriage. They're not just kind to each other but to everyone else around them. They've known you from the first time you went to visit them with Jungkook and you know Jungkook often mentions you to them, especially when they call when the two of you hang out. But still, your heart grows with gratitude and warmth how welcomed they've made you feel.

When you went to the promised dinner today, they kept chatting with you as if they've known you for years. Not even once they made you feel uncomfortable or acted as if you were a stranger. After the dinner was all eaten and finished, they showed you around Jungkook's hometown and even took you to Busan's fish market. Mr. Jeon seemed to be extremely interested in explaining everything to you, throwing random but interesting facts as you talked to him while Jungkook talked with his mother, trailing behind you. Without doubt, Jungkook's father is a proud citizen of Busan which you find adorable.

Your memories of today are interrupted with the door opening, Jungkook's head poking as he scans the dark room.

"You sleepin'?" he whispers, slowly stepping in as he notices you turning around.

"No," you answer, even though he probably knows that by now. "I thought you wouldn't come." you chuckle, already making space for him as he joins you in the bed.

"Aw, you missed me?" he coos, causing you to snort before you kick him in the shin. He yelps, muttering a scolding; "Not nice."

"No, I thought that I'll finally get to have this bed all to myself." you point out as he's fluffing his pillow before he comfortably lays back down.

"Ha-ha," he responds dryly, "My mom wouldn't leave the kitchen, I spent the last hour pretending to be sleeping. I think she packed the whole fridge."

You snort, muffling your laugh with the blanket as Jungkook tries to shush you, chuckling as well. Your laughter slowly dies down, a content smile spreading on your lips from today's day. Apart from the little moments you had when you occupied your mind by appreciating how good–looking is your best friend. It had been truly frustrating and it proved that Jungkook wasn't about to make it any easier for you.

After he got the tattoo, he thought about taking you to the mall and also wanting to buy some presents for his parents since today is the last night you're staying here. You've to get going before lunch, since tomorrow is a Sunday and you both have to go back working on Monday.

You ended up in one of the shops looking at different clothes, mostly at jackets and coats since fall is around the corner. Somehow, you both stumbled across the underwear section which totally didn't go unnoticed by Jungkook and as soon as he saw some stockings on the display, he already tugged you towards it. Who knows what went through his mind, thinking it's a good idea as he started humming and looking at each one. By the time he pointed at one, the very similar one he ripped, your face was red as a tomato.

"This one looks like the one you had. Come on, pick one." he says, shrugging effortlessly as you stare at him. 

"Are you insane?" you deadpan, completely thrown off by the sudden idea as he ignores you and starts rummaging through the packs of stockings. 

"I promised you I'd buy you one. Come on, just pick one or a few. I owe you that much." he says, teasingly wiggling his brow at you as you stutter over your words.

He's insane, you thought at this exact moment knowing that the shop you are currently at isn't the cheapest one. You just went here out of curiosity, quickly changing your mind to buy something as soon as you've seen the prices. 

Even one pair of stockings is too expensive, it just isn't worth it. And even though Jungkook promised to buy you a new one, you'll be happily satisfied with a cheaper one... or him treating you to lunch when you get back to Seoul. 

And when you're about to tell him that, assuring him that maybe this isn't the right shop to buy those stockings at, the young saleswoman wearing high heels and a nice black blazer and blue jeans approaches you.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asks politely, flashing you with her nice teeth while red lipstick stains her lips.

"Oh, thank you. We're just looking actually." you quickly say, trying to save the day as you give her a nervous smile meanwhile Jungkook's brows furrow in disapproval, knowing very well what you're trying to do. 

"No, we actually want to buy one of these. Come on, Y/N. Just pick one." he says, looking straight at you as he has the audacity to raise a brow at you.

You want to groan, curse him for not listening to you but you can't. The last thing you want is to cause a scene in this shop, and in front of the saleswoman that patiently stands by and waits.

"Jungkook," you groan, his name finding its way on your tongue as you say it through clenched teeth but he completely ignores you again, turning to the saleswoman. 

"We'll take this one. What's your size?" he asks you, briefly glancing at you as he waits for your response. 

Your cheeks flush red, your eyes glaring at him as you shake your head. "Don't worry about it, I--"

Again, he ignores you and flashes one of those handsome smiles at the saleswoman. "What do you think her size is?" he asks her, embarrassing you even more as she gives you a knowing smile before she hands Jungkook one of the stockings packs, surprisingly picking out the right size as he thanks her.

He flushes you his bunny smile, throwing his arm around your shoulders as you grumble in response. "I always get my way, you know that."

"I wanted to save you the money. This shop is too expensive." you inform him as he guides you towards the cash register.

"Don't mind the money, I told you I'd buy you a new one. You know... since I ripped your old one." he whispers teasingly the last part into your ear and you jab him with your elbow, but he doesn't budge and laughs instead. 

At the memory that hasn't happened that long ago, you let out a soft chuckle as you hear Jungkook rustle behind you. You've turned to him with your back, ready to sleep however your mind doesn't seem to rest.

"What?" Jungkook lets out a low chuckle, turning to you as you turn to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling.

"I can't believe you bought me stockings. It was just so random." you answer, giggling.

"To be honest, I wanted to order you some. I didn't forget," he chuckles, "I just wasn't sure if I'd fit into your taste... when I saw the underwear section, I figured it'd be the best to buy it with you around."

"Oh my god," you laugh, slapping a hand over your mind not to wake his parents. "So much noise about some stockings."

"Hey, you scolded me for ripping them in the first place. And I'm a man of my word."

"Okay, okay you gentleman." you tease, turning to look at him and however his face isn't totally visible, you can make out his soft features and his cheeks stretch in a grin.

The paper bag from the shop with your new stockings in it rests in the corner of the room, reminding you that Jungkook really is a man of his word.

"You still have our pink friend at mine." he reminds you suddenly, your brows pinching together in confusion before realization hits you all of a sudden and your whole body heats with embarrassment.

"Oh my god," you exclaim, "Why would you even mention that?" you scold him, nudging him in his chest as he snorts at you.

"I ordered and bought it for you. What should I do with it? I'm not gonna stick it in my ass."

"Oh my god," you repeat your previous words, laughing as Jungkook shushes you, doing an awful job at being quiet too because he's laughing too. "What do you know? Maybe it'd feel nice." you joke, listening to him disapproving but he muffles his laugh and mouth with his arm as he hides his face.

As much as it's funny, it's another reminder that the deal between you two has already ended and the mention of your pink friend (as he called it) was the final drop. And you almost tell him that you don't want it, because you won't probably use it if it's not with him. And you almost gasp at that thought, mentally slapping yourself.

He's your best friend Y/N, you remind yourself.

And you finally understand the crave you had for him today. It's not only because you miss sex (because Jungkook is fantastic at it), or because you just crave a touch of someone else.

It's because Jungkook wasn't the only one who was craving love and having that someone who cares for you. You were doing the same all along.

[eddiessluttywaist]

as if (part 3)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES

summary: reader isn’t keen to playing the usual games between her and eddie after how she felt sunday night, and eddie can’t stand losing her attention. PICK WHAT ENDING YOU WANT AFTER.

pairing: bully!mean!perv!eddie munson x perv!fem reader

word count: 8,704 words (9,272 total words with the fluffy ending, 9,516 total words with the angsty ending)

content/warnings: swearing, SMUT MDNI (y/n is 18), bully!eddie, mean!eddie, perv!eddie, bully kink (?), dominating, breeding kink, mocking, teasing, biting, dacryphilia, groping, pet names (doll face, princess), degradation, some embarrassment, yearning, menophilia, angst :(((, feelings :(((, fluff(what? who said that?). i think that’s all pls tell me if i miss anything!

a/n: thank you for all the love :( i’m truly so surprised and grateful and just super flattered so thank you!! i hope i didn’t fuck this up by giving it crap endings sobs. i saw some were interested in a bit of a better look into eddie’s thoughts/feelings so i hope those lil parts are good! i’m considering the occasional blurb in the future about them tho so 👀 OH ALSO!! the past week or so tumblr had a bug on their app that cut off the ends of my posts >:( so I’d appreciate it if you could look back to double check you caught the full ending so you get the proper experience! okay i’m shutting up now!

part one - part two

*

You weren’t as responsive to his teasing that Monday…or, well… just about the rest of the school week so far, for that matter. You blamed your mood drop on his indifference, and the cramping that you assumed was only from this weekend. You had been sure it was just your cervix making its opinions on Eddie known, but then—after your second sugar pill of the week—you got your period Wednesday night. This culprit seemingly just as likely for that aching in your lower abdomen and back. It was welcome evidence that your birth control was working, but the appreciation for its presence didn’t last long with all the cramping and the bleeding. You hated getting your period, no matter how many older women reminded you of your “connection to Mother Nature” and “the beauty of the womb.” It’s messy and painful and almost always broke out your face.

So no you aren’t playing Eddie’s usual games—instead going silent on him or answering in an empty murmur. Part of you worries it’s going to all build up to one particularly heinous act, but he surprisingly didn’t get worse. He only bothered you with the same old stuff more frequently. By Thursday he’s pestering you constantly with his teasing, and his grabbing, and honestly? Just about every trick in his sick little book which were usually tastefully sprinkled throughout the week.

“So you’re not talking to me? Playing hard to get or somethin’?” He whispers from behind you in the lunch line. You grab a saran-wrapped cookie and put it on your tray.

“What? You on your rag or something?” Eddie scoffs in response to your ever freezing cold shoulder. He’s out in the tundra these past couple of days. You make a face and continue moving through the line.

“Come on… don’t fuck me and forget me, babe. You’ll break this ol’ cynic’s heart and I’ll never recover.” He teases with a wide smile, hand placed over his heart before it drops to settle on the small of your back and gradually travel down to cup your ass. He’s pleasantly surprised that you’re not gently nudging him away like you had the last time he attempted his usual lunchtime groping, but something feels different. He glances down as he flips up your skirt only to reveal small shorts in the same pattern of your dark, plaid skirt. Your worst nightmare is bleeding through a light-colored pair of pants or skirt, so you always wear darker clothes on your period, and you trade skirts for skorts in favor of the added coverage.

“What the fuck is this shit?” He scowls, tugging at one leg of the shorts.

“It’s called a skort. We’ve had this conversation before.” You sigh, thanking the lunch lady as she hands you your tray and eyes the metalhead trailing behind you.

She thinks he resembles an abandoned puppy who grew mean and practiced his bite and his bark just to follow after you with his tail between his legs. If she had any genuine interest in connecting with the student body she fed 5 days out of the week, she might’ve made a playful joke about you having him whipped. But she didn’t care that much.

“I don’t think we have.” He grins, wondering if you even noticed you let yourself talk to him.

“You do it every time I’m on-“ You catch yourself almost admitting you were on your period, which would certainly only pull new harassment from him, so you pretend to correct a simple mistake. “In. Every time I’m in a skort.”

He hums disapprovingly.

“Yeah, well… I…” He trails off as you simply walk away from him to your usual spot in the cafeteria. You don’t bother to stay at his table you two reached just for him to finish making some crude joke before ultimately shooing you away anyway. “Okay… or be a bitch.”

He grumbles that last bit, landing into his usual spot at the head of the table. A few of the other Hellfire members are still staring even when he clearly takes notice.

“Can I help you?” He snaps, everyone who had been staring immediately looking down at their food. He huffs, adjusting his position in the chair to get more comfortable and lets his gaze move over to your table. You’re sat so pretty it’s like your image could actually advertise such a crappy plastic chair. The way your ankles are crossed underneath you, book cracked open on the table with all of your attention on it as you sat with your body leaned into the table. Your food was hardly touched due to a pang of nausea that he was completely unaware of.

“You know if you like her maybe you shouldn’t pick on her so much.”

Eddie grimaces at the comment that’s—in his opinion—beyond a disregard for his rank at this table, icy glare on the curly haired freshman. There are panicked faces and soft muttering around the table showing he isn’t the only one taken aback by this.

“I…” the boy falters, putting the spoonful of pudding he’s about to eat back down. “I just mean if… if you like her. I dunno… you’re kinda mean to her, Eddie.”

He eats his scoop of pudding now, his bold words inspiring the wiry one that always sits next to him. Eddie’s burning glance flits over to him now that he’s speaking, his expression remaining unimpressed with etches of frustration in the shadows of his facial features.

“Yeah, which is actually totally weird cause you’re not like that at all.” The brunet speaks in a rapid ramble like usual. “Like, you took me and Dustin and Lucas under your wing cause we were new and weird and alone and stuff like that—no, I know Lucas has been ditching Hellfire for the jocks, but anyway— you’re always talking back to those asshole jocks—which is totally cool—so I don’t get why you’re not like that with her.”

“I’m sorry, I must be confused.” The man spoke with sarcastic interest, a sinister smile breaking out onto his face. “Are you two talking to me? About something that is, quite frankly, none of your business?”

The two boys look at each other, the nerves shared between them tangible. Eddie raises a brow and tilts his head when they face him again. Still silence. Mike swallows anxiously.

“Well?” He sneers, flicking some of his trail mix at them.

“Sorry, Eddie…” They say in unison as he chews slowly, staring them down. He rolls his eyes as his body slowly relaxes again in his spot and he glances at you again. You were at least breaking off pieces of your cookie now, still reading your book.

“She’s not new or weird or alone anyways. She’s always with the smart kids.” He states, before holding up a hand as his gaze returns to the pair. “Not that I’m inviting you two shitheads to stick your noses in my business.”

The freshmen, along with a few others at the table shift to look over at you. You’re still engrossed in whatever you’re reading and you looked miserable, even if you were enjoying a good book. You look tired.

“Dude, literally no one is interacting with her. There’re the Jacobson twins talking at one end—probably still fighting over what’s the right answer to the equation from algebra class (it’s zero, by the way). Then there’s Richie and Greg from advanced calculus. Some people I don’t know…” Dustin mutters that last part before continuing, “And yes technically speaking there are a few girls sitting with her, but they’re not even talking. They probably don’t even know her.“

Eddie stares him down, the conversation still on you burning away at something inside him. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to talk about you or how lonely you look. He doesn’t want to talk about inviting you over. And he certainly doesn’t want to talk about how mean he is to you, cause he has no interest in trying to break down the intricacies of the crossover between bullying you and fucking you. Especially to freshmen.

“Just saying.” Dustin finally sighs in defeat, clearly getting no response from the DM sat at the head of the table. “But seriously, tugging on a girl’s pigtails cause you like her is completely grade school.”

*

Eddie had figured that having sex would change things between you two, but he imagined it changing for the better. Things like fucking you in the janitor’s closet or in the back of his van in the parking lot. Feeling you up between classes. Being so fucking mean to you all day until you were all wet and needy for him by the time that final bell rang.

He certainly didn’t imagine this.

At the start of the school week, Eddie didn’t entirely notice your lack of participation. Just that something felt… off-kilter in your interactions. It had been on Tuesday night that he realized nothing felt right because you weren’t glaring at him or shoving him away or pouting up at him. You didn’t even turn your head when an object was flicked at you, you just kept your eyes on the chalkboard.

Now he isn’t particularly well known for his critical thinking with… well… anything other than music, DND, and—subsequently—the math that came along with both hobbies. And, of course, selling drugs. So it’s somewhat understandable that poor Eds didn’t even realize what caused the imbalance for a whole day or two. Once he realized it though, it only frustrated him further. It irritated him that you weren’t playing the game, and it irritated him that it bothered him so much in the first place.

Why aren’t you snapping back at him? Why are you ignoring him, and if you even do look over: why was it always with a sad glance? Why, when he toyed with your skirt on Monday did you tilt your head to the side and quietly ask him to please leave you alone? When he saw you first thing Monday morning with circles under your eyes that were barely disguised by drug store concealer; Why, when he leaned into you as he passed you in the hall with a quiet “Something keep you up last night?” Did you only give him a passing glance with lips pressed together in what might’ve been an attempt at a small smile just to fall flat with that dull look in your eyes.

Being how he is, his game plan had been to keep bugging you constantly. Wear you down until you were finally glaring or giggling or whining, and everything could be back to the way it was. Maybe you were just suddenly playing hard to get. Being a teasing brat who would eventually have a smirk sneak out so he knew you were toying with him, and he could make you pay for it later. That smirk never quirked up your lip though. You were still such a rainy cloud drifting through the school.

The little twerp got to him at lunch today, too. He wonders now if maybe you were sick of the way he acted, and realized you want deserve someone a little less inclined to pigtail-tugging and a little more open and romantic. But why now? He thought you enjoyed it all. That’s why he wasn’t expelled already. That’s why you fucked him and called him for more. Right? Sitting in his van instead of attending the last class of the day, Eddie rubs his hands over his face and lets out a frustrated groan. He feels something crucial missing in him at the fact that he’d rather pull teeth than drop down his smug and playful demeanor even for a second and show you that he’s yours.

He noticed you were pretty when you were a sophomore, but not much else. Now in your senior year with him, god—you aren’t even pretty. You’re fucking devastating, and he knows his methods of showing affection aren’t something that will stand the test of time. You’ll grow tired and fuck it, he’d be living up to that Munson name if he has to see you with someone else—probably wind up serving time right alongside Pops after leaving some guy in the hospital. So maybe there were tweaks to be had. Even if he’s bitter and reluctant about it. (And did I mention bitter?)

Eddie pulls his hands away from his face at the faint sound of a bell, letting the side of his head fall against the window with a solid thunk as he awaits the crowds of students rushing out of the school.

*

You’re passing by others on your way out of the building, just as relieved as everyone else to be going home for the day—not that your excitement showed. It’s more of a calm relief to be heading to your room again than everyone else’s bubbly enthusiasm to make plans for the rest of the day. (When they should be getting their assignments done after all it’s not Friday yet, you think, but maybe that’s just because you evidently have no life.)

Making your way through the parking lot, a loud horn makes you jump. Your eyes wild and your heart up in your throat, you look around until you spot Eddie laying on his horn with his tongue partially sticking out off to the side. He lets up the second you lock eyes and laughs.

“Need a ride? Gotta couple of good options.”

You huff, trying to ignore his filthy innuendo and shake your head. He groans, settling his head back against the head rest of his seat while you start walking away.

“What the fuck is your problem? Jesus fucking Christ!”

You keep walking, hearing his car door open and the sound of his sneakers on the pavement. His car buzzes irritably at its door being left open while running, but he doesn’t care. You’re sure he doesn’t care about anything, really. He rests a hand on your shoulder to turn you around.

“’m just not in the mood, Eddie.” You snap the second you’re facing him.

But you’re always in the mood, he wants to argue as if that made a difference right now. He lets out a long breath that puffs out his lips as he decompresses, arm bent up to rub his hand on the back of his neck. It’s evident that he’s not used to this, and doesn’t have a clue how to go about it. You eye him in that moment, waiting for him. Waiting for something that made that ache in your chest dissipate and the hole it leaves be filled with a light warmth. Then you’re ready to give up on waiting for something that clearly wasn’t going to happen when he suddenly dips down and drapes you over his shoulder all in one fluid motion.

“I- Eddie-!“

“I- Eddie- I-” He mimics, clearly out of habit and opens the back door to his van to plop you right on top of a random cushion nestled inside. It looks like it’s just a single couch cushion and you wonder where he got only one. Is it from an old couch that was getting tossed anyways? Did he steal it? Who steals a singular couch cushion from the seat of a sofa? And what was that stain on the corner? You’re shifting away from it as he climbs in after you, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his lips again until the door is shut and he’s settled against it with a sigh.

“Yoo-hoo.”

“What?”

He scratches his jaw as he looks over at you then points at the stain you were avoiding.

“Yoo-hoo. The drink. That’s what the stain is from.”

“Oh… okay.”

Eddie lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes going wide as he fights the urge to roll them while he stares up at the ceiling of his vehicle, and then he finally speaks up again.

“Why are you being all…” He gestures his hands out in a odd way, flopping them a bit before settling them on his legs again. He sighs, tilting his head down and looking over at you again. “I don’t fucking know… you’re not being fun this week.”

Your nostrils flare and your brow creases with a pulse of rage at his words.

“Oh I’m so sorry that I’m not playing your game, Eddie. For your information, yes—as you said so elegantly before— I’m ‘on my rag’ and don’t exactly feel like dealing with you.”

Despite the tone you’re taking with him, a grin is pulling at his face and a few laughs bubble from his chest that were almost like little amused giggles. God, he missed getting you all worked up.

“What? Never got it before?” He suddenly questions.

“I- What?”

He snickers.

“Your rag. The crimson tide. Never ridden the cotton pony before?” He’s having too much fun with this and your face is getting all hot.

“Cause I kinda doubt it. Y’know…” he gestures to your form, “The idea that you haven’t gone through puberty yet sounds fake to me, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well you’ve never acted like this before so unless this is your first week of Carrie...” He hisses an inhale through his teeth.

“My condolences, but look at it this way: You’re finally a woma- hey!” He’s laughing until he’s dodging the random work boot you toss at him—the sight of him scooting away from the projectile actually getting a giggle from you.

“Those ‘r for the garage, doll. Heavy duty shit, can’t be throwing those.” He chastises as he waves the shoe at you, but there’s a weight that’s lifting from him. He got you to just sit and talk to him, and even made you laugh. Even if you’re biting the inside of your cheek now to try and refrain from giving him the satisfaction of your smile. How are things like this right now? Shouldn’t he be bending you over his knee for not acting the way he wanted you to? Shouldn’t he be angry? Shouldn’t he be making you cry?

“I’ve gotten my period before.” You state simply. Eddie puts the boot down, dropping his head back against the interior of his van as he looks at you expectantly.

“Then what? What’s with the bitching and the ignoring and the crybaby shit?” He asks bluntly, making your brow furrow again.

“And not even the good crybaby shit,” he continues in a softer tone as he makes his way over to you, “Where’s my pouty girl, huh? Where’s my brat?”

My. My. It’s making your head swirl, his words and proximity putting up a good fight against this latest impulse to be cold to him. He’s settled in front of you and pulling you forward by your hips.

“Don’t wanna talk about it…” You murmur because he should know. He should’ve automatically known the second he left your room that he fucked up when he didn’t kiss you.

“No? Do I gotta bully it out of you, baby? Should I keep up with what I’ve been doing or are you gonna keep pissing me off with that silent treatment shit if I do?”

Watching your expression, his hands settled on your hips start to massage his fingertips in small circles against your lower back. A sigh falls from your lips before you can even stop it, melting from his touch. He’s massaging that spot that’s been tied up in knots the past couple of days, and taking care of it perfectly. Just when you think he’s suddenly a completely different person he stops the movements entirely. That familiar pout that he loves pulls at your lower lip, clearly disappointed by the loss of his kneading.

“Gonna tell me?” He coos, tilting his head.

Your lips part then close again, faltering on if you should just tell him. He mimics the motion then your pout before grinning at you again. You stay quiet, a new conflict arising inside your head. Should you just tell him and move forward? Should you let him suffer until he figures it out? He deserves to suffer in your book, but who knows how long it would take for him to realize. The man has failed his senior year twice already.

“No? Okay, doll.” He’s separating himself from you now, moving to a corner of his van to start digging through some random stacks and piles there.

He’s going on about how he’d help if he could, but he guessed that won’t happen now. How if only you’d cut lil’ ol’ him a break. His theatrical and bitter words are coated in a soft tone and playful, exaggerated sighs. He’s having all the fun in the world trying to tease you until you just sigh and admit whatever your major malfunction is. It’s lighthearted in comparison to his usual teasing, but even this starts bringing the tears forward.

You hate that he doesn’t know. That it clearly didn’t mean enough for him to notice. You hate that he pulls you in all smooth and sweet to get you intoxicated on him just for him to laugh over it and leave you alone again. You hate how he’s suddenly making you feel cared for just for him to go away again cause he isn’t getting what he wants. Now you’re desperately trying to hide the fact that you’re crying as all of your feelings and aches and pains of this week rush through you.

Sure, he’s seen you cry before but it was never like this. It was teary eyes from frustration or, recently, the occasional sob from how good he made you feel. It’s never been breaking down after a hard week. It’s never sobbing because after all this time the two of you finally cracked, and you’re scared you’re the only one increasingly enchanted every passing second since that first kiss. It was never hiccuping sobs that you were doing your best to push down. Your face is burning, your sight blurry even though tears kept rolling down your cheeks. It’s like there’s a never ending supply to stream down your face and still keep your vision bleary.

“Jus’ sayin’ we could be doing something way more fun right no…w…” He trails off once he finally looks over at you.

He’s holding an unopened pack of cigarettes he had been looking for in his typical mess and pulling out his lighter, but now all his focus is on the way you’re sniffling and shaking. You’re still sat on that cushion, knees up and a hand settled over your mouth with your head turned away from him. A heart-wrenching sob just barely sneaks its way out before you choke it back down. Little huffs are escaping you in a desperate attempt to breathe without letting your need to wail break free. It feels like your lungs are on fire.

“Y/N…” Eddie says in a tender voice that you didn’t think he was even capable of. You shake your head.

“Y/n c’mon…” He tries again with a small, nervous laugh. Nervous you were serious. Nervous that he really made you so upset. Nervous to really show that he cares if he did.

“It’s okay, really-“ Your voice is higher than usual, another heavy breath puffing out before you try to drag it in again just to end up whimpering as another wave of sadness comes over you and you’re too overwhelmed to hold it in. You stay facing away from him as you cry and hiccup, trying to get it back under control.

“I just- it’s stupid, it’s n-ot that big of a deal.”

For Eddie, making you cry is all about the glossy eyes and pouty lips as you stare up at him defiantly or a sign that you need him to quit playing games and fuck you. It’s never been this… brutal. Panic continues to rise in his system, and he’s unsure of how to handle the situation. Once upon a time, he thought he treated you the way that he did because some sadistic part of him liked to always make you hurt, but it was becoming evident that he just liked the play. The banter. The shoving and the glaring and pouting and the wandering eyes. When he acted the way he always did and you didn’t respond or did so in a quiet plea for him to really stop or really cried—it made his stomach clench. The more he tried to keep it up this week the more he realized that when you weren’t playing along he just… he was just mean. Really mean. Not “you’re so awful, just fuck me already” mean, but “you’re making me miserable” mean. And fuck if he didn’t hate the way that felt.

“Is it really that bad?” He murmurs, partially surprised by his own voice when it sounded this gentle. The thin plastic around his cigarettes crinkle under his nervous hands. And he thought he needed a smoke before. “Did I hurt you? Or-or somethin’? Do you need to go to a doctor?”

“No.” You weep, still refusing to look at him and it’s killing him even if a part of him knows he would crumble if he sees how you look right now. God, he hated this. The vulnerability of caring openly and to this extent, but what else could he do? Double down on his usual behavior and kick you while you were already so down you might as well have been sinking into the pavement?

“Y/N, please-“ He tries again and you crack completely.

“It’s just not fair because I thought I wanted this, but it’s to-oo hard. You don’t care enough to stick around. Y-You don’t check in with me. You’ve pushed me around for the past two years and I’m an idiot who thought it was all lighthe-hearted deep down, a-and that you wanted me too.”

You break down into tears again until you put yourself back together just enough so it’s only the constant sniffling and your voice trembling that’s interrupting you. All Eddie can do is stare at you with big brown eyes like saucers while you babble, his brow frowning as he anxiously picks at his fingernails and the skin around them.

“A-And of course I got my fucking period cause why wouldn’t I? Cause why would I catch a break? N-N my body aches and I’m so tired and you… you couldn’t… you didn’t…”

“What?” He’s shuffling a bit closer now, lowering his face like he always did to catch your attention. He was right that seeing your face like this would cave him in, and he wishes he could be dropped into a black hole. He knew he deserved it. At the sight of your current state, he was pulling that smoke he already had his fingertips on and placing it between his lips. He lights it and inhales deeply before letting his hand drop down, cig between his fore and middle fingers, ring finger toying with a tear in his jeans.

“You…” You let out a breath before dropping your gaze to your hands in your lap, tears still slipping down your cheeks and over your jaw to wet your neck and dampen the collar of your top or drop down and land on that skort he hated. “You wouldn’t even kiss me on Sunday…”

You sound horribly deflated at the admission, and his eyes flicker all over your features before the smallest twitches of the corners of his lips start to tug them up even though his eyes hold a sad sort of infatuation within them.

“You kissed me on Friday, but not once on Sunday. And you didn’t even seem to care…” You mumble, glancing over at him once and then twice when you notice the curve of his lips. Your eyes burn with a potential for new tears. “Are you fucking smiling?”

“No—no, well, yeah. Not like that.” He huffs out an anxious laugh. “I just… you ignored me… cause I didn’t give you a kiss..?”

You scoff, lips parted and gaze furious. He is unbelievable.

“Among other things! I-I… ugh! You’re infuriating!” You announce and his brows shoot up, grin widening with interest and he brings his cigarette back to his lips.

“You… you make fun of me constantly. You fuck me and finish in me and don’t even spend time with me after. The least you can do is kiss me. Or… or…” You huff, which was becoming a theme today.

He can’t help but find you cute when you’re angry. You remind him of that temperamental pixie in that old animated Peter Pan film from the ‘50s. He used to babysit a young girl in the trailer park who watched it constantly (much to his chagrin).

“Or you don’t get to have me anymore.” You conclude, and he just keeps staring at you with wild eyes as he smokes.

Your anxieties peak and a voice in your head is screaming to get out of the damn van, even when he’s just casually puffing on a cigarette without a hint of irritation on his face. Eddie lets the cig stick to his bottom lip as his hands find your form to pull you closer to him. His right hand raises to place the smoke between his middle and forefinger, and remove it from his lips. His left hand moves to hook his thumb on your lower lip and part your mouth for him to plant an open-mouthed kiss on you as his smoke floats around you and in your mouth, his tongue hot on yours. The pamphlets your parents gave you about the dangers of cigarettes popped up in your mind as his smoke fills you. The statistics and pictures of smoker lungs mean nothing to you as he kisses you like this.

You’re more than just warming up to the smell you usually couldn’t stand, and you find yourself back where you were on Friday. Willing to take whatever he gives you. As long as he kept kissing you like this. As long as he kisses you like he plans on making you his wife while he fucks you like he’s your high school bully. The kiss is all tongues and muffled moans, your arms wrapping around his neck. You chase after his lips when he finally starts pulling away. An involuntary whimper slid from you as you look at him with heavy eyelids.

“If you want something…” He trails off in a whisper, keeping his half-lidded eyes on you even as he reaches over to tap off ash into a cheap plastic tray. His thumb and pointer finger pinch your chin to keep your focus on him. “You ask, okay? Pretty standard rules, princess.”

“But…”

“But now,” He cuts you off with a soft sigh, head tilting as he looks at you. The eye contact is becoming so intense it’s burning through you. “Now I know this is important for you, ‘kay?”

You’re surprised by this. Honestly you’re shocked by every kindness and touch of patience he provided you today. You would have never guessed Eddie Munson is even capable of such a thing. You nod with your gaze retreating downwards, toying with your hands and he chases after your stare with a tilt of his head to try and get you to look at him again, brows raised up.

“Doll?”

You wipe at the cooling streaks of tears on one cheek with your shoulder then finally look up again, and nod with more confidence this time.

“And…” He looks almost like he’s in pain for a moment before he finally continues “‘m sorry, okay?”

“…Really?” You murmur, eyes wide with shock.

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t act so surprised. I’m capable of an apology, given the right circumstances.”

You eye him, silent with hesitation and shock.

“‘N the right girl.” He murmurs with a soft voice even though he had that shit-eating grin on his face. Why is it always so charming? It’s smug and teasing, but always so endearing.

You don’t know what else to do so you just kiss him. You pull him in by his shoulders and kiss him. You kiss him like you could devour him, body and soul. His arms circle around your waist after leaving that partly-smoked cigarette in the cheap ash tray and drags you closer all while kissing you back. He’s leaning down to place you on the scratchy carpeting and hover over you. Any break for air is short-lived before you’re back on each other. Your hands tangle in the messy curls draping around your head, tugging to pull a groan from him.

“Fuck…” He sighs into the kiss, dropping his body down to put more of his weight on you. He parts from your lips despite your whiny protests and presses kisses and nips to your jaw as he works his way to your neck. His arms unfurl from around your waist so his hands can settle on your hips and let his thumbs massage into your skin. You’re pawing at his vest as he works on leaving a love bite on your pulse point below your ear, and—surprisingly—he moves away to shake the jacket-vest combo off and drop it beside you. You eye the fit of his t-shirt and it makes your mind fog up.

All your focus is on the shape of his tummy against the fabric. The way the material sticks to him and shows all the harsh angles of his toned chest. The fact that he had cut off the bottom hem of his top and when he moves the right way you can see that trail of hair on his lower stomach. The shape of his arms under the sleeves. Does he work out? Considering his lack of discipline, you couldn’t imagine him having an exercise regimen, but dear god. His arms weren’t absurdly cut, but they were still thick with enough muscle that his sleeves seem a little tight. You can see the veins of his forearms and the blown out ink on his skin. When he’s on top of you again, sucking on your neck, you let your hands drag over his back and sneak underneath his shirt. The heat of his skin and the moving musculature alone making your toes curl. You’re happy to have him on you, but you wanted that damn shirt off too. You’re grasping at the fabric and pulling it up, gasping when he bites on your neck for doing so.

“Take that shit off-“ You huff, making a smile tug at his lips.

“Using my lines now, doll?” He purrs once he’s raised up again and grasping behind his head to pull his shirt over it. You can’t even think of a smart reply, your brain short circuiting at the sight of his naked torso. Even though you enjoy it, you never really understood his urge to bite. You sure do now. You shift from laying on your back to sit up in front of him while he remains raised up on his knees. Your hands slide up his stomach, feeling the goosebumps that raise in the wake of your cold fingertips. He’s still for once and you bring your hands back down to pull on his belt, fighting against the stiff leather to slide it out of the buckle.

You’ve never given head before, mainly because the only time there was an opportunity it had been with a guy you didn’t even like that much who kept trying to push your head down while you were kissing; but you felt feverish with thoughts of Eddie’s dick down your throat. While rushing to go down on him was the last thing you had on your mind at the start of your day, after he was so sweet on you, you were desperate to taste him.

Eddie’s breath is staggered as he watches you undo his jeans, his pupils all blown out. He can’t even count how many times he’s fantasized about those lips wrapped around his cock, but he knew after everything that he didn’t deserve to go first. Fuck, he wanted to, but he doesn’t deserve it. Belt open and slack and jeans undone, he grabs your hands to pin them over your head once you were pushed back onto the floor and he leans down to kiss you. One hand holds the side of your face and the other is pulling the zipper on your hip down, muttering a you first against your lips.

Before tugging at your skirt skort, Eddie pulled away again to lift your shirt off. He grew irritable for a moment with the long sleeves that fought him, tossing it aside harshly with a grumble that made you giggle. That gentle laugh was the only thing that lightened his mood again and encouraged a small smile before he continued. He kisses down your body, giving you the occasional bite. There are little things that he does along the way that make parts of you feel beautiful—parts that you either don’t pay attention to or even aren’t fond of. It’s an odd thing considering how mean he always is, but he seems to show a devotion to each and every inch of your skin that wouldn’t occur to most men. The way his hands slide along your sides as he makes his way down your chest, giving you the occasional squeeze. The way his arms slip around your midsection and bring you closer to his face with a press to the small of your back, smothering his face between your breasts still covered by a flimsy, lace bra—breathing in the scent of your skin. The way his hold relaxes as he continues down, just to squeeze you to him again when he finds a new spot he wants to smother himself in. One side of your tummy underneath your ribs. The slight rise of your lower abdomen beneath your belly button. Your hip bones.

You’re so drunk on his touch at first that it doesn’t even occur to you where this is leading until he’s already face-to-face with the center of your underwear.

“E-Eddie- no-“ You squeak out suddenly. “Not that.”

He lifts his head to eye you curiously and with surprise at the denial of getting head, lips parted in a question that you interrupt.

“I’m on my period, remember?”

Eddie half-jerks his shoulder up in a careless shrug. “Yeah, I know. So?”

“It’s just… it’s so messy and bloody. I wouldn’t even want you to eat me out right now if I was still mad at you.”

“Doll, c’mon…” He groans while pressing his face into your inner thigh—not to try and convince you to give consent cause he doesn’t care about this boundary, but rather to show how badly he wants to do this. That he doesn’t care about the mess and he doesn’t think it’s gross, in fact he found it hot. If you were sitting in his bed or in his passenger seat and got your period, his perv ass probably wouldn’t even try to remove the stain.

“I want to.” He insists, pulling away again to look up at you. “I think it would be so fucking hot. It’ll help the pain, princess.”

You consider the offer for a moment, wondering if he’s right. If he could make you feel so good that he’d reach and clear out those aches and pains that Tylenol couldn’t even touch. You still shake your head, the thought of all that blood on his tongue and the smell in his nostrils making you nervous and embarrassed. He groans again and dramatically flops into your stomach to hide his face.

“Not with your mouth.” You clarify, cheeks all rosy.

At that, he finally raises his head with a raised brow and his bangs all messy.

“Oh yeah?”

He’s sitting up now, settling back against folded legs as he raises your legs one by one to take your shoes off and toss them randomly. You tilt your head to watch one sneaker smack the back of the passenger seat, then look to the side to watch your second sneaker smack into the interior with a vibrating clunk. After taking off your shoes, your ankles are lightly settled on his shoulders and he has his hands wrapped around your calves as he tilts his head to press a kiss to the inside of one ankle. Then he’s moving to bite the inside of the opposite knee.

After that, he skips right back to your lips, your legs parted to settle on either side of him now. Eddie hooks his fingertips into the band of your underwear and pulls them down, having to begrudgingly separate enough so you can bend your knees up to your chest while he tugs them off your legs. He’s about to casually pull on the string of your tampon when you shake your head quickly and clasp your hand over your entrance.

“I’ll- I’ll do it.” You murmur and he’s (once again) groaning irritably.

He wishes you wouldn’t be so sheepish about it. He can understand the experience of your period not being the most comfortable thing in the world, but he doesn’t know what he has to do to show that he likes it. That he wants to go down on you and wipe that mess off of his face with pride, therefore not needing to look away at your insistence while you take out your tampon. Maybe it’s his pride in being a freak. Maybe it’s a slight twinge of superiority, knowing that he was one of the few guys that would even offer in the first place. Maybe it’s that breeding kink flaring up at what he saw as a glaring reminder that you could possibly get pregnant with his kid. Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s you. But he lets you do it yourself, holding in his usual attitude for the sake of your sensitivity for once, then leaning back down to kiss you the second you give the okay.

The kiss doesn’t have as much of an apologetic gentleness as the others, but it was passionate and it was hot. The heavy breathing and groping and spit; the taste of cigarettes and mint; the scratch of slight stubble and the bump of his nose against yours. Eddie shot a hand out to feel for his jacket which he promptly crams under your tailbone to raise your hips, then dips his thumbs in the band of his exposed boxers to pull his pants and boxers down. (He didn’t take them off completely per usual, but you took getting him shirtless as your win).

Eddie pulls away just enough to wrap his hand around his cock, giving it a few good tugs before leading it to your entrance. He keeps an eye on your expression, plunging into you the moment his tip slid in. The few times he’s fucked you, you were always so messy and wet and warm, but this was enough to sign his soul away. You were soaked with arousal and blood as expected, but he wasn’t prepared for how much puffier you are like this. And so fucking hot. You mewl at the sensation, a dull ache in your lower abdomen at the start, but it’s slowly dissipating. Maybe it’s the association between blood and pain, and menstruation and pain, but you genuinely thought this would hurt more than usual—you certainly weren’t betting on your heightened sensitivity. Even that first stroke slipping into you lit up your nerves.

“‘S good, right?” He asks with a cocky grin, left hand wrapped around your right thigh and his right hand sliding over your tummy and slowly massaging the area.

You almost don’t want to admit it, but you do with a nod and pouty lips that have pathetic little whimpers slipping past them. Eddie slides back out a couple inches then pushes back into you, your toes curling as a bit of blood and arousal gushes and sputters out around his base. You curse under your breath, encouraging him to proceed. He’s uncharacteristically tender, and while seeing his sweet side today was a pleasant surprise—you just wanted him to fuck you.

“Eddie-“ You breathe out.

“Hm?”

“Please just fuck me.”

His grin is devilish and his gaze is fiery. He snaps his hips forward once without wasting a second, threatening to making your eyes roll back.

“Yeah?” He leans down, his voice a condescending whisper as he stays infuriatingly still while this deep. “My baby come cryin’ cause ‘m too mean? But she still wants me to bully her little pussy?”

You whine and nod your head, his following thrusts nearly punching the breath out of your lungs. His hand rests over your pubic bone and starts rubbing at your clit as he fucks into you. Your head lolls back into the carpeting, breasts bouncing with his efforts.

“Such a good fucking slut for me. This pussy all mine?”

“Uh huh-“ You speak in a whiny moan, hips weakly pushing forward and he takes the hint.

Eddie pulls you forward by your hips and holds you close to him as he gives you breathtakingly shallow thrusts. Your eyes begin to water from the way he’s moving inside you and his thumb is brushing on your clit. His other hand parts from your hip to grip onto the center of your bra, pulling it down to free your breasts and to keep a steady grip on you by the fabric clasped around your chest.

“Eddie-” You sob, and an earth-shattering sense of relief blows through him, leaving him temporarily wrecked before settling again like a gust of wind pushing up bird feathers before they smooth out again. Finally seeing those globs of tears in your eyes in the way he loves brought that balance back, and he’s doubling his efforts. Your lips part and your back arches up off of the carpet of his van, those wet streaks leading from your eyes back into your hair just like they were on Friday.

You’re counting your blessings that you aren’t back in your bed with your parents down the hall during your make up session because even the fear of being caught wouldn’t have been able to stop the moan that gasps from your lungs when you cum around him. All the tension and hormones and yearning of this week mixing with the overpowering pleasure he’s giving you, all culminating to this very moment and making you see stars. You feel like you’ve been temporarily shoved under water, all of the sounds around you muffling—even the sound of your own breathing. Just as you’re floating back up to the surface, Eddie’s leaning down to place his lips on yours. His large hands cover both sides of your face as he’s kissing you like he means it, only letting his hands part from your cheeks to wrap around your midsection and scoop you up while he sits back.

“Fuck-” You breathe out, hands settling to cradle the back of his head. You’re sure you look as disheveled as you feel. He thinks you look incredible.

“I know right?” He teases, all smug even in this quieter tone of voice and he laughs when you smack at his arm.

He eyes you from where his face is level with your chest, watching the playful irritation melt from your expression as he starts thrusting up into you. You’re almost too overstimulated from him moving so close to your orgasm that was still pulsing in the aftershock, but fuck if this doesn’t feel too good to pause even for a moment. Eddie wraps his arms around you to finally unclasp your bra and fling it towards the front of his van, metal hooks clinking against the hard surface of his dashboard. His hands smooth over your back, groaning against your skin as he smothers himself between your breasts again, fucking up into you. You start bouncing on top of him to meet his thrusts, whimpering quietly at the fluttering still rippling through your walls. You still have that palpable pulse inside you, squeezing around him and making it incredibly difficult to not cum before he can get you to let go at least one more time.

“C’n you cum for me, doll? Gimme one more?” He finally separates from your chest to look up at you again and while you were always the one looking fucked out, when you look at him you can’t help but feel like you’re seeing him the same way. A faint shine to his doe eyes glossed over with lust, that rosy tint to his cheeks, and the swell of his pink lips. You nod, but your hips buck in disagreement when his touch is back on your clit. It’s admittedly too soon, your eyes burning with prickling tears as the pleasure jolts through you like shocks of electricity rather than rolling waves—but you certainly weren’t going to ask him to stop.

You gasp out his name, fingers gripping the hair all damp with perspiration at the nape of his neck. You feel like you’re vibrating and the cramping in your stomach nearly makes you break and ask him to stop nudging at that sensitive bud. Your nails dig into the back of his neck, hearing him groan against your skin, feeling his hot breath on your chest. The two of you are moving like the universe would simply unravel if you stopped—as if it isn’t already unraveling in this moment.

“Oh my god-“ You moan and Eddie’s sinking his teeth into your breast—partly to punctuate his claim, partly to muffle his own sounds as he unloads inside of you.

You’re trembling in his lap with soft sobs in the aftershock of probably the most heart-stopping, all-consuming orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Even the slightest touch to your flushed skin sent shocks throughout your nerves and made you cry out, so Eddie stays still.

When both of your hearing is clear again, and you swallow to bring some moisture back to your throat—you let out a small laugh. It isn’t malicious or mocking. It rose up out of pure joy and relief and (honestly) a bit of surprise at everything that’s happened. And it all happened so quickly, you aren’t sure if your memory was able to keep up. God, you hoped it was. You want to relive it every time you close your eyes at night.

Eddie’s licking his lips and pulling back to look at you, a few laughs of his own bubbling up. Like always, he isn’t quick to pull out, but he does set you back down onto the carpet and press a few kisses to your jaw. His hands are pressed into the floor on either side of your head, pulling up his upper body to look down at you. Your hair is messy around your face, and streaks of mascara are all muddled around your eyes and down your cheeks. He put all of his weight on one arm to allow his other hand to raise up and swipe at those black streaks with his thumb before settling back down to kiss you, one arm still pressed up and bent at the elbow and the other settling his forearm on the rug.

The kiss is slower, but still sloppy with exhaustion. He pulls back one more time just to smile down at your face and ends up right back to kissing you seconds later.

*

The sun is setting in Hawkins and the two of you are all over each other until you realize how late it had gotten and your lips might as well have been ready to fall off. But even when you’re dropped off at home with excuses ready, he still climbed in through that bedroom window to keep kissing you once everyone in the house retired for the night.

After all, you finally left it unlocked and he couldn’t stand another week out in the cold.

*

Eddie never did work up the nerve to properly ask you what you meant by that blunt reply that one Autumn day... ↓

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[ultralightpoe]

Mistaken Hatred - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: This was a request, but I might have accidentally deleted it! If this was something you requested sorry for the lateness! Idk what happened 

Word Count: 4748

Warnings: angst, aemond is a loud-mouthed asshole 

Description: Aemond is sure that you are enemies and stuck in a marriage of convenience 

Aemond could remember the days when you hadn’t hated him. 

You had both been young, far too young to understand the war brewing between your mothers or recognize any of the vile things that had been said. He could still smell the oils in your hair from all the times your would wrap your arms around him, still taste the strawberries he would steal from you as you both lazed under the weirwood tree together. 

He remembers his heart beating faster at every smile you would give him. 

But something had changed in the both of you somewhere along the way, and though he could not pinpoint a certain moment you became enemies he knew for a fact that he hated you just as much as you hated him.  

“Tell me, bastard, how does it feel knowing you will never live up to anything?” He sneered, watching as your eyes narrowed in on him. 

“Are you sure you even know who you are speaking to? Can you see out of that rock?” You snap back, giving a false cringe to his eye that makes him blush. “Aemond…… It’s me, it’s Y/n. You are speaking to Lady Y/n.”

  His jaw tenses in anger as you continue to tease him, rolling his eye. “I do still believe that you and your brothers owe me an eye….”

“An eye for an eye? What’s next? You take your mothers balls?” You laugh, walking past him in your riding leathers, making sure to hit him with your hair as you throw it over your shoulder. “Tell me how that goes will you? Always enjoyed watching you cry.” 

The day his father broke the news of the peace treaty Aemond could feel nothing but relief. A tension released as he had the greens and the blacks forge the peace treaty. His half sister, Rhaenyra, would get the throne and after her it would pass to her son. 

But there were things needed to ensure the alliance lasted past his fathers dying wish, a marriage for example. 

His brother had already been married of to his poor older sister, Aemond only feeling pity for his closest friend as she struggled to survive. His nephews had been arranged to marry the Velayron girls to ensure that peace, and his baby brother Daeron would still be in Olde Town until the end of summer. That left him…….and you. 

When Viserys made the announcement Aemond had already been looking to you, waiting with baited breath for you to argue. A wave of embarrassment already clinging to his being at the thought of you outright denying him. 

Not that he cared, you were a constant thorn in his side. 

“Tell me, do people ever make eye contact when they speak to you?” You snipe, sitting across from him at the septas library, smirking. “Would you feel better if I went cross eyed?”

“I would feel better if you left. Or if you and your siblings were finally taken from the world. ” He sighs, refusing to look up from the book he had grabbed for the day. “You have a terrible habit of absorbing all the energy and patience of a room.”

“Good to know I have such a large effect on you.” You laugh, snatching the book before he could process what you were doing. “Thank you.”

“I was reading that you bastard-”

“Oh here we go with the bastard- Aemond, darling, I look exactly like my mother. You have no evidence.” You stick out your tongue before moving to stand.

“Give the book back!” He sneers, launching for it until you hit his forehead with it lightly.

“I need it, you ghost. Go find a romance somewhere.” 

“I was reading it-” “I take precedence-”

“No you absolutely do not-”

“I do indeed, my matter is more important than yours.” You say it bluntly, with such a straight face that Aemond finds himself intrigued.

“What do you need it for?”

“I need it to impress a boy.” You smile, moving to leave. 

Aemond clenches his fist as an unknown feeling settles in his gut, watching you leave with his book. 

You hadn’t looked at him that day, but you hadn’t argued either. You merely stared at the floor in quiet surrender that had his jaw clenching. 

You were acting sad when it was him that was being thrown up like a fucking pawn? Would it really be so bad to be married to him?

Rhaenrya and his mother met in the middle of the throne room, hugging softly as all the children watched, you refusing to look up while you held your youngest brothers hand tightly. 

Jace and Luke stood on either side of you while Joffrey stood right by Daemon, who was holding young Aegon to his chest. 

“May our families join as one, once more.” Viserys smiles, the cue taken soon enough as everyone began to mingle. 

“Let us see the future lovers closer together!” The elder Aegon slurs, snatching your shoulder to drag you closer to Aemond. 

He takes a moment to slap his brothers hand away from your shoulder, shoving him back and mumbling “Don’t ruin this peace treaty Aegon.”

When he turned to speak with you it seemed you already disappeared, spotting you in the hallway with your stepfather Daemon arguing. 

The blistering heat seeped into his skin as his riding leathers seemed heavier with each step he took, hair beginning to mat to his neck. 

Aegons 18th name day was to be celebrated by a tourney, every knight lord and noble of the realm having traveled to compete or attend, including all the beautiful females.

Not that the last fact would ever matter to Aemond, who had been completely ignored by every female since he had his eye carved out as a boy. All except one, one constant pain in his side. 

“Lord Baratheon, this is my-.....this is Prince Aemond.” You correct yourself, a sweet smile laced on your features as you keep a hand rested in the lords elbow. 

“Prince Aemond! A pleasure to meet you!” The lord smiles, bowing slightly, giving Aemond the chance of making quick eye contact with you before the lord stands to his full height once more. 

“We’ve met…. My 13th name day, 3 years ago.” He says tightly, hands crossed behind his back as he turns to look away from the both of you.

“Right… the um…. The year that you….”

“The year my nephews tore out my nephew and you and your charming followers through dirt in it on my own name day?” He reminds, turning just in time to see a look of shock cross your features. You obviously hadn’t know, having been dragged back home to Dragonstone for your parents to marry in secret. 

“I…. must have been far too into the ale My Prince.” The lord lies, trying not to look irritated or embarrassed. “Lady Y/n was allowing me to escort her to the-”

“Princess Y/n.” Aemond reminds, finally looking to the lord. “Bastard or not her mother is the heir.”

“Aemond-” You snap, turning to the boy in a panic as Aemond laughs. “My lord, I do apologize-”

“So it’s true? You’re a bastard?” The boy snaps, eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. For a second Aemond gets a rush of irritation looking at how the lord was using his height as a weapon against you, taking a second to step between you two.

“I- Lord Baratheon, the words my uncle speaks come from anger and not truth- you must believe me.” You try to ease the situation and the lord gives you a skeptical look. “Let us get back to our walk, you were just telling me about the difference between dear and elk?” 

“Is that why you picked the book up the other day? To try and hide your half title from any suitor?” Aemond snaps, finally scaring off the other male as you whip to look at him. 

“That was not funny-”

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with the rest of your fucking bastard family?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You snap, turning to walk away but he follows.

“You are my problem, walking around just like your mother had.”

“What does that mean?” You whip around to glare, a smirk crossing his features as he finally pinpoints how to irritate you.

“It means you and your mother are whore-” A hand snaps across his face making his head whip back, a shocked look taking over. “Wha-”

“I suggest you fix your tone and implications the next time I see you. Prince.” You snap, storming off. 

You don’t make any eye contact at the wedding. 

Not when you slice your hand open as well as his, not when he rubs his bloody thumb over your forehead and you do the same to him. 

Aemond can’t do anything but stare. 

You had worn one of the finest gowns in westeros, hand stitched by 4 people to fully celebrate the union between blacks and greens. Your hair had been done into one of the most intricate braids he had ever seen, pearls and diamonds braided in. 

He mutters the respective words of the Targaryen wedding tradition before you do the same, leaning to touch your nose against his as told, finally looking at him. His heart stops in his chest as he attempts an easy smile. You ignore it. 

You sit by him at the feast, smiling at all the guests that had come to congratulate you both on the union and peace treaty. 

Though when once a particular lord comes up he feels your entire being tense as a faint recognition travels through him. 

“I congratulate the two on a blessed union, and I hope them well in the children department.” He mutters, head bowing as Aemond nods, trying to remember where he had seen the man. “Let us hope that Y/n carries the bastard blood to save her from the Targaryen curses with pregnancy.”

The room silenced almost instantly, everyone holding their breath as Aemond finally recognized the man in front of him. It was the lord from a couple years back, the one he had mocked your legitimacy to. 

“Hold your tongue Lord Baratheon-” His father snaps, casting a look to Rhaenyra who was holding her own stomach. 

Targaryen pregnancies were a curse indeed, for his fathers first wife had gone through multiple and the only one to come was Rhaenyra herself. 

“I wouldn’t worry about any future heirs , Lord Baratheon, it’s not my style.” Aemonds entire tone is tart, casting a side look to see you clenching your fist and biting your lip. 

You must have been embarrassed from the bastard comment the lord made, and for the very thought of being bred like a horse. Aemond hated the thought himself, he would not be providing an heir unless you yourself asked for one.

The lord is dismissed with a group of guards under the pretense of them taking him home, but Aemond knew that Daemon had already ordered he wasn’t to leave the grounds alive. The second the group disappears through the doors the festivities begin again and Aemond finds himself standing up when you do.

“Did you want to dance-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you slap his outstretched hand away. 

“I’m not feeling well. I shall be going to my chambers.” You reply, moving to walk past him but he stops you with a hand on your elbow. 

“People will talk-”

“Oh please. They have been fed enough gossip to last them months. Lord Baratheon implying that I am a bastard in front of the court and my new husband stating I was not to his taste? I’ve been made a laughing stock tonig-”

“I did not say you were not to my taste. I meant forcing an heir was not to my taste.” He rushes out, getting extremely defensive without meaning to. “When did you become so weak? I can remember multiple times where your tongue was as silver as a snake.”

“Or maybe I just finally realized that you were being serious all those times.” You seethe, hitting his shoulder. 

“And you weren’t?” He is absolutely dumbfounded. You two had been enemies for years? What could you mean you weren’t serious?

“I was a fool who thought we were jesting. And I soon realized that you were just a monster.” You reply cooly, finally making your escape and leaving Aemond at your wedding. 

“Don’t tell me, little princling, you don’t have any friends?” You giggle, coming around the thick tree to see Aemond hiding and reading. 

His eyebrows knot together as a scowl takes over, turning to you. “I hadn’t realized the brothel would be moving into the keep….. Please tell me they put your rooms far away from mine. Only the gods know what I could catch within dragon space of you.” 

“Mmmm. Thinking of ways to catch something are you? Want to ride-”

“What do you need, bastard?” He snaps, a heat traveling his skin as he watches something twinge in your features. 

“I was hoping we could discuss the other day,” You say, tone sounding all too serious. “When I slappe-”

“I remember quite well.” He interrupts, slamming the book shut. The same book you had stolen him a mere 2 weeks before. 

“It was a terrible reaction, I am aware. I just- well you see…. I was trying to impress Lord Baratheon for my moth-”

“Is there a reason I should care?”

“I’m trying to explain why I am upset, Aemond. So that I may apologize correctly” You sigh, looking completely puzzled. “I feel we crossed a line the other day and I had no idea-”

“Crossed a line? How so? It is well within my right to call a whore when I see one.” He snaps, standing so he wasn’t looking up at you. The sunlight perfectly framed your figure as he moved closer, waiting for your retaliation that never came. “What? Don’t you want to make a comment? Something humorous to go and laugh at with your lowlife wasteful siblings.”

“Watch your tongue-”

“Or what?” He snaps, stepping closer. You instantly shove him back with a hurt look. 

“You……this entire time you meant everything….” You looked absolutely torn, some of your hair falling out of your braid as you watch him. “I… oh how foolish I have been.”

You are storming off then, hands clenched as you march past Aegon and go to where your eldest brother waits for you. 

“RUN AND CRY TO YOUR FAMILY THEN! MAYBE YOU CAN TELL YOUR REAL FATHER ALL ABOUT IT SOON!” 

Jace whips around to charge at him and Aegon but you catch your brothers arm, pulling him harshly and muttering something under your breath before you both disappear from sight.

Before Aegon can make a snappy comment Aemond storms off, leaving the book under the tree.

Aemond doesn’t see you for three days after the wedding, but he doesn’t mind that, his brain is still trying to wrap around the confusion of your words. 

What had you mean that you thought it was all a jest, had you been mocking him for a reaction all those years? Had you not been trying to fight him? 

“Prince Aemond, Princess Y/n has sent a-” He snatches the note from the pageboy instantly, unraveling it to read the contents inside. 

‘Heading to Dragonstone to help with the rest of my mothers pregnancy. I will send word before I return.’

“Has she left already?” He asks, standing to get to the door and find your chambers, needing to talk to you before you left. Just to sort some of his thoughts out. 

“She took flight this morn, with her brothers, to follow their Princess Rhaenrya back home.” The page explains. “Left that in the room, maids brought it to me.”

A sigh escapes Aemond as he nods, heading out of the room to find one of his own siblings. He would send a raven asking for a word later, right now he needed to finalize some of the peace treaties issues. 

He was ashamed to admit he sat in the library and waited for you to come in just as you always did and bother him. He waited to start a fight with you, already thinking of insults that would keep up with your own. 

He pretended to read the history book he had snatched that morning as he listened for the door, trying not to seem too excited when he heard it groan. 

It had been a week since the day under the weirwood tree, and neither of you had gone this long without mocking the other. He was beginning to get an anxious feeling. 

“Prince Aemond-” His head snaps up when he realizes it’s not you, angry that it wasn’t your smug voice about to mock him. “Your mother has requested your presence-”

“Tell her I am busy.” He says quickly, turning to the door to make sure you don;t enter without him noticing. 

“She says that she will not let you hide in here all day. She says I must take you to her or the trai-”

“Fine.” He sighs, grabbing his sword and storming out. 

He sees a dash of y/h/c and straightens as he leaves, disappointment filling him when it was just a trick of light. 

Your mother had lost the babe, naming the child Aemma in honor of her own mother, and you had sent word that you would be staying to care for your mother in her time of need. 

That hadn’t annoyed Aemond, what had annoyed him was that you sent word to his mother and not he. 

“Page?” He calls the young boy as his mother stares. “Are you sure I haven’t received any news from dragonsto-”

“Just the one raven My lord. I accepted it myself.” The page says, bowing. Aemond feels a wave of dread and embarrassment fill him as he turns back to his mother. 

“Are my ravens not reaching there?” 

“As far as I am aware they are, dearest.” Alicent sighs, standing to rub his cheek.

“Please let my lady wife know I am patiently waiting to hear from her.” He sighs, teeth rubbing together as he leaves the room. 

“Is there any word on Lady Y/n?” Aemond asks one of the guards, trying to seem casual. “I have not seen her around the keep in a couple days.”

“Lady Y/n has traveled with her father to grab a dragon egg for her future sibling,” The guard explains. Aemond feels a wave of relief at the fact that you had been gone and not avoiding him. That is until, “They left this morning, Prince.”

“Why did she go at all?” 

“Princess Rhaenrya is due to labor soon and they were hoping her dragon would help find the eggs.” 

Rhaenrya was about to have her first child with Daemon, and as Targaryen tradition held the babe would get an egg, the only issue was the lack of eggs. 

There had been a dragon on the island eating all the unhatched eggs, the people beginning to call him Cannibal. 

“Will you notify me when they return? I believe she has a book of mine-”

“It is to my understanding Prince, that Lady Y/n will be staying at Dragonstone with the rest of her family.”

Aemond is at a loss for words, storming off. 

Another week had passed and Aemond had debated flying out to Dragonstone himself and demanding answers, but he quickly remembers that this is a marriage of convenience to you and he does not wish to look like a fool. 

King Viserys dies, and although he is minorly upset, Aemond is delighted that you will have to come back to Kings Landing. 

He waits for your dragon to land, watching you closely as you dismount the dragon and climb down the ladder you had, eyes meeting his instantly. 

He is ashamed to admit that his heart beat wildly as you made your way closer, wearing black for mourning. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Husband.” You say lowly, moving to walk by him but he turns to keep walking with you. 

“As I am yours, Wife.” He mumbles, trying to keep up with your quick pace. “I have not heard from you, I had assumed you to be dead.”

“I do know you wish me to see my father, how very thoughtful you have always been.” You mutter, words sounding venomous as you trail along the courtyard. 

“I was hoping we could discuss-” He could not understand why he was so nervous. What was freaking him out so much? “I must go and attend to my ladies at court, much to do before my mother's coronation.” You interrupt, strutting off and leaving him behind. 

He barely sees you at your mothers coronation, for you were standing with the rest of your siblings to watch closer than the rest. 

While you were watching your mother with wide eyes, Aemond could not drag his eyes away from you. 

His chest ached as he prayed for a chance to talk to you, just for a moment. 

You’re gone by daylight, Aemond asking for you and your father telling him you were caring for an issue left on Dragonstone. 

He is agitated at the news but doesn’t have time to think before Rhaenyra is asking him to fly to Winterfell. “Lord Stark is the final signature needed to back my coronation, I need a good rider to get there and back.”

“After that may I have your permission to head to Dragonstone.” He snaps, trying to keep his cool as Daemons head whips to look at him. “I wish to see my wife and I am aware that Dragonstone is not-”

“You are permitted.” Rhaenyra smiles, patting his shoulder before moving to where his mother stood. 

He does as told, heading to Winterfell on Vhagar to receive the final signature. He stays there for a week as they go over all the final details before a messenger races in, running straight for Aemond.

He doesn’t say anything as he tears it open, reading the contents inside over and over before apologizing to Lord Cregon and rushing for Vhagar. 

It takes nearly 2 days of flying before he gets to you at dragonstone. Landing Vhagar and jumping down from the saddle while racing behind a guard to get to you. 

He doesn’t waste time thanking the guard or waiting to be announced as he burst into the room, making you jump from where you are sat in a bed. 

“Aemond? You should be in Winter-”You begin to yell, moving to sit up. He crosses the room in three strides, softly pushing you back down as you look at him skeptically. 

“I received word that you and your dragon had been hurt.” He states, stepping back to check all the injuries while keeping his hands on your shoulders. “There had been a wild dragon?”

“I was merely trying to protect a batch of eggs.” You explain, trying to remove his hand. “It was fine, you should not have been called-”

“I should not have been summoned after my wife was nearly killed?” He snaps, confusion littering his face as he spots a familiar book on the nightstand. “I knew you stole it.”

“Did you honestly fly out here to accuse me of stealing a book?” You snipe, reaching for it before he can grab it. But you were slow from the injuries and he was already lunging for it. 

“I flew out here because I was terrified you would die-”

“And you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to celebrate it properly?”

“I was afraid that you would die. No snide comments were going to follow that sentence.” He states bluntly, sitting on the edge of the bed to peer into the book. “It’s still so odd to me that you picked this book to impress Lord Baratheon-”

“You think I took that book to impress that trout-faced ass?” You laugh incredusly, still looking nervous at his presence. “I took it to impress you.”

His head snaps up with a blush, smiling softly. “You took the book to impress me?”

“A terrible thought out plan considering I hadn’t quite realized you actually hated me. Did you ever consider that I had been talking you up to Lord Baratheon that day?” You mumble, looking away and messing with the cover of the bed. 

He lets silence consume you both as he flips through the book, stopping when he comes across sketches of himself, all extremely detailed. “D-did you draw these?”

“Awhile ago, yes.” You whisper. “The septa found the book and returned it to me that day-”

“You had been joking all those years, and I had been an ass.” He speaks, voice tight at the truth, watching your face.

“I never meant to offend you-”

“But I had. I had always meant to offend you while you were merely thinking of me as a friend. A friend that you thought was pretty enough to draw.” He states, fingers tracing over one of the sketches. “That entire time I had been a monster.”

“Aemond-”

“That’s why you avoid me now? Because I had acted that way?”

“I figured you’d still hate me.” You sigh, wincing in pain as you try to sit up. Within moments he has one arm wrapped around you torso for support, the other sitting in between your neck and shoulder. 

“How foolish and terrified I have been….”

“You should be in Winter-” You don’t get to finish your words, his lips coming to meet yours soft and slowly. 

You hesitate for a moment before kissing back, hands moving to his hair. 

“I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry.” He whispers in short moments when you both try to catch your breath before lunging back in for another kiss. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

“Aemond…” You breathe out as he pulls you closer, kissing you like a man possessed. He moves you gently so that he his kneeling between your legs and you are resting on the pillows, kissing your jaw with content. 

“I’m sorry..”

“So am I.” You mumble but he shakes his head. 

“I’m a fool. All this time I have wasted trying to hate you and you were merely reaching a playful hand out.” He sighs, kissing down your neck. “Forgive me, please princess, forgive your foolish husband.”

“Forgiven.” You whisper, pulling him back up softly. “It is all forgiven.”

“I do not wish for this to be a marriage of convenience. I wish for you, it’s all I have ever wished for whether I realized it or not. Please- Give me a chance-”

“Accepted.” You smile, pulling him closer and tugging him to kiss you. “You have been granted one more chance.”

He smiles, leaning down and dragging his own lips against yours in a possessive kiss, eye glinting in the soft light. 

Once you are healed he prepares Vhagar, watching you mount your own dragon carefully.

“You feel even the slightest twinge of pain and we head back-”

“Instantly. I know. You worry wart.” You laugh, hair blowing in the wind as he looks at you with a raised brow. “Gonna keep AN EYE on me, Lover boy?”

“Keep taunting all you want…..” He smiles, “You’ll pay for it all tonight, you old maid.”

“Old maid?!” You laugh. “That makes you a corpse!”

You take flight, leaving him to curse and push Vhagar to go, racing through the skies as you begin to track the wild dragon Cannibal. 

It wouldn’t be long before he would need to find a dragon egg for his child, and he needed to make sure there was an egg to procure.

“Come on grandpa! You’re slowing down!” You laugh, looking back to stick your tongue out at him. 

It takes him a moment to catch his breath as he smiles at you, and to think that he missed all of this by being a twit. But he doesn’t apologize again, knowing how you’ve come to hate it, instead he pushed Vhagar faster and calls “Loser won’t be allowed to finish tonight!”

You looked shocked for a moment before he has his dragon sweeping under yours and taking lead. “But considering how much I love you, dearest wife, I will consider giving you at least one orgasm.” 

He laughs and flies off, leaving you desperate to catch up.

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND WILL BEGIN BEING POSTED ON MONDAYS)

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

AEMOND TAGLIST 

@Schniiipsel

@Sluttyaemond

@Lovelynerdytraveler

@Rosaryos

@Bbyhangman

@Winxschester

@Neenieweenie

@anthonys-viscountess

@Ggglitch-exe

@Shnadaidas

@Gaisse-blog

@Dudfahsn

@Afro-hispwriter

@Ghosstbb

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@Gawabby

@Abrielleholland

@Chevyharvelle

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@Applepyesworld

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@Yu3kkii

@Mell-bell

@Justsumtuffstuff

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@Princessmiaelicia

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@m1ndbrand

@bregarc

@justsumtuffstuff

@lilbug139

@Valhallavalkyrie9

@Disturbing-love666

@Kittykylax

@Padfooteyes

@ultralightpoe

[lovelytsunoda]

slumber party // lance stroll

summary: when lances wife gets sick the morning of their daughters sixth birthday party, he offers to step in and play host. but of course, that’s before he finds out that it’s a slumber party, and he’s stuck with an army of six year olds until ten am the next morning.

the party was planned down to every painstaking detail so that it was perfect

right down to the princess decorations they started putting up a day early to the disney cake that chloe was making herself

it was going to be perfect

until y/n wakes up on the morning of with a blistering headache and nausea

she thinks they’re going to have to call off the party. she’s in no condition to handle a group of children

until lance steps in. he’ll call esteban and mick and between the three of them, they should be able to run a party without a hitch, right?

wrong.

they all arrive at the same time, and when the girls go running into the naive living room and start setting sleeping bags up under the skylight, the panic in his eyes is evident

“did your wife not tell you it was a slumber party?”

“no, she did not.” he bites his lip, running his fingers through his hair. “but how hard can it be, right?”

The other mother just laughs before she goes back to her car

horrible decision, really, but he leaves esteban and mick in charge while he runs upstairs to check on y/n (and get more details on the slumber part of the party)

and when he comes back downstairs, the girls are crying and one of them is hiding under the couch

“i left you alone with them for five minutes, esteban! what did you do?”

esteban looks at the floor, and mick rolls his eyes.

“somebody thought it was a good idea to open the afternoon with scary stories.”

“esteban, they’re six!”

“one of the girls told him he looked like the rat from flushed away and he decided the best course of action was to tell her that the house was haunted and micheal meyers would get her in her sleep.”

“this house was built in 2017 and I’m pretty sure nobody died here!”

he puts on an old barbie movie, and the girls calm down enough that they sit on the floor to eat party mix and gummy bears while the boys go over the game plan in the kitchen.

“what did you like doing when you were six?” lance asks desperately “there has to be something!”

“karting.” esteban shrugs.

“i cannot take ten six year olds to the karting track.”

but that gives him a different idea

which is how they end up in the simulator room trying to load Mario kart instead of the fia approved programming

which turns into an all out war between the girls

well

more like the army of six year olds against estie lance and mick

lance definitely lets his daughter win

chloe drops by dressed head to toe like a disney princess and brings the cake

scotty brings pizza

please please please imagine lance giving all these little girls princess manicures

his daughter defo makes him wear a plastic tiara

when the kids finally conk out and go to sleep around nine thirty (and esteban because he’s fucking tired), he goes upstairs to check on his wife while mick starts to clean up

she’s curled up in bed with the dog, buried under blankets

but she could hear the laughter coming up through the floor

“the girls are having a great time, honey.” she says sleepily, pulling him into bed with her “you guys are doing a great job.”

“i know. but please, for the love of god, never leave me in charge of a slumber party again. also, you might need to explain to mike and my dad why a ton of six year olds were using the sim to play mario kart.”

TAGS

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @oconso @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @thatsdemko @httpiastri @clemswrld @diorleclerc @lorarri @cartierre

[peterspinkrobe]

Revelation - Priest!Miguel x Reader [part 3]

Word count: 2,878

Rating/Warnings: mature. Naughty thoughts and naughty bits. Mentions of parental death, religious content, food, soooo much Catholic guilt.

A/N: I’m so glad you guys are enjoying the series so far! No more money in my budget for commissioned art this month, but I did take this picture of St. Phillip’s Church while visiting my uncle in Charleston. Please let me know what you think of this chapter! If you haven’t read part 1 or part 2, go do that first :p

Tagged peeps: @friendlynbhdzero @ceoofghosts @hoelychildofgod @tayleighuh @luckycandykitten @beebslebobs @milkyardbetter @miaasmf @koimess @miggyswhore (sorry if I missed you in the taglist or if it messed up the tag!!!)

There were two things known about your mother: her cooking and her follow through. She was the delegate for church and community event meals; oftentimes in the kitchen doing the work herself alongside people that respected her and her cooking.

Your mother prided herself in her cooking and it kept her going in times of hurt for you both. She was the one baking casseroles to give to neighbors when dad passed. It was you who had to sit her down to eat something most days.

If God had anything to do with her getting better, it was in giving her that ability to provide in a way some overlooked. She buzzed while she worked her talents in the church’s kitchen now. The previously mentioned follow through evident in her meticulous manner of cleaning right behind herself as she cooked.

That follow through was especially true now as she was making sure you followed the rules she had set in place regarding church and attendance. Not only were you going this Sunday since you missed the last service, but you were also helping with the Wednesday church dinner.

You know she wants the best for you. It took you a long time (and a lot of space) to see that she showed it in the ways she knew how, the ways she was raised. You try to sprinkle the amount of salt she showed you earlier onto the massive amount of rolls. Despite your physical presence where she asked, you know your hearts and values don’t lie within the boundaries of shared faith.

You didn’t mind the service aspect of religion though. In fact, you enjoyed assisting your mother when she helped others in the community. You only pretended to follow the ‘good book’ and ‘walk the righteous path’ to spare her. What you had issues with was the institution of religion itself and some probably never-to-be-resolved personal qualms with the man upstairs. First, why did god have to be a man?

You’d never admit these questions and doubts to her, it would devastate her.

You did, however, admit it to someone.

Your confession last Thursday and the fact that Reverend Miguel was on the receiving end of all your revelations had you waking up suddenly in the night this past week - jolting from the bed, a quickening pulse, and sweat dampening the sheets. The concern in his deep, dark-eyed stare from that day stuck with you. You felt shame, guilt, maybe both, or something else unnamed and it kept you from indulging in the pleasure he had so easily made you feel without even being in the room. You still felt tense knots in your shoulders as you worked.

It was easy to feign sickness when you actually felt feverish and drained after you’d let those inner thoughts become spoken truths.. Your mother worried when you wouldn’t come out of your room. When you missed (skipped) church, she showed her concern and care with homemade chicken noodle soup. Moping, unbothered lasted only another day before she was yanking covers off you and having you run errands around town. ‘Getting back on your feet is the first step to feeling better,’ she retorted to your groans early that Monday morning. No more laying out of church…

You had to think of another way to avoid him. A way to steer clear of any sort of confrontation

You thought about moving away, dramatic, yes, but maybe into the city. Not too far from mom, because she needed help more than she admitted. Tonight was a prime example as her usual kitchen hands said they weren’t feeling well. This was helpful in negating any suspicions your mom had of you lying about being ill. Moving wouldn’t be running away, you were an adult.

You had literally run away though. As soon as the reality of who had taken your confession set in, you ran right out of that booth, back into the bustling city, onto the bumpy bus, and curled up into yourself at home. As you’re thinking about the many help wanted signs and rent postings you saw in the city, you hear chatter that interrupts the flow you two had created in the kitchen.

Mom is being pulled away by another member of the church and she instructs you to make two plates for the people who weren’t able to help her with cooking this evening. You’re pulling the last of the vegetables out of the oven and she hovers a moment, uncomfortable leaving you to the important final preparations.

It’s hard not to feel offended. Five years ago you would have rolled your eyes and commented on how if she didn't trust you, you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you assure her as you wash your hands before preparing their plates, “I’ve got this.” You smile gently at her for you know you both need reassurance at times. She pinches her lips together but nods and leaves you alone.

Styrofoam to-go plates were open on the counter, waiting to receive their fill. You eyed the dinner and patted yourself on the back. Mom thought up the meal and did most of the actual ingredient brain power and temperature controls, but you’d done your part as well. It did feel good to do for others even if you still felt down.

A wide pan of meatloaf with a perfect caramelized sauce on top sat as the main course. Alongside it was some cabbage slaw and a broccoli cheddar bake. You make the to-go plates with equal portions and top them each with a roll. Your favorite part were the green onion rolls and you couldn't help but sneak one as the hours of prep and cooking left you famished.

You placed foil over the containers of your mom’s truly famous strawberry cobbler for it to cool when everyone ate. Most of the produce has come from the local farms. You savored the first bite of the fresh roll and marinated on the flavors of home, wondering if you could really leave this behind again.

You’re setting out the plates and silverware for the church members when you hear footsteps behind you. You turn to tell your mom that you’d made the plates, but it’s not her that now joined you in the kitchen.

Tense shoulders, little sleep… you were as tight as a coil ready to spring so you jumped a little when you saw the towering figure as you turned.

Reverend O’Hara’s eyes showed the same concern from last week, but softer. His feet shuffled slightly and he put his hands up as if he had approached an animal in the wild. He had a hesitant, more nervous aura than the suave confidence he usually eluded.

He opened his mouth to speak and you heard him say your name again in that sweet voice…

______________________________________

Standing before you now, Deacon Miguel found himself reflecting on the unexpected confession he heard last week. It was a confession that had stirred within him a mix of emotions and conflicting thoughts.

Miguel had contemplated how to address this delicate situation for it simply couldn’t go ignored. You matter. Your feelings matter. The deacon knew it was crucial that he approach this with compassion and understanding. Faith was a deeply personal journey, and each individual had their own struggles and doubts. Lord knew he’d faced his own in the past and that even if his current standings were solid, they were shaky.

His mind had been consumed by the weight of what he had learned. He couldn't help but feel a profound connection to you when he first placed the communion wafer on your tongue, the tongue that had inadvertently confessed impure thoughts to him. Though your honesty and vulnerability struck a chord within him.

Unbeknownst to you, the deacon struggled with similar doubts and desires. When he heard your confession, his heart weighed heavily with empathy and understanding. Though he couldn’t help the mix of relief in his emotions as well. It was comforting to know he wasn’t alone in grappling with faith, the temptation, and the forbidden attraction that he felt towards you.

Denying his own attraction to you was impossible.

Despite his commitment to his faith and role within the church, he too has found himself captivated by your presence and constantly battled his own desires. Since he’d laid eyes on you that faithful Sunday morning, he’d felt an invisible force bind himself to you. Much like he had bound himself to the service of God Almighty, he found himself wanting to serve you.

Miguel O’Hara couldn’t get that mental image out of his mind. Serving you… The more he tried to control his urges, the harder they became to ignore. He’d been doing what he was told all these many years in the church, abstaining from giving in too much. But no matter how much he tried to uphold the image of chaste, he is merely flesh.

The views of his brothers in Christ were archaic. They forget that the sacrifice of the only Son was done in love, despite our sins. He truly believed that it is natural, God-given even, to experience attraction to fellow flesh. It’s natural to seek a partner in life. He’s human. He’s prone to straying from the path. He is only human. He just hopes that God understands when he asks for forgiveness and repentance.

He struggles with the guilt of falling into temptation when he feels he’ll come undone if he doesn’t allow himself release. He isn’t able to hold back now as much as times prior. Not when you had captivated his spirit.

He also felt guilty for viewing you in the explicit ways that he thought of you. Focusing on the way clothes hugged your body and needing to know what hid in the heaven of your thighs. While Matthew says not to judge others, he also mentions in the Good Book that, “whoever looks […] to lust at someone, has already committed adultery with them in his heart.” If he were to really follow the written word, Miguel would have to pluck out his eyes for his transgressions against you in his mind.

His flesh weakens when he remembers how soft your lips were under the pad of his thumb. The way your eyes looked into his as he cupped your chin.

Cold showers are his usual go-to when it comes to trying to avoid the temptation of touch. His large shoulders hunched slightly when the frigid water fell onto his skin. It’s in vain though each time because his body still radiates heat of passion from thoughts of you. When he looks down at himself, he curses his body’s reaction to thoughts of your mouth. His painfully hard cock begs for your touch. It’s always too much to bear. The tip of him screaming red and leaking despite the cold temperatures.

When he gives in, it’s always too fast. Finally gripping himself the way he’d liked, imagining showing that way to you, he pumped himself with his hand. His grunts steamed the shower even further as he envisioned you with him. Oh, how he longed to feel you and learn you like scripture. His wanton movements force him to brace himself on the shower wall as an image that always brings over the edge flashes his in mind: your legs spread in offering of your own communion. It’s enough to make him see stars as your name echoes in his shower like hallelujahs.

He wishes it wasn’t shame that he felt after. He wishes his comedown was met with comfort from you. He allows the evidence of his shame to wash from himself down the drain, but the feeling is still there. You were more than someone to be lusted over.

While the sexual attraction was strong, he also yearned to know more about you. You’d only revealed little bits of yourself in the confession booth but he was intrigued, nonetheless. He wanted to know more about your conflict with faith, wondered what your childhood was like and what foods you enjoyed, interested in learning your outlook on life. Miguel wanted to learn your personal philosophies as if it were doctrine.

Not seeing you at the previous Sunday service hurt. He understood, given your beliefs, that he couldn’t expect you at church. It wasn’t an attendance issue, which he would not enforce on anyone, but the empty aisle seat in the middle pew made him feel equally as vacant. It didn’t matter to him if you were conflicted or steadfast on Christian values. Matthew 7 held his strongest position on the matter of judgment: it wasn’t his place. He was simply a figurehead of spiritual guidance.

In fact, he had geared his sermon slightly towards you for that Sunday. He couldn’t help the itch to address the issue in a way he was comfortable, through scripture. He didn’t want to convert your faith to Jesus Christ. He wanted to help you restore faith in yourself.

You conjured in him quotes from Corinthians: a book in the Bible that speaks of faith, hope, and love. He carefully highlighted 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 the night of your confession as he crafted his sermon. “[…], our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light, momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” Yes… the Bible is literally referencing heaven as the eternal glory, but it’s all metaphorical. “Unseen” was the key word in this theological message. He knew the congregation visualized pearly gates and mansions of clouds as a reward for the pain they experienced on this terrain. What he had hoped you would have gotten to hear was that there were so many possibilities when one had faith in themselves. He wanted to show you the unlocked potential housed within yourself.

He had a lot to say as he stood before you now. There’s so much you need to know, need to hear.

First, you needed to know that you were wrong.

He said your name to get your attention.

But, there wasn’t a sound after that for a moment, until your mother and a few other members of the church came through the double doors.

________________________________________

You snapped out of the trance Miguel had you locked in with the song of your name on his lips when your mom burst into the kitchen with some of her friends.

You reach to get the cups out of a cabinet and simply ignore the deacon for a moment despite the flush in your cheeks. Easily explainable by the heat of the kitchen.

“Everything is ready! Mom, I’ve got two plates ready to go for later. Come on and eat, everyone!” Your mother’s friends all compliment her on her well behaved child and you catch her eyes. There’s no strictness in her expression. She simply beams at you, her child.

Members of the church start calling out, ‘Let’s eat!’, ‘Smells good!’, and mentioning how they knew they were in for a good meal as it was your mom that did the cooking.

As people pour into the serving area and line up, you hear Reverend Miguel’s voice above the hustle of hungry people.

“Before we enjoy this delicious looking food, let us first thank the cooks and then I suppose we should bless the meal, yes?” He was smiling as he said this, as if prayer before a meal was only a formality. It seemed as though the appreciation for you two was what he was after as you watched the church thank your mother and you for your cooking. You shrugged off the bits of praise you received as it really was your mom who did the majority of the work.

An elder member is selected to lead the church in prayer and everyone bows their head. You’re still riding a buzz from the work, not to mention seeing Miguel again after almost a week. You can’t seem to bring your eyes down.

You scanned the room of bowed heads and smiling faces and found the deacon’s gaze on you again. This time, you smiled at him and nodded in appreciation. The prayer concludes and your mother’s smile at the praise makes your heart feel warm. Due to the spotlight on her cooking she was forced to be first to get her plate of food, something she usually didn’t do until after everyone had gotten their own plate. Sometimes after they’d gotten seconds. She had found her a community of support and love.

As the church members started scooping portions onto plates, you saw Reverend Miguel approach you again. He stands by your side and you watch as the congregation gets their food and he leans to his side a little toward you. He speaks in a hushed tone as he asks,

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” You swallow dryly, but his next word nearly knocks you off your feet.

“Alone?”

[multific]

A Love Without Words

Paul Atreides x Mute!Reader

Summary: Destiny has its way to make us suffer. It gives us power but it can take it away just as easily. 

You and Paul grew up together.

It was decided at a young age that you were to become his wife when the time comes.

Lady Jessica remembered the day he took his young boy, barely two years old into the healers where you were just born. 

Lady Jessica remembered the day he told his son that the baby laying in the crib will be his wife. 

Paul didn't understand it back then. Of course, he didn't, he was too young.

You soon grew up to be a strong woman, strong with the Voice. Your power and ability to use the Voice became evident at a young age.

You loved to sing as well.

It is how Paul fell in love with you. One morning, he heard a voice, oh so sweet, singing. He knew he needed to find the person. He needed to know who it was. And he found you. Baking away as you sang. Paul was only sixteen, yet he found the love of his life.

---

But then, things turned for the worst. On your sixteenth birthday, you celebrated with your family.

Your family was attacked.

The Duke himself went to help but it was all in vain. Your parents were dead, and they found you in terrible conditions.

"My Lady, she is stable now, her vitals are good but... My Lady... she lost her voice." Paul and her mother looked at the nurse as she handed them a note.

'I tried to save them, I used the Voice but I failed. And now, I lost my parents and the Voice.'

Paul looked up at the nurse, demanding answers.

"She can't speak anymore, she had gone mute."

Mute.

Your beautiful voice.

Your songs.

Were all gone?

The voice that made him laugh and smile. The voice that talked so sweetly to him.

Was it truly gone?

Paul looked at his mother who had sadness in her eyes.

All she could say was "At least she is still alive."

But it was no comfort for Paul.

He headed into the room, finding you alone in bed, but you weren't sleeping.

He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say.

So, he sat down beside your bed and held your hand as you silently cried.

Paul wanted nothing more than to burn the world. The world that took so much from you. 

You swore on that hospital bed that no matter what, you won't let this fully break you.

It is what your attackers would have wanted, and you weren't going to give them the satisfaction of winning.

They came into your home to kill you and your family due to your closeness to the Duke. Everyone knew about your engagement to Paul, and they wanted to attack where it would hurt.

And it hurt. 

It really did hurt Paul.

You were moved into his room, his mother decided to marry you to him earlier. Saying in order to keep your title and the power your House once had, you had to be married.

It was disgusting to hear that after the day of your attack, many nobles offered their daughters up for marriage to Paul.

But there you were, only a week after you buried your parents and your voice, you were standing in a white dress getting married. 

You tried to be happy, after all, you did love Paul with all of your heart. 

But you were still grieving.

Slowly, you started to heal, Paul and Lady Jessica did help you a lot. While the Lady tried to help you get your voice back, Paul wanted you to accept the fact that you lost it.

You felt like you were pulled in two directions.

Then the following week, during your daily training with Lady Jessica, you finally had enough.

'I don't wish to continue. I lost my voice and I'm coming to terms with it, Paul helps a lot. I understand that the Voice is a gift. Unfortunately, I have lost my gift, so I'm trying to find a new purpose.'

Read the note you handed to Lady Jessica before exiting the room.

She didn't argue. She knew she was holding onto something which she couldn't save. She knew, but at least you both tried.

Now, you needed a new purpose, and motivation to keep you going. And you found it in Paul. 

Paul was a kind soul. Attentive, affectionate and caring. He loved you like no other. 

And you loved him. You loved that even though you were only a shadow of the woman you once were, he loved you.

You often found yourself in the library, reading or by the window looking out.

Your daily routine was simple. And every day you had dinner with your now-family. The Duke, Lady Jessica and Paul. 

You never really paid attention to the conversations, it was mainly the Duke speaking with Paul 

Then, during one dinner, something caught your attention. Something the Duke said.

A child.

The Duke asked Paul when does he plan on having a child, an heir. 

It shocked you. It really did.

Considering that you and Paul only spent one night intimate. It was the best night of your life. Even if he said he didn't have any experience, you didn't mind. 

You were still rather nervous around him.

Thankfully you had your notepad with you. Everyone watched as you wrote something before a servant stepped up and you handed him the note. He read it out loud.

"It was rather difficult for my mother to conceive. It is why I am an only child. I'm afraid I might have the same difficulty, My Duke. I sincerely apologise." as he finished you bowed your head and everyone was so speechless it made you nervous. You did just admit to a flaw in your bloodline. But it would be better for them to know. You motioned for the servant who gave you back the notebook and you wrote. "I do wish to be a mother, however. But I do not want to rush my husband with such duty. My mother often said, 'It will happen when the time is right.'" 

"You are such a sweetheart, Y/N." said the Duke. "I remember your father often reminding me of your mother's... issues. I simply asked because the council was also curious. I do understand however, it is not their place to ask."

You knew that a baby could be a good purpose for you. But you also didn't want to have a baby and then have this feeling of only giving birth because you lost your purpose. You wished to have a child out of love, not duty.

While you did understand it was one of your duties. You also didn't wish the child to have this sense that you only gave birth because of that reason.

And somehow Paul understood that. But he also desperately wanted to give you more. Give you his voice in exchange for yours. He wanted to give you the entire Galaxy.

It is why he spoke up and told his father, when you two are ready for a child, you shall have one.

You appreciated Paul taking your side.

Later that evening, you were in the bath, enjoying the water before Paul would soon return.

You smiled to yourself, imagining a young boy, hair like Paul's running around, giggling and calling you Mommy.

It was beautiful.

But you knew you had a low chance. And babies are supposed to hear their mommies talk.

You will never be able to do that. And it hurt. 

You really needed something to take up your mind. You felt like you have read every book in there. You felt like you explored all rooms.

You sank deeper into the tub when your servants arrived and helped you clean and got you dressed. 

"How was your day?" asked Paul as he entered the room and sat down on your shared bed. You offered him a smile and a nod. "Great, I have a surprise for you." 

You grabbed your note, 'Now?'

"I was supposed to wait until tomorrow morning, but I can't."

He grabbed your hand and guided you down the halls and into the garden, there you noticed something in the back.

It looked like a...

Paul guided you closer. It was harder to see in the dark.

It was a green house, made out purely from glass. 

"I just thought... Mother said ladies usually enjoy gardens and flowers and I thought you might like it." you silently walked inside, looking at all the possibilities as all trays were still empty.

Paul stood in silence as he watched you looking around. You soon noticed a corner where there were sofas placed. You walked over and soon turned to paul.

'Is this for me?'

"Of course! You can decorate or plant however you like. Tomorrow a planner will come and you can tell her what you would like."

'This is wonderful, Paul.'

"I know you have been feeling lost since your voice and parents were taken from you. I hope this will give you a new goal to take your mind off of things."

You wanted to cry, you walked over to him and hugged him. Silently thanking him.

"I hope, every time I come in here I will see you smile." you pulled away and smiled at him. He smiled back. "I love you so much, Y/N."

You placed your palm on his heart.

It was your way of telling him that you felt the same, that you loved him just as much.

It might have been a love without words, but Paul understood it perfectly.

Your eyes shined every time you looked at him, your smile was always so kind and pure.

He slowly leaned down to kiss your perfect lips. 

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