#but a few of you bastards are a little too special for me to leave you to find out in such an… impersonal way? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acourtofwhatthefuck · 10 months

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Practice On Me — Part Fourteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is readying herself for the ball. Hot Daddy Fin™️ opens up to her a little and shares some worrying truths (and then some). Azriel and Reader reunite, body and soul.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Adult content, 18+, NSFW, minors dni.

Tried my best with this part but sorry if it's a bit iffy! This girlie is ill as FUCK. Still hope you enjoy, tho, loves!

“You know, I have to admit, I was dubious at first.”

Mor is knelt at your feet, and you think this might be the closest you ever come to having a goddess on her knees before you. A strange part of you wants her to snap out and sink her teeth into your thigh, leave a bright red mark on the skin — but alas, her attention is fully on the hem of your gown.

“My uncle, love him though I do, is a calculated bastard.” She pushes to her feet, straightening out the fabric. “But I think he actually enjoys your company.”

“He does.” Roza pitches in from her place on the couch. “I know Fin. Y/N has him eating out of the palm of her hand.”

Though she smiles, her tone is laced with clear concern. Not because she cares about Fin, but because she cares about you. Doesn’t want you to forget that this is the High Lord of the Night Court you’re meddling with.

“Males are vapid and predictable, every last one of them.” You shrug your tense shoulders. “Throw them a few pretty smiles and they’ll do anything for you.”

Mor steps back, a low whistle leaving her. “Forget the males. I’ll do anything for you.”

Her eyes rake over your gown. So do Roza’s. And you…you want to crawl out of your skin and hide.

You’ve never owned a beautiful gown like this, never been able to afford one. The couple of dresses you do keep amongst your clothes are plain ones that just about do for special occasions. What hangs off your body now is…a work of art.

Almost feels like sacrilege for the beautiful fabric to touch your marred skin.

It’s sheer, showing off more than you’ve ever before dared to, and yet there’s a modesty, an elegance, to the many whorls and swirls made up entirely of little blue jewels and pearls and beads. It gives the gown a weight that makes it cling to you, and it outlines a body that…that quite frankly, you’d never considered beautiful until this very moment.

A body that commands the garment, and not the other way round. That makes you feel like far more than just another mistreated, unfavoured Illyrian female that will one day be lost to history.

This gown makes you think: I do not need the wings I have spent my life longing for.

It makes you think: There is nothing more beautiful than a good spirit and soul, and I have both.

It makes you think: Never again will anyone — friend or family or foe — make you feel less than worthy. Less than deserving. Less than strong.

You have always had strength. And this dress somehow amplifies it. Will amplify it to a room full of people who will see, through that sheer fabric, your scars, your lack of wings, and they may pity you, or not pity you at all, or may even laugh.

But you will still be beautiful.

Movement has you realising that tears have blurred your eyes. You swipe them away, and Mor is smiling at you, and Roza looks like she’s a little choked up, too.

“You are so godsdamned gorgeous.” Mor says earnestly. “Every last inch of you.”

Indeed, you glance over your shoulder at the mirror behind you, your gaze immediately finding your scars sitting brutal and undeniable beneath the sheer fabric. You don’t hurriedly force your gaze away like you have done your whole life, don’t try to avoid them.

You just…look. Look at what has been a part of you for so long, now.

“…Mor?” Roza says quietly. “Can you…give Y/N and I a moment?”

“Of course.” Mor agrees. “Time for me to find a snack.”

The stunning blonde squeezes your hand as she strolls past, and as she leaves the room, the door is pulled shut behind her.

Roza rises from her seat, making her way over to you. And as she stops before you, her hands move up to cup your face.

“Did you know,” she murmurs, “that I’ve always thought you were one of the prettiest females in all of Windhaven?” A soft scoff leaves you, but before you can glance down, she’s holding your face firmly. “I mean that — even when Azriel brought you to the cottage that very first time, and you were covered in dirt and mud, your hair all knotted, a leaf or two in there — you thanked me for feeding you, and you gave me a smile that was just like…sunshine. Such a rare thing in Windhaven. I remember thinking, this girl deserves to smile like that, always.”

A single tear spills down your cheek, and Roza wipes it away. She definitely looks like she might start bawling, too — a rare thing for her.

“I know you were never given much of a chance to feel worthy.” She whispers. “Your mother abandoning you…your father taking your wings…they were the two people who were supposed to love you more than anyone, and they broke you and left you broken.”

“You put me back together.” A lump in your throat fractures your words. “You and Rhys and Azriel and Cassian. Your love—”

“My little dove, you put yourself back together. We just loved you through it. I just want you to know that…I just want you to remember, the next time you feel worthless, that you are beautiful, and you have always been beautiful. You’re strong, and spirited, and determined. You have a resolve like no other I have ever seen, and you can do anything — which is why I know you will achieve whatever it is you’re planning with Fin.”

Only then does your gaze drop. “I only wish to appeal myself to him enough that he’ll value my opinion — that this Fenlaros business cannot go ahead. But I still feel awful…he’s your mate.”

“Gods, in the loosest definition, Y/N.” Her hands move to yours, then, liking them together. “Believe me when I say that if it weren’t for my children, I’d never see that male again. I think you know that I do not hold him in high regard.”

“I do know. But I respect you and care about you more than anyone in the world. And if you feel even a shred of discomfort about what I’m doing, I’ll stop. I’ll find another way—”

“The only discomfort I feel,” she squeezes your hands gently, “is at the thought of any harm coming to you. But I’ll feel that way through everything you do in life, because I love you. I also feel awe, because you’re brave and brilliant, and you’re doing what’s right. What I will teach this little girl,” she places your hands on her swollen belly, “to do — to stand up against what is wrong, and do so without a lick of shame.”

“I’ll protect her with my life, you know — the babe. I’ll love her unconditionally.”

“And she will love you, my dove, just as I do. So,” she steps back, eyes your dress again. A smile curves her lips. “Do whatever it is you have to do, Y/N, to change Fin’s mind — you have my full support. I only ask three things of you.”

Your expression softens. Anything — you’d do anything for her. “Of course, Roz.”

“First, don’t get caught with your scheming.” She says. “And second — you may feel like murdering Fin. Gods, believe me, I get it. But please do refrain. He’s my children’s father, after all, and Rhys isn’t ready to be High Lord just yet.”

You breathe a laugh, dipping your chin. “No murder. Got it. And the third thing?”

Roza steps up to you, her fingers finding the beautiful, jewelled material that clings to you like a second skin. She smiles.

“Go to that ball,” her fierce eyes meet yours, “and show everybody there that your father didn’t take one bit of beauty away from you.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You pace the length of your room. Back and forth, back and forth. You’re restless tonight.

Day after day is swept behind you like the snow that blankets the mountains. Time is a racing thing. Starfall is fast approaching, and thus, so is the ball. But you still feel as though you can’t get a good read on Fin’s thoughts.

No matter how many dinners you share with him, how many walks through the city streets you take together, the shows you watch in the Rainbow…he does not offer you the candidness with which he spoke through that very first conversation in his study. Any attempts to talk about Tathaln, about Fenlaros, are promptly diverted. He wants to talk about you — wants to know you.

It feels like the opportunity to stop this shit show in its tracks is slipping through your fingers, and you can’t grab hold of it, pull it back.

So instead of sleeping, you think, and you pace, and you—

Gods, you just want to see Azriel.

How much space, you wonder, is enough space? You have respected his needs, have kept to Velaris, given him time to confront his innermost thoughts and feelings. But you don’t know how long he needs, and right now…right now, all you want is to see him. Look into his eyes. Hear that soft, quiet voice telling you that everything will be okay.

You need to know if he’s made a decision about Fenlaros. You’ve tried not to think about it, not to dwell on the possibility that he could choose to run from his feelings over embracing them. But the longer the silence stretches on…the more you find that hole in your heart gaping, threatening to swallow you whole.

You pace more and more, up and down in time to the ticking of the clock. It’s a wonder you haven’t worn a track through the carpet. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so antsy, but perhaps if you could just talk to Az, some of your worries could be allayed—

Before your thoughts can catch up with your body, you’re tearing through the drawers in the desk, scrambling for paper, a pen. Practically throw yourself into the chair. A letter — a letter will do the trick—

But you don’t know what to write.

You stare at the blank parchment like the words will simply appear by your willing. They don’t.

A love letter? No, no, not a love letter. Just a letter to…to remind him that you are still here. That you are reason to stay in Windhaven, and you think you could be reason enough.

Azriel… you picture him as you crawl his name. His honey-golden eyes and his silken hair. The sharp bone structure that could slice through paper, the full lips. The memory of how those lips feel is fading, and you want — need — it back. Your pen pauses, hovers at the parchment, and those lips are all you can think of, the urgency with which you crave them.

Azriel, you write again, I want to see you. I need you, too—

A soft knock lands on the door, and the pen clatters against the desk where you drop it.

The clock has just timed three in the morning — the knock is an unexpected obtrusion in the dead of night. One that makes you anxious.

But a second knock comes, and you shove the parchment and pen back into the drawer, scrambling to your feet. Perhaps it’s Roza — the more the pregnancy progresses, it’s not unusual for her to wake up in the night with need for something. You hurry over and tug it open.

Fin stands on the other side, looking…unkempt. His hair is mussed, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it. The first few buttons on his shirt have been undone, and a glimpse of a fine, chiselled chest peeks out. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks as though he hasn’t been to bed.

He drinks in the sight of you in your nightgown, bathed in the room’s glow. He swallows. “Forgive me, I…I saw your light on. Thought you might be having trouble sleeping again.”

You incline your head. “I was.” You admit. “…And you?”

“Too much in my head to even attempt it.”

You’re not sure what to reply with, how to help. Fin watches you closely like…like he needs to. Like gazing at you brings him comfort.

You are treading a very, very dangerous path. But you shift on your feet and ask him, “Would you like to come in?”

A tiny nudge of a smile pulls one side of his mouth up. “I was actually wondering if you’d allow me to take you somewhere.”

Your eyes widen a little. The surprise isn’t for show, and it seems to please him. “Right now?”

“The City of Starlight doesn’t sleep. Ever.”

A fact you’ve learned all too well during your stay here. There’s always some sort of activity, something going on that sends a constant pulsing through the city streets. For some reason, you hadn’t imagined Fin to be a participant in the night life.

“It’s somewhere I go when I can’t sleep.” He explains, as though you’ve spoken your thoughts loud and clear. “I think you’d like it. And from one insomniac to another, I…I would be honoured to share it with you.”

How can you possibly say no to that? For all Fin is mysterious, for all he keeps his cards tightly pressed against his chest, you truly believe that he finds a strange sort of solidarity in this one affliction that burdens you both. You may have wildly different reasons for pacing your room at night — and you’re not sure he’ll ever tell you his — but when the world is too quiet and thoughts are too loud…there’s comfort in knowing that somebody else is staring down those early hours, also.

It almost makes him seem…normal.

And perhaps that’s why you offer him a dazzling smile that isn’t entirely disingenuous. “From one insomniac to another,” you say, “I’d love to come with you.

The way his eyes light up makes you wonder if you’ve played your role, appealed yourself to him, a little too well. “Then I’ll wait here while you get dressed.”

You incline your head. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He waits patiently as you change from your nightgown into warm clothes that will shield you from the freezing night air. With no indication of where you might be going, a sweater and breeches and boots seems like the safest bet. You sweep your hair out of your face and shrug the weariness from your bones. When you emerge from the room, Fin’s gaze traces you like you’ve donned an evening gown and not the thickest layers you could fine.

“I find you so very intriguing.” He comments unexpectedly, and you’re not sure what he means.

You plaster a smile on your face, all the same. “Where are we going, Lord of the Night?”

Heat stokes his hickory eyes, and he looks as though he’s actually trying to tamp down on a broad smile. “It’s a surprise.”

You hold a hand out. He takes it. “Then surprise me.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Tilt your head up.” The instruction comes from close behind you. Near enough that a warm breath tickles the back of your neck. You dutifully obey. “Now, open your eyes.”

Your eyelids flutter open slowly, cautiously. What you’re met with has your next breath catching in your throat.

A dome of starlight arcs high above you. The twinkling jewels in the sky feel almost close enough to reach out and touch, and they shine brilliantly through the glass roof, an occasional transient one cartwheeling its way past in pursuit of another place.

You can only stare. Gape. Your feet move forward a couple of steps, but your face remains tilted upwards.

You were in this building only a couple of evenings before, but it had been so packed, then, so filled with music and chatter and laughter and activity, that you hadn’t noticed what sat above your head. You’d been far too enamoured with the performers, their poetic verses and fluid dances, the tragic climax that had brought you to tears.

Now, the largest theatre in Velaris’s rainbow is empty and bathed in darkness, broken only by silvery moonlight. You and Fin are the only two here. And standing on the gargantuan stage, a mass of empty, folded seats staring back at you, you have the perfect view of the night sky that gives a performance all of its own above you.

There are soft footsteps, and Fin is also stepping forward, stopping at your side. “In over nine centuries, I’ve never tired of that sight,”

You shake your head, a little dazed. You’re lost for words. “I can see why.”

“There is so much unexpected, so much chaos and burden, in being High Lord. But no matter what I may face, what choices I make, and what reactions they receive…there will always be the night sky and its stars.”

Only then do you remove your gaze from the domed glass ceiling — to drink him in and wonder how many layers deep his true heart lies. This male who is as cunning and cruel as he is handsome and charming. How many dimensions does he have that you’ve never stopped to consider?

“I know it doesn’t exactly support the imagine of a calculated High Lord who shouldn’t be crossed.” Fin says, staring had at the surface of the stage whilst a wry smile graces his lips. “Sneaking off to an empty theatre in the dead of night when sleep evades me. But I find…peace here.”

You eye the ginormous building around you, dipped in shimmering moonlight and the shadows of twinkling stars. All those empty seats, the vacant orchestra pit, the stage that has trapped so many beautiful voices and words, guided so many dances and echoed so much beautiful music. There’s a haunting loneliness to the desolation. And you can’t help wondering if…if Fin relates to that, somehow.

When you snap out of your thoughts, you find he’s moved again. Now, he sits on the very edge of the stage, legs hanging down and palms bracing him. He stares out at the rows and rows of red velvet seats, not one of them disturbed by a spectator.

You’re moving before you tell yourself to. Sitting at his side and tucking your legs beneath you. You spend a short time in still silence, but the heaviness of the High Lord’s thoughts seems to spread to every corner of the building.

“When you brought me here the other night,” you angle yourself towards him, “it was my first time in a theatre — ever. I never saw a show before.”

A very slight frown pinches Fin’s features. He seems to consider that. “One of my flaws, Y/N, I have to admit, is that I often forget that there’s a world outside of my privilege. That people lack where I never will.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Roza was right to take Rhysand to Windhaven. He’s grown with a humility that I very much do not have.”

You snort softly. “I spend a lot of time with your son, My Lord. I assure you he’s just as capable of arrogance. I’ve kicked his ass a good few times because of it.”

A quiet laugh rasps from him. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” He pauses, and then his elbow is gently nudging you. “I told you, anyway — it’s Fin. I consider us to be friends. Don’t you?”

In some ways, you really do. Ans what a lying, using, devious little friend you are.

Especially as you scoot closer to him. And you’re softening your features and staring openly at him.

You don’t miss the way his gaze falls to your lips.

“I do.” You say, and he lifts his eyes to yours again. “And as your friend, I’d like to know what weighs so heavily on your mind tonight.”

His mile falters. And you don’t want to lose him, to let the moment slip away from you. You quickly grab his hand before he can tense up.

“I want you to talk to me…” You make your voice soft as butter, sweet as honey. “I like talking to you, Fin.”

There’s a beat. A tense one. And then his body is loosening, relaxing, his eyes becoming infinitely warmer.

His hand wraps around yours, the pad of his thumb tracing your nail. “I like talking to you, too.” He admits, and pauses again. “…War is…a great likelihood, Y/N.”

It’s your turn to go still, then, to tense up. Icy cold surprise bolts through you. That…isn’t what you were expecting.

“War?” You breathe, your mind already conjuring images of your friends on a battlefield. “With whom? When?”

“I do not know when. It could be in a year’s time; it could be in a decade. That all depends on how long it takes for humans to rise up and rally against our kind.”

“Humans?”

“There has been more and more pushback, in recent years, from humans. Humans who are enslaved by our kind and are sick of it. More and more of them are beginning to stand up against it, to protest how they’re forced to live. They’re willing to go to war over it. I don’t know when or where, but they will. In years to come, they will.”

“As they should.” You sit up straight. Perhaps it’s the wrong thing to say, but you don’t care. “They should revolt. I think it’s barbarous, the way our kind treat them. Their purpose is not to serve us. They have just as much right to live freely as we do.”

You mean it, mean it with your whole heart. You know what it’s like to be used for somebody’s personal gain, what it’s like to have freedom always lurking just out of reach. And you’ve heard about the treatment of enslaved humans. Most would rather die that live under the cruelty of their fae masters. That the practice hasn’t been outlawed utterly sickens you.

Fin says nothing for a while. His hand continues to hold yours. His eyes drink you down with a muted intensity. Like this is the first time he’s ever really taken you in.

“I agree.” He murmurs, much to your surprise. “And when war comes — and it will, and I’m preparing for it — when war comes, I will fight alongside the humans. To liberate them.”

You look at him, then — a male who has lived for almost a millennia, but doesn’t look a day over forty. Who is so universally feared, who carries a reputation for things you can’t even bear to consider. You will not fool yourself into believing that the darkness hides an inner light, or that the cruelty is a front. He is not soft and he is not kind.

But perhaps he’s not totally bad, either. That he would put himself in the firing line for the liberation of innocent humans…it has to speak somewhat to his character.

It almost makes you regret your scheming, your manipulating.

Before you can muster a response, the High Lord is leaning closer. Your body tenses as his face stops inches away from yours.

“You need not be afraid of me, Y/N.” He whispers. “I find you…magnificent. I like that you don’t filter yourself in front of me, that you’re not afraid to speak your true thoughts and feelings. You…you are an asset. Worth so much more than you’ve ever been given credit for.”

Your gaze dips, cheeks burning at the compliment. “I don’t know about that—”

“I mean it.” His finger hooks under your chin, soothing the skin there. “Magnificent.” He repeats, and he’s leaning in closer, closer, until his lips are coasting your flushed cheek. The kiss he presses there is cold in contrast, but you have no chance to react as his mouth brushes its way to the shell of your ear and lingers there. “Absolutely brilliant. And do you know what?”

“…What?”

“After the ball is over,” his breath tickles your ear, “I’m going to bring you back here, to this stage. And those stars above our heads will watch as I strip you bare and fuck you hard enough to shake the building.”

It takes every morsel of your resolve not to start at the words. You release a shaky breath — one that makes you seem eager, responsive. It’s convincing enough that you don’t think you’d be out of place up here on this stage.

Thankfully, you don’t have to drag words from your spinning thoughts. Fin lets go, and he pulls back, rising to his feet.

“But until then,” he holds a hand out for you, “there is much to be done. Starting with you and I getting a good night’s sleep.”

You wear a mild smile as you allow him to pull you up. “A girl can dream.”

“And so can a High Lord.”

You don’t say much else to each other as he tugs you close and spirits you back to his palace. You are both pensive, and you are both tired.

But when he bids you goodnight outside your bedroom and strolls off to his own, sleep seems further away than ever. You’re thinking too much at once. Humans. War. Fin. Azriel.

You still desperately want to see Az, talk to him.

You dig back into the drawer, meaning to retrieve the letter you’d started to write.

But your hand merely knocks against wood, and the letter is gone.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’re tempted — to write another letter, or note, or…whatever. You don’t even know what became of the first, unfinished one, whether it made its way to Azriel or not.

But days pass, and you…you begin to lose your nerve a little. Perhaps it’s better to live in ignorance for as long as possible than know, either way, what Azriel is thinking. Choosing. Can’t help feeling that the more time pedals on without a word…the worse the outcome will be.

Distractions help. But tonight, it would seem, there are none. And it’s strange, because everything around you is bathed in luxury, in excellence, but you find yourself missing the stripped back simplicity of Windhaven. The crumbling cottages, the mead hall, the rough-and-tumble way of life. There’s always something happening in that harrowing place, something to keep you occupied. As you stare down an evening in a huge, mostly empty palace, you’re actually struck by your longing for it. Both Roza and Fin are busy. Mor is away. Only the mountains and the distant sounds of the city are your companions tonight.

And once again, your thoughts take you to Azriel.

You think maybe this need for him is getting out of hand. And maybe it’s just the sugar-sweet things that Fin has been speaking into your ear, the knowledge that deep down, there’s only one person you want to make such promises to you—

No. It’s not just that. Not just a pathetic influence of suggestive words. It’s a need.

You need Azriel.

Your closest friend. Your safety blanket. The male who saved you and brought you into the fold of a loving, supportive unit. You stared down awkward adolescence together, faced such trying times by each other’s sides.

And you need him.

Your heart, your body, your skin, is hot and heavy with it. Restless. Like the craving is pulling you apart from the inside.

You need to do something, anything, to occupy yourself; take a late-night stroll, read a book. Anything to stop you from staring at the ceiling and being eaten alive by the fire that scorches your veins.

You’re so desperate to get moving that you don’t bother to grab a jacket — just shove your feet into your shoes. A spring mildness has blanketed the city, anyway. You’ll be fine. You just need to move—

But you yank your bedroom door open, and Azriel is on the other side.

His beauty punches you straight in the gut.

He’s a vision, stood there in casual clothing, a note — your note — clutched in his hand. He takes in the sight of you just as hurriedly.

“What are you doing here,” you breathe.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. His eyes rove you again, and he swallows. “I got your note.” He answers. “I wanted to see you, too, and…the High Lord summoned Rhys, Cass and I here…to warn us to be on our best behaviour at the ball.”

You can’t say anything. Can’t speak. You just gawk like a godsdamned fool.

A strange concoction of a frown and a laugh comes from Az. “I…snuck away after…to come here—”

Before you even know what you’re doing, your hand is bunching in the front of Azriel’s shirt, and you’re dragging him into the room with all your strength. He looks bewildered as you shove the door shut behind him.

“Az, have you lost your mind?” You round on him. “If Fin knew you’d come to my room—”

“He isn’t here.” He cuts you off. “Cass went straight back to Windhaven, and Rhys knew I wanted to see you, so…he’s currently having quality family time with Roza and his father in the city.”

There’s a lot to unpack. But all your mind wants to zero in on is that one little sentence — Rhys knew I wanted to see you.

Pathetic, how your entire stomach flips.

“…You call him Fin?”

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up enough to understand Azriel’s question.

“We’ve been living under the same roof.” You shrug slowly. “I…guess he got tired of me using his title.”

Az stares at you, assessing. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, but you fidget under the intensity of his gaze.

“What is it?” You ask him.

“I’m worried about you. I know he’s taking you to the ball. I don’t want you playing his games.”

You purse your lips. “…That why you snuck here to my room, Az? To give me a warning—”

“I came here because you said you wanted to see me, and I want to see you, too.”

So open — for him. So straightforward that for a beat, you’re not sure how to react.

But then you’re moving, and so is he, and your bodies slam together in a tight, long-awaited embrace. Feeling his arms wrap around you is…everything. Everything you’ve missed and longed for. Everything you will ever long for. Whatever happens…Azriel is the only thing you’ll need, when all is said and done.

And that’s why you’re suddenly crying, clinging to him.

On instinct, Azriel’s arms tighten around you. He moves a hand up to cradle the back of your head, and he whispers, “Y/N…”

“Please don’t leave Windhaven.” The words choke out of you. “Please, Az, just…don’t go to Fenlaros. Please—”

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Tears and all, you do. You remain as close to him as you possibly can as you lift your head to meet his eyes.

You don’t know how you know, but you do — from that one, heavy stare, you can tell that things have changed. That he has changed. He looks like the same, stunning male that you’ve always admired, but something else sits on his face.

Emotion.

Determination.

Fire.

He opens his mouth. Takes a slow, shuddering breath that you feel through every inch of your body. And then he says, with utter clarity, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You almost break all over again. But he keeps talking, keeps sharing.

“I love you. No — I’m in love with you. I love you more than I can put into words. I want you and only you, and I’m not leaving you. The only reason I would ever walk out of that camp is if you were by my side, and we were leaving together.”

You are…weightless. Boneless. Held up only by Azriel’s arms. A tear rolls down your cheek, and you allow it to fall to the carpet.

“My handling of my feelings,” Az stares down at you, “has been one huge fuck up. I loved you long before you offer to let me practice intimacy on you. Experiencing those things with you…the things you made me feel…only brought those feelings to the surface. And instead of facing them as I should have done, I hid behind Kaeda to avoid them. But it was never about Kaeda. It was always you. It will always be you. And I’m scared, Y/N, I’m fucking terrified. But I’m done running. Done hiding.”

Silence sweeps into the room on swift wings, and you are suddenly incapable of thought, and of somehow turning it into words. Without Azriel’s voice to distract you, you’re aware of the tremors that wrack through his body. As though this is the scariest thing in the world to him, and he’s trying to hold strong against it.

It probably is.

He studies you closely. Croaks out, “Please say something.”

And perhaps it’s giving him the wrong impression entirely, but you’re stepping out of his arms and putting space between you. You just…need to gather your thoughts. To remember how to speak.

“I…” You blink. “I handled it badly, too.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“I made selfish choices. I…I acted out of jealousy because I wanted you, but you and Kaeda were…”

He shakes his head resolutely. “What I told you before was true. I never touched Kaeda like that. Even before I found out about all that Fenlaros shit, I think I knew that I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t.”

A fact that breaks your heart. Your eyes fill with tears again. “But I still did. Cass and I—”

“Cassian was there for you when I should have been, and I had no right — none — to react the way that I did. If anyone did anything wrong that night, it was me. But what you and Cass did…it does not matter. Not one bit.”

You’re pivoting on the spot, turning your back to him, before you can crumble entirely. He really means it. Really does not hate you for the choice you made, even though it hurt him.

“Y/N,” Az’s voice shakes behind you. “Please…look at me.”

Now you’re confronted with the situation, part of you wants to run — to hide.

But Az is being open. Honest. No matter how hard, how terrifying it is for him…he’s here. He’s trying.

And so you’ll try, too. And you think you might be shaking just as much as he is as you turn back to him.

The two of you stare at each other. Feel the situation out with your gazes alone.

Azriel is the one to break the extended silence.

“You said you need me.” He eyes you. He’s visibly trembling all over, and it has nothing to do with the chill in the room. Trembling like he’s trying to hold himself together against the weight of the situation.

“…Yes.” You swallow. “I do, Az…I think I’ve always needed you.”

“So show me.”

You pause. Blink, your eyes blown wide. “What?”

“Show me how you need me.” He steps closer, and though he’s shaking, he outreaches a hand and find yours. “Show me how to give you what you need.”

Your fingers brush his, and you’re forcing a lump down your throat. Drinking him in. He…he’s exquisite. “You mean…”

“I mean,” the gap is closed between your bodies, and his heat is reaching you, “I don’t want to practice. I want it all…everything…with you. I want you to take me. Only you—”

You’re surging forward with so much pent-up need that when your lips collide with Azriel’s, it almost knocks you both to the floor.

But Azriel’s arms are banding around you, and he’s a pillar against you, kissing you back with just as much heat.

You don’t know which of you makes what move. Your hands are all over him, and his are all over you, and he’s walking you backwards and groaning as the kiss deepens.

You find the hem of his tunic, dip your hands under, fingertips skating warm skin that shudders beneath your touch. “Can I take this off?” You murmur, and he swallows your words greedily.

“All of it — take it all.”

And so you do. There is no method to it. You’re a woman starved and crazed as you tear at his clothing, not caring about where it ends up, so long as it’s no longer on him. More and more tan skin is exposed, more muscles, more scars. And when he kicks out of his boots and breeches and his underwear is the only remaining barrier, you’re reaching for him, for the hardness that’s pushing through the dark grey fabric and taunting you.

But Azriel reaches out an arm to gently stop you. His hand brushes your cheek, and his eyes are pure hunger as he says, “Your turn.”

And it hits you just then that up in until this point, Azriel has never seen you naked — in this capacity, anyway. There have been plenty of non-sexual circumstances over the years in which you’ve gotten a glimpse of each other, but not like this. Even when he began practicing on you, you never took your clothes off.

And you’re fucking nervous. Even more so under the press of his gaze. He looks like he may combust as you slowly move your hands to your shirt and tug the front laces loose. You pull the hem out from where it was tucked into your breeches.

The fabric parts enough that it more or less slides off you and pools on the floor. You do not meet the heavy stare that watches you so closely. You may lose your nerve if you do.

But when the last few items of clothing are off and kicked away from you, and you’re left entirely bare, you hear a sharp intake of breath. Curiosity gets the better of you. You lift your gaze and resist the urge to fold your arms over your chest.

Azriel is staring at you like…like nobody ever has before.

Like you are the rare rays of sunlight that break through the grey landscape of Windhaven. Like the world around you was forged from your own two hands.

Like you’re beautiful, and worthy, and unruined.

“…What is it?” You clear your throat, shifting on the spot.

Azriel shakes out of a daze and takes a single step closer to you. “You are…” His throat bobs, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

You almost laugh. Almost. But something stops you.

The sincerity in his tone, his eyes. The realisation that he truly means that.

Your eyes travel from his face, down his sculpted chest and stomach. The firm, toned legs and what sits beneath him. You’ve seen plenty of his body naked. But…not all at once.

You think the air might be punched from your lungs.

He’s hard as a rock — from looking at you. The tip of his cock is already leaking moisture. His wings flare proudly at his back.

“So beautiful.” He cups your jaw, guiding your eyes back up to his.

There’s nothing else you can say, in that moment, than the words that tumble from your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Emotion crosses his face, and both hands are gripping your cheeks. He kisses you deeply; so deeply that it steals your breath.

And then he pulls away, and he’s repeating his earlier words, his forehead pressed to yours. “Show me — show me what you need. No games, just…you and me.”

No games, indeed. You cannot wait any longer.

You rise on the tips of your toes and claim his mouth with yours, and you’re guiding him back, back, until his legs are hitting the bed and he’s gladly falling onto it. He sprawls out, watching as you climb over him. As your hand caresses his stomach and moves down.

And when your fingertips brush the head of his cock, a deep, delicious noises rumbles in his throat.

You mop the moisture up with your palm, using it to slick the length of him and slide your hand up and down. He hisses between his teeth, hips jerking, hands bunching within the covers on your bed.

“No games,” he repeats through gritted teeth. “This is about both of us.”

And you know that, and you’re not patient enough, anyway, for foreplay right now.

It dawns on you that there will plenty of time for that.

He is not leaving Windhaven — not leaving you.

You will have experiences together beyond this one night.

And with that very fact warming your heart and making it set to burst, you place your legs either side of his body and stare down at him. His cock brushes against your centre, and he can feel how wet you already are for him. His eyes travel down.

You watch, and you ask him, quietly, “You’re sure about this?”

His gaze flicks up immediately. “I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.” He reaches out a trembling hand and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous — gods, I really fucking am. So scared. I just…want to do it right. To be good for you.”

The sentiment almost brings tears to your eyes. “You couldn’t do it wrong if you tried, Az. Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.” He sits up a little — angles himself closer to you. “And I love you with my whole heart, too.”

And that’s all either of you need, isn’t it? Love and trust. The need that exits between you. Everything that is just…yours and Azriel’s relationship in its entirety.

Your eyes remain locked with his as you gently reach down and position his cock at your entrance. He breathes shakily. Doesn’t look away from you once.

Not as you slide down onto him just a little. You pause at the first feel of your walls stretching to accommodate him. A pleasured frown furrows his brow. A moment passes, two, and then you slide down further.

More and more. Sinking onto him. Pausing. Adjusting. With every inch of his huge length that disappears inside you, you feel like every one of your nerve endings is struck by lightning. Azriel’s head lolls back, and he makes a soft noise.

“You’re okay?” You check, hovering over him.

“You feel—” He chokes on his words. “Fuck.”

It’s the encouragement you need to sink the rest of the way onto him. The last few inches slide into you quick, thanks to the slickness that soaks your folds, and then he’s pushed into the hilt and hitting a spot so deep inside you that you can’t stifle the noise that breaks from your throat.

“Did I hurt you?” Azriel gasps, and you can only shake your head. He seems to study your face for confirmation, before he’s pushing up to kiss you.

And you kiss him back. For a moment, that’s all either of you do.

But when he’s losing himself in your mouth, his tongue dancing around yours, seemingly distracted by your kiss…only then do you lift your hips and sink down onto him again. And then you’re falling into a slow, steady rhythm.

Azriel is gasping again, his mouth moving from yours to press kisses to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones — your breasts. As you rock slowly against him, the walls of your pussy squeezing him, coaxing him, he buries his face into your chest and explores you, lips and tongue paying attention to your nipples, teeth grazing with a gentleness that’s almost heartbreaking.

“So beautiful.” He whispers, and the hands that are sitting on your hips travel up your back — up to the scars that live in the place of your stolen wings. “Gods, Y/N, you’re everything.”

You moan, rocking harder on him and wrapping your arms around his neck. You just…want to hold him to you, to feel him against you. It’s like it all comes crashing down on you that he very easily could have left.

But he didn’t. He won’t. He is here and so are you. He is yours and you are his.

“Talk to me,” you breathe, raking your nails down his arms. “Tell me how you feel.”

“So good — feels so good with you wrapped around me.”

“Yeah?” You lean down, brush a kiss to his lips. “You like being inside me?”

“There is — fuck — there is no one, Y/N, that I want to do this with, besides you.” His mouth slants over yours, and he whispers two words — take me — before he’s giving himself to your kiss.

He’s so big, so deep. And the blood in your veins feels like molten lava as the pace picks up, as his trembling begins to subside, and he grows more confident. His groans are loud, and his hands roam over your body before finally landing on your hips. Fingertips dig into your flesh with a dizzying bite, and he’s rocking you, encouraging you to take him. To fuck him.

This is not practice. This is two bolts of lighting striking in the same place. The friction between your bodies is perfect, like nothing else you’ve ever felt. The pleasure may just finish you yet. It’s electric. Addictive. You want to feel like this forever, with him.

And more pleasure floods you as in one swift move, he flips you over — takes you entirely by surprise. You’re landing on your back, and he’s hovering over you. He stills as he stares down at you.

“This is perfect.” He says, dipping down to kiss you again. It makes him move inside you suddenly, and the different angle has you both gasping into each other’s mouths. “Gods.”

“Fuck me, Az.” You moan. “Just like that.”

What starts out slow quickly builds in pace. The roll of Azriel’s hips become thrusts — and the moans, the cries, the words that leave you, all guide them to be deeper, harder. You think you could stay like this forever, with him buried inside of you, wringing pleasure from every corner of your body. It snakes through your veins and zips up your spine, and when his hand travels down and his fingers find your clit, you fucking explode.

You cry out, bucking up from the bed as your orgasm hits you full force. Azriel fucks you through it, and his groans are growing louder, more desperate, as the walls of your cunt clench around him. He breathes out a fractured, desperate noise, leaning down to brush his lips over yours as he fucks into you harder.

“I can’t last much longer.” He chokes around his pleasure, pressing quick, nipping kisses to your mouth. “I can’t—”

“Come for me.” You gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “Come inside me.”

The noise that your words coax from him is downright sinful. He grabs your hips in his hands, slants his mouth over yours. He slams into you again, again, again, and then he’s roaring his pleasure with enough force to shake the bed, and you feel every rope of come that he spills into you.

You’re trembling. Or maybe that’s him. Or both of you. Both slick with sweat, and both shaking, and both unable to hold yourselves up any longer.

Azriel collapses beside you, his body still tangled with yours. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths heating your skin. You sink a trembling hand into the strands of his hair.

“That was—” His voice hitches, “I can’t…can’t put it into words.”

Neither can you. It’s all you can do to nod as you catch your breath.

“Thank you.” A kiss is pressed against your neck. Another. Az’s arm drapes over your chest, and he moves his mouth to yours. “Thank you.”

Still void of words, you settle on kissing him. Deep. Slow. Unhurried. Your hand cups his cheek, and your tongue strokes into his mouth. Lays out a litany of sentiments that you’re currently incapable of verbalising.

It feels like you kiss each other forever. But then you’re pulling back, pressing your foreheads together. And you stare into Azriel’s eyes as you tell him once again, “I love you.”

Emotion floods his eyes, and he holds you as close to him as he possible can, murmuring onto your mouth, “I love you, too. I think I always have.”

You know you always have. You tuck yourself into his side, content to feel his skin against yours. The rest of the world floats away. There is nothing and no one but you and him. Your Azriel.

Your eyes are growing heavy when he brushes his lips against your forehead, and he whispers the words you’ve needed to hear for so, so long.

“Whatever happens, Y/N,” another kiss joins the first, “you and I will face it together.”

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

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snoringkitty1 · 6 months

Text

Aventurine boyfriend Headcanons

TW: Fluff, not proofread, Mildly suggestive content. Enjoy <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

Aventurine at the beginning of your relationship is a flirty bastard, he'll tease you to high hell and leave you high and dry for his own amusement.

There is 0 initial affection, he's only in it for his entertainment or because he has something to gamble or get from you.

Kisses you with his eyes open, atleast at the start.

But gradually, when you realizes you won't be leaving because of his lack of effort, he might just soften up and start to let his guard down a little.

Though of course this is after a while, but you'll start to see the more vulnerable and faint side to him.

He'll become more affectionate gradually the more he begins to trust you with his feelings, though, it still might take a while. Patience is key.

He's still flirty no doubt, but now there's actually feelings and meaning to his words, and they aren't bluffs anymore.

His sense of fashion may or may not rub off on you..aka he forces you to wear matching clothes, it makes him feel special.

"Do i really need to where this..? Matching outfits are so tacky." You grumbled and adjusted the hat on your head before sighing and taking it off, running your fingers along the rim and raising a brow. "Well, you don't need to, but i would love you more if you did." He joked and fixed a few details on your jacket before taking the hat from your hands and setting it on your head. "You don't love me enough already?" You pouted and looked up at him. He smiled and shook his head, pulling you close for a kiss, his hands holding tight onto your waist as he trapped you in a kiss. "I love you~" He cooed softly and leaned back, "Some matching clothes won't change that." he assured and rubbed your cheek before stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets, "now~ shall we?"

The king of shopping dates, if you don't like shopping though, then the two of you will probably be having at home dates most of the time.

But don't think for a second he isn't buying the most delectable (and expensive) food he can find, because to him, if its clothes, food, hair, nails, you name it. He thinks you're a worthy investment (he just likes to spend money on you.)

Speaking of giving presents, thats simply his love language, because i reckon he feels like if he gives enough, then he won't have to worry about you leaving him.

That being said, he'll need a bunch of reassurance to stop giving random super expensive presents. He'll still give you some regardless but he'll tone it down significantly.

He comes off as the kind of guy who only gives or takes longer kisses, to me atleast.

He might use this to his advantage if he perhaps gets jealous, which i think happens pretty often.

But i think there's also a chance of him just absolutely demolishing you once you two are home behind closed doors.

Switch energy, but can and will top when he feels like it.

He'll let you decide the pace though, he doesn't want intimate moments to feel transactional.

Afterwards, i Dunno i feel like he'd just fall asleep with you, then take of you the next morning.

You rolled away onto your stomach..or tried to, the tight grip of a certain blonde kept you from moving too far away. When you let out an uncomfortable grunt though, Aventurine was quick to let go and sit up to check on you. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, smiling a little before closing them again, "I'm fine, i'm fine.." you mumbled softly, but that didn't deter him. He leaned down and kissed your cheek before getting up, you opened your eyes and sat up on your elbows to watch him, he disappeared into the closet briefly and returned with one of his shirts. "Here you go Darling~" he cooed softly and held the shirt out from you, his messy bed head framed his face nicely. "ah..thank you-" you smiled and put it on before flopping back again. "Anything else i can get you? I can order food, or make bre-" He paused when you pulled him close all of a sudden. "Just cuddle with me for a little bit.." You muttered softly, and He nodded, pulling you close again..and like that, you two were cozy and asleep in minutes.

Thanks for reading.

#fluff #boyfriend #headcanon #honkai star rail #x reader #hsr x reader #Aventurine #Aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr #penacony #star rail #fanfiction #Comfort

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elllisaaa · 7 months

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Can I pls request seventeen reaction when they have a crush on reader they get jealous when she hangs out with her guy best friend (they are also super close) more than them?

hiii anonie ! i love that everyone keeps sending me these type of request for seventeen because i love to do them so so much ! hope you'll like it !

seventeen being jealous of your bff

-> pairing : svt x gn!reader

-> word count : 2.7k

-> genre : fluff

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

Despite Seungcheol being cute and sweet around you most of the time, he’s not so chill anymore when he sees you being all over another guy. He perfectly knows that he’s your best friend, perfectly knows that you want both of them to get along well because that’s why you asked him to come with you to this café, but he couldn’t help glaring at the other guy like he committed the worst crimes ever. Cheol tried his best to remain respectful and answer your best friend's questions, but he couldn’t help feeling a little jealous at watching you laugh with someone else about things he had no clue about. This would make him realize how bad he wanted to be with you, and how dumb it was of him to try and act as if he was not smitten by you. After this meeting during which he spent the whole time staring at the guy, he would plan the perfect confession to tell you how he feels about you and to not have to support this anymore.

YOON JEONGHAN

As usual, Jeonghan will act like a little shit. When you told him you wanted to plan a game night with him and your best friend so they could meet, he knew it was his chance to be insufferable. And he was the most annoying the whole night : cheating at every game and pretending to have done nothing, teasing your best friend for being a loser, and being the cheeky bastard he is. Deep down, he just felt like he was too late to confess to you about his crush, seeing how close and comfortable you seemed to be with this other guy. And it was only the worst side of him telling him to take some kind of revenge by being very irritating. Though Jeonghan would feel bad when you left and told him that he could’ve been nicer to your best friend. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel like he didn’t care about you and your emotions. It would take him a few hours of deep thinking before he sent you the longest text ever to explain his behavior and thus confess.

HONG JOSHUA

Not being a very jealous person, Joshua didn’t expect the rush of anger that came with running into you and your best friend at the mall. There was seemingly nothing to be jealous about, you were just acting like a normal person being close and affectionate with their best friend. He was perfectly aware of that, but still, he felt like the third wheel while walking with the two of you. When he would try to talk to you, the other guy would always open his mouth and Joshua was getting really annoyed. Finally, your best friend left, leaving you with a pouty Joshua. You would ask him what’s wrong, and why he didn’t make an effort to get along with your best friend. And even if Joshua had been planning to confess for some time, trying to think about the most romantic way to do it, seeing another guy looking at you with the same lovestruck gaze he stared at you with was his last straw. He would tell you all about his feelings on the spot and pray inside that will not reject him.

MOON JUNHUI

He really holds his heart on his sleeve, so it’s not difficult to notice whether he’s happy or angry. Thus when you presented your long distance best friend that you hadn’t seen in a long time to him and his members, you could see how annoyed he was by the other guy's presence. You had every right to be all over someone you hadn’t seen in over a year, yes, but Jun felt a little bad anyway. You two had grown closer and closer, and he really thought that you had something special going on, that it was starting to be a little more than a casual friendship on your side too. But when he was seeing how you were acting around your best friend, he was not so sure anymore that you could maybe reciprocate his feelings. You were never so touchy with him, never so affectionate, never so flirty or straightforward. You would obviously notice how bothered and mostly sad Jun seemed to be the entire night but he kept saying that everything was okay, and he would end up leaving earlier because he could not stand the sight anymore. He would doubt a little but in the end, his friends will convince him to confess before it’s too late.

KWON SOONYOUNG

He would think that he’s sleek, but frankly, even you could see that he was jealous of the bond between you and your best friend. You would often bring him with you for your friendly gathering because you didn’t want him to spend his weekends alone and he was getting along well with everyone. Everyone except Soonyoung who couldn’t seem to appreciate him. In all honesty, your best friend was a cool guy, but Soonyoung didn’t want to befriend the guy who could probably steal his crush if he tried. This would get to the point that you would get in a fight with him about it, clearly not pleased that he didn’t make any effort to try and talk with your best friend. Your argument would be really bad, and you would both ignore each other for a week or two, too proud to admit that both of you had some parts to take in the fight. Soonyoung will eventually come back to you, practically begging on his knees to let him back in your life and accidentally confessing along the way of his monologue.

JEON WONWOO

Wonwoo is not one to get jealous easily, especially since you’re only his crush and not his partner, he has nothing to say in who you’re talking to and how you act with these same people. So to be honest, he’s not really jealous of the relationship you have with your best friend, but more of the way this guy is able to openly express his interest in you, always finding a way to compliment you and flirt with you without it making you uncomfortable. Which is precisely what Wonwoo is struggling to do, not knowing if saying that he finds you incredibly pretty in this or that outfit is off limits for “just friends”. Is it different because your bestie has no real attraction towards you and Wonwoo is genuinely trying to show you that he could treat you right ? Probably. But still, he’ll stay more quiet everytime your best friend is with you. You would assume that’s because he doesn’t feel too comfortable with people he doesn’t know much the first few times, and Wonwoo would take care that you don’t discover the real reason while taking mental notes of how to try and show you that he wants more as subtly as possible.

LEE JIHOON

Since he’s always trying to remember the most insignificant details about you and what you like, he would take pride in knowing things that your best friend doesn’t. He would never say it out loud obviously, but still, the discreet smirk on his face would give it away. When you go out at a coffee shop, your best friend always has to ask you what you want when Jihoon simply brings you your usual because he got your order memorized. While your best friend always has to ask you what you want or need for your birthday, Jihoon always knows exactly what to gift you and he never misses. But every time you told him about the things you did alone with the guy, or what you had planned with him for the weekends, he felt a little jealous. At this point, he thinks you’re either not interested in him or that you’re just very dense and oblivious to all the subtle things he does to show his interest in you. You have so much partner privileges and he’s not even your boyfriend. Yet. Because it would take him only a few more times of your best friend missing on what you really like to rush and finish the song he wanted to confess to you with.

LEE SEOKMIN

He doesn’t hide his jealousy well at all, everyone who knows him a little bit is able to tell that he doesn’t like your best friend. He thinks that the guy is not handsome, not interesting and not even funny. Well, not as much as him at least. That is a lie because deep down, he can’t help but wonder if you really like this guy more than him. So Seokmin will try to take as much space as possible, talking louder and making a lot more jokes than usual so that your attention would be on him and not on your best friend. He’s always a little extra on a daily basis, but when your best friend is here too, he’s even more outgoing, to the point he becomes a little annoying. But the only way he has to be more interesting than your best friend is by doing all this, or so he thought. When you told him that it was in fact a little disrespectful for the other guy and that you didn’t understand why he could not try to befriend him when he was usually the sweetest, Seokmin felt like an idiot and apologized immediately, cheeks burning and trying to come up with an excuse. His crush is as well hidden as his jealousy (that is to say, not at all), so you’re only waiting for him to finally confess.

KIM MINGYU

Another one who’s painfully obvious but he wouldn’t make a big deal of it in front of you, simply pouting and getting a lot quieter than he usually is. He will get so sulky, everytime he finds you laughing more at your best friend's jokes than at his. But he finds you so cute that he can’t stay mad at you for too long and he ends up liking the other guy because he’s obviously not mean nor annoying, Mingyu just can’t bear the thought of him snatching your attention away. And if he would of course never say a word about it to you directly, he will definitely complain about your best friend to some of his members, going on and on about why he can’t make up the fact that you like this guy more than him and that he can’t stand to hear you two joke around about things he doesn’t know about. Mingyu’s members would end up telling you to please do something about the situation because they can’t spend another two hours listening to why you should go out with him and not your best friend. He would be so shy when you address the issue with him, trying to deny it despite his red cheeks. But it’s okay because he’s very cute.

XU MINGHAO

He's pretty level-headed so it's not easy to get him to feel jealousy. And if it ever happens, Minghao knows that this emotion is not rational because firstly, you told him time and time how much you loved your relationship with your best friend and didn't want it to change, and secondly, you were not his partner - yet - so he had no right to be jealous. Of course, he doesn't doubt your intentions and what you told him, but he can't help but be suspicious about how your best friend perceives you. Because the guy looks at you the same way Minghao does : with fondness, like you were his entire world. And that was the whole problem. Because Minghao had tried to give you some hints here and there for a few months, just to test the water and you seemed not to have pushed him away so he was happy. But seeing the way you did the same thing with your bestie when you had explicitly told him you didn't have any feelings for him got him worried. Maybe you didn't really like him in the end, maybe you were just trying to be kind and not hurt him ? So rather than being jealous, he would be anxious. It's probably what would give him the little push he needed to finally confess to you.

BOO SEUNGKWAN

I think he would try - and notice how I insist on try - to stay calm and collected because from an outside point of view, there is nothing wrong going on. But from his point of view, your best friend is clearly being too touchy and Seungkwan feels jealous even if he denies it. Because the nasty looks he gives your best friend everytime he hangs out with you kinda gives it away. He’s so obvious but won’t say a word about the real reason. Seungkwan will instead pretend it’s because he doesn’t get along with your best friend and dislikes him. He can’t stop himself from making snarky remarks, or mocking him under the guise of it being a joke. And he would have continued like that if you hadn’t told him one time that you were kinda sad that he didn’t like one of the most important people in your life. Seungkwan would feel bad and make an effort to at least tolerate the guy and be a little less mean but the side eyes everytime he did or said something he found embarrassing didn’t go away. He would certainly not be able to put up with this situation for long, and after another time of him not being nice to your best friend, you would have a silly fight during which he will confess. And magically, he was all gentle and friendly to your bestie after you became his partner.

CHWE HANSOL

Hansol and you immediately clicked when you were introduced to each other, never going through the awkward stage of a friendship. So when you told him how, on the contrary, you stayed pretty long in this uncomfortable situation with your best friend before getting very close to each other, he felt kind of superior to the other guy, like his bond with you was much more real and valid. Hansol didn’t really know where all these feelings were coming from, nor why he felt so upset seeing you hug and be touchy with someone that was not him. Not that both of you were particularly physically affectionate, but you often had a hand on his arm when you talked, or you placed your head on his shoulder when you were watching a movie, or you held on to him or his jacket to not get lost when walking through crowded spaces. And Hansol thought that these moments were special, that he was special in a sense. This wouldn’t really be jealousy, but much more disappointment because he would think he read the signs wrong and start to cancel plans if he knows your best friend will be here. He would however decide to confess or at least do something to sort this problem when you told him that you were sad he was distancing himself from you.

LEE CHAN

Even if his crush on you is pretty obvious, his jealousy would not be so visible. Chan would choose to befriend your bestie instead because you know what they say : keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. So he’ll play the kind and fun guy around him, just to see how your best friend acts with you. And he’s clearly not having it, not loving at all the fact that he always touches you and tries to get closer to you. Sometimes, it even seems like you don’t even want him to touch you and swat his hands away but he always comes back pretending it’s a joke, playfully fighting. But Chan doesn’t need to be an expert in relationships to understand that this is clearly not okay, and he can’t help thinking that he would never do that to you, that he will always respect your consent. He’s also pretty sure that you have a thing for him too so he’s not going to put up with the situation for too long. Until then, he’ll subtly make comments or do things to make you understand his intentions more and to signal to your best friend that he’s not going to take you away from him anymore.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

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pearlessance · 2 months

Text

Fishnets & Old Fashioned's

Summary - Tommy Miller wants a big titty goth gf and isn't above begging on his knees to get one.

Pairing - Tommy Miller/goth!bartender!Reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, begging, dom/sub undertones, switch!Tommy and switch!Reader, tongue piercings, nipple play, dirty talk, semi-public, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, kneeling, body worship

[crossposted on AO3]

There are very few things in the world better than a nice, strong drink after a long day at work. In fact, it tended to be Tommy Miller’s favorite part of the night. That—and chatting up the prettiest girls in his favorite bar.

Tommy and Joel would often go together after a particularly rough day in the unforgiving Texas heat, and the best bar in town was the best for no reason other than the bartender. Frank was a mean, old bastard—but Christ could he mix a perfect Old Fashioned. It was exactly what Tommy craved after a day like today, where everything went wrong and nothing went right and his calloused hands were marked up with cuts and splinters.

Except Frank, apparently, wasn’t working today. And you stand in his place behind the rickety mahogany bar. A small slip of a girl, nearly half Frank’s size but somehow no less intimidating. In fact, Tommy finds himself even more intimidated by you, with your dyed hair and ripped fishnets beneath a tight, black tank top that sports the white skull of the Misfits logo.

He sits at the bar beside Joel, but his eyes never leave you. Your fingernails are painted black, thumbs sticking through the netting over your hands, and Tommy thinks you look terrifying and captivating and lethal and beautiful all at once. It’s rare to see girls like this in the deep south—girls who embody the shadows as a fashion accessory, girls who look like they may sprout horns or claws at any given moment, girls with siren eyes and fatal lips and switchblade curves.

Tommy Miller will be the first to admit that you scare him. Tommy Miller will also be the first to admit that yeah—he’d definitely let you eat his soul.

You’re mixing a cosmopolitan for some uppity lady at the other end of the bar, and he watches your nimble fingers as you place the lime garnish and slide the glass to the customer. You give her a pretty smile, and Tommy admires the crimson stain on your lips and wonders if it’s possible to seduce a succubus.

When you walk over to them, he can’t help but attempt to immediately create rapport. He doesn’t know the Misfits well but has heard their new song on the radio once. He leans in and asks, “You gotta name, vampire girl?”

You don’t laugh, but it doesn’t deter Tommy in the slightest. You brace your hands against the bar and say, “Depends on who’s askin.’”

“No one special,” he says with a casual shrug. “Just the man of your dreams.”

The cutest snort leaves your nose, and it feels like a win. “Let me guess,” you say, pointing a finger at Tommy. “Old Fashioned. And for you…” For a moment, you narrow your eyes at Joel. “Either Jack and Coke or Johnny Walker on the rocks.”

It’s like witchcraft, he thinks. Because you’re completely right and Tommy’s only ever known Joel to order a Jack and Coke—and suddenly he’s fumbling, trying desperately to turn your attention away from his brother. “How did you do that?”

“Experience,” you say. “You need a double? You look like you need a double.”

He does—but Tommy isn’t sure whether to take your words as an insult or not. He finds that he doesn’t really care either way, because you're looking at him now and he’s grinning like a madman and desire creeps up his spine as you lean over and fill a glass with ice. Tommy’s always been an ass man, swore up and down once he always would be—but holy fuck, he feels himself changing. “A double would be great, darlin’. Maybe I can get a little something on the side, too,” he says with a playful wink.

“Jesus,” Joel huffs.

You set to work on mixing their drinks—Joel’s first, and then Tommy’s. When you set his on the bar, there are two glasses—one that looks like his normal Old Fashioned, and a shot glass filled with a clear liquid. “A little something on the side,” you tell him. “You guess what it is and I won’t charge you for it. Guess wrong and it goes on your tab.”

His first instinct is to say it’s vodka—it’s still like water, completely crystalline. But when he tries to pick it up to smell it, you put a black-painted finger up.

“Nope. That’s cheating.”

“It could be anything,” he argues. “What if it’s gin and I guess vodka?”

The corners of your pretty mouth turn up into a smirk. “Is that your guess? Vodka?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, no—uhm…,” he stutters. Tommy has no goddamn idea and knows he’ll never be able to guess correctly, but you seem to be enjoying his struggle, so he flounders a bit longer than necessary.

But then you raise the stakes.

You lean forward, layered silver necklaces glittering in front of your god-blessed cleavage, and he has to try not to stare too long. He definitely stares—but not enough to be weird about it. “Guess correctly and I’ll give you my number, casanova.”

It feels a little like gambling. Tommy knows he has a way with women, knows a flash of his dimples and a little southern charm goes a long way around here. But something tells him it’s just not gonna work with you, and he wants you so badly that he’s willing to make himself look like a fool if that’s what it takes. “How long ‘til the offer expires?”

With a glance at an imaginary watch, you say, “I’m here until two. After that…who’s to say?”

Tommy sits there and watches you walk away, watches you give that pretty smile to another man who orders a shot of tequila.

When he takes a sip of his Old Fashioned, he wonders what the fuck is in it because it’s the best goddamn drink he’s ever had. Better than anything Frank has ever made him, better than any he’s gotten at that fancy bar in Houston he went to a year ago—smokey and bitter and strong and delicious.

Joel calls him stupid, says he’s insane for even looking at a girl like you, mentions how much younger you are and how you’re likely just entertaining him for tips. Tommy orders another drink anyway and promises to get a cab home when Joel insists he’s ready to leave.

The crowd dies down the longer the night stretches on, and you keep placing drinks in front of him moments after he finishes the one in his hands. Once, when you have your back turned, Tommy dips the tip of his index finger into the shot glass.

But before he can bring it to his lips, you’re suddenly standing right in front of him. Your hand flits across the bar and encloses around his wrist. You click your tongue and his gaze is transfixed on the flash of metal in your mouth. “Cheaters don’t get prizes,” you tell him.

Tommy watches dazedly as you bring his finger to your lips. “Cheating? I would never do something…” he loses his train of thought, because you suck the tip of his finger into your mouth, cleaning up the clear liquid, and he can feel the metal barbell pierced through your tongue. It sends a jolt of electricity dancing along his spine and he wonders how it would feel against other parts of him. When you pull away slowly, Tommy clears his throat and blinks a few times before he can resume his sentence. “…I’d never do something like that,” he finishes.

Two in the morning approaches way too fast, and while it may seem a little strange that he’s sitting here all alone for so long, pondering over this clear liquid, he finds that he loves watching you move. You’ve got some kind of dark magic about you, he thinks. Men throw themselves at you, some even more so than Tommy, but you never give them half a chance. He watches as you turn those siren eyes on them and take the words right out of their mouths, watches as you state clearly and silently that while their attempts interest you, none of them ever hold you.

He thinks about the phrase god is a woman, but wonders if the devil is, too.

After the last call, Tommy remains the last person in the bar. You graciously allow him to keep seated even as you clean the sticky bar top and turn the chairs upside down and lay them on the tables. You emerge from the back room a little after two-thirty with a black backpack shaped like a bat and a ruby leather jacket. “Last chance, casanova,” you say. “Got a guess yet?”

Tommy licks his lips. “I need a hint.”

“No hints. Time’s up. Guess.”

There’s the faintest smile on your face, and Tommy hopes that even if he guesses wrong you’ll take pity on him and give him something. He gives it his best shot; “Tequila?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you lift the shot glass to your mouth and swallow half of it. You slide it to him, and even though Tommy is more of a dark liquor person, he drinks the remaining liquid and cringes at the taste. “Should’ve followed your gut instinct,” you say.

Tommy hates vodka. Even more so now than he did the morning after prom. Still, he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, come on, darlin’,” he says. “I guessed it once. That’s gotta count for something.”

Through a soft laugh, you ask, “Why are you so determined? It’s just a game.”

Because he’s spent the last three and a half hours fantasizing about what a great lay you would be. Because he knows deep in his bones that you’d do some shit that’d make a man fall in love. Because he wants to unravel your pretty mystery and drink in that hypnotic poison. Because yes—it’s just a game, but Tommy Miller is no fucking loser. “I like to win.”

You let him walk you out, even let him walk you to your car at the back of the dark lot. Don’t you know how dangerous a situation this could be? All alone with him, beneath the cover of night…he isn’t a bad man, but something tells him you wouldn’t mind it even if he was. You say goodnight, and Tommy calls a cab and fights the urge to return to the bar the following night.

He waits until the weekend, like a normal person, despite the fact that he thinks of nothing but dyed hair and silver necklaces and fishnets and tongue piercings until then. He doesn’t carpool with Joel to work Friday morning, because he has every intention of staying at the bar and playing his hand until the early morning hours again.

But before he arrives, Tommy decides to turn his charm up a little. He stops at a local florist on the way and spends probably too much time deciding on which ones you’d like best. He settles on a half dozen roses whose color reminds him of that crimson stain on your lips but stops short at the checkout. Behind the counter, a bouquet of the very same roses is set in a half-empty vase—except the petals are dark and wilted. Tommy knows immediately that those are the ones he needs.

The florist raises her eyebrows in concern when he asks specifically for the dead ones, and Tommy promises he’ll pay full price for them if that’s what it takes.

He walks out of there with a bouquet of dead roses and sits on the same stool at the bar as last week. You’re serving someone across the room, a tray of margaritas in your hand. Tommy admires your long legs, thinks fishnets look even better on your thick thighs than beneath that one Misfits top. Your leather boots shine beneath the low lighting, and he has the sick desire to be crushed beneath them. When you finish serving the group of girls in the booth and turn back to the bar, his heart races in his chest.

You make him nervous, Tommy realizes. He wants to please you, wants you to like his gift, wants you to give him that pretty smile you always give everyone else. But when you set the tray behind the counter you don’t even look up at him before you start mixing another drink. Tommy thinks about how that makes him feel, how dissatisfied he is without your attention. But then you slide an Old Fashioned over the bar and give him something even better. “You miss me or something, casanova?”

Tommy hands you the dead roses and nods. “Like hell, vampire girl. You gonna let me take you out or what?”

You inhale the sickly sweet scent of the flowers, and when you look up at him through those dark lashes all the blood in Tommy’s head rushes straight to his dick. “You don’t wanna go out with a girl like me,” you say.

He folds his arms over one another and leans across the bar. “And why’s that?”

You laugh like God, Tommy thinks. And for a second he’s lost in the sound, the cluster of clinking glass and murmured voices fading into the background of his mind. But then you give him the sweetest, most innocent smile and say, “Because I’ll break your heart.”

“So?” The question is paired with a shrug, and it comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. But Tommy, once again, is more than willing to look like a fool to have you if only for a night. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give an old man a chance. I swear I’ll make it good for you.”

“Would you now?”

He nods once. “The best date you’ll ever have.”

“You don’t even know what I like to do outside of here,” you say. It’s a reasonable concern, and a true one. But he wants to know.

You snort and shake your head when he suggests playfully, “Picnic in the cemetery?��

“Right next to dear old grandma?”

“Be the first woman I ever bring home to meet the family, baby.”

Another man at the end of the bar snaps his fingers in the air to get your attention and Tommy suddenly feels like fighting. He doesn’t, though—and reminds himself when you giggle at someone else’s joke that you’re just working, just doing your job.

Friday’s are slower than Saturdays, it seems, and by midnight the only people left in the bar are you, Tommy, and a guy in a booth half passed out. You emerge from behind the bar with your backpack slung over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna step outside for a minute. Keep me company?”

It’s the most exciting thing he’s heard all night. Tommy jumps to his feet, the bar stool scraping noisily against the sticky floor. He lifts the partition up for you to walk through. “Ladies first.”

The midnight air is cool against his skin, and he notices as he leans against the siding of the bar that you smell like cherries. Cherries with poisoned pits. You pull a little metal box from your backpack, and Tommy watches you pull out a joint, place it between your lips, and light it. He watches you inhale deeply, watches you lick your lips, watches that metal barbell in your mouth like it’ll grant him his salvation.

Tommy can’t help himself. His words spill out of his mouth. “You are so pretty,” he says.

You laugh lightheartedly and turn those siren eyes on him again and he’s weak in the knees. He takes the joint when you offer it. Tommy hasn’t smoked weed since he was twenty-one, but the taste is nice, somehow earthy and fruity at the same time, and your eyes are searing him to the bone. “Thanks,” you say softly. “You’re pretty too.”

He chuckles and passes it back to you. “Well ain't you a peach,” he says. “If I’m so pretty why don’t you let me take you out?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before you answer. And for a split second, Tommy thinks you might actually give in to him. But then you ask, “Have you ever been with a girl like me, casanova?”

No, he hasn’t, and maybe that’s a part of the appeal. All he knows is that he wants to slip his fingers underneath your black tank top and fill up his hands with your softness. He flashes you an award-winning smile and answers, “First time for everything.”

A soft snort leaves your nose. “So, no, then,” you say, the smallest bit of disappointment laced through your tone. You take another long drag from the joint and smoke swirls around your pretty hair. “Probably couldn’t even handle it.”

His mouth falls open in mock astonishment. “And how do you figure that?”

“Call it intuition,” you say. “Or experience.” Tommy takes the joint from between your fingers and his lungs ache as he inhales. Your eyes stay there, right on his mouth, even as he slowly exhales and licks his lips.

It’s right then, as he watches your siren eyes darken, that he knows he’s made a dent in that black heart of yours. Or at the very least, he knows he’s making progress. The thought excites him so much he can’t hold back his smile. “You ain’t ever experienced me though, darlin',” he says.

“You’re persistent,” you say. “I’ll give you that.”

The weed is going straight to his head, creating an airiness in his limbs. Tommy asks playfully, “What’s it gonna take to convince you? A fancy date? Maybe dinner and a movie? Maybe we’ll take a day trip to San Antonio and visit that old school gothic cathedral they have down there. You ever seen it?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “It sounds cool though. I’d probably like it.”

Tommy nudges you with his elbow. “Name the time and place and I’ll take you, vampire girl.”

“That wasn’t a yes,” you tease.

He hangs his head between his shoulders and quickly decides he’s not above a little groveling. “Come on,” he says. “Just one chance. What’s it gonna take? Name your price, baby. Want me to pick up some roadkill and set up a taxidermy date?” You let out a pretty laugh, and it feels like such a victory that he keeps going. “How about I build you a haunted house? A personal one all for you—I work in construction, you know. I could make it real nice. Ghost hunting? There’s an abandoned building just up the road, looks creepy as shit.”

You’re smiling so hard the apples of your cheeks are flushed the sweetest shade of pink. “That old apartment building? You wanna find the ghost of the maintenance man?”

Tommy shrugs. “Hey, if that’s what you wanna do, I’ll grab my wrenches for a summoning circle. Go all out for you,” he says. You shake your head, and he continues. “I mean, anything you want, I’ll do it. Sell my soul? Tell me where to sign. I gotta pen in my back pocket. You wanna drink my blood?” He pats the side of his neck, right above his jugular vein. You let out another laugh, and it brings so much joy to him that Tommy can’t help but laugh with you. “I’m all yours. Swear it. You want me to beg on my knees?”

“Now there’s an idea,” you say through your giggles.

And he knows it’s a joke, knows you’re not serious, and maybe it’s the weed making him feel so carefree and blithe but he fucking does it. In the front of the bar, where anyone could pull in and see him, Tommy Miller drops to his knees in front of you and places his warm, calloused hands on the back of your fishnet covered thighs. Your skin is so soft, he thinks, and he has to fight against the urge to lean forward and bite the supple flesh. Instead, he looks up at you through his lashes, noting the way your laughter stops and your breath stutters. And because his inhibition has been shattered by his need for you, he says lowly, “Is this what you want, sweetheart? You want me to beg for it?”

He watches your tongue dart out to wet your lips and swallows the low groan at the back of his throat. “Maybe,” you say, breathless.

Tommy leans forward, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a wet kiss to the soft flesh of your thigh. He can’t resist his smile when he feels goosebumps break out across your skin, and so he does it again. This time his lips are much greedier, much closer to the inside of your thighs, and he daringly decides to taste you. He can feel the rough edges of your fishnets across the flat of his tongue and wonders how he’s gone thirty years of his life without ever dating a goth girl, wonders how he’ll ever go back. He wonders how the fuck you’re so magnetic, how just existing this close to you makes his cock throb in his jeans.

His mouth nears the edge of your black denim shorts. Tommy expects you to stop him, expects you to laugh or shove him away. But you don’t. You instead slide pointy, black painted fingernails through the thick curls of his hair. Your touch is gentle, and lazy — such a contradiction to his desperate movements.

“Let me take you out,” he says. “I can make you feel so good, sweetheart.” And to prove his point, he does the one thing he’s wanted to this whole time; Tommy Miller softly bites the inside of your thigh, delighting in your sharp inhale. He kisses the sting away, tasting you again, taking your scent deep into his lungs. He wants to devour you, he thinks. He wants you to devour him. “Please,” he pleads, sliding his hands upwards to rest on the decadent curve of your ass.

Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling at the dark curls lightly. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say. There’s a too-long pause, and Tommy’s grinning like a hopeful idiot, and then you tilt your head and whisper, “No.”

He lets out an exasperated breath and presses his forehead against your abdomen. He can feel his cheeks warm from embarrassment, but then he looks up at you again and the mischievous glint in your pretty eyes makes the chagrin worth it. “Goddamn, girl,” he says. “You are mean.”

There’s no argument to be had from you, but your siren eyes stay fixed on him even as he stands from his knees and Tommy swears that dark desire still lingers in them. Especially when he straightens to his full height, towering over you, and places both palms against the brick wall of the bar. He cages you in, and you’re trapped, and more than ever before Tommy thinks he sees that demeanor falter. “Just a little bit,” you reply.

“Wanna know somethin’?” He leans his head down, presses a kiss into your hair, and says, “I can take it.”

You take your crimson stained lip between your teeth, biting so hard the matte color smudges the smallest bit. Tommy knows he’s getting to you, he can see it. But you still resist him and say with a shake of your head, “Break’s over.”

He lingers at the bar until close and asks one more time as he walks you to your car if you’ll go out with him. Still, you say no again and as he’s laying in bed that night, Tommy Miller decides to cut his losses. He still wants you — Christ he wants you, but he’s not willing to beg anymore. He’d done all he could do, and he doesn’t want to make your workday miserable. He doesn’t want to be one of those guys.

Still, when he comes back for a drink with Joel after work on Tuesday, he can’t hide his disappointment when he sees Frank standing behind the counter. They talk about you, though, when Joel tells Frank that Tommy ‘has it real bad for that scary chick.’

They go to a different bar that weekend instead of their usual. Tommy still has fun though, and chats up a pretty blonde girl who’s real nice to him. He doesn’t have to beg her on her knees, and it’s a nice change of pace. She even kisses him and moans into his mouth when he grabs a handful of her ass.

Except she’s got glossy pink lips, and her legs are bare beneath her white, pleated skirt, and Tommy wants the feel of fishnets in his hands. He wants the softness of your body, wants the warmth and the curves and the fucking chase. He wants to work for it.

She offers, but Tommy doesn’t go home with her. Instead, he sleeps alone in his bed. And the next night after work, he goes to see his very favorite bartender.

He walks in alone—Joel’s at home, helping Sarah with some art project—and it’s still early in the evening, but the bar is packed full of people. Tommy catches a glimpse of those fishnets that haunt his every thought, and watches you bend over to pick up straw wrappers from one of the booths. His usual seat at the bar is taken by some college kid, so Tommy sits at the very end.

Immediately, he can tell your nerves are shot. It must be overwhelming, he thinks, to be the only person working on a night like tonight. So when you walk past him, smelling of poisoned cherries, he snakes a hand out and wraps his fingers delicately around your wrist. You startle at first, but your whole body deflates when you see him. “Oh, thank God,” you say. “Come help me.”

Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He stands to his feet and lets you tug him back to a room with a padlock on it. While your fidgety fingers work in the code, he asks, “What’s the occasion?”

“Beginning of summer break,” you answer with a sigh. “And word got out about our new buy one get one deal on specialty drinks. It’s been busy all day.” The lock clicks and the door swings open. You flip the light switch and point to one of the three kegs beneath the shelves of sealed liquor bottles. “I can’t lift it,” you say. “And the one out there is empty.”

With a curt nod, he lifts the keg easily — it’s not any heavier than the steel beams he’s been carrying around at work. But he still sees the way your shoulders sag in relief, and tries his damndest to keep his eyes away from your low cut top. It’s a failed attempt, but Tommy thinks it’s gotta count for something. “Where d’you want it?”

The corners of your mouth turn up just slightly, and he can hear the innuendo on the tip of your tongue, but you never say it out loud. You just tilt your head, and Tommy follows you behind the bar to help you replace the empty keg. When he lifts up the partition to let himself through, you stop him with a hand around his bicep. “You’re staying a while, aren’t you?”

It hadn’t been the plan, truthfully. Tommy had just wanted one of those perfect Old Fashioned’s and to resign himself for the night. But your eyes are wide, and your dyed hair is pulled into a disheveled pointy tail, and the fishnets underneath your shorts have sequins on them, and you’re just too goddamn pretty. So he touches the tip of your nose and says, “Anything for you, vampire girl.”

Your answering smile is worth sitting in all this chaotic energy, Tommy thinks. It reaches those bright eyes made up with all that black and silver eyeshadow. “I’ll buy your drinks,” you say. “As payment.”

He nods, even though he pulls up the calculator on his phone to keep track of his drinks tonight and decides to put the cash into the tip jar the moment you’re not looking. Tommy settles into his stool and watches you flit around the room, watches you take orders and make fancy drinks and uncap beers. It’s so busy, but you’re juggling it all impeccably and he finds it admirable.

Somehow, even with the mass of people, you never fail to place another drink in front of him the moment he finishes one. You thank him way too many times, explain that having him here just in case is comforting, and Tommy’s glad to hear it. He keeps his comments and those dirty thoughts to himself, even though they push behind his teeth, sitting on the tip of his tongue. He and his whiskey and orange peel are perfectly content to sit in the corner and eye fuck the bartender, thank you very much.

He has to replace the keg one more time, it’s that busy, but he doesn’t mind it at all. Especially when you bend over to pick up a case of some hoppy IPA before he can grab the keg. There’s next to no room in the closet, and your ass is less than a hand’s width away from his jeans, and he has to close his fucking eyes. He wants to ogle you, goddamn does he want to—but Tommy Miller knows himself. Knows that if he starts looking, he’ll want to touch, and if he starts touching, he’ll want to fuck.

So he clenches his eyes shut tight and follows your orders. The night dies down slowly, and when you make the last call and start taking dishes to the back room, Tommy wipes the peanut shell dust from his fingers and holds his hand out to you.

At first, you stare at it, confused. And then when he points to the white rag in your hands you shake your head and say, “No. That’s like, illegal, isn’t it? Working for free?”

“It’s hardly free, darlin’. Give it here.” He reaches for it again and nearly loses his train of thought when you bite your bottom lip in contemplation.

But then you nod, and hand him the cotton towel, and watch him for just a moment as he turns and starts wiping down the empty tables. He creates a pile of watered down, half empty glasses on the bar, saving you an extra trip, and turns the chairs upside down when he’s finished. Everyone slowly filters out, and when you emerge from the back again the bar is empty save for Tommy and all your tables are bussed and clean.

He’s sitting at the bar, finishing his last drink, and your shoulders sag in relief that the night has finally, finally come to a close. He sits in silence as you count out the register and take the extra cash to the back room. When you start counting out your tips, you split it and push half to Tommy. “Here,” you say. “For all your help. I made more than I planned for, anyway.”

“I didn’t earn those,” he says, pushing it back toward you. “Keep it.” And he means it—he truly, truly does. Tommy would like to think he’d do it for just anyone, which is partially true. That southern charm is deeply rooted in him. But you’re…you, and apart from the fact that he wants to fuck your brains out, Tommy Miller also just straight up likes you. You’re funny, and kind hearted when you’re not putting on that mean-girl front. He can tell you’re good. And it makes him feel good, helping when he can.

But despite all that, he’s still Tommy fucking Miller. And he does, very much, want to fuck you. So he crosses his arms across the bar, leans in close and whispers, “You can repay me another way.”

A cute little snort leaves your nose, and you laugh and shake your head, but you don’t reject him. “Oh, yeah? And how’s that?”

“Guess,” he prods.

You narrow your eyes slightly, and Tommy can see the outline of that silver barbell pushing against the inside of your cheek. “A date?”

His mouth pops open in mock astonishment. “Oh, my my! I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” You’re laughing, and Tommy’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and he wonders when the last time was when he felt excited about a date. A date with no promise of sex, just a simple, clean date. He takes your hands in his and presses a kiss to each of your knuckles. “Yes, of course I’ll go on a date with you, vampire girl.”

Your giggles die down, and the silence is comfortable but..heavy. He can tell something’s weighing on you, and he wants nothing more than to grant you ease.

“What is it, baby?”

Those pretty eyes of yours flicker down to his hands, calloused and rough and huge around yours. “Seriously,” you finally say. “Thank you for all your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “No big deal,” he says. “Really. Should be a crime to not help a pretty girl in need.”

The corners of your lips turn up into a smirk, and he can see that you’re fighting it, but the joy is so plain on your face. You pull your hands from his and say, “Let me grab my bag. You can walk me to my car.”

Tommy nods once. “Yes ma’am.” He waits patiently for you to grab your things, and after you guys leave and you lock the door he tosses his arm around your shoulders. “You don’t work on Tuesday’s or somethin’?”

You stop in front of your car—black, and shiny, and he can see through the windshield that you have a glittering bat-shaped air freshener hung around the mirror. “You stalking me now, casanova?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just missed you is all,” he confesses. And it’s the truth, the god damn truth, and it’s so fucking weird for him to miss a girl he barely knows but here he is doing it anyway. It makes no sense that he’s had more fun watching you work than he did kissing that blonde girl last weekend. Tommy takes his arm from around your shoulder and gently takes your chin between his fingers instead, forcing you to look up at him. He notices the way your breath hitches, the way your pretty eyes are swallowed up by something dark. “That a crime?”

It’s a stark contrast, how different you look right now. All innocent and starry eyed and not at all mean. You look sweet, Tommy thinks. And he wonders if you taste that way, too. His mouth waters at the thought, and he runs his tongue along his teeth. “No,” you breathe, gaze following the movement. “N-no, just…”

“Just what? Hm?”

Your cheeks burn, and Tommy loves the pinkness against your skin, and he knows you have nothing to say. He knows you’re getting nervous. Eventually you exhale and say, “I don’t…know.”

Tommy likes that he makes you nervous. He likes you like this, all trembling fingers and honeyed eyes and sugary lips. But even more than that, he likes it when you look up at him through your lashes and softly, so fucking softly it’s barely audible, say, “You can kiss me if you want.”

He doesn’t waste a fucking second. He goes easy, at first. He presses his lips to yours firmly and discovers he’s right in his assumption of your saccharine. You taste a little like cherries and a little like moonlight and a little more like home. It reminds him of hot Texas nights under the stars, and being a little too drunk, and he kisses you deeper. Allows his tongue to swipe over your bottom lip, and you reward him with the sexiest little sound.

Your lips part for him, and Tommy is nothing if not a man starved for you, and so he drinks you in. That metal in your mouth feels even better against his tongue than he’d ever imagined. You’re so soft and his hands are on your hips and he can’t stop himself from squeezing the supple flesh, from pulling you closer, from pulling back for a wretched breath of air. “Goddamn, baby,” he grumbles, grinning from ear to ear, and then your mouth is on his neck, and his morals are somewhere on the floor.

Because he wants to do this right. For once in his life, Tommy Miller wants to take a girl out. He wants to do it real classy, too—wants to get to know you, wants to take you out to a nice dinner and tell you how beautiful you look in your fishnets, wants to take you to some uppity museum in San Antonio and show you fancy paintings and that gothic cathedral that made your eyes glitter when he mentioned it.

But your mouth is so hot, and your hands are tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck, clawing at him for reprieve. His heart is beating so fast. He swears it almost stops when the words tumble out of his mouth because he really, really does not want to ruin this. He sounds desperate because he is. “Can I touch you?”

“You are touching me,” you quip. He can feel you smile against his neck, and Tommy’s head falls back in frustration. You know that’s not what he means, but you don’t say no, and so he decides to show you.

Tommy hooks his arms around your thighs, grinning at the little gasp you make, the way you cling to him with all your might. He lays you back against the hood of your car and wraps his hand around your neck, and kisses you like he’ll never get another chance to.

And this time, you let out more than a whine. You’re moaning into his mouth, breathing fast, wrapping your legs around his waist, and pulling him in. It takes him by surprise, and Tommy laughs softly.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“No,” you immediately say, defiant. “I just know what I want.”

His heart hammers behind his ribcage. He wants to keep hearing your voice, wants to ingrain the sound of it into his skin like a tattoo. “Tell me, baby.”

The low flickering of street lights illuminates your face just enough for him to see the deep, dark flush of your cheeks. So dark it nearly matches that crimson color on your lips.

When he realizes what’s happening, Tommy shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “Don’t go all shy on me now, vampire girl. After all that talk?” He clicks his tongue and leans in close. His breath is warm against the shell of your ear. “Now, I know you can use the word no. I know you’re real good at it, too. You gonna say it now, baby?”

Despite the way his cock throbs in his jeans, pressed against your thigh, Tommy hopes you know he’s not one of those guys. He won’t do anything you don’t want him to do. He won’t even make you feel guilty for saying no, if that’s what you choose.

And when you open your mouth to speak, he half expects some smart remark to come out. Something like in your dreams or you wish. But your words are breathy and your siren eyes are wide as you whisper, “Touch me.”

His fingers curl around your neck—not squeezing, though. Tommy’s real gentle with you. “I am touching you,” he parrots.

And then you fucking beg. Literally, beg, and Tommy Miller feels like a teenage boy about to cum in his fucking pants at nothing but the word, “Please,” in your mouth.

He inhales a shaky breath, willing himself to calm the fuck down. This isn’t about him, he thinks. This is about you. It’s about showing you just how much he likes you, about proving himself a man worthy enough to touch you. And Tommy’s not sure if he is, not yet anyway, but he knows he can make you feel good.

The metal of your silver necklaces are cool against his palm. He moves his hand down your sternum slowly, over the curve of your breast, and stops just below the end of your cropped shirt. It’s black, of course, and modified—cut to shreds, really, only covering the most intimate parts of you. The fabric is soft and billowy and a size too large. He’s thankful for the extra room, though, because it makes it a little too easy to slip his hand beneath the curled edge and shove it over your breasts.

Your bra is black too, made of silky lace. Tommy takes one of your breasts in his hand, and it spills out between his fingers, and he silently confesses to himself that, yeah—he’s definitely not an ass man anymore. He leans down and presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to the flesh, and he can feel your nipple harden through the sheer lace. He hooks his thumbs beneath the band around your ribcage and pushes that up too, to join your top.

And bared to him, you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. And he tells you as much. “Such a pretty little thing,” he murmurs against your skin. Tommy holds both of your tits in his hands now, and slides his thumb over one nipple while he surges forward and takes the other into his mouth.

A shudder leaves you, and your hands fist themselves in his hair. He can feel your heartbeat against his fingertips, pace picking up when he swirls his tongue around the hardened peak. And when he bites down gently, you let out a gasp and push your hips up against his.

You don’t utter a word, but Tommy thinks suddenly he has you all figured out.

He kisses a trail to your other breast, spreading his spit lingering on the first with the pad of his thumb. He’s rougher this time, sucking harder, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin.

“Oh, God,” you moan, fingernails scratching at his scalp. “You’re so…”

The words go unfinished, because he presses a hand to the seam of your shorts and all the breath seems to leave your lungs. All the thoughts seem to leave your brain, even—and Tommy thinks you look real fucking cute right now. “So what, baby? Hm?”

You’re shivering, wiggling your hips to generate some kind of friction, but Tommy doesn’t give it.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Use those words of yours. I know you can.”

“Surprising,” you admit. But he takes it as a good kind of surprise because you're pretty putty in his hands.

Tommy undoes the button of your denim shorts. He hooks one arm around your hips and jerks you down the hood of your car. “This what you want, pretty girl? Don’t want me to ask for it. You want me to take it. S’that it?”

You don’t answer, but he knows. He knows. Tommy unzips your shorts real slow. And he’s a little surprised to see that beneath all that black exterior, you’ve got baby pink panties on. Not crimson, not seductress red—pink. And they’re the sweetest things he’s ever seen. He trails his fingers along the edge and watches you squirm. “Please,” you say, begging again. Begging for him. “Touch me. I need you t-to, right now. Please.”

He slips his hand beneath your shorts, beneath your fishnet stockings and the pink cotton. And what he finds surprises him. “Aw,” he cooes, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Guess you really do need me, huh? You’re so wet, baby.” He runs the tip of his middle finger through your slit, exploring you, memorizing, gathering your slick and bringing it upwards. When he circles your clit, he laughs at the way your back arches off the hood of the car.

“Oh, fuck—yes,” you tell him. “Right there.”

Tommy presses harder, begins to move his fingertip faster. “Here, baby?”

You’re nodding, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes, fuck, yes yes—mmh.”

He closes his mouth around your nipple again, using his free hand to keep your legs spread as far apart as possible. When he snakes his finger down and presses it into your sweet pussy, it takes a significant amount of strength to keep your legs open. You fight him, and your moans echo in the empty parking lot. Tommy is only vaguely aware of the passing cars on the freeway, and finds himself thankful you parked in the back of the open space. “Feels good, hm?”

“So fucking—mm—so fucking good,” you say. The praise is enough to convince him to slide another finger in, and it’s met with a pretty moan of approval.

His cock has never been this hard, Tommy thinks. It’s pressed against your thigh still, and every one of your little movements makes it worse. It makes him near delirious. He wants to bury himself inside of you but knows to save it for later. When he knows more about you, when he knows what it looks like when you cum. He’s got his fingers hooked upwards, caressing that sweet, soft spot, and his pace is unforgiving. He wishes your shorts weren’t in the way, but he does what he can with the clearance you’ve granted him. “Dirty little thing,” he says. “Wanna be touched so bad you spread your legs out in the open.”

Your nails are sharp, leaving indentations at the back of his neck. It only spurs him on more, that little bit of agony. “Don’t stop,” you tell him. “Don’t stop, please—yes—oh God.”

Tommy presses his thumb against your clit, sliding it through your dripping pussy with each rough thrust of his fingers. He can feel you squeezing around them, sucking him in even deeper. “There you go, baby,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw. “You gonna cum for me? Hm? Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet.”

When your legs start to tremble, Tommy keeps his pace steady. He wants to tip you over that edge, wants to see the way you look when he makes you feel this fucking good. He leans back, breath coming fast, and admires how absolutely fucked out your look. Mouth hanging open, moaning his name, brows knitted together in concentration. Your hands bury themselves in his flannel, desperate for a tether to keep you grounded. Tommy grins, hand on your thigh leaving to instead wrap around your neck.

“Such a pretty girl,” he says through his smile. “You look so good when you fuckin’ behave, sweetheart.”

Your back arches off the hood of the car and your knuckles turn white in his shirt. “Oh, fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, I know. Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers—yeah, just like that.” Wetness flood between your legs, filling his palm, and it’s so fucking hot that Tommy moans in response. “Yeah, there you go,” he says, cock throbbing in his jeans. “Good girl, such a good fuckin girl, baby.”

It’s even better than he imagined; you look ethereal. He traces the arch of your body with his hand around your neck, moving it down the slope between your breasts, between your ribs, down to your hips. You fit so perfectly in his hands he starts to wonder if you were tailor-made for them.

When your fingers loosen and fall away from his flannel and your breaths begin to slow, only then does he slip his fingers out of you. He caresses your pusy in his hand, chuckling darkly when he slides over your clit and you let out a sharp gasp, thighs clamping closed around his hips at the sensitivity. When he finally pulls his hand from your denim shorts, his fingers come away glossy and covered in your slick.

Tommy locks eyes with you, raises his hand to his mouth and moans as the heady taste blossoms across his tongue. “Mmm. Better than bourbon,” he says through a low laugh. He licks his fingers clean, and you watch with rapt attention.

He takes a step back, adjusts himself, and holds his hand out for you to take. You let him pull you upwards, off the hood of the car, and he can feel your siren eyes on him as he pulls your bra and t-shirt back into place and buttons your jeans. Your legs are still shaking the smallest bit, and it feels like a victory. “Uhm…thanks. Again,” you say.

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Turn around,” he orders. He’s a little surprised with how quickly you obey, as if any defiance that once existed within you had been snuffed out the moment he existed within you. Tommy watches your shoulders shake with anticipation, but all he does is pull your cell phone from your back pocket.

He calls himself, saves your phone number under 🦇🖤Vampire Girl🖤🦇, and tucks the device back into your pocket.

“Tuesday at ten,” he says, gathering your hair in one hand and laying it over your shoulder. He leans down, lips less than an inch from your throat. “Let me know where to pick you up.”

You nod softly. “Uhm, I—uh…yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Tommy kisses your jaw and leaves without another word, feeling like a goddamn king.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

#ao3 fanfic #pearlessance #ao3 writer #joel tlou #tommy tlou #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller smut #smut #x reader #reader insert #bd/sm switch

146 notes · View notes

rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧’, 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧’

It was only meant to be a visit — to get to know them better, learn of their dynamic and learn just how you would fit in. They, however, had other ideas.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ༄ Fireman!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader x Fireman!Steve Rogers

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ༄ 5.2k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ༄ Fluff, aftercare ჻჻჻ SMUT: Oral (F + M receiving), fingering, protected piv, mutiple orgasms, denied orgasm, dom/sub/switch dynamics ჻჻჻ KINKS: Dirty talk, praise, voyeurism, exhibitionism, degredation, dumbification, objectification

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ༄ Look at those warnings, huh? Yeah, have fun folks. ✌ ༄ A very special thank you to my love, @duckybarnes1917's for your help and encouragement when I pitched this idea to you.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ༄ Eat Your Young by Hozier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ༄ @sgt-seabass

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ༄ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟰 — First Responder AU — Masterlist

𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been only a few days since that encounter at the station.

Embers had settled like lead weights in your stomach, lighting up your nerves with a mere spark – more often than not it was their text tone, or the sound of their honeyed voices on a call that was the culprit and soul cause, and the bastards knew it, too.

Very little deliberation was needed to come to your decision. An inane part of you, perhaps closer to the surface than you cared to admit, nor acknowledge, wanted this. You wanted to be a part of what they were, you wanted to feel the warmth of the love they could give, and… many other things.

Before that thought could dig its claws too deep, the open roller doors of the station came into view, and you took a deep breath as you walked up the driveway. Steve and Bucky had asked you to pop in for a visit, and they had offered to take you home when their shift ended – naturally, you had been apprehensive about just whose home you’d be returning to.

“There she is!” Steve called, making his way down the driveway with Bucky peeking around the doorway with a bright smile. “Hey there, sweetheart,” Steve said, glancing you up and down – and the action didn’t leave your skin crawling as you had felt all too many times before with other men, rather, you felt shy. “How’re you doing?”

“Good– I’m good, Stevie,” you replied, happily accepting his hug.

“Hey! Nuh-uh,” Bucky rushed, jogging over, a full pout on his lips. “My turn.” Steve laughed and let you go, only for you to be swept into Bucky’s arms and off your feet. “She’s mine now, punk,” Bucky called, carrying you as he stalked into the station, ignorant of your breathless laugh and pleas to be let down. “Shouldn’t have let her go.”

“Let me down, Buck,” you laughed, hitting his shoulder with your hand and holding around the back of his neck for dear life with the other. “Please!”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky soothed, and he set you gently down on your feet. “There you go. Now, we’re cutting our shift short because Nat and Peter were gracious enough to come in an hour early.”

“Bless ‘em,” Steve cut in. “So, we can head home, decompress and relax, y’know.” The not-so-subtle wink and sly smirk gracing Steve’s handsome features only caused the inferno to ignite.

Before you could reply, Bucky shoved him towards the locker room. “Get a move on then.”

Steve left with a salute and that left Bucky and you standing beside a parked fire truck. You went to open your mouth to speak, but a quiet yipping noise stalled the cogs in your mind, and you stared at Bucky with wide eyes. “Was that a dog?”

The sheepish shrug and shy smile that grew on his lips made him look so much younger – a boy caught red handed with his hand in the cookie jar. “Yeah… surprise?”

“You have a dog?”

Bucky went to open his mouth when the door leading to the office opened abruptly, and Peter appeared. “Oh, hey! It’s good to see you- whoa!”

You watched in awe as Peter stumbled, pushed to the side by two fast blurs darting out from behind his feet. They were small, but fast and over excited, the exact embodiment of what a puppy–puppies, would be. “You have puppies!”

“Yeah, yeah- Captain, no! Sit,” Bucky commanded, and you watched as the most excited of the two fell back from scrambling up your knees to his back legs in a perfect, fluid movement. You crouched down to be level with the two black and white – Dalmatian – puppies, cooing at them quietly. The smaller and calmer of the two stared up at you through bright blue eyes curiously, a slight tilt to their head.

“Who are these precious babies?” You asked, offering a hand to them so they could sniff. “They’re adorable.”

Bucky groaned as he kneeled down. “‘M gettin’ too old for this shit,” he joked, and you chuckled.

“You’re ageing like a fine wine, Buck,” you replied before you thought better of it, and your eyes widened. Shit, you silently cursed.

“Why thank you, honey,” Bucky purred. Fuck. “Anyway,” he continued, pointing at the larger of the two puppies. “This is Captain, he’s Stevie’s boy.” You cooed at Captain and he whined quietly, wiggling with excitement. “And this,” Bucky pointed at the smaller puppy, a soft smile on his lips and eyes bright with love, “is Cleo. She’s my little girl.”

“I love them so much,” you gushed, not realising how Bucky’s gaze that held so much adoration and softness for his little Cleo, to you. “How old are they?”

“Old enough to be terrors,” Steve said above you and you jumped. “We goin’ home?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, getting to his feet with a huff. “You ready, doll?”

You nodded and scratched behind Captain and Cleo’s ears. “Do they stay here, or-”

“No,” Steve laughed, smiling fondly down at the two puppies. “C’mon guys, home time.” Like a scene from a Disney movie, the two bounding balls of energy ran after Steve as he walked out of the station, presumably towards their car.

The jingling of keys pulled you from the sight of Steve’s broad back and you looked over at Bucky to see him already staring at you, a brow raised and an arrogant smirk plastered on his lips. “Quit ooglin’ my husband, honey,” he said, his voice low. “A fella might get the idea you want him more.”

You had the sense to roll your eyes at his dramatic ways, and he laughed as he slung an arm over your shoulder. His grin was contagious and you couldn’t help but mimic it as he walked you out the door, pointing the set of keys to a huge pick-up truck. “Let’s go home, hey?”

The drive home was sat in comfortable silence, interrupted by bouts of banter and the barking yips of overexcited puppies. Before long, Bucky pulled the truck into the driveway of a modest home reminiscent of a brownstone flat – the yard was small but tidy, and there was a two-car garage attached to the side.

“Alright,” Steve said around a yawn. The puppies in his lap shifted and whined restlessly. “Welcome to our humble abode, sweetheart.”

“It’s gorgeous.”

Bucky made a small noise of contentment and slid out the driver's seat, while you shifted and followed Steve off the bench seat and out the passenger door. The puppies ran onto the yard and jumped over one another, making you giggle at their antics.

You could hear Bucky moving around the front of the truck and you went to look over your shoulder at him, only to jump and gasp in fright as Steve’s hand – callused and warm, grabbed your own and threaded his fingers through yours. “Easy, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, tightening his grip. “C’mon, come inside.”

With little choice, but with no hesitation, you followed Steve as he followed Bucky to the front door of their home. “Captain, Cleo– here,” Bucky called, and the two puppies ran between the gaps and through the doorway. “Bring our girl in, punk,” Bucky goaded, watching Steve as he stood in the doorway, still holding your hand and staring at you with an unreadable expression – Bucky’s voice seemed to wake him from his trance and he pulled you inside.

The fact that Bucky moved to stand right behind you as soon as you walked through the threshold of their home, sent a chill of something up your spine and that pit of embers to become a sparking heap again.

“D’you want something to drink, darlin’?” Steve asked. The endearment made your eyes widen only slightly and you recovered just in time to ask for some water – just.

Captain and Cleo moved to settle on a giant dog bed in the living room beside the open doorway, and Bucky put a hand on your lower back, urging you forward into the cosy room and towards a couch. “Make yourself at home.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, taking a seat between three giant pillows. Opting for comfort in this new environment and in the presence of these two Gods among men, you grabbed one and leant it on your knees, hugging it to your chest.

You watched as Bucky toed off his boots and slipped the suspenders off his shoulders, only he caught you staring and he smirked. “You’re so adorable, honey,” Bucky cooed and you felt hot, the cinders in your stomach igniting into a dull roar. “‘M gonna go get changed, Stevie will be with you in just a second, alright?”

As if Bucky had summoned him, Steve appeared around the corner, wearing sweats and a white tank top with a glass of water in one hand, a mug filled with a steaming liquid in the other. Steve and Bucky smiled at one another, and you watched with your mouth slightly agape as Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s neck roughly and pulled him into a kiss – holy fucking shit, you cursed.

The visual was burnt into your eyelids and you took a deep breath just as they pulled apart, and Bucky departed – though not before he smacked Steve on the ass, the latter only rolling his eyes in response.

“Here you go,” Steve said, offering you the glass of water before falling onto the couch next to you. He groaned loudly and threw his head back over the back of the couch and shuffled his legs so his thighs were spread, and you couldn’t resist the urge to stare at the way his muscles moved and pulled taut to show off that damned jawline. “You stare any longer, sweetheart, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Dammit, you swore. So much for subtlety.

More to distract yourself, you took a gulp of water and placed the cup down on a coaster on the coffee table. A low huff and whine came from the dog bed next to the couch and you looked over to see Cleo already staring at you sleepily. “Such an adorable baby girl,” you cooed.

“Nope, that’s you, honey,” Bucky said suddenly and you almost squeaked – thankfully you killed the noise in your throat before you could embarrass yourself further. “I know we talk every day at this point,” he continued, flopping down on your other side, and tucking his knee up under his other thigh so he could face you. “But how are you–how have you been feeling?”

It was difficult to discern just what he was asking – was he asking about how you felt about them? About the risque and teasing texts and calls you had more often than not initiated?

“Don’t stress that pretty head of yours, honey, I meant exactly what I asked,” Bucky said quietly, and you felt Steve shift next to you, his interest obviously piqued. “How are you doing? Work, all that shit.”

“Oh,” you breathed, relieved. “I’ve been good, work has been busy–but I’ve been good.”

“We know,” Steve purred, his breath suddenly very hot against your neck. “Because you’re our good girl, aren’t you?”

You blanched. “What the-”

Their laughter broke the tension – deep belly laughs and wide grins, though when you looked at Steve, his grin had something else teasing, wolfish, and you found you liked it.

“I would say I’m sorry,” Steve tried, grinning and flicking his gaze between Bucky and your deer-in-headlights-esque shock. “But I’m really not.”

“You fuckin’ menace, Stevie,” Bucky chuckled. “Leave ‘er alone!”

“What the hell was that?” You demanded, a grin teasing your own lips. In no way were you mad, though you were shocked with the visceral reaction to those simple words had on you – you knew you liked it, but that much?

You were doomed.

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Steve sighed, still grinning, though he eyed you like a wolf who had cornered his prey. The air became thin and you felt Bucky shifting closer – the tension in the room crescendoed and your breath hitched as they fell silent, the heat of their combined gazes almost too much to bear.

“Sweetheart,” Steve started, his voice low, tentative; an unspoken hesitance. “We brought you home to get to know you, and we are going to get to know you, just as you would get to know us, but,” he leant forward and time stopped – Steve was in your space, unyielding and determined to be heard. “Do you want this?”

“This?” You echoed breathlessly, only to end on a gasp when Bucky’s hand moved to your neck – no pressure exerted, no sense of danger, but a promise and an intention that stole your breath completely. You could feel Bucky’s thumb brushing soothingly against the side of your neck, but it only sent your head spinning.

Damn him for listening when you let slip you had enjoyed the thought of his or Steve’s hand around your throat.

“Listen to Stevie, honey,” Bucky said, his tone firm and insistent.

“You call the shots here,” Steve continued, though his gaze flickered from Bucky’s hand to your face. “But, to be honest, I want this–so does Buck, don’t you?”

“More than you can imagine,” Bucky growled. “What d’you say, doll?”

Blood pounded in your ears and you gulped, the movement against his hand made Bucky exhale heavily. “Yeah–Yeah I want this, I want it-”

“You tell us to stop if you need us to,” Steve commanded, watching only you and you met his gaze. “Understood?”

“Understood,” you answered.

The wolves pounced. Bucky tightened his grip on the sides of your neck while his other hand went to your hair, gripping it and pulling gently so your face was tilted up, where Steve claimed your mouth – his kiss was surprisingly soft, gentle from what you had expected.

“Bedroom, now,” Bucky rasped, and Steve pulled back, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Steve growled, his voice just as raspy as Bucky’s – like your admission and want for this had turned them feral. They pulled you to your feet and you gasped with the rush. “Jump, darlin’,” Steve demanded, and hazy as you felt, you did as you were told; only for the ground to become suddenly very far away. “Atta girl.”

Steve was carrying you – he was carrying you, and Bucky’s hand was insistently groping at Steve’s ass as he carried you down a hallway. “How are you-”

“Firefighter, honey,” Bucky drawled while he kicked the bedroom door shut with his foot. Steve placed you gently down on the bed and stood up, and when Steve moved to shuck down his sweats, Bucky whined, his hands flying forward and gripping Steve’s shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss – teeth and tongue clashing like they were going to consume one another.

Bucky pulled back only far enough to pull down Steve’s sweats, boxers included. “Mine, don’t do my job, Stevie- Fuck,” Bucky breathed, rushing to literally tear at Steve’s tank top with ease.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, and the two turned their heads to look at you – Steve’s expression heightened with a smug smirk, while Bucky looked at you through hooded eyes and a wolfish grin.

“She’s pretty, ain’t she, Stevie?” Bucky said through his teeth, his gaze flashing dangerously. “I wan’ her.”

“Go to her, baby,” Steve ordered. The tone sent your stomach into a fit and the inferno spread like wildfire through your every last nerve – the intensity sending a rush of vertigo and you found yourself reaching out, desperate to touch. “Go on, you don’t stop until she comes, understood?”

Heaven above, you wondered if you could come alone from those words.

“C’mere,” Bucky said, pulling you to your feet. With just as much ease as he had torn–undressed Steve, Bucky left you standing bare for only a solitary second before he pulled you onto the bed with a low, rumbling growl. The pillows were soft under your head and you sighed happily as Bucky settled his boxer-clad hips between your spread thighs. “You alright, honey?”

“I’m great,” you grinned, and Bucky laughed before he surged forward, marking the column of your throat with expert precision until your eyes fluttered closed. “Bucky, please-”

“Please what, sweetheart?” Steve asked, hovering by the head of the bed before he reached over and fisted Bucky’s hair, pulling back harshly. The moan that left Bucky’s lips made your breath stutter. “What do you want? Tell us.”

Bucky moved and tilted his head down, and whether it was a help or a hindrance, his clothed cock rubbed insistently against your clit and you moaned. “Be a good girl for us, honey,” he whispered, and he dropped to his elbows, caging you against him.

“Please, please, I- I need to-”

“You want to come, is that it, darlin’?” Steve pondered. His gaze suddenly pinned Bucky in place, a realisation behind his flickered aggression. “Buck, baby, you didn’t do as you were told.”

Bucky froze before he lowered his head against your neck, mouthing at it while moving his hips against your heat torturously slow. “‘M gettin’ to it, Stevie,” he replied, his breath hot against your neck and suddenly, he started sucking in earnest – the sharp, intense feeling forcing a choked moan from you.

“Get to it faster, then,” Steve admonished. You could sense the eye roll Bucky hid by the curtain of his hair, but he still moved down your body, mouthing at your skin and leaving a trail of heat that culminated between your hips – unbearably so.

You watched, your breath hitching, while Bucky moved your legs either side of his head so your thighs rested on his broad, muscled, and tattooed shoulders. “Oh, god-” You tried, only for your breath to stutter and falter at the first broad lick of Bucky’s tongue against your clit. “Fuck!”

“Go on, baby,” Steve muttered, watching Bucky as he nestled closer. “Fuck her with your tongue.”

The feeling was indescribable – the pull of Bucky’s mouth and the warmth and pressure of his tongue insistently drawing patterns just as pretty as his tattoos on your clit, only to stop and move his tongue down, paying attention to your weeping cunt. You couldn’t hear his groans and moans over the roaring in your ears, though you were grounded by the soft brush of Steve’s fingers down your neck and over your shoulder.

It was short lived.

As Bucky forced his tongue to do as Steve had ordered, Steve lowered his head to suckle at a breast, his hand coming to cup your other breast and flick the hardened nub until you whimpered.

The bed began to squeak and rock and you lifted your head to see Bucky’s hips thrusting desperately against the edge. “Baby, no, you come when she does,” Steve cut in, his tone snappish and commanding. You could have sworn you felt Bucky’s whine through your entire body with how he had sucked your clit into his mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Steve purred, turning to look at you. A harsh suck from Bucky forced a hiccuped moan from your lips and you whined, fisting your hands in Bucky’s hair. “He’s makin’ you feel good, huh?”

“Y-Yeah, oh, fuck- Ah!”

“Oh, sweetheart, lookatchu,” Steve continued, ignorant of your heaving breaths and inability to hear nor compute a damn thing except for the fact Bucky was swirling and suckling at your clit like a man starved. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Bucky! Oh, fuck- Fuck!” You cried, startling at the feeling of Bucky’s fingers burying themselves deep in your cunt. “Please!”

Your pleading only spurred Bucky on, and you watched through blurred vision as Steve grinned wickedly, his gaze focused on Bucky's head shaking side to side. “You’re fuckin’ her real good, baby,” Steve breathed, and his gaze snapped towards your pleading expression. “Oh, you’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” You cried. “Steve, Steve please-”

“Bucky, baby,” Steve said, still looking at you and you did your best to stare back, to hold his gaze. “Be a good boy for me and make her come, she wants to be your good girl.”

Fire burst through every nerve and your back arched to the ceiling, your mouth opened in a silent scream, and Bucky still did not stop. “That’s it, good girl, there’s a good girl- Fuck,” Steve breathed. Waves and waves of sensations crashed against you, pulling you under, with every brush of Bucky’s fingers and tongue and every suck of his lips. He followed you as you writhed on the bed, drawing out every last second of your climax.

Bucky finally pulled back from between your thighs for breath, his chest heaving while your slick covered his lips and chin. The impish grin that split his face made you twitch and whine breathlessly, though it didn’t deter him from launching up onto the bed to claim your lips in a heated kiss.

“Baby,” Steve rushed, pulling Bucky off you and ignoring his grunt of protest. “Lie back, baby, I want your dick in my mouth.”

The promise made Bucky move almost comically quick and he rested his back against the bed head, thighs spread. “Catch your breath, honey,” Bucky whispered as Steve moved to settle between Bucky’s thighs. “We’re not done with you.”

You watched in daze as Steve pulled Bucky’s boxers down, and you revelled in the groan of pleasure that escaped Bucky as Steve swallowed him to the hilt with no preamble. “Stevie, fuck,” Bucky gasped, fisting Steve’s blond hair and holding him in place. “‘M not gonna last long, baby, fuck.”

A rush of energy pulsed through you and you got to your knees, wobbling only slightly. Bucky watched you through hooded eyes, reaching a hand out and you took it, falling against his side and pulling him into a heated kiss – swallowing his moans and cries. You hissed against his lips as his hand wandered down your back to cup and grope at the globes of your ass – his hands rough but warm.

Bucky’s hips jerked up violently and he cried out, his stomach flexing and you watched in awe as Steve worked faster. “Baby, ‘m gonna come, don’t you dare stop- Fuck!”

“Bucky,” you simpered and his gaze snapped to you – his once bright eyes blackened and eclipsed, so fucking far gone, you mused silently. “Come for me, handsome, c’mon.”

The loud shout that echoed off the walls made you grin dazedly, triumphant at wrecking the man before you like he did you. You watched as Bucky twitched and moaned, writhing weakly against Steve’s incessant sucking, his cheeks still hollowed. “Stevie- please, I can’t,” Bucky gasped, sagging in relief when Steve finally pulled off, grinning that same wicked smile.

That same smile he turned on you. “My turn.”

“Wha-” You tried, though your attempt at being coherent was marred by the fact Bucky had manhandled you into his lap, locking you in place by trapping your arms by your sides and forcing your legs open and keeping them there with his feet. The heat billowing from Bucky burned against your skin, and you wriggled, whining from the feel of his still hard cock resting against your lower back.

“Shh, honey,” Bucky cooed, resting his chin against your shoulder. Despite the rush you found your breathing slowing at his soothing tone. “I’ve gotchu, and Stevie’s gonna fuck you so good you won’t remember your own fuckin’ name, how ‘bout that?”

“Fuck,” you croaked, shivering in his hold. You could feel your cunt clench around nothing and you began to pant, as desperate to get air as you were to finally be filled with Steve’s cock.

“She’s so pretty like this, Buck, fuckin’ hell,” Steve rambled, rooting through a bedside draw before pulling free a foil packet. “Touch her for me.”

“Oh-” You shuddered, your legs jerking against Bucky’s hold as his hand wandered down your stomach.

“Be good for me, honey, my sweet doll, huh?” Bucky breathed and you whimpered. The feel of his fingers trailing so close caused goosebumps to rise in the wake of his fingers, right until they settled between your folds and circled your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve breathed, stopping his rush to just watch. “Speed it up, I think she can come once more– what d’you think, sweetheart?”

“I can’t-”

“You can,” Bucky replied. “Stevie wants to watch you come undone again, and like the good girl you are-” As he spoke, his fingers picked up their speed and you heaved for breath against the onslaught of sensation. “-You’re gonna put on a show for ‘im, aren’t you?”

“Ye-Yeah, ah! I am, I- oh,” you gasped, and with your arms trapped you could only scramble to hold Bucky’s hips, the pillows, the sheets – something, anything to ground yourself.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Steve called, though he sounded underwater – muffled and so far away. “Let go, let go for us.”

You screamed to the ceiling, shaking violently through your second climax that cleaved you like a whip, and Bucky was the only thing holding you together.

“Fuck, if she looks as pretty as she does without our cocks filling her, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled into your hair, soothing the aftershocks with gentle kisses against your temple. “Imagine how she’d look while you’re gonna fuck her.”

Steve groaned loudly in response. “Move, Buck, I need-”

You whined as Bucky slowly lowered you down his front so your hips were canted forward, and your shoulders rested against his middle, just above his stomach. “There you go, doll, easy,” he soothed, pulling your slumped head back against his chest. “You with us, honey?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice hoarse, but you grinned dopily up at them. “Don’ stop, more-”

They laughed heartily – the rumbling in Bucky’s chest soothing something deep in your mind. It was hard to form any string of thought, coherent or not.

“You’re just so fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, and you whined, chasing his lips. “No, I wanna watch you.”

If Bucky hadn’t kept hold of you, you could have sworn you had started to ascend – the stretch of Steve’s cock burned, the pain exactly what you had wanted, and you moaned loudly. “That’s it, honey,” Bucky cooed, moving a hand to squeeze your breast. “Takin’ Stevie so well, fuck.”

“Oh, god,” Steve groaned, bottoming out in your cunt and stilling. The small twitches against your walls made you whimper, though you grinned wickedly up at him, watching his bowed head until he met your gaze. “Sweetheart, what are- Shit!”

You chuckled weakly and you felt Bucky move behind you, his lips nipping at the side of your neck. “You tryin’ to make him come, huh, kitten?”

The name pulled a moan from your lips and Steve gasped, your cunt squeezing him like a vice – the once steady rhythm you had pulsing around him thrown out.

“Do that again, Buck,” Steve breathed. “She’s fuckin’ squeezing me.”

“Aw,” Bucky cooed, and you groaned when Steve started to move – far too fucking slowly. “You want Stevie to fuck you senseless? You want Steve to squirm?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied quietly.

“She’s too fucked out to form words, baby,” Bucky said to Steve, his tone biting and just the perfect amount of mockery. “I want you to fuck her– fuck her just how you want, go on.”

“Not funny, Buck,” Steve gritted out before he thrusted hard enough to jolt you up Bucky’s chest. It was like you weren’t there – a toy for them to use to rile one another up, and you fucking loved it.

“Oh, it is,” Bucky continued, shifting slightly so he could attack the other side of your neck. Your whimpers and moans were completely ignored while Steve thrusted shallowly. “You better fuck our girl senseless, baby, or I’ll have to do it myself. You don’t want that do you? You want her pussy all to yourself, you don’t want to share, do you?”

The words were a catalyst to something – the cogs of Steve’s mind finally clicking into place to reveal the wolfish greed he had harboured from the beginning. His thrusts turned brutal and every rock of his hips punched a moan from your lungs, the quickfire and brutality of each thrust driving you up Bucky’s chest.

“Please-” You gasped, scrabbling to grab hold of something and Bucky’s hip was the only thing you could find purchase on. “Please, oh, fucking- Stevie!”

“That’s it, kitten, scream for him,” Bucky purred before grabbing the back of Steve’s neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss, throwing off his rhythm. You whined loudly and Bucky pulled back, chuckling darkly. “Fuck her, Stevie, make her come.”

A low growl shook Steve’s chest, and it rattled your last sense of control. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rambled, attaching his lips to your neck, the opposite side of where Bucky was marking you with his teeth and tongue. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You clamped down tighter on his cock and your moans grew in pitch, but Steve didn’t falter. “She’s close, Stevie, good boy,” Bucky purred. Steve only moaned, shifting his knees so he could fuck you harder. You could feel Bucky’s hand moving down your stomach and a loud static filled your ears. “You wanna come for him, don’t you, kitten? You wanna be a good girl for us?”

Words failed you. Your mouth opened and closed uselessly as you felt Bucky reach your hip, though he didn’t stop. A full body shudder tore through your limbs and you keened, curling inwards as Bucky’s fingers found your much too sensitive clit with his fingers – all through Bucky’s deft touches, Steve didn’t stop his thrusts, if anything, they got harder, faster, as he chased his release.

“Come for us, honey,” Bucky whispered, his breath hot on the shell of your ear. Steve nodded desperately and whined as the start of your climax trapped him, your cunt sucking him in and not allowing him to leave. “Come for us, kitten- Good girl! Oh, lookatchu! Fuck, that’s a girl, good girl-”

You were drowning in pleasure, you couldn’t breathe – couldn’t feel anything but the deadly throes and sensations of Steve’s cock grinding against that spot and the feeling of Bucky’s breath, hot on your neck.

Slowly, you came to laying on your side, pressed between two bodies.

“There she is– hey, sweetheart,” Steve whispered in your ear. Somehow, he was holding you to his chest and Bucky was laying facing you, his eyes opening quickly at Steve’s words.

“Stevie fucked you a bit too good, honey,” Bucky chuckled, cupping your jaw and sidling closer so he could kiss your forehead. “Are you alright?” As he spoke, Steve rubbed one hand up and down your side as you shivered, squeezing you close with the other.

“‘M fine,” you said. “Wha’ happened?”

“You blacked out, doll,” Bucky explained. “It was only for a little while.”

“Awesome,” you whispered, and Steve and Bucky laughed. “Are you guys okay?”

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” Steve said – you could hear the grin in his words, and Bucky nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. “We can talk serious shit later, alright? We wanna hold you a lil’ longer.”

“I would love that,” you hummed happily and snuggled into Steve’s arms, smiling as Bucky moved even closer.

One thing was for sure, today for sure cemented the fact that you had made the right decision – now all you had to do was buckle in for the ride.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 11 months

Note

Lewd Request:

Hey I was wondering if you could do a lewd Striker x male reader, something along the lines of the festival and the main character made a bet with striker he'd beat him but they lose so Striker has his way with him. Love your stories.

A bets a bet

You weren't particularly fond of the new field hand.

Sure, the man was good at his work.

He could shoot, and hunt and ride with the best of them, but something was... off.

Nobody was that good and that proud.

Of course, you couldn't say much, he may boast like a snakeoil salesman but like you'd said, he was as capable as any worker you'd ever had, if not more so.

And while you tried to ignore the man, much to your annoyance, he seemed to take a special liking to you.

The man often 'helping' you with chores, or coming along if you had to head into town.

His favourite was teasing you.

It started with a few comments here and there, teasing if you screwed something up, or had some issue or other.

Then it became general teasing and prodding, the man loving to get a rise out of you.

Though you could often get him back, the man usually either impressed or annoyed with your come bqcks, leaving you alone for a while.

Although, after a night of drinking with some of your siblings and farmhands.

Hed be teasing you, yet again, making some snarky comment on how often you got your dick wet, and after a few too many drinks and a serious lapse in judgement, you made an off handed comment on how if he wasn't such a prick, you probably would have been all over him.

And you immediately regretted it, cause that man perked up like a Hellhorse spotting a prime-rib.

After that, Striker only became more persistent.

It was never quite forceful enough for you to get creeper out. But he was certainly persistent. The sheer number of times he'd bitten his lower lip, giving you those playful "fuck me" eyes, was more then enough to haunt your dreams.

And while he could be a total pain in the ass, he was also really useful, so you put up with it, simply rolling your eyes when he made a less then subtle comment to you.

And you totally weren't into him.

Sure he was swave and confident and Very capable, and could probably ride you like he did bombproof-

Nope! You didn't think like that. No matter haw many times.

Or think about his skills with rope.

Mind drifting off to that one time he'd managed to tie you up, man sitting on your back as he practically purred in your ear.

Nope! None of that!

But, past all the flirting, you had a formidable rivalry.

Of course you always played it off.

You didn't care if he won some stupid race or could shoot something, or won some wrestling match. What do you care, not like a single win meant anything.

Unless you won.

In which case you felt like King of the Ring, and was sure to rub it in his face.

Until you lost a match of shooting, that bastard hitting one more can then you.

It was quite the roller-coaster.

At least for humble farm life.

Having been bested one time too many, you snapped, demanding a rematch.

At that he grew a wicked grin across his tanned facad, telling you he'd agree, buuut, if he won, he wanted something.

Hesitant, you'd ask what he wanted, the man moving forwards, arm on either side of you, pinning you to a fence, telling you smugly.

"A Kiss."

You, Red faced, woukd agree, telling him it wouldn't matter cause you'd win.

And you Aaaaallllmmmoooossssttt did.

Almost being the key and only word.

Hitting the last can, but failing to knock it off.

So, Striker, all smirks, strutted up, expecting a kiss.

And so, you gave him one.

Kissing his cheek.

Striker, cocked a brow, you telling him smugly.

"You wanted a kiss. Never said where you wanted it."

You spoke casually, taking your small victory in stride.

Though unfortunately, you set a precedence with that little incident, as after this, any time you competed, Striker managed to slip a bet in there.

Though none were as bold as the first one.

Usually little things. Making you call him sir or having you follow him around for a day.

And while it they were fairly innocent, if annoying, things, there was always a heavy sexual undertone.

He never stopped chasing you, he just chose a more... passive, method.

But, after a particularly hot night, you snuck out, ending up out in a field half naked, relaxing against a fence, enjoying what little breeze there was.

Of course, Striker would appear, he too half naked, man shirtless with only his hat and Ascot, the two of you just standing there for a while, in a peaceful silence as the breeze blew across the field.

After a while he'd finally pipe up, asking if you were gonna compete in the harvest moon games.

You'd hum, telling him you probably would, before asking why.

Striker, in an odd moment of seriousness stood there, peering at you with those ringed yellow eyes, the same ones that had haunted far too many of your dreams.

The man, turning to you, would ask if you wanna make a bet on it.

You, swallowing, would nod, telling him. 'Sure.'

So, getting off his fence, he walked over and in a surprising display of boldness would pin you to the fence, voice low, shimmer of his tail ringing out.

He wanted you.

He was sick of the games, the little bets, your 'rivalry', he was going all in, he wanted you.

So, if he won, he wanted you.

Standing there, chest to chest, the man peering intently into your eye.

You, red faced, blood rushing to the one place you didn't need it, would stand there.

And well, call it a weak will or your will being chipped away after so many months, or perhaps a large part of you wanted this all along, you agreed, telling him yes, may the best man win.

To which Striker smirked, chest to naked chest, leaning in and breathing hot in your ear.

"Don't worry... I will~"

And so, the next few days zipped by in the blink of the eye.

You didn't see Striker much, and when you did he usually just smirked, eyeing you in a fashion that always left you red faced, pants suddenly tightening.

And so, the day finally arrived. You and the family loading into the truck and rolling into town, Striker riding Bombproof besides you, the man giving you an occasion glance, you pretending you hadn't been staring.

The town was lively, and all the townsfolk were a flurry of activity, preparing to either join or enjoy the games.

You prepared as well, limbering, stretching, just getting ready.

Striker however, just stood there, leaning against a fencing, man chewing on a wheat stalk. The man occasionally glancing back at you.

You didn't say anything to him, not willing to let him mess with your mind any more.

Eventually, you got to the games.

You excelled.

As did Striked.

Both of you far surpassing the regular saps that participated.

You were faster, but Striker was more nimble.

Not evenly matched, but you certainly pushed yourself.

You both put in your best show, and it was a close fight, you working harder then you'd ever worked before, really pushing yourself to your limit.

And after pulling, jumping, running and wrestling. You fought, and bit, there being more than a few fatalities from each of you.

It was a tie!

Nah, Striker won.

Some asshole had just miscounted your score.

Striker won.

And hearing that, you just stood there.

It took a minute to sink in, and while you realised just what happened, Striker seemed to relish the news, bathing in the crowds applause.

A flurry of emotion hit you, your head seemingly spinning. But the most concerning part of it all was you weren't... you weren't upset.

You were a little annoyed, angry even at losing, but that felt more like being upset at losing the games.

Not the bet.

Striker, surprising you, didn't come up and boast. Instead he joined the crowd of adoring fans, the lot of them all heading off to celebrate.

So, knowing the fate before you, you joined, snatching a comedically large jug with 4 large Xs on the side, drinking at your pleasure.

Eventually you'd end up in the town bar, sipping your drink, you and Striker staring at each other from across the bar.

You refused to make the first move, yet as the minutes ticked by, you became restless, constantly looking back at the man.

The cowboy simply standing there, peering at you with that seductive little smile, sipping his own drink, seemingly content in his position.

You eventually grew tired of the waiting, and shotgunning your drink, you stormed over to the snake.

Of course, he wore that Victorious smirk of his, standing there as you approached.

You scowled, storming up to him, stopping just before him.

The man smiled, popping an olive into his mouth, giving you a royal shit eating grin.

You snorted, simply standing there.

You told him bluntly to get on with it then!

Striker just smirked, looking you over, the fucking snake was relishing this.

After a few minutes, he asked what ever could you mean? And so, snapping at him that he was an Ass, you grabbed the man, dragging the him upstairs.

Striker just went along with it, smirking as he finshed his drink, discarding the bottle as he stumbled upstairs.

Reaching some bedroom, you didn't care who's it was, you dragged the man towards the bed.

But before you could throw him onto it, he suddenly whipped out of your grasp, the man slipping his neckerchief and seamlessly binding your hands with them, tying them behind your back before throwing you onto the bed.

The man, slipping his jacket off, working on his shirt as his tail slammed the door shut, his eyes the only thing visible, that and his golden tooth as he smirked a victors smirk.

You lay there, red faced, drunk and extremely aroused as the man climbed atop you, the clink of his belt being undone and the shimmer of his tail filling the air as he lean, the snake getting close, alcohol ladened breath on your neck as he growlwd out.

"Don't worry darlin', I'll make sure you enjoy this as much as I will~"

The man purring before he bit your neck, forcing a lewd moan from your lips.

•••

You awoke the next morning a mess.

You were sore.

You had more bite marks and hand shaped bruises on your ass then you cared to count.

Your hair was a total mess, clothes in tatters after being practically torn off you by the snake, and you were still recovering physically and mentally from everything that happened the night before.

You hissed as Bombproof bumped upwards, you clinging to Striker, the man being your only ride back to the homestead as your family had left the night before.

You didn't say anything, neither did Striker, though, the snake didn't need too.

The man simply wore a smirk, that smirk saying it all.

"I won."

And the annoying part, that was he was right.

Though even as you got home, hissing as you slid off the horse, gritting your teeth as you shambled back to the house. All the way there, able to feel the snake's gaze on your back.

And while you knew he'd be insufferable after this, likwly even more forward then ever the thing that really got to you, was knowing that there was no way this was gonna be the last time.

And even as you stumbled, collapsing atop your bed, body and rear sore, you wondered what came next with that smug sexy asshat of a snake man.

#helluva boss #headcanon #helluva boss headcanon #x reader #helluva boss x reader #striker x male reader #helluva boss striker x reader #striker x reader #top striker #striker #vague lewdness #overt lewdness #striker would destroy you #we need more male x reader smut

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themotherofhorses · 2 years

Note

im begging you, dark!aemond bodyguard of the president/king’s innocent daughter omggggg

pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader

warnings: explicit language. oral sex. loss of virginity (kinda). daddy kink. slight breeding and housewife kink. small mentions of past obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: hello, long time no write. consider this me using this request like i'm saddling the horse after getting thrown off.

(also ik aemond might not seem AS dark as other times but like pretty pls read between the lines. thank you ☺️)

masterlist

For being the nation’s current president, your father was quite the fucking fool of a man.

He loves you, truly. How could he not? You were the spitting image of your late mother, and the youngest of his children- his sweet little chick that was barely beginning to spread her wings and leave the nest. He would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt due to his elected role as the commander-in-chief and head of state.

That was the main reason why he hired Aemond Targaryen as your personal bodyguard.

The man had a commendable record behind him, despite his young age. Your father was beyond impressed with him when he first interviewed him for the job. Two tours in the U.S. army as a sergeant and sniper before receiving an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart due to an eye injury while seeing combat overseas. According to some of the everyday politicians, he threw himself over his younger nephew during an ambush with enemy fire, and took a massive chunk of bomb shrapnel to the left side of his face; doctors saved him, of course, but his eye was too damaged to save.

They offered him a glass eye and a fully paid scar revision (along with special vet benefits and apparently some hush-hush money as well), but he refused it all. Instead, he accepted the purple heart, crammed a pretty and shiny sapphire into his empty socket, and made sure everyone- military personnel and civilian altogether- looked him in both eyes whenever they addressed him.

The rumors were true- Sergeant Aemond One-Eye was as terrifying as he was deadly.

Perhaps that was the reason why it did not take very long for him to be buried between your thighs.

You never had a boyfriend before, always too devoted towards your college academic and hobbies, and way too protected and overshadowed by your father. But it was Aemond who stole your first kiss, two months into his new job as your bodyguard. He had been accompanying you on a small shopping trip to the mall, treating it as a sort of bonding experience. When you had mentioned the new lip gloss you were trying out (it was flavored ‘chai latte’), he had asked to taste it.

Okay! you giggled, thinking nothing of it; only for it to be a week later and with his head in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man.

“Stop it…! Aemond! My daddy might walk in!” You cried, tossing your head back against the pillows as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop the moans from tumbling out. It was all in stupid vain; your bodyguard had you putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, you would happily give him- yourself included. “A-Aemond…!” How could he ever stop? Not when you sounded oh so fucking pretty, so sweet and yummy, his newfound favorite meal served to him on a silver platter, just ready to be completely devoured.

Aemond shook his head. “I don’t give the tiniest shit, babygirl,” he muttered as he sucked on your clit, only pausing every few seconds to kiss your soaked pussy. He had to be soft as well, considering this was a fucking dream come true for him.

The poor bastard remembered all the times he saw you on the television, in those paparazzi photos and the Christmas cards and those gorgeous social media posts of yours. No one would ever understand just how badly he wanted you, and the lengths he went just to have you.

And, well, maybe you should’ve thought first before stepping out in that sinful, short-cut and backless blue dress, the one that made you look perfect for him to knock up, his pretty little housewife. Perfect for him. Made for him. He kept your legs wide open with the tightest grips as he feasted on your cunt, ignoring your desperate (but adorable) attempts to push him away.

“If you can’t handle this, how will you handle my cock?” he tutted. “Poor baby, I’m going to fucking destroy you.”

Everything made your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, especially when you felt him lick a large stripe up your pussy before he shoved his face in only deeper. You squealed, hiding your face from behind your hands. You could feel his nose, his chin, the heavy pants and low growls and soft kisses he peppered along inner thighs. “And what did I say to call me?” before he gave your ass a hard spank.

You whimpered, already on the verge of sobbing. Fat tears were streaking down your cheekbones. “I-I’m sorry…s-so sorry, daddy!”

Oh but your entire body felt like it was lit on fire- a burning yet tightening sensation nestled deep within your belly. It was so strange. You didn’t know what to make of it. Your head lolled to the side while your back arched up from the bed and your hand found Aemond’s long, whitish-blond hair.

(A common genetic mutation in his family, according to him. Some of the politicians mocked it as the ‘new Habsburg jaw’. You thought it made him look all the godlier.)

His hands soon slid up to your breast, palming and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. Your toes curled as you felt ready to explode at any second. “Daddy!” you mewled, peering down through teary eyes to watch as his face shook side-to-side. His own face held sheer bliss, especially when he brought a finger to trace along your drenched folds. “Daddy…! Daddy! Ah, gods, please!”

“Yeah, that is right, pretty baby, I’m your new daddy now.”

Your father was none the wiser to the fact that, every night, his youngest daughter’s bodyguard had her in a mating press every night, whispering into her ear that it would not be long until she made him into a real daddy.

It was the least you could do in return, considering he was protecting your life with his.

After boring meetings and countless banquets and your a.m. college classes, Aemond would be quick to shove your panties in your mouth before bending you over the nearest furniture set.

You were his.

All his.

His pretty baby, his sweet little future housewife, the girl whose picture he used to secretly carry in one of the vest pockets during his days in the military.

One day, your father pulled him aside and offered him a bonus.

“Truth is, son, you’re doing such a fine job at protecting her. I don’t worry as much as I did before you came along. We could not ask for a better bodyguard, Sergeant,” he admitted, patting him on the back. “Would there be anything you’d like in payment? A vacation? A bonus? Some free time with your family? I know you miss your mother very much; my little girl told me.”

But Aemond shook his head, declining everything. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter feels like my new family now, considering how close we’ve grown in these past several months, and my duty in keeping her safe. I would prefer to remain by her side if you would allow it,” he said, and your father gave him a cheeky grin.

“Should I perhaps be worried, Sergeant?”

“Of course not, Mr. President. I adore your daughter, but only as a brother would his little sister.”

So it was true, it seemed- your father, bless his heart, was quite the fucking fool of a man. It should’ve been no surprise to him at all that seven months down the line from his conversation with your bodyguard, you would be trying to hide a swollen baby bump from everyone's eyes.

And if he really was smart, then he would’ve remembered the reason why the Targaryens were so often compared to the old Habsburgs of Austria.

#aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #request #vic writes 🧸

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jadequeen88 · 2 years

Text

As someone who has worked many different service industry jobs, I obviously have lots of thots about line cook! Eddie. Let me elaborate:

Eddie is the one cook who keeps all the other younger hooligans in line. Did they make a rude comment about your skirt riding up while you’re picking up a drink someone spilled? Spatula to the back of the head. They need to learn to treat these hard-working girls with some respect. One of them wolf whistles? Eddie pinches their ear, looks at you apologetically, and says, “Sorry, sweetheart. This one here is barely housebroken. Doesn’t know how to act around pretty ladies.”

He’s also definitely the one all the servers have a crush on. He’s the topic of many smoke break discussions. You didn’t even smoke until you worked there, just wanting an excuse to bat your lashes and bum cigarettes off him. One night, he grinned as he took a long drag and let the smoke curl out, saying he was smoking his last one, but you could have a hit off it if you wanted. Instead of taking it from him, you wrapped your lips around the filter as he was still holding it. Watching his pupils widen and seeing him lick his lips in response was a big payoff for such a risky move.

The other servers start getting jealous of your special treatment, but Eddie really doesn’t give a fuck, and as long as your boss is happy with your work, you’re fine with it too. Sometimes he moves your ticket to the front of the queue if it’s a really busy night and the other girls have been giving you a hard time. You shake your head in weak protest, but Eddie just says, “I gotta give my favorite girl the red carpet treatment every now and then, don’t I? You work so hard, darlin’. I gotta do my part to help you keep those bastards out there happy. Keeps that tip money coming in for ya’.” He gives you a wink as he twirls his spatula and gets to work, leaving you a blushing mess.

Up to this point, you thought it was just Eddie being a flirt because you were the new girl, but the night you see him with one of the particularly annoying cooks pinned against the wall by his throat for calling you a “dumb bitch”, you start to suspect your crush might not be as one-sided as you’d originally thought. Afterward, he walked up to you and asked if you were okay. The gentle caress he placed against your cheek made your lashes flutter before you could stop yourself. “Y-yeah, Eddie. Thanks.” His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, and he graced you with the lopsided smile you loved before pulling away to say, “No one talks about my favorite girl that way.” You were in a daze the rest of your shift.

A couple of nights after that interaction, you stay late to wrap all the silverware and cut all the lemons. You knew the other servers left those time-consuming tasks for you as a punishment, but you refused to neglect to do them and put the opening shift in a bind. Even if it was fucked up of them to do that to you in the first place. You realized after a few minutes that someone else was there deep cleaning the grill. You nearly dropped a whole container of freshly cut lemons when you heard whoever it was singing along to one of your favorite songs you’d been silently head-banging along to as you worked.

The soulful delivery of this mystery man’s singing had you weak in the knees, and it only got worse when you peeked around the corner to see that big voice coming out of Eddie’s mouth. His eyes were closed, bandana-clad head thrown back, as he scraped the grease off the grill and sang his heart out. He must have sensed you standing there, because he turned towards you and jumped a little, those pretty chocolate orbs widening. It was kind of adorable.

“Shit, sweetheart! Didn’t know I had company, or I’d have kept my wailing to a minimum!” He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. How dare he have the nerve to look embarrassed when all you could think about was getting on your knees and under that apron after hearing his voice?

“Eddie, that was…” your voice cracked a little. You cleared your throat and continued. “That was amazing. I love that song, by the way. Not many people here listen to them. You do it justice.”

He turned red and couldn’t meet your eyes, a rare way for the bold man to behave. You liked this side of him. “I do okay, I guess, but I’m better on guitar than vocals.” It seemed to dawn on him that you revealed that you had a similar taste in music then because he perked up and met your gaze again. “Wait, you listen to this kind of stuff?” You nodded and grinned at his sudden switch in tone. “Damn, I didn’t know you could get any more badass!” You laughed at that. “You know,” he continued and cleared his throat. “I’m in a band. We do okay. Decent crowds. We play Tuesday and Friday nights down at the Hideout.”

That’s how you end up at a dive bar the following Friday night, front row cheering Eddie on as he shreds on stage. Afterward, he grabs you up into a sweaty hug, spinning you around. “That’s the best I’ve ever played, baby.” Your heart fluttered. He hasn’t used that pet name before… “You gotta come to every show now and be my good luck charm!” You giggled and agreed. Like you’d ever turn down that offer.

The flirting amps up at work after that. Eddie yelling out, “There she is! Light of my life, goddess incarnate! How’s your day going, sweetness?” from behind the grill becomes a daily thing. “‘M doing fine, Eddie. How about you?” You always answer. You know what he’s going to say before his mouth even opens, but it gives you butterflies every time. “Million times better now I’ve seen you! Now go out there, kick-ass, and get those tips!”

Things come to a head one night when you’re dealing with a table of Hawkin’s “elite,” the rich boys that thought being born on the right side of the tracks made them special. It didn’t help that their table was in view of Eddie’s workstation. He had a front-row seat to the show, watching them flirt with you, and you have to put up with it, having to smile through it. When the loudest one slipped you his phone number, Eddie couldn’t take it. You heard a clatter and saw a flash of dark curls exit through the back. “What’s going on?” You asked one of the other guys. They all shrugged and looked at each other, just as lost as you were.

You walk out back and see Eddie leaning against the rough brick wall lighting his second cigarette. He jolts upright when he sees it’s you. “Oh, hey sweetheart. Need to bum one?” He holds the carton towards you, and you can’t help but notice his sad eyes.

“No, Eds. Can I just have a drag off yours?”

“Course darlin’,” he mumbles around his cigarette before holding it out to you. He just expects you to let him hold it for you by now. It doesn’t mean it makes his chest ache with want any less, though.

“What’s the matter, Eds?” You ask sweetly. It embarrasses him that he’s so weak for you.

“Nothin' to worry about. Promise.” He tries to smile, but he knows you can see right through him.

You had a feeling it had to do with the asshole trying to give you his number earlier, but you’re still a little nervous to address it and get rejected. So you take a deep breath, brace yourself, and ask, “Was it because that guy gave me his number?”

Eddie couldn’t meet your eyes, “Am I that obvious, sweetheart?” he sighed and looked up to the star-speckled sky overhead, “Some days, I wanna come clean so you’ll reject me already. Put myself outta this misery. But I always chicken out,” he turned to you with misty eyes, “I'm a coward, you know? I’d rather have little pieces of you than nothing at all.”

He barely finished his speech before your hands found his stubbled cheeks, and your mouth was on his. Eddie tasted how you’d imagined he would, the cigarette you shared and cherry chapstick. His eyes closed and he sighed sweetly. It was pure heaven. You pulled away and he smiled bigger than you’d ever seen.

“You silly man,” you whispered, nudging his nose with yours, “All you had to do was ask me out and I’d have said yes.”

“All this time?!” he said, eyes bulging and voice going high.

“Yes! All this time,” you responded. Now it was his turn to initiate a kiss, this one more consuming than the last, his tongue barely swiping your bottom lip. You whined under his touch, making him turn desperate.

��Baby, we gotta revisit this in a couple of hours. Just so I know that I'm not hallucinating.”

“You got it, Eds,” you bit your lip and pulled away from him to go back inside to finish your shift. Before the door closed behind you, you could hear Eddie whooping and cheering in celebration. Needless to say, as soon as you were both clocked out that night, you never kept your hands off each other again.

NOTE: Thanks to everyone on the discord server for fueling this madness. I’d love to revisit this and write an actual fic with smutty goodness. So everyone, let me know what you think!!

@trashmouth-richie @munson-blurbs @pinkrelish @eddiemunsonsmum @courtingchaos @corroded-hellfire @chestylarouxx

#line cook!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #jade writes smut #jade drabbles #eddie munson smut

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bqstqnbruin · 2 months

Text

Tattoos of You

Look, I know this gif is ancient but I love this one don't judge me.

ANYWAY here I am with my entry for @wyattjohnston's summer 2024 fic exchange! I had the pleasure of writing for @senditcolton so I hope you enjoy this because I have literally been thinking about this fic so much for the last like three months (yes I have been working on this idea for too long)

These following links are some of the tik toks that I used for inspo for this fic: X X X X X

Special shoutout to @nicohischier for reading this the entire time I was writing it, love you (I swear you'll get a happy fic at some point)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, aNGST (Nicole you asked for it)

WC: 11k

________________________________

an open book with a sunset coming out of it

The sun was shining, children were running around and laughing, people were splashing around in the water.

Colette was under an umbrella, trying to stay in its shade as much as possible, with a hat on her head and her sunglasses on.

“Can you please enjoy yourself?” Becca asks.

“This is as close to enjoying myself as you’re going to get,” Colette mumbles, not looking up from the book that she was reading. It’s not that she hated the beach, it’s that she hated the sun, the sand, the heat, the noise, the crowds of people.

Maybe she did hate the beach.

“Do you want to go back up to the house?” The house was not much better: the AC barely worked when they got in last night, and Colette spent most of the night not sleeping because of how hot the room was. She was also pretty sure that there was a raccoon somewhere in the walls of the house, since the scratching she could swear was coming from behind her head when she was in her bed only happened at night, and magically stopped once the sun came up.

“Do you want to go back to the house?” Colette asks.

“Not at all.”

“Well, I’m not going to walk the two miles back alone, am I?”

Becca rolls her eyes, shielding them from the sun despite the huge sunglasses on her face. She looks out to the water and lets out a long sigh. “Everyone else is in the water having fun, why don’t we join them?”

Colette makes a face as she looks out at the rest of her friend group. They were playing some horrible version of chicken, given the fact that she was sure she and Becca were the only ones sober at this point. “Then when you get out of the water, the sand sticks to you because you’re all wet and it’s impossible to get off.”

“You’re, like, the only person I know who hates the beach this much.”

“I wanted to go to a cabin near the lake we used to go to when we were younger, and you all wanted to ‘try something new,’” Colette points out. “I told you I didn’t like the beach, but you guys said you wouldn’t go away without me.”

Becca rolls her eyes again, “That’s because we like you, Lettie. You’re the responsible one in the group.”

Becca gets up without another word, going to join the rest of their friends in the water. “Great,” Colette mumbles, going back to her book.

She loses track of time, her friends never even coming back to talk to her while she finishes one book and quickly moves on to the next. The people around her come and go, the beach slowly emptying out as people leave for dinner. She wasn’t sure how long her friends would last without food, given the amount of alcohol they had consumed and how little they had come back to their spots in the sand to even grab the snacks they ran around packing that morning.

“Watch out!” she hears coming from her left, a ball hitting the book out of her hands and into the sand a few feet away before she even has the chance to react.

“You bastards,” she shrieks as two guys come running over to get the ball. “That’s a library book.”

“Your book is fine,” one of them says, holding up the book with two fingers as if it had a disease or something else rancid oozing out of it.

“Are you ok?” the other one asks, Colette holding up her hand to shield her eyes so she could at least see the guys she was scowling at with the sun behind them.

Despite her anger at them for nearly probably injuring her, they were, unfortunately for her, attractive. Not that made her less angry, but if Becca were there next to her, she would somehow manage to force Colette to acknowledge it to their faces.

“I’m fine, but my book is not,” she says, ripping the thing out of the darker haired boy. “You ripped one of the pages when you picked it up.”

The one with lighter hair looked behind his friend, scoffed and thrust the ball into his friend's chest to pick up the now missing page. “You’re giving her money to pay for a replacement book,” he says, handing Colette the page.

“Fine, I’ll give her the ten dollars.”

“This book cost twenty five,” she tells him, showing him the price from the back of the book.

“Books are twenty five dollars?” he scoffs. “For what?”

“If you could read above a fourth grade reading level, maybe you would know,” Colette mutters, earning a laugh from the lighter haired boy.

“I’m not paying that much for a book.”

“You’re the one who kicked the ball that ruined her book. You’re the one who’s going to pay for her to replace it so she doesn’t have to. You get, like, a hundred and seventy five thousand dollars a week for your paycheck, you can handle twenty five dollars, you jackass.”

Colette nearly chokes when she hears the number he casually spit out, the two sending themselves into a bickering match over the money. She gets out her phone, wincing as she stands up for the first time in hours to hand it to the dark haired boy. “Send the money here.”

He starts mumbling something under his breath, Colette rolling her eyes as he does as instructed. One of the guys from their group calls for them, him running back to them with the ball.

“Sorry about Mat,” his friend says, standing over Colette as she sits back down.

“He seems like a delight,” she deadpans, trying to hide the combination of disgust and excitement as he sits down with her, laughing at her words.

“He’s an asshole,” he tells her, squinting as he looks out at the water. Colette couldn’t help but study him, the green of his eyes, the sharp angle of his jawline, his somehow perfectly styled hair, all combining to something she didn’t understand her need to look at. “And thankfully, my opposite.”

“People don’t talk like that,” Colette blurts out before thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“‘And thankfully, my opposite,’” she imitates him, lowering her voice and earning another laugh from him. “That’s something people say in rom coms.”

“You’re awfully judgemental for someone who doesn’t have to pay for a damaged book.”

Colette laughs, a smile forming on his face that, for some reason, she didn’t want to stop seeing. “It’s part of my charm. I’m Colette, by the way.”

“Anthony.”

Colette loses track of time again, not because of her now ruined book. Becca eventually comes back, as do the rest of the friends, letting her know that they were running to grab food before coming back to watch the sunset. Anthony’s friends had seemingly all but forgotten about him, at one point leaving without him realizing it, only to come back with Colette’s friends with food for both of them.

“You guys came all the way to Canada when you live in Pittsburgh?” Mat asks.

“We go somewhere every year together, Lettie picked Vancouver for her turn,” Eddy says.

“I did not pick the beach, though,” she says, only loud enough for Anthony to hear.

“Glad you did,” he replies, again, only loud enough for her to hear. He smiles at her, his hand inching towards hers in the sand as the sun sets over the water.

a tent on the ground with a pine tree next to it, the moon and shooting star over both

“Those guys from the beach said they wanted to go camping with us this weekend,” Eddy says during their group facetime.

Becca immediately started making plans of who was driving with who, Addison talking about the tents and sleeping bags she could borrow from her dad and brothers from their scouting days, Devyn talking about the food they would be able to bring, Franco talking about the beer.

“Hold on, guys,” Colette interrupted, doubting that any of her friends was actually listening to the others. “Since when do we camp?”

“Since hot guys ask us to,” Eddy says.

“You liked those guys?” Colette asks, the rest of her friends laughing at her.

“Oh, come on, Lettie,” Addison teases her. “You ignored us for the entire three days we were there because you were talking to Anthony.”

Colette rolls her eyes, thankful that her friends couldn’t see the rapid succession of texts from Anthony appearing on her screen at that moment. She didn’t want to tell them that they were right that she liked talking with him that weekend two months ago, so much so that she had been texting him almost as often as she was texting the group chat. She didn’t want to admit that she thought she was starting to fall for a guy she had only interacted with in person once, because who the hell did that?

But, this was an excuse to see him again, without her friends nagging her about her crush, that may or may not exist, in a way that wouldn’t be a date.

“I’m not driving.”

“Does that mean you’re coming?” Eddy asks, all of her friends faces’ way too close to their cameras for her to do anything other than groan.

“Unfortunately.”

By the time they got to the camping site, the guys already had enough tents set up for a small army. Eddy stops the car, Devyn and Franco getting out and immediately starting to unpack the trunk full of their stuff.

“Damn,” Eddy drools, Colette laughing. “I never knew setting up tents was hot.”

“It’s not.”

Eddy fans himself, taking in a deep breath. “It is once you realize that that active bakery over there is attached to your boyfriend.”

Colette cringes, trying not to let Eddy see her looking at Tito with his back towards them, bent over at his waist, his ass right there. “Not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet, babe,” Eddy corrects her. “That could change tonight.”

“And how, praytell, do you see that happening?”

“You’ll share a tent with him, you’ll share all your secrets, fall madly in love, get married with me as the bridesman of honor, of course, have tons of babies, and die in each others arms like that one couple on the Titanic.”

“You could eat and shit out a bunch of Scrabble tiles and whatever they spelled out would still make more sense than whatever just came out of your mouth,” she says, getting out of the car just as Becca and Addison pull up behind them.

Eddy laughs, locking the car doors. “Just because I don’t make sense to you doesn’t mean I’m not right. I’ve never seen two people who align so well before you and Tito. You are so meant to be.”

Colette laughs. “I’ll remember that next time you’re fawning over Devyn and Franco’s relationship,” she tells him, gesturing over to their two friends who had already claimed a tent to share together.

Eddy had a sly smile forming on his face, one that Colette knew was going to lead to something she hated. “Hey, Anthony,” he calls.

Anthony perks up once he sees who calls his name, Colette telling herself that it was simply because he heard his name and he had ‘golden retriever vibes’ in general, not because he saw her, despite the fact that he was looking at her the entire time he came over. “What’s up, Ed?”

Eddy visibly swoons at the sound of Anthony calling him a nickname, trying to collect his composure before Anthony actually notices or Colette calls him out for it. “Lettie here said that she wanted to share a tent with someone since she’s never been camping before.”

“What?”

“Ok?”

“Well, I snore like a jet ski, so I would never want to subject our girl to that,” Eddy continues, throwing his arm around Colette and pulling her close to him, throwing her off balance, “So we were wondering if you wanted to share with her?”

“Oh!” Anthony says, his face turning red. Colette tries to discreetly pinch Eddy’s side as payback, her heart racing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I was going to ask you that anyway, but I guess you beat me to it.”

Eddy walks away without another word, leaving an angry Colette and an embarrassed Anthony behind in his wake. “He’s lying, I’m fine on my own if you don’t-”

“You don’t-” he cuts her off, looking down at the ground, “You don’t want to share a tent?”

“No, I mean,” she starts, trying to find the right words. How do you tell someone you want to be near them without it sounding weird? “If you want to, I wouldn't say no to sharing.”

“Oh, I want to,” he says quickly, a small laugh escaping his lips that matched Colettes. “I want to.”

Colette could feel her face getting hot as she smiled at him. “Let’s go set up our tent?”

Their friends wander off again, just like the day they met at the beach, as the day wore on, leaving Anthony and Colette to finish setting up where they were going to start their fire for the night.

“Hold on,” Colette says, trying not to laugh so hard that she couldn’t get the words out, “She threw what?”

“A dildo.”

“So that photo you sent me of your black eye from last season?”

Anthony’s face was bright red, biting his lip and nodding, “Yeah. yeah, it wasn’t from practice. It was from Tamsin throwing a dildo at me when she thought I was breaking into our apartment.”

Colette cackled, the ugliest sounding laugh she had ever heard bubbling up from her stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

“Like you’ve never had any embarrassing encounters with an ex.”

“The worst I’ve had is a guy named Mason sprinkled packets of those instant mashed potatoes around the lawn outside my apartment complex after a bad break up when we were in college.”

“How’d you know it was him?”

“He texted me right before it rained asking if I liked mashed potatoes, and then I never heard from him again.”

Anthony laughs, the voice in Colette's head telling her that she wanted to hear that sound as much as she could. They keep talking about nothing as the sun sets, starting the fire before it gets too dark out.

“So,” Anthony says, sitting down on one of the chairs, the shadows from the flames illuminating every Colette had been mesmerized by the first time they met. “We’ve got Dildo Throwing Tamsin and Mashed Potato Mason as our exes.”

“I think they’d like each other,” she laughs, plopping down on a chair next to him. Colette looks up to the sky. The stars streaked the sky like nothing she had ever seen before. She knew there were millions of stars up there, but she never thought she would see them. “God, you never get to see the stars with all the city lights. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” she hears Anthony say, his face red yet again when she turns her attention to him and smiles. Before she can say anything, he starts, “Do you think we can see each other?”

“Do you think I’m imaginary or something?”

“No, I mean,” he starts, the sounds of their friends coming back to start eating making him jump. He pulls his chair so close to Colette’s they practically overlap as he lowers his voice. “Can we go out when we’re back in the city? Just the two of us?”

Colette felt her face getting hot again, charmed by the nerves he showed around her. “Yes.”

a mirror with an outline of a head in it, no face

“What are you doing right now?”

“I’m getting ready for work.”

“Do you want to hang out?”

“Did you not hear me?”

Colette hears Anthony laugh on the other end of the phone. “I heard you, but I still want to hang out. I miss you.”

Colette cringed as she felt her heart skip a beat. She hated that she missed him too, and she wanted to see him, but, “I have to leave in the next two minutes if I want to be on time for my meeting, I can’t. What about tonight?”

“We have a home game at seven tonight. Tomorrow morning?”

“I’m watching my cousin and taking him to his soccer game for my aunt tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“You’re not coming to watch pee wee soccer.”

“What time are you leaving to pick him up?”

“You’re really bad at listening,” Colette says, grabbing the last of her stuff as she heads out the door.

“What time?” he repeats, clearly not going to stop until she gives him an answer as she rushes out the door.

“I don’t remember. Can I let you know after work tonight?”

“Sure. Talk later?” he asks, alarm bells going off in Colette’s head about something she was sure he was scheming.

He hangs up before he can say anything, leaving Colette to stew as to what he was going to do. Anthony wasn’t going to show up at her apartment when she was supposed to leave to get her cousin, was he?

“Why do you look like that?” Addison asks once she sees Colette at work.

Colette snaps out of the trance she didn’t realize she was in, looking away from her computer for the first time in a while. “I don’t know, genetics?” she asks, a slightly offended tone in her voice.

“No, I mean,” she says, sitting down on Colette’s desk. “You look concerned.”

Colette shakes her head. “I was just working,” she says, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. She lets out a sigh. “Anthony was really adamant about hanging out.”

“Oh, no,” she says, fake concern dripping through her voice as Colette rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re dating wants to see you.”

“He was kind of weird about it, though. He wanted to come over this morning, and I think he wants to hang out tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s not weird.”

“I’m watching Grayson tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And he knows that.”

“So?”

Colette rolls her eyes again out of frustration for herself. Why couldn’t she explain how she felt to her friend? “So we just saw each other, like, two nights ago. Isn’t it too soon to see each other again?”

Addison shakes her head. “Don’t you want to see him?”

“Well, yeah, but what if he’s only asking to see me because he knows I want to see him and he doesn’t actually want to see me? I have to take Grayson to his soccer game. That’s so boring. Why would he want to do that?”

Addison rolls her eyes. “Because he’s obsessed with you?”

Colette groans. “Don’t you have a meeting in a minute?”

The next morning, Colette wakes up to knocking on her door. She gets up, surprised to find Anthony standing on the other side of the door with coffees in hand. “What are you doing here?” she whines.

“You never texted me,” he tells her, pushing past her and heading to her room.

“I, uh,” she hesitates. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Anthony sets the coffees down on her nightstand, pulling up her sheets as if he was going to start making her bed. “No you didn’t.”

“I did,” Colette tells him, her voice sounding more sure of her lie.

“You just didn’t text me.”

“Look, I love taking Grayson to his soccer games when my aunt can’t, but they’re really boring for other people. Last time I took Eddy, he complained the entire time,” she explains, taking the coffee from him. “I didn’t think you’d really want to sit through that.” Colette starts to get ready, sitting in front of the mirror in her room to get her hair together.

She makes eye contact through the glass with Anthony as he sits down on her now made bed. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

a cartoon cinnamon bun

Anthony had his arms around Colette before they were even through the door, pinning her against the wall outside her apartment, his lips on hers. They had been like this since they were in the bar with the rest of their friends, them being teased that they needed to get a room. Since Anthony’s eyes got darker when he turned to her, his hands on her waist as he asked her who’s place was closer for them to get in a bed as soon as possible.

They barely made it through her door and had it shut when Anthony’s fingers danced along the hem of her shirt, pleading with her to take it off and practically ripping his off at the same time. Anthony and Colette stumbled their way to her bed, nearly losing contact with each other when they collapsed onto her mattress, skin to skin and Colette already deliriously happy.

They woke up the next morning, the sheets a mess, their clothing in a trail leading from her entryway to her bed. Colette’s phone was somehow on her nightstand next to her, buzzing continuously for what seemed like any hour. Anthony let out a groan, a result of the hangover he was probably feeling.

“Don’t get it,” he mumbles into her pillow, his arm wrapped around her pulling her closer. She could feel herself relax as his heartbeat gently thumped against her back. It buzzes again, Anthony starting to kiss his way from the nape of her neck down her spine, a giggle escaping her lips at his attempt to distract her.

“If it’s going off this much, it has to be something bad.”

“One time it was Eddy melting down and calling to tell you he got water on his new shoes.”

Colette scrolls through her phone, multiple missed calls from her friend group as Anthony’s mouth works his way back up to her neck, propping himself up to try to get her cheeks. Another call from Eddy appears on her screen, her heart racing that something bad happened to one of her friends.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god,” Eddy screams, “I thought Anthony murdered you.”

Anthony and Colette laugh, Colette switching over to speaker phone even though Anthony had no problem hearing their conversation without it. “No, we were asleep. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been praying to God all morning that you were ok.”

“Eddy, it’s like 9 am, and you don’t believe in God.”

“I found God so I could pray that you were ok.”

“I didn’t realize she was lost, but sure. What’s wrong?”

“Your parents are on their way. They said they’d be at your place at 9 am.”

Colette looks at the time at the top of her screen: 8:56 am.

“Fucking shit,” she screams, dropping her phone on her bed and practically falling over the sheets as she launched herself off the mattress to collect the clothes scattered around her floor.

“What, what’s wrong?” Anthony calls after her, picking up what he can and throwing on the shirt that was still sitting by her front door.

“My parents are coming.”

“And?”

“You’re here.”

“Do you not want me here?”

Colette whips around to face him, thrusting his underwearing and pants from last night into his chest while trying to get her own shirt back over her head. “Of course, I do.” She runs past him and back into her room to throw clothes on and panic make her bed. “It’s just, you don’t have enough time to leave before they get here. And, if you’re here, then they’re going to start asking questions about whether or not you’re my boyfriend, and probably a bunch of other things, too.”

“Then we tell them I am,” Colette hears, seeing Anthony appear on the other side of her bed to help her straighten up.

She stops, standing straight up to stare at him. “What?”

“We tell them I’m your boyfriend.” He walks around to the other side of her bed to meet her. “Unless, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend.”

Colette opens her mouth, no words coming out. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Anthony throws his head back in laughter, pulling her in for a hug and kissing the top of her head. “Of course I do.” Colette gives him a kiss, a knock at her door pulling them apart. “You get more clothes on, I’ll go meet your parents.”

Colette scrambles to find something presentable enough for her parents liking, trying her best to fix her hair and the makeup that she never took off from the night before when she hears laughter coming from her kitchen. She finally comes out of her room, her mom’s hand over Anthony’s while her dad is animated talking to him, a pink bag from her favorite bakery near their house on the table filling the room with the scent of the cinnamon buns that made her mouth water.

“Sweetie, we brought you some breakfast, but we didn’t know you had your boyfriend over,” her mom says, no hint of the fakeness Colette expected in her voice.

“Why don’t we all go out for breakfast?” Anthony says, getting up from his seat, “My treat. Colette and I can have the cinnamon buns later.”

Her mother swoons as he takes her hand and leads her to the door, a wink from Anthony sent Colette’s way that made her cheeks burn.

Her dad pulls her in for a hug, his arm around her shoulder as they follow Anthony and her mom down to his car. “Boyfriend, huh? Is he good enough for you?”

Colette hesitates, not sure why she did so before saying, “I think so.”

What if she wasn’t good enough for him?

a phone with an incoming call, no contact on the screen

“Franco, please, you’re giving me a headache,” Addison groans, her hands on her head to massage the headache away.

“No, I don’t care, you guys don’t understand how amazing she was.”

“We do, babe, I promise, but it’s 1 am,” Devyn tells him, giving him a gentle squeeze on his thigh.

“No, you don’t get it. She has only lost the all-around once on the national and international level in the eleven years she’s been qualified for elite,” Franco argues back, launching into a rant about Simone Biles that none of them wanted to hear when they wanted to go to sleep.

Eddy groans the loudest. “I think you talk this much about your fiance,” he points out Devyn taking a minute before she realized he was right and giving Franco a glare.

The rest of the group launches into an argument when Colette’s phone rings, Anthony’s name coming up with a picture of the two of them from one night when they fell asleep on the couch together. Eddy had taken the photo and immediately gotten a bucket of water to pour over them to wake them up because he wanted to go out and get food with someone. Despite the aftermath of the photo, seeing it made her smile every time.

“Hey,” she says, walking out of Devyn and Franco’s living room without her friends noticing. “How was the game?”

“We won,” Anthony tells her. They were on a west coast road trip that was supposed to end tomorrow with a game against Seattle.

“Why do you sound so sad, then?” Colette asks. Before they left, he told her they needed to do well this road trip in order to get into the wild card spot since the playoffs were right around the corner. They needed this win to get the cap between them and the next team even wider.

He lets out a long sigh. “I didn’t really play that well or that much.”

Colette could hear the sadness in his voice. She knew that he had been bouncing around to a few teams in the last couple of years, finally finding what he hoped was a more permanent home in Pittsburgh. “Did anyone score while you were on the ice?”

“No.”

“Did you get an assist or score?”

“Two assists, yeah.”

“Then what happened?”

She knew Anthony was scrunching his face. “I don’t know, I just felt off.”

Colette nodded. “I get that.” Anthony lets out a long breath. “Are you guys leaving after the game tomorrow or the next morning?”

“I actually don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I’m on the plane,” he jokes, Colette laughing. “I can come over whenever I get in?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling at the thought of seeing him. “If it’s tomorrow night, just wake me up when you come in.”

“Nah, I’ll let you sleep,” he says.

“No,” she argues, “I want to see you.” Eddy comes up behind her, making kissing noises at her.

“Tell Eddy I can hear him,” he laughs, Colette following suit. Anthony lets out a yawn. “Ok, I’m gonna go.”

“Bye, babe.”

“I love you, bye,” he yawns, hanging up before she could say anything else.

Colette stands there, staring at her phone with her mouth hanging open.

“What did he do? Do I have to kill him? I have enough gas in my car and money in my bank account to drive to San Jose and commit a felony,” Eddy starts, dragging her back into the living room with the rest of their friends.

“Lettie, what’s wrong?” Addison asks.

“Anthony just told me he loves me.”

The entire group’s jaws dropped, Eddy screaming loud enough that Colette was sure Devyn and Franco's neighbors could hear him. “What did you tell him?”

Colette shook her head. “Nothing. He said it and hung up the phone.”

“That rat bastard.”

“Eddy, say something helpful for once, please?”

Her friends start asking her a hundred questions, all coming at once. Why didn’t she call him back? Was she going to tell him she loved him? When was she going to tell him? When was she going to talk to him again in the first place?

Becca asked the question that made her stop. “Do you love him?”

Colette didn’t know what to say, trying to find the words. She knew she liked him, a lot. He was probably the person she could see herself loving for the rest of her life if he would let her.

“We should let her tell Anthony first, not us,” Devyn says, Colette letting out a little bit of an exhale as her friend told everyone it was probably time for them to go to bed.

She spent the night on their couch, Becca and Addison in their guest room, Eddy bringing his own blow up mattress and snoring on the floor near Colette.

She barely slept. Could she tell Anthony that she loved him? She could tell him anything, but if she did, would she mean it? It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would say it first, and it didn’t even surprise her that he said it at all. What shocked her most was that she wasn’t sure what she would say back.

Anthony was the kindest person to her, the one she wanted to call and see and be with all the time. She would do anything for him, but did that mean she loved him?

What if her love wasn’t enough? What if he ended up loving her more than she was capable of loving him?

“Eddy,” she whispers, trying not to scare him into waking up. She throws her pillow over to his mattress, hitting his face.

“The fish escaped,” he says, startled out of whatever his dream was. He rubs his eyes, groaning. “I was just about to save the country from the dinosaur fish.”

“You can go back to that in a minute,” Colette says, turning on the lamp on the end table next to her, despite Eddy’s groans. “When you were with Alex, how did you feel when you said ‘I love you.’”

“I think I was drunk and then blacked out.” Colette groans. “Lettie, if you’re freaking out about telling him you love him, then you don’t have to tell him right now. It’s ok for you to not say it if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“That was out of character for you.”

“A stopped clock is right once a day.”

“Twice, Eddy.”

“Whatever, I’m going back to sleep. I hope this dream lets me play with kittens instead.”

Colette spent the next day stressing, running on pure anxiety due to her lack of sleep the night before. She hadn’t been able to watch Anthony’s game that night, falling asleep before it even started. She woke up Saturday morning to the sound of someone coming in her front door, hoping that it was Anthony and not an intruder.

“Colette?” Anthony calls, wandering into her bedroom to find her just sitting up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “It’s nearly two pm, are you just waking up?”

“Don’t judge, I couldn’t sleep the other night. I guess it just caught up with me now.”

“I feel like I freaked you out after the game against San Jose,” Anthony says, sitting down. They had barely talked the day before, Colette purposely avoiding him under the guise of being busy all day with something at work. It wasn’t technically a lie, she just also hid her phone in her desk and forgot about it on purpose.

“No, you di-” she starts.

“I do mean it, though,” he says, pulling her in for a hug. “I do love you.”

Colette felt her heart start to race as she felt his hand on the back of her head. She could say it. She was sure it felt right. “Anthony,” she starts, feeling herself start to sweat as she pulls away to look at him. “I love you, too.”

Anthony smiles, kissing her.

Saying it felt just fine. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel more.

wheel of fortune tarot card

Colette was exhausted.

The entire last week was spent with her and Anthony unpacking all the things they had into their new apartment, trying to figure out what to get rid of and what to keep when they realized that consolidating their things meant they now had two of everything they needed to share with each other; two sets of silverware, two sets of plates and bowls, two bedroom sets, two sets of living room furniture.

Anthony was willing to get rid of anything he needed to, but Colette was having a harder time going through her things. She didn’t mind sharing, but she wanted her own stuff. What if she, for whatever reason, had to move out, or if Anthony got traded and had to take stuff with him and left her with nothing because the stuff he took was technically “his” and not her own?

“Hey, babe,” she calls into the apartment, a little bit of an echo following her through the few rooms they hadn’t finished unpacking yet.

“In here,” Colette hears, following Anthony’s voice into their bedroom. He was standing in front of the bookshelf he had built into the wall (by someone who knew what they were doing, not by him), putting up all the books she had brought from her old place.

“I told you I would organize these,” she told him, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, kissing his back. “I have a system.”

Anthony laughs, spinning around and hugging her back, kissing her on the lips. “Your system is ‘I have a bunch of books by this author, so they need to be together.’”

“And?”

“I’m not even touching your books yet,” he points out, turning her attention to all the boxes she left in the corner that were still, in fact, untouched. “These are my books.”

“I didn’t know you read.”

“Not all hockey players are illiterate, Colette,” he jokes, earning a laugh from her.

“No, I mean,” she starts, heading over to one of her boxes to start trying to organize them. “I know you normally don’t have time to do things other than, like, eat, sleep, and play hockey. Reading didn’t seem like something you had time for.”

“Well, you read a lot, so I thought I could do the same,” he tells her, his voice lower than normal. Colette looks up at the shelf he was putting books on; The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo and Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn amongst other books she loved and already had copies of sitting there on their own shelf.

“I already have these, you could have borrowed them at any time,” she points out, feeling Anthony’s arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

“Yeah, but this way I can take them with me on the road and you’d still have your copies. I’d have a piece of you with me.”

What piece of him would she have with her while he was gone? She couldn’t think of anything as he spun her around in his arms to kiss her, feeling his smile against her lips while all she could feel was distress coursing through her.

a laundry basket full of clothes with a piece of clothing crumpled up in front of it

“What the hell?” Colette comes home from work to find that everything Anthony said he was going to get done was not done. He had promised he would get everything cleaned up before his friends came over tomorrow. “Anthony?”

Her boyfriend peers his head into the kitchen where she was standing, a smile on his face immediately fading when he sees the anger on hers. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit,” she says, gesturing around her. “This is the third day in a row that you said you would clean up.”

“I’m sorry, I got caught up.” He tells her, approaching her slowly, as if she were a tiger going to pounce on him with any sudden movement. “I’ll start now.”

Colette scoffs as he reaches out to her. He did this all the time. He would tell her that he would help her clean, especially when more than half of it was his mess to begin with, and then it always fell on her. “That’s not the point, Anthony,” she snaps at him.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t. You tell me that every time you do this. You said you would help with the laundry, and look at where all the clothes are, not even in the basket still sitting on front of the washer and dryer where you left them two days ago,” she starts, gesturing to the mountain of dirty clothes she could see in their little laundry alcove that she swore she could smell from where she was standing. “The dishes from dinner on Monday are still here because you promised me after I cooked that you would clean them, but you disappeared instead and didn’t come home until after I went to bed. You have your coffee cup sitting on the table with coffee in it that I’m pretty sure is from at least three days ago. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, his face getting red as he turns towards the sink to start the dishes. “And, to be fair, you do this to me all the time. I come home from road trips and find you haven’t taken out the trash the entire time, or the dishwasher hasn’t been started. I’m sorry I forgot the last couple of days, but I’ve been busy.”

Colette bit her lip, knowing he was right. She was picking a fight with him they didn’t need to have, yet here she was anyway. “With what?”

“My job?” he says, shrugging, despite the slightest hint of a wavering going through his voice. It wasn’t just hockey. They were in the middle of a homestand and he had the day off today anyway.

Colette studies him for a second. “You’re lying to me,” she tells him. She could tell he tensed up from behind, the way he does when he’s not telling her the truth about something.

“I’m not.”

“Then what has been going on with you?”

Anthony hesitates, shaking his head and opening his mouth, clearly trying to figure out what to tell her. “Nothing. Like I said, I just got caught up.”

“With what?”

“Mat needed some help with something.”

Colette scoffed again, walking out of the kitchen and to their bedroom. She knew Anthony was following her, but shut the door behind her anyway. “Why would Mat need your help so urgently that he, on Long Island, needed to take you away from cleaning for the entire day here in Pittsburgh?” she asks, sitting on their bed as he opens the door back up.

“I can’t tell you that, it’s Mat’s business.”

Colette nods, knowing he was still lying. She pulls out her phone, pulling up her boyfriend's best friend's contact. “Hey,” she says when he picks up, seeing the wave of panic flash in Anthonys eyes as he pulled out his phone and started typing furiously on his own phone. She knew he was texting Mat. “Have you heard from Anthony today?”

“Uh, no, why?” Mat says, Anthony throwing his head back, sucking on his teeth and muttering ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“He just seemed a little off this morning when I left for work, I thought maybe hearing from you would cheer him up a little,” she lies to him.

“Oh, sure?” Mat tells her clearly confused before they hang up with each other.

“I can explain,” Anthony starts, sitting next to her on the bed and putting his hands in her lap.

Colette waits for a moment. “Then do it.”

“Tomorrow, I promise.”

She lets out a laugh. “No, now.”

“I can’t.”

Colette stares at him for a second, him still not looking directly at her but a pleading look in his eyes. “Are you cheating on me?”

Anthony finally looks at her. “What? Of course not.”

“Then what the hell is going on?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Anthony, you know everything about me. I tell you everything,” she says, looking around at the room they shared that he filled with her favorite things. She still hadn’t figured out what she would do for him. She could feel herself starting to panic, a year since they moved in together and she still barely knew anything about him. Colette shakes her head, looking down at his hands still in her lap. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“If we want to be in a relationship like this, we have to tell each other what’s going on,” she lies. She couldn’t do this anymore.

“I told you, I can tell you tomorrow.”

“What is so important that you can’t tell me now?” she asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace. Her mind started spiraling, thinking the absolute worst of what he could be hiding from her. She was self destructing, and blaming it on him was the easier way out. She knew it was. “You’re cheating on me, you’re going to break up with me, you have a child you haven’t told me about, you’re dying or you’re seriously sick.”

“Hey woah,” Anthony says, stopping her and standing in front of her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Colette, why don’t you trust me?”

Colette stares at him for a second, trying to find her words. “I don’t know.”

Anthony’s expression drops, his hands sliding down her arms as he shakes his head. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me like this.”

Colette tries to hide the hurt that came with his statement. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t tell me the truth when I ask him for it.” The two of them stare at each other for a few moments in silence. “Does that mean we’re done?”

Anthony nods, his eyes not reaching Colette’s again. “I think so.”

a glass looking liquor bottle with a small amount of liquid inside, a solo cup on its side tipped over in front of it

The guy in front of Colette was so cute. At least, he was cute enough to flirt with while she was drunk and still wanting more drinks she didn’t want to pay for. The cup of rum and coke in her drink never seemed to empty for long enough with him standing there with her.

She wasn’t even sure what his name was. She wasn’t sure she cared what his name was.

She was pretending to listen to him while twirling a lock of her hair in her fingers, trying her best to make it look like she was intrigued so that he would get her a refill of her almost empty drink. It wasn’t how she normally flirted, but it was working for him, so why not?

“Lettie, babe, come on,” she hears Anthony behind her, his hands wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her ever so slightly towards him.

A month ago, she would have done anything to feel his body against hers like this.

Now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of his arms.

“Anthony,” she tries to fight.

“This your bodyguard?” the guy asks her, looking incredibly pissed off.

“Boyfriend,” Anthony corrects him.

The guy scoffs, running his hands through his hair. “Nice.” He walks away despite her protests, not listening to her as she tries to pry herself free of Anthony’s grasp.

He laughs, leading her back to their friends. Colette sits down, a now empty cup in front of her since she didn’t get that last refill that she wanted. None of her friends noticed her not participating in their conversation, her anger toward Anthony increasing along with her sobriety.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” she stands abruptly, nearly knocking over the table holding all of their drinks.

Anthony gets up with her, Colette not hearing him say, “I’m gonna turn in too, I’ll walk her home,” before she pushes her way out of the bar and into the muggy air outside.

“I don’t know how you could stand there and let him flirt with you when you made it pretty clear that you weren’t even interested in him,” Anthony whines, not noticing how annoyed she was with him. He was acting like a hero when he shouldn’t have been. “I mean, I can’t believe I had to step in and help you.”

“You didn’t,” she snaps at him, catching him off guard. “I was interested in him. He was nice. He was buying me drinks. That’s why he was flirting with me, because I was flirting with him.”

Colette thought that they were actually going to be friends, like they said they would be. They had been out together since they broke up. They had hung out with their friends in the exact same setting and had the exact same scenario happen but without this ending to the night. There was no reason why he should have stepped all over her like that to ‘save her,’ as he put it.

“What? Oh, come on, I know how you act when you’re flirting with a guy.”

“Do you?” she asks him, followed by him giving her a confident, ‘yes.’ “Really? So what do I do?”

“You, you,” he starts, knowing that he dug himself into a hole. “You smile at him, you laugh at everything he says, even if it isn’t funny. You run your hands through your hair because you know that fucking collar bone of yours drives me crazy.” He stops, both of them shocked that he just said that. That isn’t how she flirts with anyone, that’s how she acted around him when they were together. “Fuck.”

“Anthony, you cannot keep doing this. We broke up,” she starts, not adding that it was her fault, even though she still felt like it was. “Stop interfering when I’m with another guy.”

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he tries to defend himself.

“From what? From who? What could you possibly be protecting me from? Other guys? Why, Anthony?”

“Fuck, Colette, you think it’s easy watching you flirt with another guy? Just because we broke up, that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you,” he spits out.

Colette stands there, trying to process what he just told her. She could feel her heart racing, the sound of it beating the only thing she could hear. “I didn’t know you still loved me.”

Anthony scoffs, looking down at the ground, shaking his head. “Of course I did. I do. You haven’t noticed that I haven’t looked at another girl since we broke up? I want you, and only you.”

“I didn’t,” she tells him. “Anthony, you’re just saying this because you’re drunk.”

Anthony raises an eyebrow, shaking his head and biting his lip. “Look, I might be. But I know that drunk or not, I cannot sit around and watch you flirt with every guy in existence, while you, the one who was supposed to be my best friend, didn’t even notice that I was miserable while it was happening.”

“What do you want from me?” she snaps. “What am I supposed to do? We tried. We didn’t work. As much as we both wanted to, we did not work.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say. He had to know it was her fault they broke up. It wasn’t mutual, not really.

“I guess, nothing,” he tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nothing at all.” He looks down at the ground and lets out a long sigh. “I’ll see you at the wedding,” is the last thing Anthony says to her before turning on his heels, leaving Colette alone on the sidewalk.

a ring, not on the ring finger

“Devyn really picked the worst shade of blue she could find for these dresses, didn’t she?” Devyn’s youngest sister, Blake, complains to the rest of the bridesmaids.

Devyn had just stepped out of the room to do her first look with Franco, leaving the girls alone to finish getting ready.

“She picked sapphire,” Becca said.

“You know,” Colette continues. “Her birthstone?”

“She should have picked a lighter blue. This dark blue totally clashes with my skintone.”

“Blake,” Kendall, her other sister scolds her, “Devyn didn’t give a fuck about your skintone when she picked her favorite color. Either you’re wearing the dress without complaint or I’m telling mom and you’re not in the wedding.”

The sisters keep bickering, Addison, Becca, and Colette slowly moving away from them.

“I always forget that Blake is still in high school,” Addison says, grabbing her bouquet before checking her makeup one last time.

“I don’t know how you could when she’s constantly tagging Devyn in her posts,” Colette points out.

“Especially the ones she’s not even in.”

“To increase her visibility,” Colette starts, reciting word for word what Blake had tried to explain to them during Devyn’s bachelorette party. “So she has more people who know her brand when she becomes famous.”

“Teenagers make no sense,” Devyn appears, a nervous look on her face. “I think we’re almost ready to start.”

“What’s wrong?” Addison asks.

“Colette, we have a problem.”

“What did I do?”

“Sebby thinks Becca is hot and wants to walk down the aisle with her.”

Colette could feel the color draining from her face at the realization of what this switch would mean for her.

“Is he Franco’s older or younger brother?” Becca asks.

“The older one.”

Becca turns to Colette. “I’m not coming back to the hotel room tonight,” she tells her, practically giddy. “Oh, wait.”

“That means Colette has to walk with-” Addison starts.

“Anthony,” the four girls say at the same time.

“I’ll be fine,” Colette says, her voice noticeably higher than it should be. She clears her throat, trying to calm herself considering the last time she talked to Anthony was the night he told her he loved her. “I’m fine.”

Devyn’s wedding planner, Jax, comes over to tell them it’s time to line up to enter with the groomsmen.

“I love you,” Devyn calls after her bridesmaids, all of them calling back to her the same sentiment.

Colette nearly stops breathing when she sees Anthony in his suit, helping Eddy adjust his tie. The suit fit him perfectly, Colette silently cursing the fact that Franco picked dark gray as the color. She hated to admit that she still thought about that one suit of his that he wore on game day, one that looked identical to the one he had on now.

“Hi,” she says, standing next to him, trying to not look at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, staring straight ahead at the back of Eddy’s neck.

The music starts, both of them rigid while everyone else around them is relaxed.

“I thought this would be us one day,” Anthony breaks their silence as the first couple starts to walk arm in arm down the aisle towards where Franco was already standing.

“What?” Colette asks, caught off guard.

Anthony nods, still staring in front of him as they move closer to the entrance of their venue. “I had the proposal all planned out. Had the ring. Had the reservation for dinner. Had a photographer. Everything. And then, the night before I was going to ask you, we broke up. That’s why I couldn’t tell you what was going on. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Colette looks at him, not noticing that they were next to go down the aisle, Anthony taking Colette’s arm in his as Jax tells them to start walking.

a candle with a long wick, uncut, the lid propped up against the glass

“Are you sure you’re ok to come to this?” Franco asks her.

Colette hesitates for a minute. She hadn’t seen him in months, so she wasn’t sure why she was being invited to his apartment. She hadn’t been to his place since he moved in over a year ago, and honestly, Colette hasn’t intended on going. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve looked like you were going to vomit since we picked you up for this?” Devyn twists her body from the front seat to face her. “We can take you back home if you want.”

Franco pulls up in front of Anthony’s new place, knowing that she couldn’t ask them now to turn around and drive the entire way to and from her place again. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Colette takes in a deep breath as Devyn and Franco get out of the car, leaving her behind in the back seat to stare up at the building they were all supposed to be heading into. There was no need for her to be this nervous. She and Anthony were friends. They talked still, occasionally. Maybe once a week. And the conversations were never more than half an hour long, just to check in, but that’s adult friendships.

Right?

She gets out of the car, jogging to catch up with her friends as they were already to the elevator.

“You’re going to be ok, you know,” Devyn says, putting her arm around Colette.

“Yeah, we’ll kill him if you want us to.”

Devyn smacks her husband's chest with her free hand, scolding him as Colette laughs.

She could do this.

They make their way up to Anthony’s place, getting turned around and somehow ending up two floors above where they were supposed to be, thanks to Franco not being able to read a text message properly and upsetting one of Anthony’s elderly building neighbors. By the time they find his apartment, the place is full, their friends and Anthony’s taking up so much space they could barely move. Franco and Devyn break off from Colette, leaving her alone to scope the place out.

She wanders through his place, people in every single one of his rooms. She stumbles across what she assumes to be a guest room. It was way too neat to be Anthony’s own room, despite him always making her bed when they were together.

Mat appears behind her, laughing at the sight of the room. “I guess it’s easy to figure out which room is Tito’s, huh?”

Colette lets out a small laugh. “I was just thinking that.”

“How have you been?” he asks, sitting down on the bed.

She goes to join him, sighing. “I’m at my ex’s place for the first time since we moved out of the place we got together. Clearly, I’m on top of the world.”

“It could be worse.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

“Ok, what animal are you least afraid of?” Colette looks at him, confused by the non sequitur. “I’m trying to distract you.”

“Fine, fine,” she rolls her eyes as he nudges her shoulder. “I guess fish?”

“No, I said an animal.”

“And I said a fish.”

“No, a real animal?”

“Are fish fake?”

“You can’t find a fish at a zoo. Have you heard of fish zoos?”

“Yeah, they’re called aquariums, you fucking walnut,” Colette tells him, laughing so hard she could feel pain in her sides.

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Mat sits there for a second, looking down at his hands with a smirk on his face while Colette continues to laugh. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh that hard since you broke up with him.”

“This is the first time we’ve seen each other since before he and I broke up,” Colette points out once she catches her breath.

Mat sighs. “I don’t think he’s laughed as hard as you just did since you two broke up.”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, not believing him.

“Colette, you make him want to live as long as possible so he can have as much time sharing the planet with you as he can. He has all of your favorite things in his Notes App on his phone that he will not delete. That one picture I took of you guys way back when we all met is still one of his lock screens, again that he won’t delete. I mean, look around his whole place. You are in every corner.”

Colette shakes her head. “Come on.”

“Look at that bookcase,” Mat says, bringing her over to the other side of the room. A picture of Devyn and Franco’s wedding party is framed on one of the shelves, one where he is looking at her so lovingly that someone in passing would assume they were the ones getting married while she was looking at the camera if not for what they were wearing. Her favorite candle scents were still unlit, sitting on the shelf next to all the books she loved by Leigh Bardugo and Gillian Flynn, the same ones from when they first moved in together, their spines now noticeably more worn, the copies loved by someone who had to have read them multiple times. She picked up the copy of Ninth House, seeing his writing in it and comments saying things like ‘remember when you said this to me?’ or ‘this has to be your favorite scene because’ left unfinished.

“He was writing these to me,” she realizes, not noticing Mat leaving the room.

“Of course I was,” Anthony says, her turning around so fast she loses her grasp on the book in her hands to send it falling to the floor. “I can’t really read these books anymore without thinking of you.”

“Why do you still have them all then?”

Anthony looks at the book on the floor. “How could I get rid of them?”

The two of them stand there in silence for what feels like forever. She wasn’t used to having Anthony in front of her and barely being able to find the words to say to him. She hated herself for losing him, but how could she have kept him? Colette takes in a deep breath. “We made a mistake breaking up, didn’t we?”

Anthony nods, shrugging. “Yeah, probably.”

“I don’t think we could ever go back, either.” Anthony sighs, opening his mouth to say something when Colette cuts him off. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“I think I’m still in love with you, but we can’t be together. We don’t trust each other,” Colette hears herself say, shocked at the words that come out of her.

Anthony closes the distance between them, taking her in his arms and hugging her so fiercely she could barely breathe. “I still love you, too.”

The two of them pull apart, both of them crying. They knew what this was for them.

“God, this sucks,” Anthony laments.

“It’s kind of amazing, though, isn’t it?”

“What?” Anthony asks, shock in his voice.

“How lucky we are that we got to love each other so much, that a simple goodbye could feel as devastating as this.”

two sets of eyes, one opened set, one closed set

“Don’t panic,” Addison says, Eddy rolling his eyes behind her.

“Yeah, because only good things come from people saying that,” Colette says, handing her friends the drinks she bought them. Becca was somewhere with Devyn and Franco, the six of them out together for one of their increasingly rare nights when they could all be together without having to worry about anything outside the building they were in.

“She thinks she saw some of Anthony’s teammates,” Eddy explains, guiding them back to the rest of their friends.

Colette rolls her eyes, looking back to her friend who had already downed more than half her drink. She knew that Addison had a drunken habit of mistaking strangers for people she actually knew, or thought she knew. Just because she thought she saw some of his teammates, that didn’t actually mean anything. “I think we can save the panic for when we know we see him, instead.”

“You’re already panicking about seeing him again?” Becca asks, overhearing only the last part of the conversation as they arrive back at the table.

“We are talking about different people,” Colette says. “I was just with Carter last night.”

“That’s, what, almost every night that’s he’s not away for the last five months that you’ve spent the night together, isn’t it?” Devyn asks, stirring her drink with her straw.

“Yeah,” Colette sighs.

“Oh, no,” Franco groans.

“You guys seem really in to each other.” Becca points out.

“I mean, physically, it’s great. But, he just,” Colette starts, trying to figure out what to say. She knew exactly what bothered her; it was why she broke up with Anthony in the first place. “He doesn’t really know me.”

“Holy shit,” Eddy says, nearly choking on his drink. The group follows his gaze to see that Addison was right; Anthony’s teammates were there at the bar, but so was Anthony.

Not only was he there, but he had his arm around a girl, guiding her through the place to see if they could find an open table, the only one close to them being the one right next to them.

“You make it worse if you freak out,” Devyn scolds him.

“Hi,” Anthony says when he sees her, standing right next to their table.

“Hey, bud,” Eddy greets him, Franco punching him in the arm for the over enthusiasm.

“We’re going to go get more drinks,” Becca says, all of Colette’s friends grabbing their clearly new drinks in front of them and excusing themselves from the table.

Anthony awkwardly chuckles as they all leave, just him and Colette alone for the first time in what felt like forever. “So they haven’t changed.”

Colette felt a pit in her stomach. “You didn’t have to stop talking to them because we don’t talk that much. I mean, you were in Devyn and Franco’s wedding.”

Anthony nods, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down on the table in front of her. He was still standing awkwardly, Colette knowing that he wouldn’t ask to sit down with her. “Talking to them made me think about talking to you.”

The two of them sit in an awkward silence for a moment.

“So who was-”

“I saw you-” they start to say at the same time, both of them letting out a laugh in hopes it would calm them down.

“You first,” Colette tells him.

“I saw you started seeing someone,” he brings up, leaning against the table as he looks down at his drink, a sad smile on his face.

Colette cringes, nodding. She forgot she still had him on her private story. “Yeah, but it won’t last much longer.”

“Oh.”

“I saw you were here with someone?” she asks, gesturing to the girl who was with his teammates.

Anthony looks over, waving at his friends and the girl. “That’s Mat’s little sister. She’s just here to visit.”

“So are you seeing anyone?”

Anthony shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Colette hears herself say, gesturing to him to sit down next to her.

He waves her off, taking the seat previously occupied by Franco across from her. “It’s fine. I’ll find someone else eventually.”

“No, I mean,” Colette starts, taking in a deep breath and trying to figure out what to say after all these years of not saying what she wanted to. What she should have said. They both knew they had already found each other and they let it go too soon. “I’m sorry for ending things. I’m sorry for being the reason everything fell apart. I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I love you the way you showed me.”

Anthony looks up from his drink, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You knew everything about me. You have my favorite books, you always knew exactly what I wanted to get when we went out to dinner before I had the chance to tell you, you know my mood based on the smallest things I do. You showed me you love me with everything. I didn’t do that for you.”

Anthony gives her a sad smile. “You always showed me you loved me.”

“Not the way you did. I feel like I knew nothing about you the way you knew me.”

Anthony shakes his head. “You know me better than I know myself.” Colette starts to shake her head, about to dispute him when he cuts her off. “If I had a bad game, you always had a cup of tea ready for me when I got home with a note telling me how you knew I’d be fine next game. You never tried to minimize how I felt after a game and listened to everything I told you. If I had to get up early for practice or to leave for a road trip, you had my coffee ready for me before I was even awake sitting on the nightstand waiting for me, even if you hadn’t slept great the night before. I’d open my bag and find the notes you wrote for me hidden in my suit pockets so I’d have them with me in the locker room. You still text me after games to tell me you’re proud of me. You think you didn’t show me you loved me? I’ve never felt more loved by anyone before meeting you.”

“I didn’t think those things meant anything.”

“They meant everything.”

I love you

Colette walks into the studio, paper in hand. She had booked yet another appointment with her favorite artist, Eleni, months ago, going back and forth as to what she wanted. Her left arm was covered in a series of small tattoos as it was, enough space right at the start of her forearm for one last small tattoo.

“Hey, Let,” Eleni greets her.

“Hi, Len,” she smiles back, handing her the piece of paper.

“You want the words, ‘I love you?’” Eleni asks, eyebrow cocked. Colette swallows, knowing that this was the last thing she wanted on her arm. “Whose writing is this? I know it’s not yours.”

“Anthony’s,” Colette admits after what felt like too long of a silence for it to be anyone else's.

“Are you sure you want this?”

Colette forces out a laugh. “Every tattoo on my arm relates to him in some way, you know that. You put them all there. The book with the sun, the solo cup, the wheel of fortune. Might as well finish it off with how we feel about each other.”

Eleni takes in a deep breath, getting Colette ready for her tattoo. “I don’t get why you two aren’t together.”

Colette sighs. “I fucked up. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix it. Not in a way that matters, anyway.” Eleni gives her a sad look, Colette shaking her head and waving it off. “Besides, just because you think you’re ‘meant to be’ with someone, doesn’t mean you’ll actually ‘be.’”

#the summer fic exchange 2k24 #anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fic #tito beauvillier fic #pittsburgh penguins #penguins #penguins fic #pittsburgh penguins fic #anthony beauvillier x oc #tito beauvillier x oc #nhl #nhl fic

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riveroftales · 3 months

Text

He might be a little OC and I’m really sorry. It’s my first time writing him (｡╥﹏╥｡)

Constructive criticism to help improve his character is greatly appreciated! (ˊ˘ˋ*)

ғᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝘾𝙒! 𝖵𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾

Bodyguard!Muzan who only accepted the job because he literally had nothing better to do.

Bodyguard!Muzan who, despite the suit being a little tight, didn’t complain because he looked good.

Bodyguard!Muzan who always did his job perfectly with a scowl on his face.

Bodyguard!Muzan who didn’t care about your status and refused to answer personal questions about himself.

Bodyguard!Muzan who regrettably learned that you were a singer because his curiosity killed the cat, resulting in him being dragged to one of your concerts as a VIP guest for free.

Bodyguard!Muzan who caged you in his arms as he helped you get past an enormous crowd of fans when you simply wanted to use the bathroom.

Bodyguard!Muzan who entered the ladies room with you to guard your stall because of the several incidents you previously had of fans trying to break in.

Bodyguard!Muzan who grunted when you dragged him to a small, local restaurant to treat him as a ‘thank you.’

Bodyguard!Muzan who nibbled on the grilled beef to stay focused at the surroundings despite the meal being one of the best he had.

Bodyguard!Muzan who was beyond pissed when you kept on leaning against him, slurred and mixed words leaving your soft and glossy lips as he carried your drunken state back to your house.

Bodyguard!Muzan who took off your shoes and accessories (even gently removing your makeup) while undressing you and helping you slip in your pyjamas before gently placing you on your bed, tucking you in like a child.

Bodyguard!Muzan who neatly folds your clothes and kept them in your closet, taking his payment by stealing one of your panties and shoving it in his pocket.

Bodyguard!Muzan who takes care of you through your horrible hangover.

Bodyguard!Muzan who slowly starts to enjoy being part of the audience of your concerts.

Bodyguard!Muzan who glares at every pathetic fans who look like they’d cream their pants just by gazing at you when they get their autographs.

Bodyguard!Muzan who instantly comes to your rescue when he sees you getting harassed by a man.

Bodyguard!Muzan who grabs your waist to pull you away from the assaulter and calls him your boyfriend, knowing the man wouldn’t take him seriously if he introduced himself as your bodyguard.

Bodyguard!Muzan who ‘proves’ his point by shoving his tongue in your mouth when he notices the man glaring at you two from a few meters away a few minutes later, tasting your cherry-cola lips.

Bodyguard!Muzan who knew he fucked up when he realised he couldn’t stop kissing you. Your lips were too sweet.

Bodyguard!Muzan who had to pinch himself so he could finally pull away, lying to you saying that other people were staring at you in a way he knew would make you uncomfortable.

Bodyguard!Muzan who started warming up more and more.

Bodyguard!Muzan who you realised had the prettiest smile.

Bodyguard!Muzan who you fell hard for when he saw the fan mail you received and commented on it.

“Tch. Does this bastard know you like bluebells? Also you don’t even like dark chocolate.” He scoffed as he went through your special fan mail with you. His comment made you freeze up slightly.

“Excuse me?” You managed to chuckle out. “Thought you said you weren’t interested in anything related to me when you started working?”

“When I started, you brat.” He flicked your forehead. “You’ve gotten a little more tolerable.”

“Then does this mean we’re on a first-name basis, Muzan?” Your eyes lit up as you leaned on him, your chin on his shoulder as you pouted up at him.

You successfully earn a soft chuckle from him.

“Don’t get your hopes too high up, asshole.” He ruffled your hair. “I’m gonna go get food. You want anything..” he stayed silent for a bit before ruffling your hair again. “..Y/n?”

He saw the fondness in your eyes. “You know my favourite, don’t you?”

He smiled. “Coming right up.”

Bodyguard!Muzan who got yelled at by Daki and Douma multiple times to simply suck it up, be a man, and confess to you before it was too late.

Bodyguard!Muzan who himself couldn’t believe he listened to them when he poured his heart out to you.

Bodyguard!Muzan who got your lips on his as your answer for his confession.

Bodyguard!Muzan who didn’t need to be paid anymore. He continued going to the gym, almost never missing a day to get stronger so he could protect his family. After all, he made to himself he would protect you and your daughter 6 years prior on your wedding night.

#demon slayer #muzan kibutsuji #kny muzan #demon slayer muzan #muzan x reader #muzan x y/n #muzan x you

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rachetmath · 14 days

Text

Seduction Strategy

Yang: Jaune, I need your help.

Jaune: With what?

Yang: You see a friend of mines was having trouble pleasing his partner last time. She wasn't-

Jaune: He or she?

Yang: Pardon?

Jaune: Like is this person a he or she? Is their partner a girl or boy? I mean you and this person are two different people so-

Yang: Okay. I-I need help. I need another way to please Blake in bed. I've tried everything but nothing works.

Jaune: Why me though? I’m not in a relationship.

Yang: Come on, what about your sisters’ advice?

Jaune: Have they ever worked though?

Yang: Okay, yeah, j-just guess. I’ll take anything.

Jaune: I mean what are Blake's interest.

Yang: Well. She likes fish. And reading books. And that's it.

Jaune: Okay does she have a favorite book?

Yang: Well, she does, and it is called “Ninja of Love.”

Jaune: So read the book and find some way to focus that into sex.

Yang: Hm. Really?

Jaune: I mean, “Ninja of Love”, doesn’t that scream sex?

Yang: ….

Afterwards Yang read the book and put her plan into motion. Blake was heading to their room to figure out what Yang wanted after she texted her. She walked inside and;

Blake: Yang. What did you- *gasp*

Blake was in shock. She saw her girlfriend was wearing a very sexy ninja outfit. Her hair was in a ponytail. She was wearing black but the skirt was short. And her top was tight, revealing her breast. Yang smiles as she saw her girlfriend blushing at her and decided to make a move. She walked towards the bed, swaying her hips as she slowly laid down, giving Blake a lot of the details.

Yang: Hi Blake. Care to learn the ways of the ninja.

Blake: Yang. Why are you-?

Yang: Oh. Sorry. I should probably mention I read one of your favorite books and I was wondering… would you like to reenact a few scenes with me?

Blake gave Yang her answer as she strips down naked. Afterwards Yang and Blake were going at each other for weeks. Then when Ren asked on how she did it, she replied to ask Jaune. Ren was confused at first but she said “Trust him.” Ren then goes to Jaune for advice.

Ren: Jaune. Yang told me how you helped her. Can you help me with Nora?

Jaune: Ren. Come on, you know me, I am not qualified to help with your relationship problems.

Ren: I mean so far you have been able to help everybody with their issues by talking to them and listening. How is this different?

Jaune: Look man., figure that out yourself.

Ren: Jaune, please?

Jaune: Fine. Um. Just wear an apron that states "Baked With Love" and say "I have a new pancake recipe for you to try." I guess.

Ren: Hm. Alright I’ll try.*leaves*

Jaune: Don’t blame me if it doesn’t work.

Later that night.

Nora: Ren. What do ne-e-eed… Oh my

Nora was stunted for words. She was looking at Ren completely naked with just an apron as she stared at his butt. Ren turned around revealing “Baked With Love” imprinted on the apron and said the words exactly as Jaune told him.

Ren: Hi Nora. Sorry to have called you so late. But, I made a new pancake I need you to try.

Nora: R-really? So where are the pancakes?

Ren: Oh don’t worry. *pulls up his apron* I have a special one made just for you.

Nora saw what Ren was doing and she liked it. Afterwards Nora was blowing Ren like no tomorrow. Both Ren and Yang were enjoying the results of Jaune’s guesses. However one thing they never accounted for is Oscar listening in on them. Oscar wanted the same result so he can finally score with Ruby, so he asked Jaune for help. However;

Oscar: Jaune, help me score with Ruby.

Jaune: Nope.

Oscar: Please?

Jaune: No!

Oscar: Please.

Jaune: No!!

Oscar: PLEASE!!

Jaune: NO!!!!

Oscar: Why not?!?

Jaune: First, Yang will kill me! Second, you’re too young, so I don’t know why you’re thinking about this, after everything you’ve been through. Third, Yang will kill me!

Oscar: I'll tell Winter you almost got Weiss killed.

Jaune: You little bastard, you wouldn’t.

Oscar: I would. And she could kill you faster than Yang can.

Jaune: Damn, you right. Fine. Um… go to the store. Buy some whip cream and gum drops. Get naked. And make yourself look like a gingerbread man.

Oscar: What? Why?

Jaune: Ruby loves cookies. And you almost look like a cookie.

Oscar: Jaune that isn’t going to w- oh yes!

Oscar was feeling the up most pleasure as Ruby was bouncing up and down from his pine tree in her team bedroom.

Ruby: Yes. Harder. Harder!! Make me your wife, Gingerbread Man!

Oscar: Yes ma’am.

Afterwards, Jaune, finally thinking he’s done, was relaxing. That was until Cinder Fall appeared out of nowhere. She was very angry too.

Cinder: Seriously?

Jaune: What?

Cinder: I mean, come on, you can help everyone get laid but not yourself. Pathetic.

Jaune: Okay. What’s your point? Why is this your business? Also how did you get in this house?

Cinder: Okay?! Look Arc, I'll show you pity for today. If you can get me to sleep then you get me as your reward. No attempts on your life at all.

Jaune: What if I say no?

Cinder: Why would you?

Jaune: I mean Pyrrha was better looking than you. So is Winter. And Penny.

Cinder: I am very capable.

Jaune: Really?

Cinder: Must I-

Cinder stops and thinks for a minute. Jaune knows she loves to prove how better she is than everyone else around her. She thought for a moment and realized Jaune was toying with her emotions and pride. She smiled, giving him some credit but a failed attempt was still a failed attempt.

Cinder: Ah. You almost had me. Try again.

Jaune: Okay. Hand please.

Cinder: Why?

Jaune: Give me your hand and find out.

Cinder grabs his hand. Jaune uses his semblance to amplify her powers. Cinder felt a surge of power flow in her body as her maiden power suddenly activated. She then stares at Jaune, with smug look on his face.

Cinder: Wha- what did you-?

Jaune: Liked that huh?

Cinder: Um… no.

Jaune pulls Cinder close where her back is towards his chest.

Jaune: You know Cinder, instead of having to track down maidens to gain power. How about I let you take a bit of mines?

Cinder: Um… well you see- Ah~.

Cinder can feel Jaune’s sword rubbing on her butt as she blushes. Jaune continues to smile as he sees her so flustered. To Jaune, Cinder look so cute. However, he wonders why she so was easily tempted. He thought about it and came to the conclusion that;

Jaune: Oh. Cinder Fall, is this your-

Cinder: S-shut up!

Jaune laugh sand gently places his hand on Cinder’s face, turning her towards his own. Cinder was amazed by the glow of his eyes. She was enjoying this. She could feel his power coursing to her veins. She want more so bad she was close to kissing him however-

Cinder: No. You fool. We can’t. We’re enemies.

Jaune: So what? I mean we don’t have to love each other to make a fire. So, are you going to make the first move and express your dominance? Or am I going to show you how strong I really am?

Cinder giggles and turns towards him with her chest to his.

Cinder: Is that a challenge?

Jaune: If that’s how you want it to be.

Cinder: Then don’t hold back.

Jaune: Same.

Jaune and Cinder, without hesitation, kissed and spent a whole night in a ‘hatred’. Cinder was screaming in pleasure as Jaune brutally ‘stabs’ her.

Cinder: I am so glad I killed Pyrrha! ~

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #lie ren #nora valkyrie #oscar pines #yang x blake #rwby bumblebee #ren x nora #rwby renora #oscar x ruby #rwby rosegarden #jaune x cinder #rwby knightfall

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kasagia · 9 months

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❄️️Warm my heart pt. 8 (end)❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: Winter Fiesta at Christmas? Great idea. After all, there is no better opportunity to end the drama that has been going on between you and the general than at a huge ball thrown by Lantsov. Word Count: 3,6k Taglist:@aoi-targaryen @budugu @flostvs1508 @chelseyyouraverageluigi ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova’s Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 7 ~•♤♤♤•~

You liked Christmas, but the winter fete that preceded it was a terrible event.

Especially since this year you weren't leaving to visit your brother right away, and in the next few hours you were going to find out whether the man you gave your heart to was really an immortal, power-hungry monster who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

In hindsight, you would probably prefer to endure the snark and rudeness of your grandparents and your siblings.

You took a shaky breath as you walked out of the Little Palace. At the exit, you met Fedyor and Ivan, who reconciled after Ivan promised to meet his family. The bastard knew it would be impossible this year, so he agreed, but as long as Fedyor is happy about it, then you are too.

Fedor's worse half separates from you as they reach the great hall of the king's palace.

You and Fedyor blend in with the crowd of other Grisha. You manage to grab a glass of champagne and sip it while watching the people around you. You unconsciously look at Alina, which Fedyor immediately notices.

"Are you waiting for the big show?" he asks, referring to the little show of power Alina and Aleksander were about to do.

Luckily, you missed out on being a circus monkey at the party this year (you suspect Aleksander didn't want to anger you more), so all you had to do was try to get through the last few hours as pain-free as possible.

"I can't wait." you say sarcastically, grabbing something sweet from the snack table. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your friend smirking. "What is it? What did you do?"

"I? Nothing at all," he lies, leaning on the table and grabbing something to eat.

"I know you too well for you to lie to me. I've seen this conspiratorial smile more than once. What's going on?" you ask, looking at him carefully and expectantly.

Before you can push him further to speak, Genya joins you, saving the man from your further investigation. She shows you some Inferni tricks. When you look away, they both exchange knowing glances, and Fedyor silently thanks her for saving him.

"You look pretty." Genya comments, turning to you as the three of you eat the sweets. Take advantage of the opportunity while you can. In the Little Palace, you rarely ate anything other than those nasty herrings. "I like your earrings. Moonstone, right?"

"David made them for me. Initially, they were supposed to be… something else, but he had enough material to make me earrings as well."

"Yes, he is very talented. And what was most of it he spent on making?" she asks curiously as you three walk to a more distant part of the room where there are much fewer people.

"A ring."

"A ring? I don't see any on your finger."

"It wasn't supposed to be for me. Christmas gift." you explain vaguely.

The ring was supposed to be for Aleksander... no proposal or anything else. He recently lost his ring, so you asked David to make him a new one, practically the same as his old one but with a piece of moonstone inside.

"Oh, I see. You know, David told me that the moonstone has… a very special meaning," she says teasingly.

"Really? And how often do the two of you talk like that?" you ask just as teasingly, and she blushes too.

You both laugh, and only now do you notice that Fedyor has also disappeared somewhere, leaving you and Genya alone.

"May I ask who that special gift is?"

"I... I haven't decided yet." you tell her what is actually true.

This evening was to decide everything. That evening, Aleksander was to put his plan into action. If he really decided to use Alina in his plans... you had a backup plan ready. Which you hoped you wouldn't have to use.

You notice Aleksander as soon as he enters the room.

And you are speechless at the sight of him.

At the sight of his black kefta embroidered with red threads.

He gives you a short, meaningful look and goes to greet the royal family. You turn immediately towards Genya with a questioning look, and she simply shrugs.

"He wanted a matching kefta." she explains, but she frowns at your growing excitement. "But I want you to be careful. He's… a powerful man. Even if you tamed him a little."

You are going to deny her words, defend him, and say that he is not as bad as everyone makes him out to be, but you are speechless for the second time when soon after Alina enters the room in a black kefta with gold embroidery.

You shake your head, laughing bitterly.

"Apparently not." you say, staring at Alin with envy. The bitter bile of jealousy and hurt wells up inside you as you try to focus on your anger rather than the tears welling up in your eyes.

Genya stares at her as surprised as you, searching for someone in the crowd.

"I don't understand… after all…"

"Don't worry, I understand." you say firmly and coldly, making the redhead shiver. You ignore her, staring at Alina as she approaches Aleksander from behind, surprising him when she smiles sweetly at him. "And I'm not going to be part of this fucking threesome."

You leave Genya alone before she can say anything. You don't stay for the Alina and General show. You just walk out, pushing your way through the crowd and finding the back exit where the fewest guards are patrolling. All you wanted was to disappear into the shadows.

Aleksander looked for you frantically after Alina approached him. But he doesn't see you anywhere. You left Genya alone, and he wasn't able to spot you in the crowd.

He did his little show with the Sun Summoner and left her with her friends. He moved quickly towards the exit, catching Genya's gaze. The woman immediately followed him. They both left the room and went into the corridor, where Fedyor was already waiting for them.

"What happened there?" he asks them furiously. "Who gave her that damn kefta? That wasn't the plan."

"Um… David saw Baghra leaving the Grand Palace."

Aleksander frowns in anger at Fedyor's words. He clenches his fists and takes a few breaths to calm himself down. His mother always had to destroy everything that was good. He should've predicted it.

"And where is she now?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"Baghra?" Fedyor asks hesitantly as Genya gently moves towards him.

"Y/N!!" they both tremble when they hear him shouting. Shadows circle him, giving him an even more ominous look. He sighs when he sees the fear in their eyes, and with a wave of his hand, everything returns to normal. “I meant Y/N.” he says more calmly, slightly embarrassed by his sudden outburst.

"We do not know. David followed her, but she vanished from his sight."

"Vanished?" Fedyor nods. Aleksander immediately thinks of his mother. Only she and he knew the exact location of the hidden corridors in the Grand and Little Palace. She had to take you. Convince you finally that he is a monster. "I want our men at every exit gate around the castle, at every exit and entrance, and at the sewers that lead from here. As soon as you see her, you are to capture her and alert the rest."

"Baghra or Y/N?"

"Both!" he says angrily, walking towards the exit of the palace. "And you two are to guard the Sun Summoner. I don't want her to disappear too."

He doesn't go far before Ivan catches up with him with the news that there was an attack on Alina. He freezes in his steps. It cannot be split.

He can either look for you or protect the Sun Summoner.

And the choice is simple for him.

You kept your hand pressed tightly to your mouth to keep from making any sound as you walked down the hall of the Grand Palace. Tears flowed freely from your eyes, somehow making their way through your hand and into your mouth so you could taste the saltiness of your defeat.

He chose Alina. Actually, both of you, but what difference did it make? You made it clear to him that you wouldn't be just another pushover in his life, just another face among many others. You wanted everything or nothing. Nothing half-hearted, no half-truths, and no being THE OTHER WOMEN.

As you walk and cry, you don't notice something suddenly moving in the shadows, and listening to the heartbeat of someone who might be hiding in a secret passageway in the hall is the last thing on your mind right now.

That's how someone grabs you tightly by the arm in an aching hug and drags you along with them to the hidden exit of the castle. You struggle and freeze, both shocked and irritated, as you see who caught you.

"Baghra? What the hell do you want?" you ask irritably, not wanting her to see you like this. You pull your hand from her grip and wipe the remaining tears from your face.

"I'm helping you, child. Do you think Aleksander won't send people after you who will lead you back to him like some pet?"

"I don't need your help." you growl, backing away from her in anger.

"You think so? So c'mon. Go, run away by yourself. I am sure he will find you. Maybe he will even put a collar on you too. You, Alina and Aleksander will have so much fun together."

You stand still, listening to her words like poison. You shake your head and turn to face her, watching her smirk with spite.

"You know what? I'm not surprised that he... that he thinks what he's doing is right. If he told me even a little bit of the truth about himself, then I know how you treated him. How you shaped him. So don't be surprised that your son became what he became when all you showed him was how to take advantage of other people and how to not care about anyone but his own goals and needs. Maybe if you hadn't run away from all those who are supposedly not worthy of your attention and hadn't taught him the same things, he would have turned out completely differently. Maybe if you saw him as something more than a creator of the fold, a Black Heretic, everything would be different. And don't worry. I can handle everything perfectly on my own."

You leave her in the secret corridor and don't look back as you return to the main halls of the Grand Palace.

Aleksander was furious. No one saw you, no one could find you. He ran out of the Little Palace and headed straight for the stables. You had to sneak out somehow. He hoped that maybe he would ride his horse around the area and find you.

He doesn't wait for the horseboy. He approaches his horse and saddles it quickly and expertly. He has his foot in the stirrup when he hears movement near the entrance.

"Are you going somewhere?" you ask, leaning against the entrance with your arms crossed.

He freezes, blinking a few times, making sure you're not some sort of vision, ghost, or other creature tormenting him. When he realises you're standing there in your body, he jumps off his horse and runs towards you. He hugs you to his chest and buries his nose in your hair. He lets out a shaky breath, inhaling your scent.

"Saints, where have you been?" he asks, not letting you move away from him. He needs to feel you close.

"On the way. Far from here. I turned back when I heard that there was an attack on Alina. Did anything happen to anyone?" you ask worriedly, moving away from him. He doesn't let you go far, just enough to look at him.

"I… I don't know." he admits, embarrassed, and you frown, looking at him in disbelief.

"How don't you know?"

"I left. I left Ivan, Fedyor, and Zoya in charge. I… I had to find you."

His confession makes your heart melt, and you bite your lips, holding back the sudden urge to kiss him. Your brain gets back on track as you start to think again about how your friends and other Grisha handle another attack on Sun Summoner.

"We have to come back to them." you tell him as you somehow manage to get out of his grasp and turn towards the exit.

"Wait... please." he says this and quickly overtakes you, blocking your only escape route. You stare into his dark eyes for a moment before shifting your gaze to his horse, which is watching the two of you closely. He doesn't let you take your eyes off him for long. He gently grabs your chin and forces you to meet his pleading gaze. "Talk to me."

"About what? We have nothing to talk about." you say, glaring at him defiantly.

Common sense screams at you to run away from him. He wasn't just the red flag; he was the whole red carpet. But how can you leave him when those dark eyes look at you so pleadingly, when he clings to you like to the anchor, like to the only thing that holds him sane?

"If that were true, you'd be on your way, far away. I know you could get through all those people I put on guard, even me. If we didn't have anything to talk about, I… I wouldn't be looking for you like a mad man, leaving the Little Palace in such a situation without my supervision. You know that."

"Why are you wearing a kefta with red embroidery? Why did Alina replace her blue one with a black one? You can't have a cake and eat it at the same time, Aleksander. I want... I want to be the only one for you... as you are the only one for me, even though this shouldn't happen. Even though I know what you did, but... I can't help seeing you as... as someone more than my general or the Darkling. I... please, just don't prove me I am that naive to love you."

You lift your head to look at him just as he leans down to capture your lips with his.

You stand there in shock for a moment, but you respond to his kiss with equal parts fervour, passion, and need. He wraps one hand around your waist, and the other gently cups your cheek, tilting your head to a different side to give him better access to your mouth. You moan into the kiss, grabbing the lapels of his kefta and pulling him even closer to you.

The thought occurs to you that he looks good in red.

His cold fingertips tease the hot skin of your neck as he begins to undo the buttons on your kefta. A shiver runs through you as you break away from him, realising that you two still have a few more things to explain before you can finally let yourself lose yourself in him.

"Wait, wait." he listens to you and immediately pulls away from you, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. He licks his lips and is about to ask you a question when you interrupt him. "Nothing happened. You didn't do anything wrong; I just need to know. What about Alina? And the fold?"

"She means nothing to me. She is nothing compared to you. She is just a means to an end, and I… might have changed my plans a little bit."

"What do you mean?" you ask, crossing your arms. He sighs and looks at you for a long time before answering.

"I'm not known for making noble decisions. But know that everything I do—everything I wanted to do—I did for Grisha's sake. And I admit... these were not good for everyone. I wanted to seduce Alina. Make her trust me, make her rely only on me, and take advantage of her. But then I promoted you. I needed help with the papers—someone who wouldn't question my authority and for whom Grisha's well-being was as important as mine. And you ruined all my plans after the first day when you argued with me about sending our people through the fold. I... for the first time in hundreds of years, I had someone who wasn't afraid to say what she thought. Someone who respected my opinion even if she didn't agree with it. I felt that… that I didn't have to be this monster around you, that I didn't have to keep up my image. That I don't have to be a Darkling for you to respect me. And I know I'm far from being a good man, but with you... with you, I remember what I was like before all this happened, before this whole thing with the fold. What I was fighting for. What I believed in. I thought that that man died a long time ago, but with you, I am... I can be just my old self. The one I really missed. The only one of many of my... well, version of myself that I didn't play or create for survival purposes. I live with you. Not just keep fighting to survive for the better times. So please believe me that when I say I love you, I say it from the deepest truth, from the remnants of my heart that I still have after the centuries I have lived. The remnants that you picked up and brought back to life, my little almighty heartrender. You don't have to want me back. I don't suspect you will… just please don't leave. Don't leave me again alone in my darkness."

And what can you say? What can you do other than go up to him and kiss him like you've never kissed anyone else? You don't know who is more surprised—you, him, or that damned horse neighing in the background, ruining your perfect moment. But you don't care. You kiss your shadow summoner and try to convince him that, from now on, he will never be alone. At least as long as you breathe.

"I have something for you," you say later that night as you lie in his arms in his bed.

After your little make-out session, you returned to the Little Palace and took care of everything. Baghra was gone, Alina was safe (with Mal returning after Aleksander had abandoned his search for the deer), and everyone in the palace had somehow survived another attack.

"I don't need anything except for you to stop squirming so much," he murmurs into your neck, tightening his grip on you as you try to reach for your kefta, which is discarded on the floor next to the bed.

"Aleksander!” you squeal, laughing when he touches the sensitive spot on your waist, making you tickle. "Don't you dare." you say, seeing his malicious look. "I'm serious. Tickle me, and I'll fly out the door, not caring who sees me naked."

"I'll remember that." he huffs, offended, and buries his face in your neck. His beard tickles your skin, and even more tickles your sensitive skin, where he left a few hickeys on it.

You somehow manage to reach into your kefta and take out a canvas pouch. You place it on Alexander's chest, smiling excitedly as he pulls away from you gently and takes the item, examining it in his hands.

"What is it?"

"Your Christmas' gift. Open it."

He doesn't question your order. He pulls you towards him so that you're sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. He hugs you, holding you close to him and resting his chin on your head as he opens his pouch and selects a ring. You feel him hold his breath, and his heart speeds up.

"Don't worry; I'm not proposing to you. I'm not crazy enough to do it so quickly. Besides, I'm quite a traditionalist when it comes to this. I'll wait for my ring. I just know you lost yours somewhere and… I thought it would be a nice gift."

"Is this a moonstone?" you nod at his question.

"Do you like it?"

He doesn't answer. He places a kiss on your head and hands you the ring. He sticks out his left hand, obviously wanting you to put it on his finger.

You do it with trembling hands. It looks good on his finger. And the possessive thought crosses your mind that he is truly yours now.

"I have nothing for you, milaya. You'll have to wait before I pick up your gift from David and Genya." you turn around in his arms with a smile.

"I already have my gift. You let me warm your heart. That's all I wanted." he gives you that charming smile and kisses you. You smile against his lips, feeling his arms around you again as he pins you to the mattress to shower you with kisses again, hickeys and all his attention, whispering against your skin with every kiss how much he loves you and needs you.

And in the morning, you find a beautiful black kefta with red embroidery and a ring that matches the one you gave him. And as you hear his heartbeat against yours, you decide it's the best Christmas you've ever had.

199 notes · View notes

buckysunshine · 2 years

Text

lost in the fire – house of the dragon

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader, Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (tho no threesome)

Warnings: Smut (18+) ! A/B/O dynamics (just the heat aspect there’s no official alphas or omegas), Unprotected sex, Bareback riding, Public Sex, A little dub-con (the heat making her decisions for her), Incest (Uncle and niece, Step-dad and step-daughter). You have been warned!

Even though this is pure smut I can’t help myself and wrote in romance. AKA I’m a sucker for intimacy and pining.

Synopsis: The Targaryens is a special kind of house. The reason for their advancement stems from a family secret. Unfortunately for you, the mystery comes to light in the most wretched circumstance – while in captivity.

(Basically reader goes into heat while in imprisonment by the Greens. Reader is a Strong bastard, but won the genetic lottery of inheriting silver hair. Daemon is not the reader’s biological dad! But Aemond is her uncle.)

Word Count: 4.4K

masterlist

Your visits to King's Landing were rare. The few times you went, you were always accompanied by your brothers or Daemon. As the only daughter, your mother, Rhaenyra, is awfully protective of you. Though, you understand your mother's protectiveness. The Greens weren't exactly kind to your family the time you lived there, especially now that you're just unofficial visitors to the palace the moment your house left for Dragonstone.

But this time, you went alone, and the one time you did by the Gods would have it – you were captured and taken as prisoner.

It was your fault, really. It has been a while since you've met with your grandsire. You shared a special bond with the man. To everyone else, he was king, but to you, he was just your old man who enjoyed telling his stories for hours at a time. Until he got too weak to speak. The last time you saw him, he wasn't well, and it broke your heart to leave so soon. You wished to say your goodbyes before it was too late.

So you left on dragonback unescorted, only intending for a short visit. You had an inclination it was soon, but not this soon.

Now you're trapped and alone in King's Landing. A tool for the Hightowers to bargain with your mother. The only thing keeping you sane is the secret trips Daemon managed to sneak in every fortnight.

"Princess."

Daemon ascends in his black cloak. He sheds it to greet you with a soft smile as always, and as always, you embrace him. You savored his presence. He had to travel in secret, leaving Caraxes behind, making the travel time painstakingly longer. Your rendezvous with him are the only time you experience affection in isolation. Something you regret taking advantage of.

Daemon knew the secret passages hidden in the Red Keep, and the only place he could safely meet with you was a hidden chamber deep within the kingdom's walls at night.

"Please tell me you're here to take me away now."

He pulls back from your embrace to cup your face in his hands. You frown at the familiar apologetic look he gives you.

"I'm sorry, princess. As per your mother's orders, it is not yet time."

Dismay spikes in your chest at the thought of being trapped here for other days at a time. Rhaenyra has kept you here for her plan to take back the throne. You know it hurt your mother more to leave you here, but with the persuasion from her council, her plans now involve you and your stay in King's Landing. They somehow turned your imprisonment into an unexpected advantage.

When news broke of your capture, war nearly broke out. It took great effort from the council, your brothers, and even Queen Alicent ensuring your safety to hold your mother and Daemon back from burning King's Landing to the ground. You trust your mother; deep down, you know she would never let harm come to you. And as her kin, you would do anything to support your mother's claim to the Iron Throne, even if it meant playing the role of the lonely prisoner.

"I've brought letters from your brothers." Daemon fished them from his satchel, offering them to you as a small comfort.

You fight back tears as you read the letters. Not a day passed when you didn't miss your brothers. Worry crept into your heart about their safety, especially now with the brink of war. You cherish every written word, for they always end up burned and destroyed to eliminate any trace of evidence.

You flip through the papers until you reach a picture.

Daemon peers over your shoulder, chuckling at the appearance of the illustration. "Little Joffrey wanted to send you something as well. His writing still needs improvement, but he did his best with a handmade portrait just for his sister."

You clutch Joffrey's portrait of Tessaryon, your dragon. Ever since you've been captured, they have kept Tessaryon chained in the Dragon Pit, never to be seen again.

The hole in your chest grows deeper each day, and it finally rips through you in salty tears.

Daemon comforts you, rubbing circles on your back. "Shh... I know, princess. If it were up to me, you would be long gone here and back home already. Even burn this place while I'm at it."

Amid your tears, you laugh at his constrained threat, and the sincerity gives you comfort. Daemon holds you a little while longer. Despite your want to stay like this until his leave, the need to speak about the growing concern that's been troubling your mind breaks your resolve.

Speaking of, you peel yourself away from your step-father, gathering the courage to speak on it.

Immediately, he senses your apprehension. "What is it?"

You clench and unclench your fists before finally muttering, "There's something wrong with me. Something's not right."

Daemon advances toward you, and instinctively you take a step back. His face dims at your retrieve. "Are you hurt? Do you need the maesters?"

"No, no." You shake your head, wincing at the thought. "All I need is my mother. I need to go back."

Daemon sighs, uncertainty dreading down on him. "I can't help you if I don't know the problem, princess."

Chewing on your lip, you contemplate the best way to say it without painting yourself in the worst picture possible.

"Something is burning inside me." You begin to speak despite your voice coming out shaky. You rest your palm on your stomach to steady yourself. "Mother told me about it. If the fire inside me grows brighter than I could take, then I am to run to her. It's happening, Daemon. I feel it inside me, and I don't know how long I could hide it."

Your voice breaks at the last sentence. Head hung low, you dare peek at your step-father's expression. You fear it would hold fear, disgust, or even pity, but it only kept concentration and calm. If it was a mask, you could not tell.

He was quiet for a while, fingers toying with Dark Sister. Finally, he breaks his silence with a question. "What do you feel?"

"Hot." was your immediate response. Even now, you feel your temperature burning.

"And what more?" He adjusts his weight, hips shifting.

Now you're the one who doesn't speak. If Daemon knew the extent of your symptoms, he would surely leave immediately.

"Tell me."

His tone was urgent but careful. The look he fixes on you is something you don't recognize anymore.

You swallow down your fear. "I feel hungry… for something I do not know."

"This hunger, show me where you feel it."

Unsure of what exactly he meant, you touch your heart. "Here." Then came next was your neck, "sometimes I feel it here," and lastly, your touch travels south to your core, "but I feel it most here."

Your hand only hovers over your clothed core, but even that is enough to produce slick. The thing you've been trying so hard to avoid for days now.

"You're in heat."

Daemon speaks decisively, taking slow, cautious steps toward you. "Chosen women in our family have them. It's nothing to be afraid of. Those who experience them birth the best of us. From them came our family's greatest kings, the most fearsome warriors. Your heat is a blessing."

With every word he speaks, your mind spins with the revelation.

He settles right in front of you, a distance smaller than usual. He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. "It's been decades since the last one. We thought they died out, yet here you are."

Confused about your purpose, you ask, "Then what do I do?"

"Do whatever you want." He drops your hand. "Whatever you think would help."

Daemon assumed you would use your fingers to alleviate the burning in your core. He'd watch and make sure you were doing it right.

But what he did not anticipate is you taking his face in your hands.

Heeding his advice, you did the one thing you'd been craving for weeks. You touch his face. The feel of Daemon's skin gave you a sense of relief. The fire burning inside made you hungry for touch, and the skinship immediately made you feel better.

Your eyes flutter close at the contact, ease setting in your bones at the feel of him.

Daemon's breath hitched at his throat, but he did not pull away. "That helps?"

You faintly nod. The relief was nice, but it didn't last long, and soon you were craving something more.

Taking notice, he presses his temple against yours. A loving gesture he thought to be innocent. It was his little way of showing his affection.

You open your eyes and come face to face with Daemon's, and you’re overcome by the itch to touch more. Delicately, your thumb strokes his cheek, tracing his eyelid, which closes at your touch, the slope of his nose, and his bottom lip; you find yourself lingering at his lips.

"Princess…"

"Do whatever you want. Whatever you think would help."

And you did, so you leaned in to kiss him. Stunned, he tugs away, but you wrap your arms around his neck, blocking his escape. You slip your tongue inside, yearning to taste him, to feel him.

Daemon presses back until your back hits a wall, but you cling to him, kiss unbreaking and never heaving. His arm slams leaning on the wall, and the other finds its way to your waist. Any fight he had before dissolves at your determination, your heat affecting him as well.

He bites your lip, from tasting your mouth to your neck. He licks a stripe underneath the slope of your ear. "Feel it here too?"

You nod feverish, back arching to give him more access. Impatiently, you grip Daemon's hair, take his hand, and lead it where you need it most.

Taking the hint, he ruffles your dress up, and soon his fingers slip inside your undergarments. You're a mewling mess now, moans escaping your lips willfully. He circles your soaked bud considerately, causing another strip of slick to wet your thighs before finally sinking inside you.

You hold on to his shoulders, legs shaky. He plunges his fingers in and out your cunt, and embarrassing sounds of wet flesh fill the empty chamber. You moan with every prod.

With your release nearing close, you decided to reach for the stars – and you grope his cock.

A decision that proved to be a mistake.

With your touch, Daemon withdraws his fingers inside you and pulls away.

You cry out at the ruined climax. You were so close, and now you're back to zero.

Both breathing heavily, Daemon's actions still. His hands remain frozen. Confused, you lean in to kiss him again, but he only pulls away. You don't understand. He remains hard and, until now, willing to bed you, but now he can't even look at you.

Instead, he grabs your wrist, and you wince at the tight grip. He puts them at your eye level. "Use your fingers to help you with your heat. Like what I did."

He led them to your mound, urging you to try yourself. Hesitantly, you touch yourself, trying your best to mimic how he did it. It helped, but it was nothing to how Daemon's fingers worked for you.

Frustrated, you whine, pulling out. "It's not enough. I need you, Daemon."

You reach to touch him again, but he backs away, putting distance between you. Your heart breaks at the space. Did you do something wrong? He turns his back on you in an attempt to collect himself.

"Daemon?" you called out, concerned.

He let out a mountain of curses in high valyrian before facing you again. He flips his black cloak back on his head.

"Come." He holds his hand out, and you take it immediately. He starts walking, and shortly, he's picking up the pace, and you try your best to keep up.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer. Soon you're somewhere away, but it wasn't somewhere new. Dread filled you at the sight of the familiar door.

"No. I'm not going back, not right now." You stop in your tracks, refusing to enter the room once more.

"You were gone too long. It's time to head back."

Daemon opens the secret passage to your chambers – your prison. You resist, but he tugs you along anyway.

He settles you on your bed. "I will return soon. For now, use your fingers to get through your heat. Do not leave your room. Do you understand me?"

He spoke with such force you felt fear of being left alone again. You frown, not responding and not looking at him, either.

You know you don't have the luxury of time. Daemon's treading a fine line; you could be caught any moment now.

In distress, he grabs your neck. "Do you understand me, princess?"

Shocked, you nod, tears swelling up again. Daemon's resolve softens at the sight, guilt weighing his heart down. He’s a fucked up mess now.

He removes his hands from you and gently wipes the fallen tears away. "The next time I return, I'm taking you with me."

He sealed his promise with a kiss on your temple, and just like a flicker, he was gone. Disappeared within the walls of the castle.

You lie there dumbfounded, abandoned in the dark. The throbbing between your legs grew more prominent with the unfinished business.

He really left you.

The disbelief turned into frustration and shame and soon festered into anger. You knew your fingers wouldn't be enough this time, and you'll be damned if you let Daemon tease you for nothing.

Despite his warnings, you leave the bed and wander the halls looking for the man. At this point, Daemon would be by Blackwater Bay about to board his boat, and getting through the hidden passages would only get you lost, so you settle on getting there through the main route.

The darkness of the night cloaked your disheveled state, and your bare feet masked the sounds of your hurried steps.

Frantic and mind clouded by lust, you find yourself in the godswood occupied by a lurking patron. You hardly noticed the figure hiding in the shadows until you collided with its solid chest.

You wince at the impact, holding out your hands to steady yourself.

"Y/n."

The familiar deep voice reels you back into the present. Aemond stands tall with his hands clamped against his back, as usual, face annoyingly stoic. His intimidating stance makes you feel small in the dark.

"Uncle." You manage to greet back, caught off guard by his presence.

You should have known better. In addition to the dozen guards watching your every move, Aemond took it upon himself to personally keep you in your place. Always looking, constantly checking.

Despite his constant presence, you find it hard to look your uncle's face in the eye. The one eye is usually filled with contempt, but at this moment, it searches your face with intrigue and skepticism until it strays down to your bosom.

"Pray tell where are you off to at this late hour? And in such a rush, you forget your indecency." He tsked mockingly.

Your face turns warm, and you quickly cover up your exposed flesh with silver hair. In your haste, you carelessly left your quarters with only your night shift, the thin fabric barely covering your figure.

"I… could not find sleep. I fancied a walk. That is all."

You don't look at him as you say it. If you did, he'd see right through you. Instead, you stare off in the distance with your arms crossed, a piss attempt to somehow protect yourself.

He hums at your answer before stepping forward, invading your space.

"You're lying."

Without warning, he raises one hand behind his back and grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. You gasp at the sudden contact.

He leans in, sneering. "If you're going to lie, at least have the decency to say it to my face, or don't say shit at all."

You grasp his arm, clawing to get away from him. "Release me." You grit out.

"I'll ask you again. What are you doing?" His grip on you only tightens. It irritates you greatly that he can keep you captive with just one arm. "What is it that you're planning? Is your traitor mother here to get you? Planning to take the crown, hm?"

You continue to struggle against him, concern increasing at the realization that the wetness between your legs is growing from the harsh touch of Aemond's skin.

Thinking fast, you recall Jacaery's training. You flip Aemond's elbow and quickly follow it up with a shove. And just because you're rarely presented with such an opportunity, you also hit his nose with your head. Hard.

He stumbles, startled at the ambush. Still, a hint of a smirk plays at his lips.

You manage to get away, glaring at the imposing man. "Trust me, the crown is furthest from my mind right now."

Before your mind is wholly overturned by your heat, you turn to flee, but with swift feet, Aemond seizes you.

"You're not leaving."

He pins you against the large tree in the middle of the garden, wrapping his hand around your neck to keep you in place.

And with that, you all but lost control.

A moan escapes your lips. The pressure of his palm on your neck, coupled with his body weight leaning against yours, is enough to give your touch-starved body pleasure.

Aemond freezes at the sound, the noise echoing in the quiet garden. Bewildered, he pulls back to study your face. At this point, your eyes are fully dilated, breath coming uneasy and legs clamped tighter than a mangled knot.

He presses on your neck once more, and unwillingly you let out another needy moan.

"You're in heat." He realizes, disbelief painted on his features.

"Yes." You hissed out. "So either you do something about it or let me go find someone else who will."

For a moment, his perfectly practiced mask falls, and his grip on you loosens. Just when you thought you'd be free, he slots his thigh between your legs, pinning your bottom against him.

"Aemond." You gasp at the sudden pressure. You grip his thigh, unsure if you want to pull it away or ride it.

He leans down to take in your scent. "I thought they were only legends. A child’s tale. I read about them, the things the heat does to the woman and the greatness that comes after.” He presses down more, and you almost buckle to your knees. "You're never going to find someone who can properly take care of this, sweet niece."

Daemon. The thought grows more distant the more Aemond floods your senses.

With both hands, he lifts your face towards him.

"Allow me the honor." He whispers, breath fanning your face.

The pressure was too much to bear, and you couldn't take it anymore. You make a move and lean in to take his mouth into yours. He receives you immediately, tongue already slipping inside to greet yours.

Like him, his kiss is unrelenting.

Panting, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His mouth traveled down to kiss your jaw, settling on tasting and nipping at the skin of your neck. Your back arch at the sensation.

You pull away just enough to mumble in a daze, "take me to bed, Aemond."

He lifts your legs to wrap around his hips, and you revel at the feel of his cock straining hard against his breeches. You nearly humped him right there and then.

You expect him to carry you into his chambers, but he turns the other way and settles you down to the ground underneath the shadow of the evergreen. He discards his coat and lays it beneath your back, protecting you from the sharp prickle of the grass.

He leans back to take you in.

You lay there sprawled open to him. Only illuminated by the moonlight, you look ethereal. Your silver hair shines despite being scattered on the earth, and your skin glows with fever and anticipation. You look unworldly. Inhuman. Like an unclaimed dragon.

Aemond had never seen something so captivating.

"What are you…." You reach up to feel him again, desperate for his touch.

His hands caress your legs, lifting your night shift further until your bottoms are exposed to him. He grips your inner thigh, blood pumping with excitement.

"No time. You need release now."

His slender fingers find you, and he plays with the wetness he finds there. Aemond's manhood nearly bursts at the feel of your supple skin. He wastes no time exploring your heat. You whimper at the intrusion, grateful for the sensation but yearning for more, for something bigger.

He leans down to kiss you once more. "Patience, dōna mirre."

Before you know it, he dips down, head in between your legs and mouth on you. You stifle a scream that would surely wake the entirety of King’s Landing. Aemond groans against your cunt, mouth lapping at the continuous flow of sweet nectar. A taste no man could resist, driving anyone to addiction. It did not take long for you to reach your first release of the night.

Aemond only ascends when you push his head away, skin still sensitive from fighting his incessant tasting.

He makes quick work of his trousers, taking his cock out. He strokes it as he watches you come down from your high. Slender arms cover your face, chest heaving at the impact of your release.

Gently, he brushes a nipple, and instantly, it hardens.

"Gods."

With a tug, he reveals your breasts, ripping away at any fabric that dares cover you from him. You yelp at the quick removal, skin shivering at the cold air. While he's distracted by your naked body, you take the opportunity to take hold of the flesh poking your thighs.

He groans at your touch, hips thrusting for more.

"So needy."

You bite your lip, wanting more. "Please, uncle."

He leans back, gaze fixed down to where his cock slides between your folds, slick coating every inch of him. "Is this what you want, sweet girl?"

"Yes, yes." You preen desperately.

He remains sliding his cock on your glistening pussy, bud nearly aching at the little friction. He could do it. Slide right inside you so easily. With your wetness he wouldn’t have to fight any resistance. Just tight slick heat waiting to swallow him.

But even with the sheer desire radiating off him, you sense a hint of hesitation holding him back.

"Aemond?" You call out to him, concerned.

His gaze snaps back to yours, face suddenly serious. "Once I break your virtue, no husband will take you. No husband means no allies. No allies mean no crown. Is that what you want?"

He speaks sense, and you should likely listen for your own good. But you find it hard to comprehend the future ahead of you. It might be your heat making you delirious, but all you want is now, and all you want is Aemond.

You take hold of his hand, placing a tender kiss on his palm. "Then wed me. Make me your wife,"

Aemond's heart sputters at the proposition. Everything his family has been building for would come crumbling down if he said yes; the war he's been fighting for would be for nothing, but all that didn't make the offer any less appealing.

You sense the pause your words had on him, so you continue speaking. "or just fuck me and forget me. Aōha iderennon, issa prince. "

With a curse, he makes his choice. He presses at your entrance, plunging deeper until he's satiated inside you. "Fuck."

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as satisfaction finally seeps into your bones. Aemond's thrusts start slow and careful but soon gain momentum, until he's relentlessly pumping into you.

Aemond lifts your leg to hook to his hips, pulling you closer. Holding each other, your hands never leave his skin. His back, his behind, his hair. You were always touching him one way or another. He rests his weight by his arms, face buried in your neck.

"Aemond.." you moan his name, wanting to see him, you lift his face from your nape.

For the first time, you faced him, and his eye held no contempt. Your breath is taken away at the sight. The once harsh lines of his face turned into something delicate, and the fixed frown he wore every day no longer tainted his handsome features. At this moment, he is beautiful.

You trace the prominent scar, mindful of his trauma. You remember the night it happened so vividly, and never would have thought it all would lead to this.

He flinches at your touch, head rearing back. He was still within reach, so you coax him back by stroking his jaw instead, coupling it with a flush of your hips and light kisses. He relaxes, and this time you reach for his eyepatch. You lock gazes with him, silently asking for permission. You wanted to see him in all his vulnerability.

He only closes his eye, face stilling to let you remove the leather. And with a flick of your wrist, the veil falls to the ground.

In all his glory, you see Aemond Targaryen for who he is.

The wounded eye was stripped of any skin on his left eyelid, leaving a bright shining sapphire eye in its place. You heard rumors of the one-eye second son and his sapphire eye. Only a few saw it; the majority that didn't deny its existence, but the ones that did spoke of its haunting beauty.

But you did not see it for long. With only just a few seconds, Aemond hides his face back into your neck.

Flashes of insecurity pierce Aemond's heart. He's never been this intimate with anyone, and he certainly did not foresee it to be with the sister of the man that maimed him. He's starting to fear he'll find himself far in the deep end, unsuspecting of the waters he plunged into. He plans to make you cum quickly, determined to distract you from his shame.

But you don't allow it. With a shift of your weight, you roll over, pinning him against the tree's bark. Now you're the one on top, and you hold his shoulders down, making him look up to you. Aemond's throat dries at the sight of you mounted on top of him.

“Y/n-”

"Look at me."

The power in your voice makes him obey. Once your eyes lock, you search for a hint of trust, and once you're sure he's not to pull away again, you start riding him. You roll your hips, moving to hit the spot inside you. He supports you with gentle touches on your back and tweaks to your nipples.

Aemond watches in awe, letting you chase your climax. In your state, he is clearly reminded that like him, you're a dragon rider. A rightful Targaryen. You move like you ride a dragon — confident, strong, and in control.

It makes his cock hard.

Your movements grow frantic, the familiar high nearing close. Aemond starts meeting your thrusts, cock plunging deeper at the new position. You feel your cunt produce one last slick of wetness before constricting around him, body spasming with pleasure. Aemond quickly followed, capturing your mouth in one last kiss before finishing inside you.

Satisfied, the fire inside you subdues, and you feel your body grow light, at ease. Exhausted, you fall into slumber.

Not Aemond.

He lays there with you in his arms wide awake. He clutches you in an embrace, shielding you from the nearing sunrise. If he could stay there buried inside you for the rest of his days, away from the war, all the scheming – he would. But reality is creeping up on him, and he's reminded of his choice.

"Make me your wife, or just fuck me and forget me. Aōha iderennon, issa prince.”

Aemond has yet to grow old and wise, but even then he knew one thing – even if he tried, he could never forget you. He could conquer the earth and back, claim the mightiest dragon on land, and win the greatest of wars. In the end, he knows you'll still plague his mind, body, and soul.

So he made a choice, and this time, he let the Gods decide his fate.

dōna mirre - sweet thing

Aōha iderennon, issa prince - your choice, my prince

Fun fact! Tessaryon is inspired by Tessarion, the goddess of music, arts, knowledge, healing, plague, prophecy, poetry, beauty, archery, and booty — A god of old valyria.

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