#but ill have to settle for backing enough is enough in anyway possible and so should you all

[roundclowns]

Tories really trying to crumble the nhs so that they can forcefully privatise and profit from it while their citizens starve and freeze to death. Whilst also attacking strikers, workers rights and the arts and have the gall to act like theyre not fascists.

[seijorhi]

invidia ii

a (very belated) christmas present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy who has, for two years straight, begged me for more shinnosuke content. i hope you like it bby! kuroo tetsurou x female reader, kuroo shinnosuke (oc) x female reader part i w.c 3.1k tw: noncon/dubcon, slight daddy kink, (forced) infidelity, yandere themes, nsfw, smut, age gap, i guess hints of breeding kink, dilf kuroo

“Why did your parents split up?”

Mid-way through pulling on a pair of old, grey sweatpants, mopping at beads of water from his shower still rolling down his bare chest, Shinnosuke throws you a curious look, but shrugs easily enough.

“They weren’t ever really ‘together’ to begin with. They tried the whole co-parenting thing to start with but mom… they never loved each other. Hell, I don’t even think they liked each other most of the time beyond–” he breaks off, his nose wrinkling in distaste. It almost makes you laugh. “Anyway, dad always said she had one foot out the door from the start. Dad was the one who stuck around to raise me.” There’s no animosity in his tone, he says it like it’s the simple truth. You’ve never met the woman, never having shown up to any of the Nekoma games, his graduation, any of it. You’ve seen a picture or two, overheard the odd phone call, but for as long as you’ve known him, the only real parent in Shin’s life has always been his dad.

If there’s anyone he idolises, it’s his father.

 Which is why the words that he says next – casting aside the damp towel in the general direction of the laundry basket (boys) and sauntering on over to join you in bed – take you entirely by surprise. “We’ll go visit her in Golden Week. I want her to meet you.”

And again, the words are just that; words. Shin kisses you, a sweet peck on your lips, and wastes no time in scooping you back into his arms and settling back with a contented sigh. They’re just words, but there’s this look in his eyes when he says it that makes you think he means something more. 

Your stomach flutters.

—

‘You really wanna break his heart like that, kitten?’

—

“Still not feeling any better?” Shin asks, brushing your hair back to feel your forehead. The beginnings of a frown start to take shape, teeth gently burrowing into his bottom lip, but he straightens and sighs, and that hint of discontent smoothes over like it had never existed in the first place. He strokes your hair again and offers a small, sympathetic smile. “No temperature, that’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

You’re a coward.

“It’s not my head, I just…” don’t have any visible, plausible symptoms for the fake illness that’s currently keeping you curled up in Shin’s bed. Away from the creep who’d smiled and fucking winked at you Christmas morning. “I just feel off.”

“Poor baby,” he coos, laughing when your face screws up and you swat at him.

Right now, swaddled in his hoodie, his fingers carding through your hair and that stupid, impish, almost believable grin beaming down at you, you want to forget. To pretend. 

Because there’s a pit in your stomach. A bitter, gnarled, seething mass. This moment right now, in Shin’s bed, it’s like glass, paper thin and already cracked, it can’t possibly last, and yet you’re clinging to it so desperately, head buried in the sand, willing yourself to pretend, from one heartbeat to the next, that what’s happened won’t break the two of you. 

That your stomach doesn’t threaten to upend when you catch sight of those hazel eyes peering down at you – the same shape and shade as his father’s.

You shudder out a breath, and what little levity there was between you two gets sucked out with it. Shin’s expression gutters.

Yeah. 

His fingers don’t leave your hair, though. Playing idly with the strands as though the suffocating tension in the room doesn’t exist at all. “Dad’s taking us out to dinner tonight,” he tells you. Reminds you, because you knew all of this beforehand. Everything but the party. “Do you want me to run by the pharmacy to get you something?”

Another tap at the fractured glass. 

That’s Shinnosuke all over, isn’t it? You might’ve been the manager back in the day, but it was always Shin who kept an eye on his team, on you, to make sure everyone was good. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll–” the words get stuck in your throat. “I’ll see how I feel in an hour or so. ‘m still a little tired.” 

“You want some tea, sweetheart?”

‘Shh, sweetheart, you gotta keep it down.’

A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of your neck. No. No, no, no, no–

“Baby?”

You flinch like he’s slapped you, jerking away from the hand he’s wound in your hair. The startled look he shoots you borders on wounded, but you’re already squirming towards the edge of the bed, stumbling to your feet like a newborn foal. “Bathroom,” you manage to eke out, your voice sounding far too strangled and hoarse to pass as anywhere near the realm of fine. 

Shin doesn’t follow, doesn’t so much as utter a word – all kicked puppy confused – as you throw the door closed behind you and collapse back against it, a sweaty, ashen mess. 

He usually calls you love. Baby. Princess when he’s being a little shit. 

Sweetheart’s a rare one. 

Your heart races, a runaway train pounding in your chest. His eyes, his touch, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart.

Another shuddering breath in. Out. 

Fuck. 

There’s a knock – not at the ensuite door, the sound’s too muffled for that, and you didn’t hear Shin’s footsteps (though you’re not sure you would, over the pounding in your ribs) meaning that the knocking’s at his door. 

There’s only one other occupant in the house. Though you try your damndest to fight it, there’s no stopping the wave of panic that stabs through you. Shin’s door creaks open, soft voices barely creeping through the gap in the door, and your fingers go rigid, nails clawing at the black and white flooring as though you can ground yourself by breaking through it instead. 

You don’t realise you’re crying.

Not until the droplets splatter on the tiles by your feet.

—

You should’ve left days ago.

After Christmas, when you’d ducked out from under Shin’s arm and lurched for the nearest bathroom, when it’d finally clicked for him that you violently hurling your guts up wasn’t the result of a simple hangover, you’d tried. Short of admitting the truth – and swinging a bat at the bees’ nest – convincing Shin to leave his dad’s place goes about as well as drawing blood from a stone. 

He’s even less thrilled about the prospect of you going back by yourself, leaving him to spend what’s left of the week with his dad like they’d planned.

There’s only so far you can push without breaking something. You, probably. You and Shin, almost definitely. 

Even so, you might’ve had more of a backbone if he hadn’t been so… Shin. All coaxing and concerned. Logical to a damn fault. 

‘You don’t wanna be stuck in a car driving for hours when you’re feeling shitty, love, and besides, dad’s place is bigger than ours. Comfier. You’ll probably be on the mend by tomorrow anyway, so there’s no point in us heading back.’

If you weren’t trying to salvage what’s left, or maybe clinging to the idea that you can – and want to – then it would’ve been easier just to go.

You wouldn’t still be here, stuck in the house of the man who’d– who’d raped you.

You wouldn’t be avoiding your boyfriend’s eye.

You would’ve screamed the whole house down before Kuroo Tetsurou ever bent you over the kitchen counter.

But the gentle extrication in the early hours of the morning, Shinnosuke’s lips brushing against your cheek, the sleepy rasp of his voice as he mumbles a quiet, “Love you,” before slipping away – you barely stir, cozy and safe and content.

He loves you. Shin loves you. 

A while later – minutes, maybe, or hours, it’s hard to tell when you’re still in the grips of sleep – the mattress dips under Shin’s weight, and those strong, sculpted arms seek your warmth again, you only sigh and lean back against him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, not yet willing to open your eyes and face another day of lying to him. 

The arm slung over your waist curls tighter, his face nuzzling into your neck. The kisses he leaves there aren’t affectionate, exactly, they’re not gentle, when teeth catch, nipping sharply at your skin, only to be soothed by a lave of his tongue.

And the laugh that rumbles at your back – a shade off your boyfriend’s – is anything but nice. 

“Yeah? Fuck, you’re sweet in the morning.”

This time, you don’t hold back. You shriek, kicking out like a wild thing – or you would have, if Kuroo’s hand hadn’t clamped down on your mouth, if his weight hadn’t shifted so that rather than lying curled up behind you, he’s half on top of you, pinning you down to the mattress with a thigh lodged between yours. 

“Uh-uh-uh, we were doing so good, kitten. Don’t you wanna be daddy’s good girl?”

Your only answer is a ragged noise, torn from somewhere deep inside of you. He chuckles again, grinds against you, his cock a thick, unignorable presence pressed at your ass. There’s nothing but the thin cotton of your sleep shorts separating it from you, and from past experience, that barrier won’t do much to deter him for long.

Kuroo rolls you onto your back and slots himself nicely between your legs. Naked, you realise with a fresh stab of fear.

You scream the moment his palm leaves your lips to capture your wrists, scream for Shinnosuke – for anyone – so loudly that it feels like you’ll bleed for it. Let him come running, find you pinned and squirming, terrified beneath the man who raised him.

Let it be the final crack that obliterates everything. 

If Shin sees you like this, utterly petrified, on the verge of being raped again and still thinks it some kind of a betrayal, let him choke on it. You don’t care anymore, you just want someone to stop this. 

(Shin wouldn’t, would he?)

But Kuroo only snickers. Leans over to lick along the edge of your lashes, where hot, glistening tears are already spilling over, trickling down to disappear in your hairline. “Your boy’s not here, but we don’t have long ‘til he gets back. You’ll forgive me if we bypass the foreplay this morning, right, sweetheart?” You shudder, goosebumps prickling where his breath washes over you, and you squeeze your eyes shut and violently – pointlessly – shake your head. “We’ll have to save eating your pretty little cunt for next time.”

All too eager, he hungrily captures your lips again and yanks down your shorts, taking your panties along with them.

Christmas morning, you’d been shoved face down over the kitchen counter while he’d fucked you from behind. You’d give anything for that distance right now. At least then you hadn’t had to endure his suffocating warmth, having him squeeze and grope at your tits over your old, threadbare tee.

You wouldn’t have to writhe away from his mouth while he rucks your bare thighs up either side of his hips, dragging you closer.

Even with your eyes screwed tightly shut, you can’t pretend that this isn’t happening as Kuroo spits and a heartbeat later the thick head of his cock slowly – agonisingly slowly – splits you apart.

You forget how to breathe. 

Eyes popping open and back arching up into his chest, your fists clutch desperately at the sheets of Shin’s bed, trying to squirm away, only the grip he has on you makes sure there’s nowhere for you to escape to. He’s big, long, mostly, and you’re too tight to take him easily, especially without any prep. The spit doesn’t help any, and Kuroo doesn’t care, groaning out in pleasure as inch by inch he pushes himself deeper, until at last he’s seated firmly inside of you. “Good fucking giiiirl,” he purrs, a kiss pressed to the tip of your nose.

A tiny, drawn out whine is all you can manage when your lower half radiates pain. 

“Gonna fuck this perfect pussy nice ‘n full,” he tells you. “Give you everything you need, sweet girl. You can take it. I know you can, you just gotta breathe for me.”

But unlike last time, he doesn’t allow you the luxury of a minute to adjust. His hips draw back and punch forward, jolting another mewling gasp from your lips. And again. And again. The pace isn’t violent so much as intense, like each thrust ignites something inside of him that burns for more.

He clasps your wrists in one hand, pants into your open mouth between frenetic kisses, groans out your name in that shuddering gasp.

“Mine,” he pants, beads of sweat dripping from his chest, his chin, rolling down onto you. “You’re daddy’s girl– fuck!”

Your cunt reacts accordingly, flexing around his cock, easing its passage so that the wet, lurid sounds of him fucking you quickly fill the air. A betrayal that has your cheeks flaming. 

The muscles in your thighs burn, Kuroo all but forcing them back towards the bed, his weight driving into you with fervour. A quick adjustment to the angle of your hip and his cock hits a spot deep inside of you that has you choking on a moan of your own, a burst of bright, sizzling pleasure bleeding through the pain.

Kuroo grins ferally at the sound of it. Drops his weight on an elbow and bucks into you, hitting it again. Your inner walls twitch, squeezing and slick, dragging noises from you that make you wanna burn with shame – that, or cut yourself loose entirely. You can’t muster resistance when he swallows them down, sucking on your tongue, moaning into your mouth. His momentum turns rabid, his hand no longer encircling your wrists, but entangled with them, pressing them down to the mattress. “Almost… there…” he grunts, gasping as he curls over you, abs flexing.

A shudder rolls through him, his hips faltering just as something vital shatters inside of you, toes curling, white hot pleasure exploding from your core, rippling through your whole body like the aftershocks of an earthquake. With your pussy spasming around his cock, your body taut and locked with pleasure, Kuroo hurtles off that cliff right alongside you, a strangled noise somewhere between a moan and a growl escaping him as he pumps your cunt full of his seed, all but collapsing atop of you afterwards.

It takes a minute before he peels himself off of you; pushing himself up, braced on elbow so that he’s not crushing you entirely, Kuroo waits, buried inside your warmth, for you to stop trembling with the after effects of your orgasm, for his cock to soften and both of your breathing to even out. 

Waits for those glazed over eyes to focus back on him and once again fill with tears, stroking a hand through your sweat-dampened hair as he does so.

“You should go take a shower before Shin gets home,” he says after a minute or two, his voice a low purr. “He can’t be far off.”

But aside from rolling off you to allow you up, Kuroo makes no moves to follow you, or so much as get up off the bed. Naked, his cock soft and glistening with your juices, one knee propped up, he watches you stumble like a newborn foal into the bathroom (only half managing to close the door behind you) with damn near predatory intent, a smirk teasing at his lips.

It’s where Shin finds you a short while later, curled up on the floor of the shower, shaking through silent sobs. 

—

Shin doesn’t let go of your hand the entire trip home.

Uncharacteristically sober, he says little aside from the occasional murmur to check in with you – always unanswered – and keeps you tucked close, as though a fraction of distance between you might pry you from his side entirely. 

The hours pass in a haze of… nothing. Your tears dry. Numbness takes over. You move like a robot, Shin guiding you every step of the way until you cross the threshold of your apartment.

He never asks what happened. You suppose the smell of sex in his bedroom and the bruises and love bites scattered over your body tell the tale well enough. Shinnosuke’s never been stupid. He’s not dense. 

He’s not heartless, either.

In the sanctity of your tiny, shitty bathroom, you shower again. A proper shower this time, with the water turned up full blast, scrubbing viciously at your skin– or at least, you do until he steps in and takes over. You’ve never thought of your boyfriend as particularly gentle, but he pries the loofah from your hand with a delicacy you didn’t know him capable of and takes care of you, cleaning you up with a tenderness that borders on reverence.

You pretend not to notice how his eyes (so like his, sharp and hazel) narrow into a scowl every time he spots another bruise, another mark left by his father. Once or twice his fingers begin to ghost over them, burgundy fingerprints on your thigh, a love bite sucked into the delicate skin above your collarbone, only to catch himself, swallowing tightly and resuming his task like he’d never faltered in the first place. 

When you’re done, he dries you both off and helps you into fresh clothes – a pair of comfy sweatpants and an old hoodie of his and guides you back to the living room, setting you down into his lap on the couch.

“I–” his voice is hoarse. Quiet, especially in the stillness of the apartment, and when you glance his way, he awkwardly clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I went to the pharmacy. I thought– I thought…” he trails off again, dropping his gaze. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Your heart twists, and it’s your turn to comfort him. Or maybe you’re comforting each other, shifting slightly in his lap so that you can wrap your arms around him and draw him in close, burying your face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the fresh, clean scent of him. “No. I– it wasn’t…” but the words don’t come. You flounder. 

What are you supposed to say? It wasn’t his fault? Wasn’t yours?

You should’ve said something earlier? Should’ve fought back harder – against both of them, should’ve grown a spine?

A beat passes in the tense, thick silence, and when it becomes clear that you’ve got nothing for him, he makes an odd sort of huff that sounds almost irritated. You frown a little, but you don’t fight it when his arms pull tighter around you, when his cheek comes to a rest against your hair and his hands seek yours, curling around your wrists and stroking at the skin there. 

“We’ll get through this,” he vows. “I love you, this doesn’t change anything. It won’t change anything.” His lips meet the crown of your head in a soft kiss. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

[csainz5]

Mine || Charles Leclerc #16

pairing: charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader

summary: in which seeing people ship you with other drivers fuels the possessiveness in charles.

author notes: can u tell ive been obsessed with culpa mia. also this is my first charles fic (!!!) i made sm tweaks to the original req im so sorry 😭 deff been in a slump recently bc exams but 🙏 no beta read!! this one is still raw asf lol

req: yes/no.

wc: 1.2k words

————

the air as the weekend approached was filled with an adrenaline of its own. drivers loitering on the paddock, a camera shoved up each one of their faces. most of them were making videos for their teams social media, while others were giving interviews. silly banter & playful hazing surrounded the place as the free practices neared. as calm and laid back as the environment was, a new buzz had taken over the virtual world. it seemed like the redbull fans had taken on a new intrest in a the friendship you and max shared, suspecting it could be more than just friends. you’re shocked as you read through the articles, what could possibly make it seem like you were both in any sense more than just friends? max was like the brother you never had, and you, the sister he had always hoped of having. as much as the articles were delusional, you didnt really care that much about them, i mean why would you be afraid when there’s nothing youre scared of being open to the public? okay, maybe not everything. not the time when you were so drunk you demanded every guy on the paddock to quote “settle it with me on the ring”, not the time when you were the culprit behind the hilarious azerbaijan mix up where you stole the champagne on the podium and replaced it with an empty one, and definitely not the fact that you’re already taken, by a person known to all on the paddock.

—

The morning of the race was always an exhilarating one no matter which team youre driving for, or which team you’re rooting for. the passion, the dedication and the confidence in the each and every drivers persona was enough to fill you in the same mindset. though youve always been a redbull fan, which, i mean is definitely not even surprising considering you probably frequent their garage more than some of their own engineers, youve always held an admiration for all the drivers. even you knew how dominant the redbull cars were, so seeing the rest of the drivers still catch up with less resources filled your heart with pride. you look up at the fan’s waiting impatiently for the race to start with a smile on your face. this, will never get boring, you think.

Lord Percival 👑

can’t find you anywhere near here, don’t tell me you’re ditching me today yet again 😔

a chuckle escapes your lips.

You

i wouldve come over but you’re all the way across rn 😭 i’ll definitely be waiting for you after the race tho.

Lord Percival 👑

wow. way to betray me over text babe

You

okay drama queen 😒

Lord Percival 👑

guess you rubbed off on me then mon jolie

You

ill make it up to you, i always do.

just before you press send, you notice the drivers had already left for their respective interviews. whats the point in sending it now anyways, you decide.

—

the dark looms over the sky as celebrations near. the smell of alcohol, weed and god knows fucking what become all too familiar to you at this point. you reach the party alongside max, which considering he’s your best friend was not out of the ordinary for you, but little did you know, it didn’t help the ongoing rumours one bit. the familiar stench of reporters clogs your mind. what the hell were the doing here? and more importantly why were all of them suddenly taking an intrest in your friendship with max? question after question is thrown at you which makes you realise youve had enough of this. you reach for your phone.

You

screw this party

wanna meet up at our usual spot?

Lord Percival 👑

im always down 🙏

—

you could never get sick of this. the same ride, the same atmosphere, the exact same playlist playing over and over again, the curves of the road as you drive through. because you know, at the end of this journey would be the same thing you look forward to, every time. so you get into you car, and drive the same drive to the same spot, once again. at a pillar reading out “623” you stop by the ferrari you know all too well.

there he was. i could never get used to seeing him like this, you think, dressed up in formals but looking formal in no way whatsoever. shriveled hair, buttons unbuttoned, jewellery he knows how to style in just the right way. his crazed eyes of emerald, gazing into you with an intensity that makes your nerves shiver.

“took you long enough to come here” he says, holding you waist. “it was a longer drive than usual” “is that so?” he says, stepping aside you to rest against his ferrari, right beside you. folding his arms, he continues, pulling a cigarette out of his blazer, “want one?” “please, today was a bitch” “i could say the same for me, really” he reaches towards you, lighting your cigarette. “races in monaco are my favourite” he says, looking up at the sky. “yeah, id imagine so. nothing beats home” “yeah, it’s great to be home and all, but theres also something in monaco that beats the thrill any race could give me” he steps forwards, hands placed beside either sides of you.

he pulls the cigarette from your lips, taking in a puff himself. he brings his lips to your ear, “or rather, theres someone in monaco, who beats the thrill any race could give me” he whispers, blowing the smoke away. he flicks the cigarette aside and steps on it, as he lifts your face up, meeting your eyes with his own. “someone who sighs right when i kiss her here,” he goes on to place a chaste kiss on your mole, right on your neck by your jawline. and like a story repeated enough times, you sigh. “someone who arches her back when i pull her hair slightly like this,” he gently tugs your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and like a telltale, you arch your back, the satisfaction of being right sprawled across charles’s face.

“but of all, the one thing that makes me come back to this place again and again, is knowing that—“ he lifts your hips up, making you wrap your legs around him. “you’re mine.” the second he says that, its like all the dots connected in your head. you never thought charles would be jealous of the rumours, given how he was the one who didn’t want your relationship to be public. “charles, are you jealous?” you ask. “so what if i am?” “well, i for one wouldnt want my boyfriend to be feeling like that anymore” “what do you mean?” you pull out your phone from your clutch, “kiss me” “wait what are you doing?” “i said, kiss me” you say, pulling him in by his jaw. “im conf-“ you kiss him, shutting him up. as he closes his eyes he finds himself to not be able to help himself from drowning into you, well atleast until a flash brings him out of his trance. “im going to post it.” “you don’t have to, you know” “but i want to. i want everyone to know how much you mean to me charles. you’re my favourite person and i would hate to see you be jealous”

——

“i can’t believe you actually did it, jolie” “its the least i could do” you say, pecking his cheek. “but ive gotta say, i definitely wouldnt mind seeing this shade of you more often” “you haven’t seen the end of me yet, mon ange”

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 4/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Pining, kiss, angst, anxiety, fingering, smut, pussy eating like a champ, creampie for days, creampie, longing, dirty talk, love, fluff.

Note: Good lord, this is a long one, and also the final chapter! It's sitting at 12k words, so settle in for a hefty piece because I refused to cut it down or into two. Thank you all so much for your love and support of this mini series, I have had so much bloody fun writing it! I hope you enjoy how I have ended it, and hopefully now I can do some one shots for once in my damned life hahaha. Anyway, enjoy!!! <3

Final Chapter: Inevitable Ends, New Beginnings

The first thing that you noticed as you woke was a soreness between your thighs, a dull ache that throbbed with your heart beat, eyes slowly opening to the early morning light.

The room had a light blue glow to it, the sun only just beginning to rise over the sea and lands behind you, casting your little sanctuary in a cerulean tint. 

The second thing that you noticed when you awoke that morning was that you were alone.

You turned in the sheets, eyes surveying the room in search for the silver head of hair you had grown accustomed to seeing almost every waking moment, but he was nowhere to be found, though there was evidence of his presence being there.

Bar the small marks on your skin, the smell of him in your sheets, and the soreness between your legs, your clothes that had been strewn on the floor were now neatly folded on your chest at the side of the room, and the lack of breeches and tunic told you that Aemond was already up and dressed.

A moment of anxiety crawled through you.

Had he left you?

But then you remembered that he had no way off of your island, unless of course he swam, which you very much doubted he would be desperate enough to escape you to do that. But then there was the reason for his absence that early morning that began to spiral out of control in your mind.

Had he slipped out of bed? Tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as possible to not stir you from your sleep because he regretted last night, and could not bare to face the shame and embarrassment of seeing you? 

Had your moment of weakness tainted his stature in society? 

Would he beg that you tell none other? 

Not that you knew anyone from where he was from, but still, the inferiority of your birth gnawed at your conscience and creeped through you like the bitter sea winds.

Did he get his fill and was now avoiding you at all costs? 

Was he repulsed in himself for laying with you? 

Did he wish to pretend that it did not happen? 

Was his early departure to find the time and wherewithal in himself to gather strength to not feel ill upon looking at you? 

Sure, men of his breeding were sometimes known to lay between any woman’s legs, but it was usually one of equal standing and not at all someone of your status. And if last nights activities were any reference, there was no doubt within your mind that he had in fact lain with women before, once, twice, more, if his skills were any indicator. But perhaps they had been Ladies of his court back home, women of good breeding in high society, and for him to have been with you, well that would be akin to rolling in the mud.

You pulled yourself from bed and dressed yourself nervously, shaking your runaway thoughts, fingers stumbling over your buttons, pulling hastily at the laces of your boots, all too tight for your feet to be comfortable.

When you walked into the living space, you found that the glasses and whiskey had also been put away, no longer on the table where they had been left that evening, and atop the coal stove sat your kettle, steam rising from its nozzle. 

Beside the door, your large coat was hung on its hook, and the hook beside it, which had recently held your fathers old coat, given to Aemond to keep him warm on the breezy island, was now bare. At the absence of the coat, you knew that Aemond was to be outside, and decided to go out in search of him. 

Perhaps he left early to see what he could salvage of your boat, desperate to rebuild it himself and risk another encounter with the waves in an effort to get away from you. Or perhaps he had-

You walked to the lighthouse, the only place he could possibly be besides the beach that was empty with few planks of wood and what remained of his ship that hadn’t been re-swept out to sea.

Dew covered your boots, kicked up from the soft strands of grass with every step you took. The air was cold, and as you breathed, a cloud of your breath puffed in front of you, white and soft that dissipated before your eyes just as quick as it came. 

The large door to the lighthouse creaked open, and then clunked shut behind you, echoing up the spirals of stairs, no doubt alerting him to your presence. You slowly began to make your way up the never ending steps, the only time in your life in which you had dreaded it and found each one to be harder than the last.

Would he run?

Would he scorn you for seducing him? Bewitching him? Tempting him?

Or would he let you down gently? Telling you the dispiriting truth that you both knew; That he was a Lord and you were not of good breeding, and he would have to go and be wed to his advantageous bride that awaited him back home, and that laying with someone like you was a grievous mistake indeed.  

Your heart beat in your chest rapidly, gut churning as you picked at the skin at your nails nervously. 

When you got to the top of the lighthouse's small landing where the lamp was held, you spun in search of him, spotting the figure of the sailor, bent over the small desk in the corner, quill in hand. 

His long hair was pulled back in a loose braid, tied together with a piece of ribbon from one of the bags of food William had delivered to you. You watched as his hand moved swiftly across the page of your log book, pointer and thumb delicately holding the quill as ink pressed into the parchment with a neatness and precision that could have only be attained from proper schooling.

Hearing your approach, Aemond lifted his head to face you. Stray strands of silver hair hung in front of his face, swiftly tucked behind one of his pale ears as he gazed at you.

A small smile pulled at his lips, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

All anxiety, all worries, any trepidations about his reaction after your coupling from the evening before were swept out the window when he stood straighter, smile pulling wider at his lips.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” He placed the quill in its holder, leaning down to the book to blow at the ink gently before he took a step toward you, “You needed the rest.”

Be still my beating heart.

You smiled at him shyly, watching as he came closer towards you, hand twitching at his side as though it longed to reach forth and close the gap between you.

But it didn’t.

“You should have woke me.” Your hands clutched each other tightly in front of your skirts, embarrassment licking at your neck. How could you have ever doubted him?

Aemond shook his head at you, “No need. You have already taught me what needed to be done.” He turned to face the table again, picking up the log book to hand to you, “I’ve logged the weather for the morning. Checked the lamp and oil reserves. All is well.” 

You took the book from him, watching as his finger reached to graze yours gently, sparks flying up your arm. His writing was neat, swift and soft loops pulling in a slant as he correctly and proficiently logged the winds, skies, seas and temperature. There was not a thing missing, and he had even written note of his predictions of the weather for the rest of the day.

He stepped closer towards you, heat radiating off of him, “Besides, it’s only fair since I spent the night teaching you something new.”

Heat rushed to your face, hands clutching the logbook tightly as you looked away nervously, hearing his soft chuckle before his head dipped, hands coming to grasp the log book from your own, fingers purposefully covering yours, “Do you want to double check my work?” He asked softly.

You shook your head underneath him, stepping back, letting him take the log book from you to place back on the table, “No, I trust you.”

At your words, a softer smile pulled at his lips, before he held his hand out in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we? You’ve not eaten yet.”

“How did you-“

“-You would have seen I was gone and come straight for me. You’re a naturally curious person, and no doubt had a myriad of questions or things to say. I wondered if you would have felt some sort of fear to wake up alone after what we did last night.”

Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you cursed yourself mentally for ever doubting him, for ever doubting yourself, “I thought perhaps you would have made a mistake. You are a Lord, and I-“

“-You are far more than what you believe. I have not met anyone quite like you. Your birth and rank mean nothing to me.” Aemond’s hand reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, warmth spreading through you at his words.

You couldn’t look at him, casting your gaze down to your hands as your eyes prickled with tears. How could he be so kind to you? How could he be so understanding? So calming? 

As your thoughts began to race away from you again, Aemond uttered your name, causing your gaze to raise to his.

“Stay with me. Do not let your mind run away from you.” His seeing eye flicked back and forth across your face, the other unmoving, “Come. Let's eat.”

-

Aemond had walked with you by your side back to your cottage, and together you ate your breakfast, talking quietly to one another, through the initial shyness that swallowed you, about anything and everything you could to avoid talking about the evening before and what it meant for you, and despite his obvious desire to discuss it, he did not push the conversation and allowed the pace to suit your needs.

And that was how your days passed, not quite dismissing what had happened, nor acknowledging it outright like before, but knowing that it had changed the space between the two of you. The dynamic had changed once again, the way you began to dote on each other changed, or more so, him doting on you more romantically.

For every morning that passed, you would wake to an empty bed to find him in the lighthouse before the sun would rise, logging the weather and checking upon the lamp. Even times where he would stir you from your sleep in the middle of the night as he left to keep an eye on it, or telling you to take rest and go to bed if you had been with the lamp in the late hours.

What was more, was that Aemond no longer slept upon the small couch, and nor did you, the both of you comfortably sharing your bed together in the cold of the night. At first you had been nervous, but Aemond had behaved as though the two of you had slept in a bed together for years, simply telling you that the two of you should retire for the night and sliding beneath the covers, opening the other side for you to crawl in after. 

Your initial thought at the behaviour was that he wished to dive between your thighs again, to lick and suckle at the crux of your legs or thrust himself between them, but not once had he pushed for it, or been untoward, in fact, he seemed to open the possibility of a second time to be entirely under your control. 

Not that he didn’t touch you, no, he would slide behind you and tuck you beneath his chin, arm wrapped around your middle to keep you close to him, lips pressing featherlike kisses atop your crown when he thought you had fallen asleep, fingers tracing your curves with a featherlight touch during the night.

The shift was not only different for the dynamic between the two of you and your new living arrangements, but different in your own duties. No longer did the work of the island consume your every waking moment and thoughts, for now you had time to sit, to read, to get a good nights rests and spend more time attending to smaller more menial tasks, like repairing clothing that you usually wouldn’t have time to, or cleaning the cottage throughly. You also felt yourself smiling more, laughing more, enjoying life and what Aemond brought to it. 

It was simple, nothing extravagant of course, but above all, content. It was in those quiet moments when he would tell you a tale of sailing or more sanitised story of his youth, small smile on his lips, did you realise that you were happy. Happier than you had ever been, and in every hour that passed spent with him, a warmth within grew. 

A warmth for him grew.

It wasn’t until you had insisted that Aemond sleep the early morning and for you to tend to the lamp did you realise just how much time had passed. 

You were up the lighthouse on the circular gallery that it had outside, leaning against the railings as you looked out at the water, watching as the dark blue waves rocked softly against the cliff below, and even more gently towards shore, which was slowly becoming illuminated with the sun. But that was not all that was illuminated.

There on the rocking waves, was a row boat, off in the distance, making its way towards you.

It was not an unfamiliar boat, nor was it manned by an unfamiliar man.

William was rowing towards your island, reprieve supplies in tow which he delivered on time, every time, but this time you had forgotten what day it was, how much time had passed since he last came, too preoccupied with the new and exciting presence that had landed upon your beach. 

With swift steps you made your way down the spiral case and sped to the cottage.

What would William say when he saw Aemond?

Would he be shocked?

Would Aemond be compelled to leave?

Would William send word to Aemond’s family and alert the town, thus speeding up Aemond’s farewell?

You selfishly didn’t want him to leave, and almost wished William had forgotten about you, just this once. And there it was, that ache in your chest once again at the thought of him leaving, at the very real knowledge that he would leave, and that you would be alone once more.

When you entered the cottage, Aemond was seated at the table, cup of steaming tea in his hand with another in front of him at your seat waiting. 

Waiting. 

He was waiting for you, with fresh tea made. 

Your eyes welled with tears before you swallowed them down, a lump in the back of your throat forming. You almost didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see the excitement light in his eye in knowing that he could go.

That brilliant violet eye, a colour you had never thought to be true on a person until you saw him, a colour in which made your heart fill with warmth and stomach full of flurry, looked up at you, smile at the ready until he saw your anxious demeanour. 

Your shifted on your feet back and forth before pulling your coat off to hang at the door awkwardly. 

Sensing your anxiety, Aemond straightened in his seat, “What is it?” His smooth timbre crackled in the air, your back facing him as your face crumpled.

You swallowed and steeled yourself as you turned to sit with him at the table, pulling out your chair opposite to him as you sat quietly, grasping the hot mug in your hands.

“Is there another storm coming?” His voice wavered as he asked, lingering fear of storms still clawing painfully in his mind. The visions of the waves, the darkness, the screams of his men, the water entering his lungs, the-

“A man comes.” Your voice pulled him from his memories, fingers tightening on the sides of the mug, “William. He brings my reprieve.”

Aemond’s silver brows pulled into a frown, “You sent word of my presence.”

It wasn’t a question. 

It was an accusation. 

“No.” You shook your head, and watched as he visibly relaxed, “I wouldn’t have sent word unless you asked. William brings my reprieve every fortnight or so. We have been so busy I,” You gnawed at your lip, “I forgot. I thought we would have had longer, but now I suppose when he comes, you can go with him. Take lodge in his home.” You sipped the hot tea to swallow your nervous rambling, but still it broke forth, “I have a friend, a fellow sailor. Dalton Greyjoy, he could take you close to home, another port, anywhere to help. I don’t have money to pay for your passage, but he likes me well enough to perhaps do me this one favour. Or mayhaps you could offer gold on your arrival, I’m sure-“

“-You wish for me to leave?”

“No. But I know you must.” Your heart clenched in pain, you lowered your gaze to the mug of tea in your hands, watching the steam slowly rise from it, “You have a family waiting for you, worried for you. I do not wish to keep you here knowing that I may be causing you pain, or your family pain in the unknown.”

If you had raised your eyes to meet his, you would have seen Aemond frown lightly, but you didn't, so you hadn’t.

“You do not keep me here, and my family are not of your concern.” A beat, “Nor mine.”

Silence wrapped around the both of you as you refused to meet his gaze.

“When shall he arrive?”

You swallowed, looking at the small clock on the mantel, “Within the hour.”

Aemond nodded in your periphery, chair scraping beneath him as he stood, “Excuse me.”

His footsteps echoed on the stone flooring as he made his way to the door, pulling your fathers coat onto his shoulders before he left, no doubt waiting at the small alcove or beach to watch William arrive. 

You stared at the clock for some time, watching as the minutes ticked by, arm moving across its face slowly. But now that he was gone, away from seeing you, you allowed yourself to feel the ache that had crashed inside of you. Tear after tear fell down your cheeks silently as you watched the clock, the heat of the mug that lightly stung your palms, slowly but surely turning cold. 

He would leave, and you would be alone. 

Alone. 

Again. 

And he would leave and marry another.

Not you.

It shocked you that the thought of him laying with another, holding another tightly to him, caressing her, kissing her, smiling at her in ways that only you had seen thus far, made your stomach feel as though a knife was twisting itself inside. The lump in your throat sharp as though a dagger had been thrust through flesh and sinew, obstructing you from swallowing or breathing.

It felt as though you were losing him again. 

You didn’t know why, you couldn’t reason with it, for you had never known him before, but that day on the beach, as he lay lifeless in the sand, you had lost him. 

And then he had come back. 

And now he was to leave once more, and no more would he laugh in your small four walls, nor would he wake you with tea, or twist in the sheets beside you. 

No more would his hand linger upon yours, or his lips, or-

As another tear fell, the door to the cottage opened, and your hands quickly swiped up the wet tracks left behind on your cheeks. Rapid steps moved into the room as the door clunked behind.

“Your friend has arrived.” Aemond breathed, looking at the redness of your eyes and un-wiped tears on your chin. 

You swallowed, that dagger still lodged in place and nodded your head to stand, averting your eyes from his as you brushed down your skirts, “I suppose then I should fare you well.”

All that you could hear was the crackling of the fire and the beat of your heart thundering in your ears. You knew if you looked up at his face, to look into his lilac eye, to gaze upon his soft lips and sharp edges, that you would fall apart.

And so you didn’t, keeping your eyes averted to the corner of the room near the fireplace, wishing for it to be over. Wishing that he had never washed ashore so that you wouldn’t have to bear the heartbreak of him leaving. 

Because that’s what it was, you realised in that moment. 

Heartbreak.

“I’m afraid I will have to ask for your generosity once more.” Aemond breathed, and you blinked, slowly raising your eyes to meet his. His seeing eye searched your face as he breathed heavily, “I feel I may be succumbing to illness. I am falling- I feel,” He swallowed, “I feel compelled to stay. If you’ll have me. If not for a while longer.” His chest rose and fell visibly beneath the coat, hair cascading over his shoulders like waves of water.

He wished to stay?

Here?

With you?

Aemond blinked at your silence as his shoulders slumped slightly. He shook his head, looking to the floor, “Forgive me. That was too much to ask of you-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “No, not at all. If you,” You swallowed thickly, “If you feel unwell and compelled to stay, who am I to cast out a Lord in need?”

Relief washed over the two of you, and an unspoken air of gratitude floated amongst the space. You fought the urge to smile, to laugh, to jump with joy at the prospect of him staying longer. Of wanting to stay longer, of the thought that perhaps staying here with you was better than the prospect of going home to his family. 

His previous words echoed in your head.

Let me stay dead a while longer. 

Was this his staying dead a while longer? Avoiding his duties that awaited him when he returned home?

“Will you tell William of my presence?” His voice broke you from your revere.

You blinked.

Would you?

“Did you wish for me to?”

“No.”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief, “Then I shall not tell William of your presence.”

Aemond shifted on his feet, before nodding, “Thank you.”

You gave him a hopeful smile in response.

-

William arrived not too long after your agreement with Aemond for his extended stay, and hidden presence. You watched on from shore as he pulled his boat up the sand, his warm eyes crinkling at the sight of you.

“Y/n, my girl!” He called out to you, trudging up the sand to you as he pulled you into a tight embrace which you returned heartily, head tucked against his chest. 

Ever since your father had passed, William had become a father figure to you, but he had always been like that. Or at least like an uncle, a man who cared and loved you just as much as he did his own. You considered him family, and he considered you one of the same.

“How have you fared? We worried for you with that storm." His hand gripped your shoulder tightly, "Celia was beside herself with worry, pacing about the fire each night. Thought she would have burnt a hole in the floors by the end of it.” He chuckled, pulling away to look you over as you smiled up at him.

“As you can see, I am alive and well. The sea did not swallow me this time round.” You smiled, and turned to help him pull his boat further up the beach to unpack the supplies.

“Not all were so lucky,” William cast a glance to the remaining debris from Aemond’s ship, “Large pieces of hull washed ashore, we worried the ship had run aground atop the lighthouse.” His voice grew morose, “A few men washed up on the beach, but none survived the storm.”

You nodded solemnly, pulling a large bag of flour from the row boat as you lined it up on the grass with the others, “Debris landed here too. The ship sunk just off of the horizon in the thick of the storm. The sea took all.”

William hummed sadly, “Unbelievable storm that, not even Lord Greyjoy had seen a storm so large. Did any find their way here?”

You straightened, heart beginning to race in your chest. You swallowed and carefully thought of your next words, “One. Though he succumbed to waves like the others.” 

The lie made you shift uncomfortably. You didn’t want to lie to William, but you didn’t want to go against Aemond’s wishes either.

A large hand grasped your shoulder and tightened softly, “There was nothing you could have done. We saw the lighthouse day and night through the storm and thats how we knew you were safe. Celia dragged me to the beach in the rain to make sure it was on as proof of your wellbeing.”

You nodded, “It would take far more than a storm to stop me or the lamp.”

William chuckled, a crackly laugh that was familiar and warm, “Don’t I know it. Now, are you going to make this old man a drink, or do I have to beg for one.”

You laughed at his words, picking up the sack of flour and other bags of food and supplies, leaving the large crates for him to carry, “Come on then, before the Gods take you.”

-

After doing multiple trips and talking along the way, the cottage was now filled with supplies and food for the next fortnight. Flour and dried meats and other items were strewn on the counter and in the kitchen, leaning against the walls and shelves, whilst small jars of pickled foods and jams made by Celia were neatly lined in a small crate on the table.

When the two of you had begun to drop the supplies into the cottage, you held your breath, hoping that Aemond had made himself scarce and out of the way as you came in and out. Thankfully, your bedroom door was for once closed, and you assumed Aemond was keeping himself quiet inside. 

William sipped at the warm tea you made him as he seated himself in the chair that had become Aemond’s, long stocky legs stretched out in front of him as he rubbed a knee with a hand, working some invisible pain or injury out of it.

“Place looks good,” William commented, eyes roaming across the room, “You’ve been busy.”

You hummed in reply, lifting the mug to your lips. 

If only he knew. 

But William’s gaze stopped by the door, eyes locked onto something as he wordlessly stared. 

Shifting in your seat you turned to face it, stomach dropping. 

Beside your empty hook, was the other.

And hung on it, was your fathers old coat.

Aemond’s coat.

Your head turned back to look at William, mouth opening and shutting as you tried to think of an excuse, as you tried to think of a way to explain as to why there was a man’s coat hung on your door when you had supposedly been alone. And as you opened your mouth to explain yourself, to make up some poor take of an excuse, William beat you to it.

“I miss him too.” His voice was lower than it had been before, “Did you keep all his belongings?”

Your heart pounded in your ears, and a pang of grief moved through you. 

Your pa.

He thought you had his coat out because you missed him.

And whilst you did miss him, you were thankful that that was what William thought of it, and not that there was a man living with you, currently hiding in your bedroom. Though, that would be a hard thing for William to believe, even if you told him.

You nodded, “It seemed a waste to be rid of them.” You sipped your tea, wondering where this conversation may lead you. 

William gave a gruff sigh, “Do you not get lonely here? You’re all on your own. A woman your age should have a companion, someone to talk to at the very least. A cat even.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Are you suggesting I marry someone? I have my pigeon, but she’s not very talkative.”

The sea weathered man raised his shoulders, “You’re not getting any younger.” His words irritated you as he continued, “Not that you’re not capable of doing this on your own.” He explained, watching as your eyes narrowed on him, “You’ve proven yourself more than capable for that. I just,” Another sigh, “I know this isn’t what your father wanted for you.”

“Wanted for me?”

“He didn’t want you here, trapped. He wanted you to see the world, to go out and meet someone. He hoped you would settle down, start a family. He did not want to bear the burden of the lighthouse onto you.”

You looked down at the table, “It’s not a burden.”

“I know.” He said, but it didn’t sound as though he believed you, “But how often do you get to do things for yourself?”

You gave him a small smile, “I am perfectly content here, I don’t see why I should have to marry.”

“I’m not saying you have to, I’m merely suggesting the option.”

You hummed, “Well, not many men would like to live this life, nor are they prepared or knowledgable enough for it.”

Except for Aemond.

William laughed, crows feet becoming deeper, “I know you think men are a burden, if not a waste of ones time, but you never know, one may just wash ashore and change your perspective.”

Your breath stilled in your chest.

Did he know?

“What about Greyjoy?” William clicked his fingers, “The Dalton lad.” “His eyes always looks for you when he comes to town. Asks after you; Where you are, who you’re with, what you’re doing. Nice lad.”

“Nice enough.” You shifted uncomfortably, “But his heart belongs to the sea, and he would scarcely be home. What life would I live raising a child with a father who blows in with the tide? Not to mention, he has, shall we say, fleeting affections for others.”

William snorted, “I wouldn’t say his affections for you were fleeting, but aye, he is a man of the sea through and through. And those Greyjoys are known for their whoring.”

You guffawed, “William!”

“What?” He looked at you incredulously, “I speak the Gods honest truth. He wouldn’t be my first choice for you, but Celia-“

“Ahh.” You leant back in your chair, “Has Celia been playing the matchmaker of late?”

The older man grumbled, “When has she not? She tried to suggest Edmund Pyke-“

“-The fish mongers son?”

“Aye.” William shook his head, “Meek young man, too meek for the likes of you. I told Celia you’d eat him alive.”

A huffed chuckle fell from your lips, “Not much to devour. If I remember correctly, he stands half your size. Quiet boy.”

“Indeed. Always a shock when you hear him speak, like a mouse’s fart.” The man teased, draining the rest of his tea in one gulp, “But a man like that is no match for a woman like you. You need someone who can take what you give.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, “I doubt any man would be worthy of you. You are so very much like your mother; kind, soft.” A grin pulled at his lips, "But then you are frustratingly stubborn like your father and argumentative to a fault. And Gods awful at making tea.” He grimaced.

“My tea is perfectly fine, thank you very much. If it is so horrible for you to drink, then perhaps you should make yourself scarce.” You bit the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling, and William did the same, until finally he burst into a howling laugh, hand on his stomach as his head bent backwards.

“Oh no,” He grinned, standing with a grunt and pop of his knees, “I don’t worry for you marrying a man, I worry for the poor soul who will have to marry you.” 

You stood to meet him, “Then you needn’t worry, for I see no husband on the horizon by the name of Greyjoy or Pyke.”

William raised a brow, “Just those names then?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, “Be quiet, you.” You smacked him on the chest lightly, letting him pull you in for a final hug.

-

Slowly you walked William back to his boat, chatting quietly amongst yourselves as you went to shore, helping him to drag it down the sand to the water, the little vessel swaying in the small waves, the sun slowly beginning to set in the horizon.

“Now you take care of yourself, you hear me? Come to town and visit when the weather is fare. The girls would love to see you.”

You nodded, promising to come soon, hugging him once more on the sand. 

William took one final gaze at you, eyes searching your face with an almost unreadable expression to it, “You’ve changed.” He pushed his boat further into the water before sitting to face you, rowers in hands as his boat rocked side to side on the small waves, “You’re lighter. Brighter. Before the storm you were dull, but now…” His voice trailed off in the wind as he rowed himself backwards slowly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love!” He called out, boat moving away from the beach.

“A good thing you know better!” You called out after him, heat rising in your neck and face as your heart began to race in your chest, “Give my love to the girls!” You waved and he nodded, your feet stepping back to avoid a small wave that dragged water up to your boots, “And tell Celia to stop trying to marry me off like a prized mare!”

“I’ll do no such thing!” William yelled back laughing, before finally he was away. 

-

You stood on the beach, watching the man grow smaller and smaller as he made his way back to shore. Your feet had begun to sink into the sand, damp seeping in through the sides before you decided to return back to the cottage. 

When you entered, your bedroom door was open, and Aemond was in the kitchen, pumping water in the dry sink to wash the two cups and put them away. As he heard your approach he turned his head toward you, though not fully.

“He seems a decent man.” He stated softly, hands scrubbing the tea from the cups.

You smiled softly, “He is. I grew up with him. Always visiting me and pa whenever he had the chance. And when pa died, he became a father to me.”

Aemond hummed, “He cares a lot about you, as if you’re his own.” Aemond grabbed a cloth and dried the mugs placing them back on the shelf, “It’s good to see decent men being decent fathers.”

You nodded and smiled. You knew from what Aemond had told you that he did not have a good relationship with his father, and you were more than fortunate to not only have one, but two father figures in your life who had been nothing but loving to you.

And whilst you thought of memories of your pa and William, the air in the cottage shifted.

Aemond dried his hands and turned to face you, his posture stiff, face pulled into a hard line, “You didn’t tell me that Dalton was pursuing you. You would let me leave on his ship with him without saying as much?”

There was something in his eye and the way that he spoke that made you shift on your feet nervously. 

You began to pull your coat from your shoulders, “Pursuing is an exaggeration.” You lied to yourself, “Dalton has no desire to ask for my hand, nor has he ever expressed any desire. His family are Lord’s. He himself is a Lord. His family would never approve of my-“

“-But he wants you.” Aemond said lowly, stepping forward, looking down at you from his nose, “Desires you. I heard William say that he seeks you out, asks after you. It’s clear there is something there between you.”

Your brows furrowed, “Do you make a habit of listening in on others conversations? There is nothing between me and Dalton. I have known him all my life, and to this day nothing has happened. He is scarcely in town, always on the seas exploring new lands, new women. His interest in me is purely physical, I assure you.”

“And is it reciprocated?”

You blanched, blinking up at him, “Reciprocated?”

Aemond’s jaw twitched as he looked down at you, “Do you desire him in the way he desires you? Do you wish for him to touch you?” His voice dropped lower as he stepped towards you, hand coming to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the skin of your neck, “To taste you?”

You couldn’t think. 

Couldn’t breathe.

Stuck to the floor as you looked up at the silver haired man whom you now realised was jealous. 

His lilac eye had darkened as he looked down his nose at you, sharp features illuminated harshly by the fire behind him. His lips were pulled into a stiff line, and his chest rose and fell shallowly.

“Well?”

You blinked again, and cleared your throat softly, “No.” You whispered quietly to the room, watched as his brows furrowed in disbelief, “Once I had.” You admitted watching as his jaw ticked, “But that was before I met you. It feels a long time ago, and it was merely a passing thought, one bred by the desire to not be alone.”

At your words, Aemond seemed to relax, his lips softened and brow evened out, though his jaw remained clenched, “And are you alone?”

Your head cocked to the side.

Alone?

But he was standing right with you.

Right in front of you.

“No?”

Aemond huffed a small humourless laugh at your response, clearly you had misunderstood him. 

“Do you feel lonely? With me here?”

You licked your lips, feeling the warmth of his body come closer as he stepped forward, fingers at your neck sliding to the back, tangling themselves into your hair as he pulled you closer. His mouth was a breath apart from yours, his eye on your lips as you heaved uneven lungfuls, waiting for your answer.

You tilted your head upwards, lips brushing against his softly, the feeling sending warmth settling into your gut as you chased his embrace. But Aemond did not let you close the gap, and moved his lips away, awaiting your answer yet again.

As soft as a whisper came your answer.

“Not anymore.”

Aemond’s lips met yours as soon as the words left your mouth, chasing yours in a heated kiss, the hand at the back of your neck tangling in your hair tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer, other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, almost lifting you onto his own feet. 

His lips felt like a breath of fresh air, a fire within you set ablaze with each passing moment. You chased after him as much as he chased after you, your hands desperately pulling his tunic closer to you, neck craned up on your tip toes to reach.

The sailors hands came to the front of your dress, teeth nipping at your bottom lip causing you to gasp. His tongue took advantage of your parted lips, licking into your mouth at the opening. You moaned warmly, feeling his hands pause at the buttons at the front of your dress. You nodded sharply, not willing to part from him to verbally give an answer. 

With practised ease, he began to pull at the buttons one by one, slowly opening the front of your gown. When it was finally undone down to your navel, you parted for air, a wave of realisation crashing over you.

“The lamp.” You breathed breathlessly, rearing your head back to look up at Aemond, night had begun to fall outside.

His eye was half lidded, pupil expanded across the lilac, and a soft pink dusted on his cheeks, “Already lit.” He mumbled before crashing his lips back against yours. 

You made a startled squeak, and wondered briefly when he had had the time to go light it in your absence. But any lingering questioning you had were lost when his large hands scooped under the front of your collarbones and up to your shoulders, slowly sliding the gown down your torso, freeing your arms as he went. 

He stepped back to look over you, goosebumps rising on your skin as his heated gaze roamed over your breasts and body. His lips were pink and swollen from your embrace, and the pupil of his eye expanded.

Feeling a spur of confidence, you undid the small belted laces at the back, letting the heavy dress and skirts fall to the ground beneath you in a puddle.

Aemond was on you in a second, the room tilting as you were suddenly picked up, legs automatically wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he hungrily kissed you, all teeth and tongue and impatience, neediness bleeding through the both of you in a rush of desire.

It was as though wildfire had caught in the space between, and it burnt at you both hotly, the flames licking higher and higher on your bodies, an all consuming need. 

Your need for him burnt.

“Bed.” He murmured into your lips, speedily walking to the room before he dropped you onto the bed with a bounce.

You gazed up at him through your lashes and watched as he pulled his tunic from over his head with one hand in one swift movement, your eyes roaming down his lean body.

Pale littering of scars were on his chest and arms, and your gaze moved lower still to the trail of hair that lead to what was beneath his breeches, the memory of it causing your core to clench around nothing.

Aemond breathed heavily looking down at you before he pulled you to the edge by your feet, a squeak rising from your chest as he loomed over you. 

With haste, Aemond unlaced your boots, throwing them away alongside the stockings he rolled down your legs impatiently. Then came your stays, which did not survive his large, weather worn hands, which tore the laces from their holes, ripping the material at the seams. 

You gasped loudly as he did it, not truly knowing the strength he had hidden, which was then smothered by his wanting mouth, body climbing on top of you as he kissed and nipped sharply at your lips with his teeth, hips pressing down into your own as he ground into you.

Heat settled in your gut with each thrust of his hips, his hardening length brushing against your sensitive pearl each time, sending shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. The kiss consumed you, heat rising in the room as the both of you gripped and pulled at each other desperately, Aemond only breaking the kiss to pave a path down your neck, stopping every so often to suck or bite at your flesh, marking you which caused you to mewl beneath him. 

He sunk lower and lower on the bed, pulling up your slip with his hands as he settled between your thighs once again, your hands gripping the sheets of the bed as you looked down at him. His eye was already on you, watching your face as he breathed cool breaths against your bare core. 

You whimpered as he blew air onto it, cold on your throbbing bud as he smirked up at you, “Sīr lōz.”, He cooed, swiping two fingers gently up your slit, parting your folds.

A finger pressed down on you, watching with delight as you squirmed beneath him. You bucked your hips up towards his lips shyly as he blew against you again, smirking at how you whimpered and writhed, desperate to alleviate the ache that had been building within since he captured your lips with his. 

“Is something wrong?” Aemond smirked, rubbing his fingers through your folds, but never quite touching you were you needed him.

“Please.” You whispered, hips seeking his fingers desperately.

“Please, what?"

You shut your eyes tightly, embarrassment coursing through you, "Please, Aemond."

The man chuckled gently, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him, watching as your eyes opened to look down at him again.

"Syt ao? Mirros.”

Aemond ducked his head between your thighs, hand on either side of your thighs, holding you open for him as he licked a wide stripe up your centre, tongue flicking against your bud.

Your back arched from the bed, eyes screwed shut as pleasure shot through you. The Targaryen moaned into your folds, beginning to lap at them hungrily, thumbs holding you open for him so that he focused on your pearl. 

“Iksā sīr vok syt nyke.” Aemond groaned, two long fingers finding your entrance, slowly beginning to push inside of you. 

Your breath hitched as they entered, immediately curling up to the soft spongey spot inside of you that he found last time, memorising each and every inch of your body and the reactions that you made when he licked, sucked, pressed or rubbed against it. 

The sounds he made as he lapped at your core was filthy, depraved, and down right ravenous, moaning into your cunt as pleasure wound tightly in your belly, his ministrations slowly but surely pulling you towards the edge, no doubt assisted by his low rumblings in his mother tongue.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao.” He gasped against your thigh, watching his fingers disappear inside of you as he began to fuck them at a faster pace, wetness coating your thighs and the bed beneath you “Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry,” He kissed at your thigh looking up into your eyes with an intensity that made the breath in your chest still, “Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon.”

Your hips bucked, one hand releasing the sheets to card through his hair, his lilac eye momentarily shutting as you pulled lightly at the strands, a hum vibrating his chest, “Common tongue, please.”

“More tongue?” Aemond responded cheekily, eyebrow raised at you, and before you could quip back, he was back to using his mouth on you, sucking your pearl into his mouth as his fingers did not slow, the tension in your gut about the break. 

“Oh.” You breathed, mouth open, “Oh Gods. Oh- fucking Hells.” Pleasure raced through you violently, and a long pealing whine flitted from your lips as you reached your peak.

Aemond sucked your bud into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against it, fingers fucking inside of you speedily through it, the wet squelching of your release loud in the room with each thrust of his hand. Your grip in his hair tightened and you pulled, still falling from the precipice he had brought you to, a deep grunt vibrating into your already sensitive core. 

“Aemond- Nng- Please. Slow down.” You whined, writhing as the pleasure soon turned borderline painful, too overstimulated to function.

With a final broad wipe of his tongue, the silver haired man ceased his movements, allowing for your body to finally slump into the pillows, a light sheen of sweat covering you. 

Your eyes slid shut as you huffed a laugh, whimpering lightly when he pulled his fingers from within you. Aemond placed wet kisses to the top of you mound, your hip bones, and then to your stomach which he revealed by pulling your slip up your body. 

Only did your eyes re-open when he kept lifting the slip up over your breasts, his mouth coming down to capture a pert nipple in his mouth. He rolled it with his tongue, teeth lightly holding it in place as he slotted his hips against you once again.

You moaned, hands sliding down his sides to his breeches which were still very much on his hips.

“Off.” You breathed, tugging at his pants, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop.

“Patience, byka perzys.” Little flame, Aemond chuckled, shifting to drag his breeches down his legs, kicking them off the bed along with his boots. 

When he laid back against you, his hands moved to your shift again, pulling it over your head, leaving the two of you bare before each other once again. His head dipped and captured your lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue tart and musky.

Swiftly, Aemond used his thighs to part your own, moving them over the top of his as he lined the hard tip of his cock up with your soaked entrance.

Without pause, Aemond slid inside of you, catching your gasp in his mouth as you stretched around him. There was only the slightest of stings this time, your body far more relaxed than the first time.

The head of his cock pressed against your cervix snugly as he pushed to the hilt, the feeling of fullness spreading within you and up through your gut. You don't think that you could ever get used to such a feeling, such an all encompassing fullness that would forever shock you.

Aemond didn’t wait to give you a chance to adjust, and began to thrust himself through your silky walls immediately, sparks of pleasure beginning rippling up your body. A large hand held your hip, whilst the other buried itself in your hair, tilting your head further back for him to dive his tongue into your mouth, flicking at your own as you messily grabbed and kissed one another.

Feeling yourself begin to jolt up the bed, you lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him deeper and closer to you, desperate whine moving through you as his hips clapped against yours.

It was frenzied, fiery, and with each smack of his hips, you felt your wetness spread against his thighs and hair at the base of his length, his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive nub.

“Sīr ȳrda.” He moaned, head dipping into the crux of your neck, hand on your hip skimming to the globe of your ass, squeezing it as he fucked you harder, grunts spilling from his lips growing louder.

“You feel so good.” You whimpered, hands clawing at his back sharply as you felt a familiar coil within begin to wind again, “Please.”

Aemond raised his head to look down at you, your gaze meeting his. With his thumb, Aemond began to swirl small, wet circles into your pearl, accelerating your oncoming release. The lilac of his eye looked almost black as he lowered his voice to you.

“Take it from me.” 

Pleasure coursed through your veins. Blinding white heat pummelling through you as you reached your peak below him.

“There you go.” He cooed, watching as your release crashed over you.

Aemond tumbled over the edge with you with a cry. Your nails dug into his back as he sped up, looking down intently, mouth slack as he watched you come apart from below, not once breaking your locked gaze.

His forehead pressed into yours as he slowed, the throbbing of his length inside you and warmth of his spend filling you causing a smaller wave of pleasure to race through you, your walls clamping down onto him. Aemond hissed before coming to a stop, the both of you panting heavily, bodies going slack, the weight of him on top bringing you an odd sense of comfort.

Carefully Aemond rolled off of you, his cock sliding out from your sensitive walls as he lay on his back, pulling you into his side to tuck your head beneath his.

You curled into him immediately, as though you had done it a million times before, fitting perfectly at his side. You wrapped an arm around his middle, lifting a leg to hook over his hips, which he held and sooth his his hand. 

Your entire body was buzzing with the after mass of your release, limbs feeling heavier than they once were. The two of you sweaty and satiated, whilst small little huffs of joy breathed into the space as you both fell into a comfortable rest.

 -

Another week goes by, and soon enough, it had been almost a month since Aemond washed ashore on your island. 

Almost a month since the largest storm you had seen raged across the horizon and into the headlands.

Almost a month since you had nursed a man back from death and back to the living.

Almost a month since your heart began to grow fond of the man. 

Almost a month since you had grown content with Aemond’s presence. 

Things had changed again, not in any negative way, but things became more passionate, more heated, more tender.

Aemond would touch you whenever he could, hold you whenever he could, hand pressed against yours. Lips to yours, or your cheek, or forehead, and his his hands would seek you in gentle caresses that would set you alight and wanting for more.

And he always gave you more.

He seemed to be insatiable, never quite getting his fill, and whatever he had awoken inside of you was equal in fever. 

You noted that his personal preference was to be between your thighs, lapping at your folds whenever he could, pulling peak after peak from you whether on your bed, or the couch, against the table or walls or doors or kitchen bench. And even, on one occasion, in the lighthouse, pressed against the bricks with a leg hitched over his shoulder. 

Aemond never seemed to get enough of it, always insisting on it before he would sink himself inside of you. You had asked him why once, and he had flushed, stating that it was to prepare you, but when you had asked again, he said that there was no greater sweetness in all the lands he had travelled to than your, so eloquently put, cunt. 

Not that you minded, in fact, it began to be a favourite pass time of your own. 

When you had woken that morning, it wasn’t to your usual bodily clock, rising before the sun after years of habit, but rather to the warm and wet sensation that prodded and swiped between your legs.

You rose with a moan, and then a deeper one as you found Aemond between your thighs kissing your centre like a man starved. It didn’t take him long to get you to reach your peak, and when you had, he had smiled almost smugly, and stated that that was all he needed to eat for the day.

But the newfound intimacy and exploring each others bodies wasn’t all that you enjoyed in your shifting tides together. Each moment spent with Aemond you learnt more about him. Piece by piece he would reveal new information to you. A new memory, a new story, a new piece of knowledge about the mysterious man that you would itemise and lock away in the back of your mind to create a larger picture of the man in front of you.

You spent hours reading together when not working, for double the hands makes for swift work, and you found that for the first time in your life, you had the ability to sit down, to breathe, to not have every waking moment thinking about the lighthouse and only the lighthouse. And in those moments of breath and thought, you realised how much you truly had been missing out on in life. 

You had thought you had been content alone, but the more time you spent with him, the more time you spent reading or hearing about his own adventures, you realised, much to your dismay, how you longed to do the same. But you couldn’t ever leave, for no-one would man the lighthouse after you, at least no-one you would know to be so proficient. Unless it was William himself, but he had a wife and daughters and a job of his own, and you would never ask him to do such a thing for your selfish wants and imagination.

And so you were content in savouring each moment you had with the sailor whilst he was still there, laughing loudly over whiskey as he told you of a story of his older brother losing a wooden sword match with one of his nephews, or another time in which his brother Aegon had grown so drunk at a family event, that two maids had to assist him to bed, dropping him halfway up the stairs as they went.

You learnt that his sister, Helaena, was a sweet and gentle woman with a soft and kind heart. She had, what he called, a nervous or paranoid disposition, and often believed her dreams that things were to happen, the family taking no notice to her fretting. Though he did note, with an ashen face, that she had warned him once about a danger beneath the eye. 

Had she meant the eye he lost?

Or the eye of the storm which led to his ships demise, and almost his own?

Aemond did not know.

His mother, you learnt, Alicent, was a stern and pious woman, heavily religious and intent on him performing his duties and marrying a young Lady from a neighbouring land. Though at times she seemed to be somewhat overbearing and traditional in his retellings, when he spoke of her, there was a deep fondness in his eye, and it made you all the more disappointed in yourself for having kept him away from them.

During his stay, Aemond kept his promise to you, teaching you what he could of High Valyrian when you had the chance. It was a struggle to start, but you picked it up quicker than you had thought you would. 

He would praise you for your pronunciation, which only led you to want to do better for him, his words of affirmation doing something to your heart and body, which resulted in you mumbling words and phrases beneath your breath every chance you had to perfect them. 

You also learnt that he had an older sister, estranged, not talked about and something that was clearly a taboo for the sailor, but when he did mention her, it was to note that her High Valyrian was more advanced as their father had spent ample time teaching her, but not his four other children.

Aemond was, for the most part, self taught, besides the help of a lone tutor which Aemond noted was poorly. 

Each time he shared a piece of himself to you, your heart longed to go with him, to see the famed Keep where his family resided. To meet his mother Alicent who was such an important person in his life, as well as his sister Helaena. You wished to meet Aegon, to see if he truly was as bumbling as Aemond had told you. 

You wished to see the foods they had, imported from foreign lands you couldn’t pronounce, to walk the Gardens of the Keep, to see the ashen barked Weirwood tree in his Godswood, to try a starfruit, which Aemond had a craving for almost every second day, the shape and flavour a wonder to you. 

You wished to be a part of his life, a part of his family, and a tiny, foolish part of you thought that perhaps you could. But the more rational side knew that it could not be, that you were of low rank, and you could not leave the lighthouse unmanned, and as each day passed with this heavy revelation, came the looming of a dark cloud above you.

-

The fresh scones you had made were still soft and fresh, Celia’s jam spread thickly on top as a treat for the both of you that morning. The cottage was cold, but the heat of the fire radiated warmth around the two of you, a subtle wind whistling past the windows outside. 

Despite the bright mood the two of you had, started by Aemond waking you up between your thighs, that cloud still loomed over the top of you, dread and anticipation of what was to come nipping at you like a hound.

“Celia makes great jam. I should like to thank her one day.” Aemond hummed, popping a small broken piece of scone into his mouth to chew, licking the jam off the pad of his thumb after he swallowed.

You nodded, smiling, though it didn’t reach your eyes, “You should thank her yourself in person. I am sure she would like to meet a real Targaryen.”

His eye searched your face, “One day.”

“But when?” You swallowed, preparing your speech which you had practiced over and over in a loop in your head, finding some way that would make him want to stay, to make him want you.

The silver haired man frowned, placing the rest of his scone on his plate as he sat himself straighter, “When?”

“Yes. When.” The lump in your throat grew larger with each passing second, “You have a family, duties, a life. Your mother must be beside herself with worry and grief, and I fear that I am taking you from that. I fear I am creating pain for you all.”

“Taking me?” Aemond sounded confused, eye swiftly searching your face as you straightened in your chair.

“I do not wish to…force you to stay here, or corrupt you into thinking I could be anything other than this.” You watched as his frown deepened, lips pulling into a thin line, “I cannot keep you here as much as I wish to.”

His frown softened, “You wish for me to stay?”

“Kessa.” (Yes) You said quietly, “But I know it is not the reality we live in. You are a Lord, I am-“

“-Why do you always bring up my rank?”

“Because it means something. If your family found out that you have been here, with someone like me, the talk alone could ruin your potential list of decent wives. Your future. I fear I have already tainted-“

“-Tainted?”

“Yes, I-“

“-Why do you believe yourself to ever be capable of tainting me?” Aemond’s voice was stern, colder than before, as though angry at your words. You looked down at the table shyly, focusing on the scone smeared with jam.

“You do not think you could stay here forever, do you?”

Aemond huffed air through his nose, “I can do whatever I like. Go where I please, see who I wish. For now, my family believes me to be dead, and even if I was known to be hale and healthy, I can still do as I please.”

“But your mother-“

“-My mother,” Aemond began, voice softening, “Will one day come to understand.”

You shook your head, confusion coursing through you, “I don’t understand.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed, teeth pressing sharply against each other before he adjusted himself to sit even more impossibly straighter, “Do you believe in the Gods?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, “Of course. I would not have prayed to them if I did not.”

“Then you must believe the Gods control our paths and fate.”

Paths and fate?

What was he talking about?

“Yes, I believe so. But I don’t understand what the Gods have to do with you needing to go home.”

Aemond took a deep breath through his nose, his hand on the table as fingers flexed and then curled back into a fist, dropping into his lap out of sight, “My ship sunk for a reason. I do not believe that it happened without purpose. I drowned and came back for a reason. You prayed to the Gods to save me, and they did.” His tongue peeked out of his lips to wet them, and your heart began to race in your chest, “The Gods gave me a second chance at life and brought me straight to you.” He shook his head, silver locks falling over his shoulders, “Before you, I was unhappy, but with you? I have never been so content. So… at peace.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, your own hands twisting in your lap, “Please do not say such things to me, Sir. My heart cannot bear it.”

Aemond leant forward, “But it is the truth. And mine own heart cannot bear the thought of leaving here. Of leaving you.”

A tear fell from your eye, sliding wetly down your cheek as you looked at him, his figure blurred in your vision, “You cannot want me.”

“I can. And I do.”

A sob fell from your lips as you looked at him, “This is cruelty, Aemond. You cannot- You can’t- Your family would never allow it. You cannot say these things to me, do not give me false hope. Do not give me reason to believe.”

Aemond's hand lifted on top of the table, palm up, offered to you. 

You looked at his palm, and the soft smooth skin there, and wished to mark it. You wished to mark him so that he could never leave, so that he could never be without you without evidence of you existing.

“False hope would be to say that I could ever leave here with my heart intact.” His hand waited for you on the table, “Please.”

Another tear fell from your cheek, “You cannot want a life like this. You cannot want a life with me. I have no money, I cannot ever leave, I would never trap you here with me.”

“You could never trap me in the first place. I am yours.”

I am yours.

Another sob fell from your lips, chest aching at the thought of losing him, at the thought of him leaving you. That this declaration would be for naught, that he had not truly thought this over, but deep inside of you, you hoped, dreamed, begged the Gods for his words to be true.

Aemond’s hand slid off the table and back into his lap as he stared at you, silence creeping across the table.

“I am just as much yours. Irrevocably.” You breathed, watching as relief flooded Aemond’s face, “But I cannot ask this of you. Not when you lose so much if you do.”

Aemond stood from his seat, swiftly coming towards you where he knelt in front of you, forcefully taking your hand in his as he looked up into your tear filled eyes. His thumb brushed over your knuckles soothingly, his other hand briefly coming to swipe a tear from your cheek before meeting the other that held yours.

“You are not asking me to do anything, byka perzys.” His words came swiftly, eye searching your face as tear after tear fell down your cheeks, “And if you were, I would do it. A thousands times over, I would do it. If you asked me to walk back into the sea, I would do it. For you, I would do it.”

“Aemond,” You shook your head sadly, mouth opening again to argue, but he interrupted you.

“-I want to stay.” His hands gripped yours tighter, “Here. With you. I want to be with you. Always.” He swallowed thickly, “If you’ll have me.”

Your blood thumped loudly in your ears as you looked at him. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t speak, mind going a thousand miles an hour. 

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay here.

With you.

“Please do not turn me away. The fate of the seas would be kinder.” His voice cracked, and your heart ached.

There was no turning back, no moving from this conversation without an outcome. 

It all just depended on which path you wished to go. Which path your heart ached for most, and that was for him to stay. But would it come without consequences? Would his decision to stay be a mistake he would come to resent you for? 

You had nothing to lose, he had everything to.

But the way he was looking at you, the way he was patiently and nervously awaiting your answer, watching as tears continued to fall from your eyes, not just out of grief, but sheer overwhelming love for the man knelt before you, offering all that he was, sacrificing all that he had, and for you.

A small smile cracked on your lips, and you watched as his eye became hopeful. Your hand lifted to his cheek, caressing it softly to cup his jaw as you looked him over; his lilac eye, the sharp aquiline of his nose, the way his plump lips pulled sharply at its peaks. Never in your dreams could you have imagined such a man, and never in your life did you think to imagine that a man such as him could be yours.

And it was in that moment that you made your decision.

You smiled, small sobbing laugh escaping your lips as you rubbed a thumb against his skin, feeling the smooth stubble beneath it, “The Gods brought you to me.” You whispered, eyes searching his face for any sign of regret or trepidation, and when you found none, you continued, “Who am I to turn you away?”

And there it was, that full smile that you had grown to love. 

Aemond’s lips pulled widely revealing his teeth as he beamed up at you. 

Never had you felt such joy, such elation inside of you at the sight, your heart feeling as though it became full, a fire settling into your chest raging as it always did with him, for he always made it feel as though he set you alight.

“Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond declared softly with a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners, lilac dancing with admiration, the unseeing eye reflecting the light of the sun outside like a cloudy morning sky. 

He sat up on his knees and leant forward, face coming towards you before his eye shut, and his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. Your hands grabbed his face, and he did yours, diving his fingers into your hair, holding you to him gently as he slowly sought your lips with his own. 

It was not rushed, it was not frantic, but patient, the both of you knowing that you were no longer running on limited time. No longer stealing moments together before the end.

No longer was there a looming departure of his presence in your life, and as though a breeze from outside swept inside the house, the dark looming cloud that had situated itself above you cleared.

When finally did you part, breathless and giddy, a curiosity took over.

“What does that mean?” You questioned, burning desire to know eating away at you, “What you said?”

And there was that smile once more, and you knew in your heart what it meant after that.

“You will know soon enough.”

Translations:

Sīr lōz - So wet

Syt ao? Mirros - For you? Anything

Iksā sīr vok syt nyke - You are so perfect for me

Nyke jorrāelagon ao. I need you

Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry, Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon - You do not know it, but we are made to be.

Sīr ȳrda - So tight

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05 @300nightmare003

[tsuutarr]

Could you please do a mini fic of the Alolan class with a reader who got her period in the middle of class? Like full on clutching her stomach and sobbing. Maybe a fire type (cough cough litten) decided that they'll allow themselves to be used as a heating pad. (I have heavy flow so I'm kinda projecting here lol) also I almost forgot to mention but reader is from galar and they have a quaxley and ponyta! :D

(My first request!! I was very excited to get this, thank you sm for sending it <3 In terms of the Pokémon anime, I've only watched until Sinnoh, but I hope I got the Alolan characters right! I focused more on their game characterizations, though, I think... Also, the requester requested a Sobble instead of a Quaxly in a separate ask, so that's what you'll see. Anyway, sorry for the rambling!! Here's the fic!)

Word count: 1516

Contents: periods, female reader, everyone is just very sweet about it!

The day had started like any ordinary day – Professor Kukui standing in front of the class, talking about how to use moves the most effectively. What wasn’t normal, however, was the sudden, sharp pain that cramped your abdomen. You winced a little at the pulsing pain, but thought nothing bad of it, preferring to ignore the pain in favor of paying attention to class. You’d just transferred to the Pokémon School in Alola from Galar about a week ago, so seeing a Litten, Rowlett, and Popplio was a new experience. Not wanting to miss looking at the new Pokémon, you decided to ignore your pain.

However, you soon come to regret that decision as another, much sharper, pain shoots through your abdomen and doesn’t leave, instead deciding to settle itself and linger. You to clutch your stomach as you lean over your desk. Not wanting to embarrass or bother your new classmates, you try to keep your breathing easy and hold back any cries of pain.

Despite your best efforts, Kiawe, your seatmate, notices, reaching over a warm hand and placing it on your shoulder. He quietly calls your name, drawing your attention to him. “Are you okay?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, quietly, trying to steady your breathing. The pain doesn’t let up, however, causing a sob to leave your mouth. 

Lana, your other seatmate, leans over, whispering, “Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

You can’t respond because you’re in pain, trying to stifle your cries as much as possible. It’s hard, though, causing tears and sobs to escape you.

“Professor Kukui!” Mallow, from behind you, calls. “I think the transfer student’s feeling ill! Can we take her to the infirmary?”

Professor Kukui pauses the lesson immediately at that, opting instead to walk over to you, concern etched onto his face. “Hey, cousin, you feeling okay?”

You weakly shake your head, not trusting your voice to come out the way you want it to.

With a purse on his lips, Professor Kukui turns to Kiawe, “Kiawe, can you help her get to the infirmary– whoa, hey, Litten!”

Litten had followed Professor Kukui, deciding to settle itself on your stomach. The small kitten purrs as its warmth begins to soothe you like a heating pad.

“Sorry about that, cousin.” Sheepishly, Professor Kukui rubs the nape of his neck, unsure of how to extract Litten from you.

“It’s all right,” you respond finally, shaky hands cradling Litten closer. “It’s helping.”

Professor Kukui’s eyes soften at that. “Do you want to stay in class or would you like to rest a bit in the infirmary? I can call your guardian to come pick you up.”

You nod your head, trying to steady your breath and focus on Litten’s warmth.

At your agreement, Professor Kukui and Kiawe help you to your feet. Kiawe lets you lean on him as he helps you to the infirmary, Litten still cradled in your arms. Funnily enough, Kiawe was warm enough to rival a fire Pokémon himself.

After you arrive at the infirmary, the school nurse gives you some medication, a period pad, and allows you to occupy one of the empty beds. Using her Munna, she uses hypnosis on you to pull you into a nice, sweet rest, Litten still curled on your abdomen. Kiawe lingers for a bit, worried, but is soon shooed out by the nurse.

When you open your eyes, everything is blurry and bleary, but you’re feeling a bit better. The throbbing pain is still there, but the dozing Litten helps. You yelp a little when you feel something nuzzle your cheek – your Galarian Ponyta has somehow been released. Your Sobble, too, is besides you, crying its eyes out like you don’t experience these bad pains every month. You laugh lightly as both your Pokémon worry over you.

“Oh, are you awake?”

You blink, finally taking in the other figures in the room.

“We were all super worried!” Mallow says, looking relieved. “Man, and I thought my period was bad!”

“Are you feeling any better?” Lillie inquires. She was sitting next to you, her Alolan Vulpix on her lap as she read a book.

“I am,” you say, feeling a little sheepish. “Uh… What time is it?”

“It’s after school hours,” Lana supplements. “But we all wanted to check up on you before we went home… Especially since there’s actually a rumor about this infirmary about a ghost…”

“Give the poor girl a break!” with a laugh, Mallow nudges Lana. “Lana’s joking, there’s no infirmary ghost.”

Litten purrs from its spot on your abdomen, making you smile. “Even if there was, I’m sure my Pokémon and I can take them!”

“I wish we could battle,” Sophocles says, eying your Galarian Pokémon. Kiawe nods in agreement. “But I suppose you’re in no condition to fight.” Carefully, Sophocles approaches you, something in his hands. You peer at it curiously, not recognizing what it is. “Uhm… I heard chocolate helps when you’re having a period so… it’s from my personal stash.”

Your heart warms at your new classmates’ attentiveness to your pain, as well as how open they are about talking about periods. You’ve met plenty of people that were grossed out by the mere mention of periods that you hadn’t been too comfortable asking for help.

“If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Lillie pipes up with a smile from beside you. “I know how nerve-wracking it can be to meet new people in a new environment, but we want to help you if we can.”

“Wow…” You can feel another burst of tears coming, but not from the pain. “Thanks, really. I appreciate it.”

Your new classmates all smile kindly at you as Professor Kukui barrels into the room with Professor Burnet in tow behind him.

“Ah, cousin! You’re awake! We were all worried about you,” he says, his previous worry gone from his face. “And look at that, Litten seems to have warmed up to you!”

“Aw, is this your new student? She’s a cutie!”

You smile bashfully at her. “Hello.”

“Hey there! I’m Professor Burnet, this handsome guy’s wife,” she laughs, pointing to Professor Kukui. It’s the first time you’re seeing Professor Kukui look so bashful, but you think it’s cute. “Anyway, we came to take you back home. Your guardian was a little preoccupied, but we wanted to make sure you got back safe.”

“Thank you,” you reply, hands gently petting Litten.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Burnet nudge Kukui, who clears his throat. “Well… That Litten seems to like you quite a bit. Why don’t you keep it?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly–”

Litten, at this very moment, decides to open its amber eyes, staring deep into your soul. It stands up from your abdomen, walking across your chest to headbutt your chin softly. Everyone in the room laughs at Litten’s affections as you blink in confusion.

“I think Litten chose you, cousin,” Kukui grins. “Why not let it be your first Alolan Pokémon? Think of it as a welcome gift!”

“I…” you murmur, staring at Litten as it stares back at you. The Litten places a paw on your nose, eyes narrowing. “...Okay,” you agree, finally, making the Litten nod in satisfaction before walking back to curl up on your stomach. You blink, “Am I going to be stuck in the infirmary until Litten decides it no longer wants to keep me hostage?”

Kukui laughs, walking over to hand you Litten’s Poké Ball. “Don’t worry about that. Litten, be a pal and go back to the Poké Ball?” 

Litten huffs, but obeys as you recall it.

“Now, let’s get you home.” Professor Kukui places a hand on your shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“We’ll go with you!” Mallow says brightly, making Kiawe nod.

“We’d hate it if you got accosted by some hoodlums,” Lana chimes in.

“Lana, stop joking– okay, this one is less of a joke,” Mallow murmurs as Lillie picks up your bag, which had been beside her chair.

“Shall we go?” she says, standing up with your bag in her hand.

“I can carry my bag–” you go to say, but everyone very strongly refuses. 

You didn’t expect your period to get your ragtag group of classmates to walk you home, but you can hardly complain with how warm and kind they all are. Sobble remains stuck on your shoulder as your Ponyta remains by your side, helping support you alongside Kiawe, who is designated your bag carrier. Your new Litten is curled up in your arms, peacefully dozing.

Your classmates and professors chatter and joke as they walk you home. There’s an existing bond there that might’ve made a regular person feel excluded, but somehow, everyone is so good at including you and making you feel welcome. You’re still in pain (thankfully, you got some more medicine before heading home), but your heart feels warm enough that you almost don’t mind it. Almost. Regardless, you’re excited for your future in Alola alongside these amazingly kind, welcoming people and your cute new Litten.

[alezangona]

The Shadow of Khansar (Salaar Fic)

Part 9 - The Monster and His Master

Part 8 | Part 10

Notes: Definitely NSFW

The next few months pass by in a blur, albeit a productive one. Khansar’s funds are carefully allocated across various administrations with special emphasis placed on programs pertaining to education, public health, and infrastructure. The government’s focus on foreign policy allows them to settle contracts with various energy management companies across the world to provide solutions for the electrical and water shortages occurring in their external agricultural territories. The continuous expansion of global strategies provides opportunities for reallocation of employment through various industries including manufacturing and trade, though Khansar stays vigilant in maintaining a diplomatic image by hiding its more profitable ventures away from prying eyes. 

Change doesn’t come as fast as Varadha initially hopes, the truth being that mistakes occur more frequently than not and it is enough to give him pounding headaches that won’t subside. Moments of high stress are all it takes for him to retreat into himself, gaze faraway as he analyzes every possible solution over and over, a heaviness settling into the line of his shoulders.

During breakfast one morning, when Varadha is toying more with his food than eating it, Baba finally cracks. 

“The responsibility of this kingdom is not yours alone, Beta. There are entire organizations and administrations working alongside you to find solutions to the issues we are facing. Let them do their jobs, while you do yours. Not every burden is yours to bear.” Then he lets out a small smile. “Anyway, it’s important for you to learn the importance of a good stroll over a hasty run. What you’re doing now is establishing a strong foundation for Khansar’s growth and longevity. Take that for granted and you’ll give way for its fall.”

Varadha doesn’t finish his breakfast that morning and he doesn’t miraculously stop worrying either. Still, he begins to notice just how much people care. It isn’t just his face worn from sleepless nights and early mornings. It isn’t just his eyes that contain a spark of determination in the face of challenges. 

The reassurance is enough to let him sleep a bit more peacefully at night. It also helps that he feels less alone than he has in years. Particularly in moments of leisure that are spent in the presence of his loved ones. 

Morning garden strolls with Baba as he talks about his life and his Noor. 

When she’d leave for her business meetings, I wouldn’t know how to handle myself. So anxious and restless till she came home. Time used to stand still without her, but in her presence, every day would pass by faster than a strike of lightning, and just as beautiful too. I’ve had years with her… it still doesn’t feel like it was enough time. She’d be proud of you, if she was here to see you now.

Afternoon chaturanga sessions with Baachi as he curses out Varadha for winning every round. 

I still look over my shoulders sometimes, waiting for someone to fuck with us. We’ve endured years of humiliation and it feels like there’s more to withstand. I’m still not used to the way people look at us with respect when we leave the palace. I’m thankful for what we have Anna, and I’m scared to lose it too— Fuck! Again? What’s the point in playing with me when you keep winning anyway? 

Evening movie nights with Deva as they curl up on the couch, shedding their responsibilities and falling into domesticity. 

I don’t know how I did it, but I’ve managed to convince Amma to come back to Khansar. I think the only reason she’s even budging is because I’ve been begging her to come back with me and telling her it’ll be different under your rule. Even then, she’s hesitant about staying anywhere in the capital. I don’t know if I can convince her to stay in the palace, not without putting her ill at ease. After everything she’s done for me, I have to draw the line on her behalf at some point. I’m thinking of getting her a place at the outskirts of town. I���m going to hate not seeing you every night, though.

That doesn’t end up becoming a problem for too long. The first night that Deva stays away at his mother’s new house, Varadha tosses and turns for hours on end, restful sleep alluding him. His cranky mood the next morning has the entire palace walking on eggshells. That is, until Deva enters the council room later on in the day for one of their meetings. They stay on different ends of the room, but when their gazes meet, the exhaustion drains visibly from their bodies and the palace is able to breathe once more. 

“Come home with me tonight?” Deva asks once they leave the room, walking shoulder to shoulder. Varadha’s step falters for a second before he goes back to matching Deva’s stride. 

“What?” Varadha carefully observes their surroundings, staying alert until he’s sure there’s no one else around them. 

“For dinner, you idiot.” Deva’s lips quirk. “Not some clandestine meeting of lovers.”

“Can’t fault me for checking, Bangaram. I never can tell what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours.” Varadha shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his smile.

“Yes, because I’m dying for a chance to ravish you in my mother’s home.” Deva rolls his eyes, but takes a step closer to him anyway, bending down so his gravelly voice can whisper. “Though… why bother with the wait when I can fuck you in that closet instead?” 

~*~

The first dinner at Amma’s ends up being more awkward than Varadha thought possible. As inviting as she is, there’s a prying gleam in her eyes as she observes the two of them, trying to gauge what could’ve happened during the past few months for her son to willingly return to this godforsaken place. To move her here as well. He finds himself trying to impress her for some reason, telling her about all the changes he and his team are trying to bring about to the city. If he was being honest with himself, for a moment it felt like the words were being forcefully ejected from his mouth, anxiety refusing to let go of the trigger. However, when there is a lapse in conversation after dinner while they put away leftovers, Varadha catches a glimpse of Amma looking at him with a relieved expression. He doesn’t know what it means, but is able to breathe easier when she sends him off with a box of leftover chepala pulusu (fish curry) and tells him to come visit again soon.

The weekly dinners end up becoming a reprieve for Varadha when he starts to realize just how much he feels like a kid again under Amma’s roof. Gone are his responsibilities of being Karta when he steps into the threshold. She acts with him as she always had, feeding him exorbitant amounts of food, reprimanding him for not sleeping enough, and even going to the extent of massaging his scalp when he confesses to her of the pounding headache he’s suffered with for days. 

His eyes close at the feeling of her fingers running through his scalp, the smell of medicinal oil oddly pleasant and soothing as she works the tension out from his muscles. Amma continues to talk to him, voice low and pleasant as she urges him to take better care of himself and something breaks inside him. A ball lodges in his throat and he can feel wetness forming behind closed lids. When they flicker open, Deva is standing in front of him, a glass of water in hand. Concern immediately clouds his features and he shifts his body forward, only to stop when Varadha discreetly shakes his head, a wobbly smile forming on his lips. 

“Stay here with us tonight,” Amma commands, unaware of the plight he’s facing. “The second you go back to that palace you’ll spend the night overworking yourself and I refuse to let you run yourself into the ground. Deva, go set up the guest room and don’t let him leave till tomorrow morning.”

Later that night, once Amma is asleep, Deva sneaks into Varadha’s room, crawling into bed and holding him tight. 

“Are you okay?” Deva sighs against his ears when Varadha doesn’t answer immediately. “Amma ki chadastham ekuvara, anthe (Amma is just stubborn, that’s all). I’m sorry if what she said hurt you at all.” 

“No, she didn’t do anything wrong.” Varadha gulps, pressing back into Deva. “Amma gurthukuochindi, ra (I remembered my mom).” 

Deva doesn’t reply, choosing to press a kiss into Varadha’s hair, wrapping his entire body around his lost king and trapping him within the confines of his limbs. Varadha sleeps more peacefully that night than he ever has during the past few months.

The next morning as Amma sends them out of the house, she stops Varadha in his place, a hand wrapped around his arm. 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you two since you were children. Karta and Salaar aside, when it comes down to it, you’re just two kids who’ve been forced to grow up too soon. Don’t let those titles define you for the rest of your life, nana. Don’t make the same mistakes as…” The way her gaze digs into his is enough to make him understand, so he nods back, a promise in his own right. 

She lets him go.

~*~

The peace doesn’t last long, it hardly ever does in a world like theirs. 

They start hearing of various raids across India that begin to interfere with their black market trade. Before they can consider taking action, casinos, brokerages, and banks partnered with Khansar are stormed in an effort to prevent money laundering and other illegal activities. Trucks containing various goods such as weapons and drugs are stopped en route, all the material seized and confiscated by the government. A frenzy erupts in the capital as calls are made to various seeds and contacts planted in India, demanding answers for the sudden crack down. The answer, it turns out, is rather simple.

The government of India aims to fight back against crime… to fight back against Khansar. 

It’s not an answer that sits well with anyone. Definitely not Varadha as everyone in his court looks to him for answers. Tensions rise every day in Kotagada as the Doralu debate with their Karta about the best course of action to take to preserve their economy. In the end, there is nothing but disdain as the court adjourns, no real solution to be found. 

For the time being, the best course of action is to be more discreet and careful than usual. They run checks on their supply chain to prevent security breaches. Only certain businesses are given access to trade after a thorough inspection process. Different routes are established, intricate and ever changing, with smaller shipments being sent out at a time. Overall, it’s not a perfect system, but it’s enough to get them by.

~*~

Deva’s eyes stay firmly planted on the ground and he hopes that Baba will finally break the silence. He doesn’t. He holds his cap in his hands, leaning back against the chair as if his age has finally caught up to him. Bilal doesn’t seem to be of much help either as he paces back and forth, carefully avoiding Rhinda who scowls at the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

The creak of a door opening snaps them to attention. Varadha steps out, face void of any emotion as he jutts his chin. 

“You can go see him now, if you’d like.” Baba doesn’t wait for him to finish the sentence before he disappears through the door. 

“I didn’t even know he could move that fast.” Rhinda tries to joke, but no one laughs. He doesn’t look too amused either as he falls back into his chair. 

Varadha makes his way to the large window, fists clenched at his sides. Within seconds, Deva is next to him.

“The name of Khansar was enough to stop them not too long ago. Now they’ve attacked us at the heart of it.” Varadha’s hand clasps ironclad around Deva’s tattoo. “I want them dead. Each and every person who dared to lay a hand on him.”

“As you command, Karta.” 

“The thought of Khansar alone should terrify them. Touch what belongs to us–”

“You pave the path to your own destruction.”

The Karta’s fist drops back down to his side and his weapon is released. 

~*~

Death for anyone who stops the seal. 

That is what Deva declares. No one in court bothers to argue. Not when it was a law that would benefit their own economy. Even if they did object, they wouldn’t challenge the monster who just committed a massacre to please his master. 

Rakshasudu.

That is what they begin to call him. Not to his face or the Karta’s. Not in scorn either, but in awe of the sheer power that he exudes. The new name becomes a declaration of acceptance. 

A violent man for a violent city. 

~*~

“A symbol. All that it brands, belongs to you.” 

The simple phrase from Deva’s lips ignites a raging fire within him. Varadha’s eyes darken in the confines of the room, gaze honing in on the devil’s mark stamped against Deva’s bare chest. 

“Come here.” Varadha commands. He watches as Deva saunters towards him, the glow from the lantern casting shadows onto his rugged physique. His fingers ghost against the seal, drinking in the intricate artwork that decorates tanned skin. The eyes of the devil leer into him, ferocious teeth barred in contempt. It was nothing more than a small circle of ink, able to fade away with the swipe of a finger. Yet, it possessed the ability to shake an entire nation to its core. 

So much power in such a small symbol. 

And the man who imbued it with that power stands before him, beautiful and pliant, his face sculpted to express unbounded devotion. 

Varadha’s hand darts out, fingers wrapping around the underside of Deva’s jaw as he tugs him closer. Deva breathes sharply, surprised by the action, but doesn’t move. He waits patiently, unblinking as Varadha leisurely devours the length of him. In a sudden flash, Varadha turns him around so that Deva’s back is pinned to his front. Deva catches a glimpse of the image in the mirror planted across from him, a pathetic whimper leaving him at the sight.

Varadha’s eyes penetrate through the reflective surface, dark, calculating, and aroused. His fingers dig into Deva’s pulse point as his other hand travels down the expanse of his torso, nails scraping against sensitive skin, eliciting a feeling so strong that Deva’s eyes flutter shut and he arches back into Varadha, desperate for a taste. The furthest he can get is the brush of his lips against the side of Varadha’s jaw before he draws back with a tut.

“Salaar,” The warmth of his breath fans against Deva’s ears, the smoky tone exhilarating him further. “My Salaar. So beautiful when you give yourself to me like this.” His hand slips further down, stopping at the bulge between Deva’s thighs. His fingers dance against the sensitive flesh, featherlight touches that have Deva working to hold back keens of frustration. That is, until Varadha palms him through the fabric of his jeans, the firm touch causing Deva to release a low moan. 

“Va–” The name catches in his throat when Varadha’s grip tightens around his neck significantly. Varadha’s lips begin to explore the curve of Deva’s nape, sharp bites that prick into his skin, only to be soothed by the gentle slip of his tongue. Varadha hums softly into him, slotting his hips against the curve of Deva’s ass and pressing into him just enough to let his arousal be felt. Slowly, the hand that is wrapped around Deva’s throat begins to descend. Within no time, Varadha works Deva out of his jeans, hands circling against the heavy length of him.

“Open your eyes and watch what I do to you.” He growls, teeth catching onto Deva’s ear. Deva’s eyes flicker open at the order and he digs his teeth into his lips at the debauched image of him in Varadha’s arms. Hair askew, pupils blown, skin marked by claiming bruises. He lowers his gaze to where Varadha’s hands are pumping him unceremoniously, his thumb circling against his slit, collecting precum and spreading it across the throbbing surface. It doesn’t take long for Varadha’s hands to become coated with the evidence of Deva’s arousal and the sight itself makes Deva tremble with need. “You look beautiful like this. Pliant in my hands, flushed beyond belief, desperate for release.” 

Deva hisses as Varadha tugs against his balls, the mixture of pain and pleasure overwhelming him enough to close his eyes for a chance of reprieve. 

“Open your eyes, Salaar. I won’t tell you again. Take your eyes off the image of what I’m doing to you and I won’t let you come for me tonight.” The warning incites panic and Deva’s lids snap open, catching the merciless grin on Varadha’s face. “Good boy.” 

The motions of his hands speed up around Deva’s cock with varying pressure and Deva is forced to watch himself break, tremors spreading across his overstimulated body. His chest heaves with panting breaths, muscles clenching in an effort to hold back his inevitable release. As he watches from tear-filled eyes, Varadha’s reflection reshapes itself in the mirror, a smug curl of his lips as it dawns on him what Deva is doing. 

“Such a good boy, holding yourself back for my sake. I didn’t even have to ask, did I? You’re just that desperate to please me.” The throaty chuckle causes Deva to flush deeper and dig his fingers into the soft material of Varadha’s clothes. 

“Please.” Deva groans, on edge. A tear rolls down the corner of his eye and satisfaction paints itself across Varadha’s features.

“Come for me, my beautiful Salaar.” A gasp leaves Deva’s lips, his cock twitching as the sticky residue splatters against the skin of his stomach. His eyes close and he leans back against Varadha, spent as his orgasm flows through his system. He can feel Varadha’s arms wrapping around his waist, lips brushing against his ears as he whispers sweet nothings while pleasure settles into his bones. 

By the time Deva is able to ground himself enough to open his eyes, he catches sight of Varadha’s gaze drilling into the seal stamped against his chest. A shudder of pleasure rocks through him when Varadha pushes him onto the bed, his hand curling around the dark mark, a wildness in the depth of his kohl rimmed eyes that has Deva hardening once more. 

“Mine.” Varadha places a searing kiss against his lips, stealing his soul from within the confines of its cage. Deva gives back just as much as he gets, wanting nothing more than to have Varadha understand that his entire life belongs to him and only him. By the time Varadha pulls away, stripping out of his shirt, Deva’s kiss-slick lips whisper back words of reassurance.

“Yours, always yours.”

[secretwhumplair]

Departure

1,424 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Ozriel)

Content | Power imbalance, mute whumpee, language barrier, mention of/implied: past captivity, past torture

Notes | Orafin and Elgar go on their way!

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations

Night had now properly fallen. The crown let them have their hug for a long moment—Elgar could feel their eyes on him like burning fire, and wondered what went through their head, seeing their regal brother so closely entangled with one like him; surely it reflected on them if it were known, somehow? he couldn’t imagine they approved, however affable they had been, but he desperately needed that hug—but eventually, they sat up all businesslike, and that little movement was enough to signal to the prince it was time to stop.

»You should get some rest,« the crown said, gently, when the prince turned back towards them. Their eyes, once again, grazed Elgar as well, as if they meant them both. »But we should lay out some plans. As soon as you feel ready to travel—«

The prince nodded firmly, and looked over at Elgar, who joined in, rather more hesitantly. Yes, no, he was ready to travel. He just wasn’t ready for this whole situation.

»I think the best thing will be to come back to Akreh with me, then Orina and her escort can take you from there. You’ll go to Borrim until you’re fully recovered, then you can return to Atcill. Although…« They sighed. »You should probably appear as soon as possible.«

The prince nodded, his eyes determined. Atcill was the capital of Ochuria, Elgar knew that much—as for Borrim, he could only guess. A sickhouse? Would a royal go to a common sickhouse, moreso if they weren’t physically ill?

The prince had scribbled something down on his slate, and now the crown eyed him with plain worry on their face. »If you’re quite sure.« Then they turned to Elgar. »You will travel to Borrim together, one of our countryside estates—it will be nice and quiet. His Highness has requested you go via our capital, so he may make a public appearance and put the people’s minds at ease about him.«

»Yes, your Majesty.« Elgar idly wondered if the offer to send him back home was permanent, or whether he had missed his chance. Not that it mattered, really. What could he do, anyway?

The crown considered him for a moment, then they nodded briefly and returned to the prince. »We’ll have to find someone to teach you to speak with your hands, of course. All of us, actually, when we have time. Why, of course,« they added with a small smile when the prince looked just about moved enough to start crying, giving him another half-hug. »And you,« they turned to Elgar once more, »will have to learn spoken Ochurian as well, if you intend to stay. It is probably best if you learn to read it, as well,« they added with a glance down at the prince’s slate.

»Yes, your Majesty. I—I would like that.« It was a terrifying prospect, to be stranded in this strange land with no way to communicate.

He wouldn’t be stranded, of course.

He would be at the mercy of the royal family. No one would be able to help him if things went awry.

He had to shove these thoughts down. The prince had promised to protect him. He simply had to cling on to that promise.

Presently, the crown smiled. »Very good. That’s settled, then. If you both are ready, we will travel tomorrow morning. After breakfast, you look-« They fell silent, their eyes filled with worry when they looked over their brother, skin and bones, worse than Elgar. He remembered how light the prince, who in his mind could not have been further from a prince then, had felt in his arms.

The prince swallowed, but smiled, and nodded.

* Orafin woke early, the first light of dawn barely creeping in, yet found Elgar already awake, lying with his open eyes resting on him. Ozriel was already up—they had gone to sleep beside him, but now they were at the desk, writing letters. It felt so warm and safe to see them there, all busy being monarch; although the thought was immediately followed up with the sting of knowing it would never be their mother doing these duties again.

They immediately glanced over to him when he sat up. He shoved the grief aside for the moment—there would be time to grieve, surely; now wasn’t it—, smiled, and waved good morning.

Their smile in return looked strained. »Good morning. One moment.«

Orafin looked over to Elgar while they finished their paperwork. He couldn’t do anything but smile at him and squeeze his hand and he couldn’t wait for him to learn to read, for both of them to learn to speak in and understand signs, and he couldn’t even tell him that.

Elgar smiled and squeezed back, but his smile, too, seemed strained.

Orafin wondered whether he was still in pain, now unhappily looking forward to travelling with it. He had told the medic he was sore, but he hadn’t elaborated—and Orafin hadn’t wanted to expose him—and whether his body had been able to fully recover in the past two days, while dealing with the starvation and the exhaustion and the obvious anxiety, Orafin didn’t know.

It seemed unlikely, after everything Orafin had witnessed. Elgar had never been given time to recover any more than he had, and though his injuries might be subtler, Orafin didn’t doubt they were still there, struggling to heal amid renewed assaults.

It would probably hurt him to ride. But Orafin couldn’t tell him to tell the medic without revealing at least some of what had been done to him to Ozriel or someone else, so he could only hope Elgar would know to speak up if things got too bad.

Orafin would hurt, too. He was bruised all over. But it would be worth it to see his sister, and go home, and see the rest of his family and friends.

Once Ozriel had finished what couldn’t be more than the sentence they had been writing, they called for breakfast. Two days of consistent food hadn’t been enough to take the magic out of it for Orafin. He briefly tried to remember his manners before the crown, like he was supposed to, but Ozriel just shook their head.

»Please just eat. No-one’s here to watch.« They were speaking in Teeradian, and once again included Elgar with a smile.

Maybe, if he stayed with them, he would eventually have to learn courteous manners. Orafin hoped he wouldn’t mind.

Then it was time for Orafin to get used to his legs again.

They felt fragile and weak under him, having been out of use for a week now. Ozriel helped him up and called for one of his attendants to support him on his way to the stables, so that Orafin could pick out a horse.

The soldiers cheered when they saw him, and his lips smiled all by themselves. He even managed a little wave.

Terrav was going with them, and pointed out the horse they had arrived on. By light of day, and with a clear mind, the mare was certainly nothing special; a pack pony probably, black and soft-eyed and small next to the crown’s horse, Maple, who stretched his head out to welcome his master.

Yet Orafin instantly knew he didn’t want to leave her behind. But now that he thought about it-

Elgar should have her. He took her.

The corner of Ozriel’s mouth twitched. »You’re right. This horse is rightfully yours,« they continued towards Elgar. »You took her as your prize. You can keep her, or you can sell her later when we can get you a better ride.«

Elgar simply stared at Ozriel, then at Orafin, who grinned at him, giving him an enthusiastic nod. »The horse… belongs to me?«

»Yes, if you will have her. You should probably name her.«

»Um.« Elgar stepped up to the pony, who was clearly indifferent to all of these humans around her, but accepted an awkward little face rub. »I think I’ll call her. Sparrow?«

He met Orafin’s eyes, and Orafin thought they were both reminded of the night they met the horse.

How Orafin had convinced Elgar to come with him by mimicking the protection of a vulnerable small animal. An injured little bird, perhaps.

Orafin swallowed down the knot in his throat, and nodded earnestly. He didn’t need to be reminded of his promise, and he would make sure his actions would eventually convince Elgar of that.

At sunrise, they left the outpost.

[luimagines]

Could you possibly write a platonic scenario with the chain reacting to the reader who is sick but refuses to rest because they don't want to slow the group down.

Absolutely! That seems easy enough. (watch me take forever to write it)

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You were sure you were sick.

At first it started with an itchy throat but you didn’t want to think too much on it. But then it started to get warmer for you despite the fact that you were traveling where there was frost still on the ground. And then came the slight trembling in your limbs and the slight pain that came with eating and swallowing your food.

But you tried to hide it.

You had tea.

You put on more layers, trying to sweat it out.

You walked behind the group and tried to keep up with their pace.

And then there was just trying to keep everything down even if you felt like it was tumbling and turning even as you were sitting completely still.

But none of these worked. If anything, it got worse.

You couldn’t let the group know about it though. Everyone else was fine. everyone else was counting on you. You needed to be strong. You needed to be able to keep up. You needed to be able to defend if need be.

And a need there was.

You knew you got looks every now and then. Wild noticed your decreased appetite. Warrior noticed that were isolating yourself from the others. Four noticed your jitters. Time noticed that you had gone pink and then red in the face. Twilight could smell it.

And he had enough after you nearly collapsed on yourself from over exerting your body. 

“That’s it.” He growled and picked you up effortlessly. “You’re done. We need to get to a town. You’re sick and need a real bed.”

You growl back and try to push yourself away. “I’m fine! We can’t just stop the group.”

“Yes we can and we are.” Twilight (gently) tosses you on top of Epona. The motion makes you feel sicker than you had before and now the whole group can see that something is worse than you were letting on. Twilight turns to Time and calls out. “What say you, Old Man?”

Time nods and gestures toward the village they were about to pass. “Kakariko Village is just this way. We can be there within the hour and them taken care of.”

Warrior nods, a little disappointed in himself for not calling you out earlier.

It’s Legend who actually looks betrayed though. “Why didn’t you say anything? Are you stupid?”

You turn to him the best you can and the truth is, you’re off by a decent margin. You can’t even see straight. “For your information, in the middle of a potential threat to reality as we know it. We can’t slow down for a stupid cold. I’ll be over it soon.”

“It’s been days!” Twilight shouts. “And you’re worse.”

Warrior holds a hand up before you can speak. “He’s right. We’d rather have you up and functional than falling over and ill.”

“We can’t stop the mission just for me.”

“We are.” Wild takes out a potion from his magic tablet and gently takes your hand, making sure that you have it within your grasp. “Drink this. You’ll feel better until we can stop moving to get you settled until it passes.”

You take it but you’re not happy about it. “This is too much.”

“I’d argue it’s not enough.” Sky mutters. “You can’t just do this. You can’t disregard your health. It’s important.”

“The mission is important.” You stubbornly hold on. You’re so disoriented, you don’t even realize that you’ve been moving this entire time.

“Then what if you got the rest of us sick?” Hyrule interjects with a quiet snarl. “Then what would you do? With multiple of us out of commission how is the mission going to be completed anyway?” 

The new angle stops you in your tirade, letting silence fall over the group. He makes a decent point and you hate it. You grunt, trying to keep the very little food you’ve had to eat down in your stomach where it’s supposed to be. 

You can’t think how to argue what he says and so you’re forced to acquiesce. You’re very frustrated with yourself for failing to deal with this properly and thus making it everyone else problem. You cough, badly, and all but flop on Epona’s back.

It worries those known to ride horses. You could easily fall off but can’t seem to care any less.

“Just leave me in the village then.” You say. “You can go on without me.”

“You’re definitely sick. Do you hear yourself? You’re delusional.” Warrior scoffs.

You snap your head up and glare at the Captain but he’s leading Epona and on the other side. Another thing you fail to realize in your ill state.

“You’d never leave you behind.” Wind says softly, sadden by the very thought of it. “Why would you say that?”

You gulp, trying to will your emotions away. “It’s better this way.”

“Not happening.” Time grunts. “And that’s final.”

No one questions it, having come to a silent unanimous decision. 

You can see that there’s no convincing any of them. Even if you hate to be the reason for the pause in travel, you have to accept a full defeat. You’re stuck with them through thick and thin.

And then your vision goes black at last.

[storiesandthingsofthatnature]

You Can Cry If You Want To

Summary: You made a promise to yourself long ago that you would never cry again. However, unhealthy coping mechanisms lead to even worse ones. However, Leon is here for you

Word Count: 1.6K

Pairing: RE4! Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, cursing, a single slap that was heard around the world, ummmm, that's it? Do let me know tho!

Disclaimer: Nothing to report :3

A/N: So I'm back again but with something fluffier this time uwu Have a comfort fic :3 I'm probably going to add a rules thingy to my blog and pin it to the top soon so be sure to look out for that if you wanna ask me to write anything for you! :D

Anyways, enjoy!

Being in this line of work you have to come to terms with the fact that you’re going to carry some heavy weight. From the deaths of your teammates to a failed mission that ultimately led to casualties. Not every task ended with a happy ending; human miscalculation and error will always be a consequence. But that wasn’t what bothered you today. No, this was a battle that you had been fighting ever since you could remember; mental illness. 

You had bi polar disorder - an illness that has caused a lot of strife in your life. You had hoped that enlisting into the secret service would be more than enough to distract you from your personal qualms but it just seemed to make it worse. However, jumping out now would just fuck you over financially and you weren’t sure just how long it would take to dig yourself out of that hole. So, you grinned and bore it. In front of your superiors, in front of your colleagues, and especially, in front of Leon. 

Leon Kennedy was a man of high regard and well respected amongst his peers. You were no exception. It was always an honor to work with Leon and a mission became more secure when he was around. But with constant contact comes welling feelings and you couldn’t stop yours from appearing. It was a slow burn, a small cinder that slowly grew into a healthy flame that now resided deep within your chest only for Leon. You could never tell him, however. You were sure that he had someone outside of work and that you were no way in league with him. So, you just let your feelings fester, an unhealthy way of trying to rid yourself of this puppy crush. 

And with unhealthy coping mechanisms comes unhealthy actions - you hurting yourself. You weren’t doing it because of Leon, but the added stress of possible unrequited love was enough to overturn the teetering table that was your fluctuating moods. It always started the same, your manic episodes; you become quiet yet violent to where you go on a small rampage. After you nearly demolish the area around you, you just sit down and sob. 

After a certain amount of time, you made yourself a promise that you would never have such an episode again. And, right before you entered the service, you started your streak. Through all of the shit and harsh training, you never broke your self promise. How embarrassing would it be to shut down like that in front of your team anyway? Especially Leon. 

You could never let them know about this side of you. But because of this you were left with a single, toxic mechanism which was cutting into your arms. You felt lucky that you could wear long sleeves with your uniform but you also wore bandages so as no dirt or sweat could get into the wounds. You craved the pain but you still wanted your arm. 

Lately, though, you were becoming quite sick. Due to your stress your stomach was beginning to twist in an agonizing way and migraines were becoming normal. One day, you couldn’t go in at all. You called in and practically begged for a day off. Of course you were to be given harsher exercises to make up for it but you were let off for the day. You could sob from the relief. You settle deeper into your bed and try to sleep off the pain that your body encapsulated. 

 However, a little under an hour later you heard a frantic knock at your door. You give an annoyed groan and throw off your covers with such force that they fell to the other side. You stomped to the front door of your apartment and you swung the door open with no regard to your bare arms. You were just so tired and sick that you just wanted to be left alone. You wanted to get this encounter over with and go back to bed. But your heart sank to your knees, your sharp tongue catching in your throat. Leon Kennedy was standing in front of your door and your brain was trying to process why the fuck he was here. 

“Leon?..W-what are you…?” You begin to say but stop completely at Leon’s expression. He looked intense, very contrasting to the worried look that was etched on his face when you opened the door.  “Y/N…” He said it in a way that sounded surprised yet heartbroken. You raise an eyebrow at him but when you follow his gaze you see what he noticed; your scars. You go to hide them but Leon’s calloused fingers enclosed around your wrist. “Why?” He wasn’t going to ask you the question of what this was. He knew but he just wanted to know why. 

You hide your eyes behind your hair, unable to look at him. “It doesn’t matter-” “Yes it fucking does!” He didn’t mean to sound so enraged but you were obviously lost in some sort of self depriving darkness and he wanted to know how or why so that he could fix it. But you didn’t want anything to be fixed. Everything was fine as it was, why couldn’t he see that? “Why are you here, Leon?” You ask and the expense of tiredness was evident in your heavy-lidded eyes and Leon’s heart clenched. Have you even been sleeping?

“You never miss a day of training. I wanted to make sure that you were alright.” He explained himself and you sigh. “Well, you see that I’m alright so-” You gesture for him to move back so that you could close the door but he kept his foot on the threshold. “We’re not done here.” He practically growled at you and your sanity was beginning to crack. “Leon, please. I do not have the energy for this.” You rub at your temples, your love for his caring nature now a jab in your side this time around.

He scoffed at you,”Right. And then the next time we talk about it you’ll come up with another excuse - no. We’re talking about this now.” He said as he tried to make his way in. However, you felt something deep within your mind snap and you slapped Leon. He reared back in shock, holding the side of his face that you struck. “I’M FINE, DAMNIT! WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?!” You yelled, a familiar sensation welling up behind your eyes. “Leon please, just go.” You turn on your heel to hide your face, frantically wiping at your eyes to try and coax your body to stop and not betray your promise. 

“Damn it, it won’t stop.” You sniffled, your guard down. You hadn’t noticed that Leon had come up behind you, grabbing your waist as he slid into your apartment with you. “Leon! Let me go!” You struggle but then he sits criss crossed in front of your sofa. He places you in his lap, encaging you in the softest hug you had ever had the pleasure of receiving. “Oh.” You say in surprise from the gentleness and what Leon said next shocked you. “Cry.” You blink once and make a sound of confusion. “You’re not okay, [y/n]. And your body needs to get it out and you’re not letting it. Please. Cry.” He brought your head against his bicep, you subconsciously clinging to his shirt. 

“I don’t….I don’t…Need..to..” You try to reason with him but you feel the first few hot drops fall down your face. Your last line of defense was biting your lip but your whimpers were far too powerful. You let out a small sob which then transitioned into a symphony of wails. Your grip tightens on Leon and you shove your face into his shirt as you let out years of bottled up emotion. And he held you tightly, rubbing soft circles into your back as he threads his other hand through your hair. 

You cried for a little while, but sobs turned into sniffles which led to you passing out. Your body had finally let out everything and now just needed rest. Crystal drops lined your eyelashes as you slept in Leon’s arms, your reddened cheeks and nose leftover from your crying. 

Leon stayed sitting for a while, not wanting to disturb you. But once he felt that you were deep in sleep he rose in place and found your room. He laid you out on your bed, having pulled back the covers to tuck you in. After you were snug as a bug, he hesitated in place. He felt like the respectful thing would be to leave but he didn’t want to go. But, his mind was made when he felt your hand grip his. “Stay?” You ask, your voice a little heavy with strain. 

Leon smiled and nodded. “For as long as you want me to.” He says and you give a smile of your own. “I fear you may never have another day to yourself again then.” You lightly joke but hope that he would receive it in favor. “Is that a threat, [L/N]?” He teased back as he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you into his embrace. When your scars were in view, he would gently leave ghost kisses behind along the raised bumps and you felt yourself falling in love all over again. He was so scared that he would hurt you, but he still wanted to show that he was here for you. “Oh no, Mr. Kennedy. That’s a promise~”

[autumnmobile12]

Some Speaker Headcanons

Okay, so last night, for the first time in months, I opened up the document for Right Here, Always. So I may actually finish this fic yet.

But in the meantime, here are some Speaker headcanons I included in the story:

They Don't Travel During the Winter

At least not in the mountainous regions where the weather can turn nasty unexpectedly.

"It’s hard for Speakers to travel in the winter months, especially after storms when the roads are impassable.  Since we don’t want to run the risk of being stranded in the wilderness without aid, we often settle in one area temporarily.  Usually at monasteries where we can earn our keep by helping the monks copy, repair, or translate manuscripts.  It could get pretty tedious.”

...

They Don't Practice Marriage

Or rather, similar to the Ancient Egyptians, they don't have a specific ceremony or rites. Closer to what we'd consider a committed, long-term relationship.

Trevor frowned at her in surprise.  “What brought this up all of a sudden?  I thought Speakers didn’t even practice marriage.”

“Well…yes, we do.  That’s a common misconception,”  she said.  “We don’t hold any specific rites or ceremonies that a church would recognize as a marriage, but we do marry in a sense.  By the standards of my people, since we share a bed and we have a child, the two of us actually are married.  I just thought…your parents were wed according to their faith.  And yours.  There’s nothing that says we need to adhere solely to my people’s traditions.  I suppose I thought it might be important to you.  Is it?”

...

Sypha's Parents

I normally assume Sypha's parents have passed away by the time the series takes place--either by illness, religious persecution, accident or whatever other nastiness the medieval era had to offer--but I suppose the red-haired guy standing in the back of the above group shot could be her father who just doesn't have a speaking role?

Blonde lady in this shot may be her mum? I dunno. This series does ride on a bare minimum voice cast, so that could be possible. Otherwise, this whole group is probably related somehow.

Ultimately in the fic, I went with the idea her mother died in childbirth, which added some anxiety for Sypha with her own pregnancy. Her father died of an illness before she was old enough to really remember him. Which again adds some depth over how close her own daughter came to losing her father before she could remember him.

...

Anyway, I don't know when Chapter 8 will be done, but it isn't forgotten. I'll get there.

[masterwords]

all is bright

Summary: After a long series of failed dates, Hotch and Morgan finally come to their senses thanks to some well-placed mistletoe.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: stomach illness mentioned, migraine, foyet mention...99% mutual pining turned first kiss

Read on AO3: all is bright

Notes: Hey there! It's been a hot minute since I posted anything. A long holiday vacation and some major flooding in our town and our house has meant not much writing time. But, I have this for you today. <3 The first of many wintry Christmas themed fics this month, and one of two that are not Secret Santa gifts! This one was written for @imagining-in-the-margins Office Party Challenge using the prompt: Characters end up beneath very suspiciously placed mistletoe at the holiday party. (I have a 2nd story in the works for this challenge as well, different prompt but same pairing of course.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I saw you last night,” Derek said casually, stepping into Hotch’s office with his bag still slung over one shoulder. To Hotch he looked a little tired but he was dressed up in a black button down and slacks, put together in a way he wasn’t usually and it was a little distracting. “At the bar.”

“And you didn’t say hello?” Hotch barely looked up, just a flick of his eyes, then back at his paperwork. Derek entered like that was an invitation, just a little further. He’d wait another minute before coming in completely, let Hotch warm up or push him on his way. He didn’t have a lot of time anyway.

“You looked...occupied. A date?”

“You could call it that. It was an attempt anyway.”

“Good for you!” He meant that, too. Haley had been dead a year, and it seemed to rock him right back to the moment of his divorce, maybe worse. He’d been paralyzed completely, but the loneliness had started to feel crushing. Hopeless. And the longer it went on, the harder it felt to claw his way back out. Derek took his opportunity to drag a chair over and perch himself right in front of Hotch’s desk, to sit and talk with him for a moment. A spot of real connection after a long period of silence. He thought things would be different, but they’d settled back into uncomfortable silence as Hotch retreated into himself.

Hotch couldn’t help looking up at the sudden intrusion.

“It didn’t go well.” He didn’t look too upset by it. He kept his features carefully guarded, but it did sting to admit. He’d met Noel at the gym, not exactly the best place to meet someone but not the worst by a long shot. They’d started going around the same time, Hotch because he needed to supplement his physical therapy as he attempted to regain his fitness after Foyet’s attack and Noel because he was trying to lose ten pounds for a part. Of course he was an actor. He thought Haley would have laughed at that. In any case, they’d managed to talk about theatre while running on the treadmill, avoiding any topics of real import. After a couple of weeks and a successful audition, Noel casually asked Hotch out for a drink. “To celebrate,” he said and Hotch found that he had no real good reason to say no.

He was so damn lonely.

He gave himself a fifty fifty chance at success, having been out of the dating game long enough to be rusty but he still had a pretty firm grasp of the basics. By the end of the night he knew it wasn’t a match. Even when Noel said “I’ll call you,” and tried to kiss him on the cheek, he knew that was it. And that was okay. Like Rossi told him earlier that morning, at least he went out and tried. He got out of the house, he met someone new, he tried an appletini for the first time because his date insisted it was the best drink the bartender made (and hated every second of it, the cloying sweetness making him gag on every sip). He got out of his comfort zone and the loneliness was abated some, overall a success even if the attempt at a match was an abysmal failure.

“How is that even possible? Aaron Hotchner doesn’t fail at anything.”

Hotch sighed and put his pen down, knowing that he was unlikely to get out of this conversation without giving up some details. He put on his bravest face and sucked in a breath, not thrilled about admitting this failure to Derek Morgan of all people. There were layers to that reasoning. “For starters, he was attached to his phone the whole time. His notification sound was Minnie Mouse. He wanted to get all of my social media handles and seemed incredibly concerned when I told him that I had none. He asked me how I could possibly live without having at least one.”

“Yeah, I run into that a lot too.” Derek wouldn’t comment on the Minnie Mouse bit, but the guy sounded like a disaster. He was a little glad it didn’t work out because from his vantage point, that guy was hot as hell and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been a little jealous. From where he sat, it looked like Hotch was smiling and having a good time. He had to fight every instinct in his body not to go break in and ask Hotch to dance when the jukebox kicked up with some old Dwight Yoakam.

“He wanted to take photos of me and I asked him not to. At one point he insisted that SnapChat was safe for me to use because the photos disappeared. I tried to be polite but it’s hard to tell someone you can’t be in their photos without explaining why. They tend to think you’re just a jerk.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Just that my job requires me to operate cautiously.” That was an understatement, of course, and there was a lot more to it than that. He’d been stalked and stabbed in his own home, it wasn’t just his job that made him operate with an abundance of caution. He’d always been reserved even with people he knew well, more since Haley died. He’d practically sealed himself off. This date...he was stepping so far outside of his comfort zone and realizing quickly how very not ready he still was. He might never actually be ready.

Derek just nodded and smiled, leaning back in the chair. He crossed his legs and couldn’t hide the jaw cracking yawn that followed the movement.

“Late night?” Hotch asked, changing the subject abruptly. He’d had enough of talking about Noel, in fact if he never talked about him or saw him again he thought that would be just fine. It might have been a worthwhile experience but it still hurt. There was an ache in his chest he couldn’t quite shake and it didn’t have as much to do with Noel as it did simply being aware that he didn’t know how to do any of this. He wasn’t used to that feeling. And if he didn’t know how to do this, then he couldn’t shake the loneliness of an empty bed. “I saw you too, you know.”

“Yeah? So you saw me get my ass kicked to the curb huh?”

“It looked a little heated, but I figured you had it handled.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that, but I’ll bounce back. Plenty of fish in the sea.” He was so tired that he’d started using his mom’s words now. Every time he told her about a heart break, which was more often than he’d like to admit (and more often than anyone would believe) she told him the same thing. “You’ll be okay, my darling boy. You’re a catch.” He was starting to seriously doubt that statement.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

“Classic BAU problem. I don’t make time for him. He’s been asking me to go on this cruise with him. And okay, yeah, some time off would be nice...but you know how that is. And I love beaches and sand and cocktails...but a cruise? Man, I don’t wanna be on a boat for a week with a bunch of screaming kids and drunk retirees.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Hotch had been on a cruise once with Haley and her family, before Jack. It was worse than Derek could imagine, of that he was certain. It had been a sensory nightmare for a man who enjoys peace and quiet. Even the room was overstimulating, and when he got back on land all he wanted was to hide in his backyard for a week recovering, tinkering, gardening. For a man who loves boats, the novelty wore off fast. He didn’t think Derek could do it.

“Right? That’s what I said. But he got these tickets, all inclusive, and he’s been after me for weeks.”

“I’d approve the time off, if you wanted to give it a shot.”

“Nah. I realized last night that we’ve been trying to force something that wasn’t right anyway. The physical stuff was fun but that’s about it. We’re incompatible. He likes soccer.”

“I like soccer,” Hotch said a little indignantly, his lips ticking up at the corners in a little smirk. Derek laughed.

“Well there’s no accounting for taste, but I can forgive you for it.”

Hotch let out a small laugh and lifted his pen again, just for something to do with his hands. He ran his fingers along the smooth line of it and flipped it over his knuckles. There have been times over the years that he’s wondered about he and Derek, if things were different, if they’d met under different circumstances. Playing in the land of make believe, that’s what his dad would have called it. No what ifs, those didn’t exist and would never exist because the time had passed. They were compatible in nearly every way, sometimes to the point of it being a little ridiculous, but he simply could not indulge himself in that way. He couldn’t ask Derek out, not ever, because it would be so wildly inappropriate of him to cross that line. And Derek would probably not be interested in him anyway, that was a pipe dream. Having things in common didn’t exactly mean romantically compatible, he was smart enough to know that.

Except when he glanced up again and met Derek’s eyes, there was something there that looked dangerous and inviting. Like he was indulging the same thoughts. It was so hard to turn the inner profiler off, especially when you can’t do anything about what’s on your mind. He’d be silly to think Derek hadn’t ever considered it too, really, even if it had only been a passing thought. Another what if. It took them almost no time at all to discover that each of them was bisexual, even if Hotch was married at the time. Haley made it well known to Derek over plenty of late night dinners and too many glasses of wine that Hotch was a theater kid, “if you know what I mean”. And Derek, well he was simply confident. It had taken him a long time to gain that confidence, a lot of years of hiding and shame built up before he decided it didn’t serve him and he was losing precious time to be happy. Plenty of fish. He was a catch. He deserved to be happy, or so his mother said. Fran Morgan said a lot of things, he had come to find out.

Except as he sat in that chair across from Hotch, he knew that kind of real happiness was just out of reach. Because he’d come to realize that Hotch was that happiness. And so he became Captain Ahab and there weren’t plenty of fish, there was one white whale. Hotch’s principals were too strong, his code when it came to work was ingrained in him so deeply that he would never ask Derek out, and he couldn’t just ask his boss out. None of it was fair.

“I suppose things could be worse,” Hotch said finally, offering a small ray of hope. “Single isn’t the worst thing in the world. It does get a bit lonely, though.”

“At least you got the kid. He’s great.” Now. He had the kid now. Because Haley died and now he was forced into being a single parent. Derek felt awful for saying it but Hotch didn’t seem to think too hard about it, he just nodded in response.

“You have Clooney.”

“Well then we’re both doing just fine, huh? Anyway, I’ve got a meeting with Strauss in fifteen. I should drop my things off in my office before I have to see her.”

Hotch hummed in response and watched Derek lift his bag, heading for the door. He paused there in the door frame and looked back, only for a moment, offering a small smile.

“Plenty of fish in the sea,” he said, a little sadly and his white whale nodded. “Don’t lose hope.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

(x)

The holidays always seemed to creep up on him. One minute it was summer, he was spending every minute with Jack he could outside of work, soaking up the sunshine and the little adventures that felt huge in the eyes of his young son. They spent a lot of time by the small courtyard pool, Hotch lying in the shade of a huge sun-bleached umbrella with a nostalgic 90s pattern still barely visible while Jack and his multitude of bright floating toys find endless amusement in the pool. Occasionally some of the neighbors would pop down, offer him a beer, let the other kids play a while, but it was always them first, them every day. It was their little sanctuary surrounded by cast iron gates and a bright blue sky. All day, camped out. He couldn’t go far, couldn’t take big long trips, he was tied to his job but they could go to the pool. Every day, sometimes. He’d pack up some hot dogs or take a frozen pizza from the oven and they would eat and enjoy the water well into the evening. It seemed to last forever and be over in the blink of an eye. Suddenly they were back to school, carving pumpkins, trick-or-treating, cooking a little Thanksgiving dinner for two (or three if Jessica didn’t have plans). And then he blinked again and it was Christmas Eve and he hadn’t done anything but work his tail end off and try to squeeze in some shopping when he could. It was Christmas Eve and he hadn’t taken Jack to see Santa, he hadn’t done much of anything.

Part of that this year he could chalk up to illnesses that had stacked up, one after another in their home. School had away of sucker punching them, and just when he thought they were coming out of one they’d be hit with another. The last illness was a brutal stomach virus that terrorized his home for a whole weekend. First Jack, then Jessica, then him, all taken down. None of them felt well enough to do anything more Christmasy than turn on a holiday movie and lay on the couch hoping not to need the bathroom. Hoping to sleep. Dreaming of eating something again, anything at that point. Hotch could have killed for a bite of dry wheat toast, but even that was too much during that awful weekend.

Jack bounced back first, followed by Jessica, and finally his body got the memo and allowed him to start eating and drinking again. “You’ve been through a lot in the last year,” Jessica said when he moaned about taking longer to feel better. He didn’t bounce back, he was crawling. “You have to give yourself time.”

He was still not feeling great, but he was back at work after almost a week. That awful weekend left him drained, and though he’d intended to go to work the following Monday, his body had other plans. He was knocked on his ass by a migraine from hell, no matter what tricks he employed it was completely debilitating. Three full days on his couch unable to do anything but the most basic functions of living. Jessica called it his illness hangover, everyone was feeling better and his body finally ran out of fumes to run on. He’d been taking care of everyone in spite of his own needs and when Jess went back to work and Jack went back to school, he all but collapsed. It wasn’t pretty. He cried more than once out of sheer frustration, a particularly low point he wasn’t proud of. But Jack made him a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and raisins and Jessica picked up his dry cleaning and did his grocery shopping and somehow he saw his way through it to the other side.

Three days was his limit. By the fourth day he was at least able to be upright, he could function. He’d be able to work at his desk and push through a pile of consults and administrative work. His jaw ached down into his neck and shoulders and he was wearing his glasses instead of his contacts out of pure necessity, but otherwise he was doing alright. Just exhausted. So exhausted, he didn’t even care that Christmas was almost over. And neither did Jack, really. They were all sort of ready to be done with it. He thought the hardest part would be dealing with the grief of a full year without Haley, their first real Christmas without her (because he could barely remember the first one, it was all such a blur of pain and work that he wasn’t even sure they did anything at all).

His routine upon entering his office was simple. Flip on the overhead light, do a quick walk through, set his briefcase in a corner within arm’s reach, turn on the space heater beneath his desk. After that first round, he would walk back and turn on the lamp, turning off the overhead light. Headache lighting. Finally, he started a pot of coffee. He could get a cup from the common area, but he had the stuff he liked right here and it would hide the dusty smell of his space heater.

With that done, he sat himself down and reclined in his chair, breathing a few times just to settle himself. Bring him here into the moment, ease the throbbing in his temples. He would make it a few hours at least if he moved slowly, if he was deliberate about how he spent his time.

His eyes caught on a small envelope, bright red and addressed in glitter pen to Sir Hotch. Penelope’s looping scrawl with a heart in place of the o in Hotch. He wondered how long it had been sitting there and he felt a small pang of guilt over it. Ridiculous and misplaced guilt for not being here, for leaving his team in the lurch. With a little hesitation, he grabbed his letter opener and sliced through the top of the envelope, sliding out a small white invitation emblazoned with brightly wrapped gifts and other various Christmas drawings. Hand drawn, he could tell. She made it herself.

A party invitation, at first glance. His eyes scanned the little pictures first, then lit on the actual information and he felt his stomach twist.

That night. 7pm. Bring a white elephant gift.

“Sir!” Penelope exclaimed as he read through the note a second time. “I didn’t realize you’d be back today. I sort of thought you’d be out until after the holiday...how are you feeling?” She didn’t bother to try and mask the way she looked him over with concern in her features. He didn't hold it against her, he knew he looked like death warmed over.

“Better, thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m only seeing your invitation now.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to come. I’m sure you still need to rest. I actually just wanted to come up and say not to worry about it...I didn’t know you were sick when I brought it in here.”

He scanned the invitation again and offered her a smile. “You know, we haven’t done a single fun thing this season. I’m hoping to take Jack to the mall to see Santa tonight as a last ditch effort to save the holiday, it’s near your place. We could stop by afterward.”

The way Penelope’s face lit up set his heart on fire. She never expected him to come, that much was clear. Even if he hadn’t been sick, she had already prepared herself for him to politely decline. And he almost did, too. He knew he wasn’t likely to feel up for a party that night, he didn’t feel up for one right then either, but something told him he had to go for it. Even if it was just a quick pop in.

“That sounds...so great. Thank you sir. You don’t have to bring a white elephant gift...just...you guys just come. That’s the gift. Having you and Jack in my home.”

“I’ll bring something. I don’t want to throw off the count.” He smiled at that, hiding the fact that while he’d always been good at gift giving, white elephant exchanges had always eluded him. He was better at sincere than silly or broad. He’d have to ask Jessica, she would know what to buy. “Is there anything else you need? Food or drinks, utensils?”

She was beaming now, hardly able to contain herself. He could scarcely believe that him coming to her party was such a good thing. “Nope. Nothing. Just come.”

(x)

From the street, they could already see Penelope’s apartment. Jack had been there a few times for gatherings and once or twice when Hotch was in a pickle and needed someone to watch him for a few hours. She had really come through for him more than once. Her apartment window was lit up with bright twinkling lights from the inside, a gaudy Christmas tree drenched in decadent decorations right in the middle of the display. Shadows moved at the periphery, everyone was already inside. He knew he’d be late but he hadn’t realized just how late. The line to see Santa was shockingly long this late in the season, he really thought he’d be one of very few failures standing in line waiting for the last glimpse of the man in red. He had to leave early to begin delivering gifts, of course, so they were on a pretty strict clock. He made it just in time.

“Are we late, dad?” Jack asked as they entered the building, the air inside warming their cold noses and fingers. He was parked a few blocks away, somewhere with easy access to the mall and her place.

“A little,” he replied, nudging Jack past the elevator. They took the stairs up, Hotch insisting they’d warm up faster if they get their blood pumping. Jack didn’t think that was true, he just guessed his dad was afraid of elevators. He never took them if he didn’t have to.

They could hear Christmas music coming from Penelope’s apartment when they entered the hallway, and as they got closer they could begin to make out the song. Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, the good version Hotch thought. The classic. He enjoyed all Christmas music, but he had a special affection for the oldies, the stuff his mom used to play on crackling vinyl when he was a kid.

“The Home Alone song!” Jack squealed, rushing toward the door and knocking excitedly. They had just watched that movie over the weekend and he’d been cleaning up all sorts of Jack’s little traps ever since. No wet bandits would be getting into their apartment on Jack’s watch. Penelope answered the door in a dress that almost hurt Hotch’s eyes, twinkling lights all over that reflected off of his glasses matched the biggest smile he’d ever seen.

“You made it! Did you see Santa?” She crouched to talk directly to Jack right away, leaving him standing there watching. He scanned the party and noticed that the entire team was packed inside of that little apartment.

“Yeah! I did!”

“What was he like? Did he smell like cookies? I always remember him smelling like sugar cookies.”

“He smelled like...candy canes!” Jack wrapped his arms around her neck when she extended her arms to him without hesitation. His hug was full and tight.

“What did you ask him for?”

“It’s a secret!”

“Oh, oh yeah...I guess I forgot that part. Come inside you two! It’s cold out here!” As Hotch entered, he extended his hand with a small wrapped gift inside. It was a little box, the smallest thing on the table and he was a little concerned he chose the wrong thing. He’d had plenty of ideas, all of which Jessica said were wrong or boring – she made the choice in the end, insisting that he would bring the one thing everyone in this crowd would need and no one would ever think of. No one would ever see it coming, especially from him. He wasn’t sure that was such a great thing, but it was done now. He’d committed.

They dove into the gift exchange almost immediately. He barely had time to get a mug of coffee in his hand before they were choosing numbers and stealing gifts from one another. His little box stayed put for a long time, almost insultingly long really. The big gifts were pulled first, followed by the more obvious secondary gifts. By the time his number was called there weren’t many left, and his options were slim so he decided just to take the box he’d brought and slink back into his little corner. Worried the gift was wrong, or might be interpreted incorrectly, he hoped he could just go back home with it and maybe return it after Christmas.

Once everyone was holding a gift from the pile, the real fun began – Penelope announced that one at a time, in their original order first, everyone could begin stealing gifts. One exceptionally large box made the rounds the longest, not because anyone thought the gift would be particularly good so much as they were curious what was hiding inside. Reid had brought the gift, Hotch knew it just by the look on his face as people passed it around and around curiously and he imagined it probably had a sock or something of equally little value but high amusement inside. For someone from Las Vegas, Reid's poker face left a lot to be desired.

Out of nowhere, Derek appeared in front of him with a grin. “I want that,” he said, indicating Hotch’s little gift. Reluctantly Hotch handed it to him and accepted what he had in his hand in return. They couldn’t trade back. That was it. Derek was the final trade and everyone was stuck with what they had.

His heart sank at the thought of Derek opening what he brought, of all people.

“Okay, on the count of three...everyone open your gift! Good luck!”

Hotch let Jack open his gift, even though Jack had a pile of gifts beneath the tree of his own to open when it was time. The little boy scrunched his nose once he got a peek and handed the gift to his dad to finish opening – it was a pair of mittens, nothing interesting to him. Nothing fun at all. He rushed back to where Henry sat beside the tree, eager to get into the really good stuff. Hotch examined the mittens, pulling them gingerly from the rest of the wrapping and holding them up to his hands – they would fit. Penelope made them, he could tell her handiwork (and he’d seen her in her office toiling over them during her lunch hour more than once in the last month). Mittens weren’t exactly his style but his hands did get cold easily and they were a deep, rich gray flecked with blue. He could wear them when the arctic chill in his office got unbearable. His circulation wasn’t what it used to be, if it ever was good in the first place. He tried not to watch Derek too closely when he opened his gift – pulling the little velvet bag out of the box and examining the contents with an amused smile on his face. There were three oversized wooden dice inside with words and little pictures burned into the sides. Date night dice, Jessica insisted they all needed this gift. She’d been hoping JJ would get it, probably, but each of them could use the help in that department. Date nights were spontaneous at best in their line of work, and you didn’t have time to sit and talk it out or make long term plans...it had to be quick and it had to be fun. Make the most of whatever time you get. She’d picked out the appropriate dice, simple food & activities, though she did try to push the sexy ones at him more than once. He drew the line at sexual gifts for his subordinates. Well, he drew the line quite a ways before that even, but that was definitely not going to happen.

The look on Derek’s face as he read the sides of the die made him smile in spite of himself. He seemed pleased with them, or amused maybe, and carefully slipped them into his pocket before heading back to the kitchen for a new drink. Hotch thought about following for a topper on his coffee but Jack’s voice called him to the tree where Penelope wanted the kids to start tearing into their pile of gifts before they went rabid and did tore apart her whole apartment. He made his way through the crowd and stood beside JJ and Will, the feeling of joy at seeing their kids happy and the dread of having to take all of this mess home and find places for it almost palpable between them. JJ was holding a small disposable camera in her hand that looked like it had been pulled right out of someone’s attic. “That from Reid?” he asked and she nodded, smiling. A little yellow Kodak disposable camera inside that enormous box. Reid outdid himself.

“I haven’t seen one of these since college. You think it still works?”

“Only one way to find out,” he replied, hoping she might test it out. The film was probably long since ruined, but the thought of having some of these memories preserved in that way was enticing. He’d always loved the look of real film. Or maybe he was just a nostalgic, sentimental old man now.

“They really went all out,” JJ said, shaking her head as her son ripped wrapping paper to shreds like a wolverine. “I don’t think Henry’s room is big enough.”

Hotch smiled and nodded in agreement, watching as Jack made it into the first of his many gifts. The whole team brought something for the kids, it was too much. Superheroes, books, legos, everything he loved. “Dad, look!” It was squealed over and over as Jack held up gift after gift and Hotch rubbed at the bridge of his nose where his glasses suddenly felt heavy and tried not to let on just how anxious all of that stuff made him feel. Knowing it would have to be in his home, exploding out of Jack's room. The boys finished and rushed around the room, hugging everyone before returning to their spoils and ripping into the boxes, comparing, relishing, delighting in the bright shiny new. Hotch’s head was starting to throb again, the heat and sound of the room was too much. The coffee wasn't helping as much as he'd hoped, but alcohol would have only made things worse. He began thinking about leaving, before it got bad enough that he didn’t think he should be driving Jack around on icy roads. This was the most time he’d spent off of his couch just about all month and he was feeling it now.

“Hotch?” Derek asked, touching his elbow from behind. He turned and took a few steps away from the crowd, getting close to where Derek was so he could hear him over the conversation and Bing Crosby crooning. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he replied a little too quietly. The room was spinning in a way that made him feel intoxicated, a side effect he often felt being a little too close to Derek. Smelling his cologne, sandalwood and spice, something deep and woodsy and warm. It momentarily distracted him from the pain in his head. “I hope my being out hasn’t been too much strain on you.”

“Nah, it’s all good. Everyone pitched in.”

“Good,” he said, unable to pull the words he really wanted. He’d like to say thank you, say how much it meant to him knowing that Derek could step into his role and let him have time off when he needed it, he’d like to say a lot of things right then but his mind was a blank pulsing throb. He could feel every nerve ending in his body when Derek closed the distance between them and, with one lithe finger, pointed casually to the ceiling above them. Hotch let his eyes follow the line Derek’s finger drew, up up up to a plant hook with a big mangled bunch of leaves hanging from it. A fist sized ball of green and white, and suddenly his mouth was going dry.

Mistletoe.

Right above them. He was no expert on the rules, didn’t have a lot of experience in this arena, but he knew what you were supposed to do. Did that apply now? At an office party? Who did Penelope hang it for, anyway?

“Right.” He said it and regretted it immediately. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by it. Derek laughed and nodded in agreement for some reason. Maybe he understood. Maybe he just thought it was funny.

“Right.”

On bated breath, Derek hooked his hand on the back of Hotch’s neck like right was an invitation, and maybe it was. His warm palm rested against Hotch’s skin, rough finger pads pulling him close until their lips met. Gently at first, a little timid, just a brush and a pause, searching eyes and held breath before pressing harder. Hotch wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, whether he should fall into the kiss or wait it out. What he wanted and what he should do were battling it out in his mind until he found himself nipping helplessly at Derek’s lower lip, smiling into the kiss, into his rich wine breath, and then his hands were settling on Derek’s hips and squeezing. His thumbs were hooked in Derek’s belt loops, and he had become acutely aware that the noise and chatter in the room had died out, left with nothing but the skin tingling intoxication of Otis Redding singing White Christmas.

It was Hotch's favorite Christmas song, and he knew he was helpless to do anything more than enjoy this moment. Derek began to sway along with the music, one hand still hooking the back of Hotch’s neck, the other cradling his jaw. He traced Hotch’s jawline, to his lips and back with one thumb, fingers splayed over his face a little possessively. He broke the kiss, coming up for air only briefly, smiling against Hotch’s lips. “Been thinking about doing that for a really long time…”

Their foreheads touched and rested against one another, each of them coming to terms with this moment. The first time, the first kiss. A long-awaited, fat chance, when pigs fly kind of kiss that hardly seemed real. Hotch closed his eyes and breathed out. “Me too.”

“Think maybe we could give those date night dice a spin sometime?” Derek asked and Hotch felt a flush rise in his neck, his cheeks burning. He’d forgotten all about them, honestly. He’d sort of forgotten everything in the moment. He nodded, just a slight movement.

“Sure,” he said before he couldn’t think about words anymore and found himself going in for another kiss. Derek’s lips, cherry chapstick and wine, were intoxicating. “Merry Christmas Derek,” he whispered between breaths, between kisses that made him forget where he was and how many people were watching. Who was watching. How many rules they were violating.

And if that realization weren't damning enough, Hotch heard a small clicking sound followed by a quick blinding flash and a shout of joy. JJ had used her little Kodak disposable camera on them. She wound the film excitedly and began wandering around the room clicking photos as quickly as she could, distracting everyone momentarily.

“Merry Christmas Hotch,” Derek replied, anchoring him in place, blinking the flash from his eyes. Holding him there in the moment a while longer. He could feel it starting to slip away.

Everyone in the room was trying not to watch and failing miserably in their pursuit. JJ and Will were helping Henry clean up the mess of boxes and toys he’d created while Emily and Rossi argued over the names of Santa’s reindeer. Reid was frowning as he looked through a rather pornographic tarot card deck he found in one of Penelope’s kitchen drawers, simultaneously repulsed and intrigued.

Jack tapped on Penelope’s arm, pulling her attention from her kissing friends. She wasn’t even pretending not to watch. Quickly she crouched beside the little boy, never taking her eyes off of Derek and Hotch. “Yes hun?” she asked and Jack began whispering in her ear.

“I can tell you now,” he started with a huge grin, his lips tickling her ear as he cupped it with his little hands. Kid whispers were always a little wet and hot and she could feel a shiver at the base of her spine when he talked again. When he divulged his secret. “I asked Santa to give my dad something that would make him happy.”

“Oh,” she gasped, tears in her eyes. Of course he did. He would know that his dad would take care of any presents he wanted, and it was silly to think he hadn’t noticed how sad and lonely his dad was now that he lived with him full time. Surrounded by photographs of the life he’d lost. “Oh Jack. You did good. You did so good.”

“No...Santa did good. I only asked.”

Hotch hoped that little camera still had some life in it.

He'd like to see that photo.

[razorblade180]

Thief’s Gambit

After a routine patrol of Vacou, Carmine sits on a rooftop, quietly on a rooftop. Normally she’d be ready to return home, but tonight she was given an anonymous request to wait at the Kingdom’s central location. Not one to ignore suspicious events, Carmine didn’t dare ignore the request. She’d get her answers soon enough. After all, there was someone already approaching behind her.

???: Such a goodie two shoes. It’s really impressive.

Carmine:What do you want, Mona?

Mona:Abrasive as ever. I thought you would’ve been a little surprised to learn I sent the request. After all, I really can’t stand you.

Carmine:Which is why I’m not surprised. *turns around* So what? Is this where you pull your daggers out and “settle the score?” I have to warn you I am incredibly tired and won’t hesitate to arrest-

Mona:Blah blah blah! Let me speak god damnit! You long winded types are so annoying. I’m here to ask you for a once in a lifetime favor. And before you say anything, no, it has nothing to do with a dumb relic sword.

Carmine:Wasn’t thinking about it until you said something. Not like I have access to it anyway. Cut to the chase already.

Mona:Later on tonight, I will be meeting with Aero and officially be resigning from his little gang. Do not tell him I’ve met with you. Soon I shall-

Carmine:No.

Mona:What? I haven’t even told you my favor in full yet!

Carmine:My opinion of you is rock bottom. Even so, you’re no idiot and do think of other’s feelings. It’s the leash Aero has on you that stops me from arresting you repeatedly and you know that. So…leaving the gang only means one thing. You’re planning on doing something completely out of line. You don’t want them associated and you don’t care about going to jail.

Mona:Heh, wow. There really is brain behind those annoying scarlet eyes. Too bad it only works for justice and is only half right. I don’t plan on rotting in a cell. If- When I pull this off, it’ll mean you’ll never see me again.

The air between them fell silent, Carmine’s curiosity piqued. Though she wasn’t sure that was good, given how Mona casually walked closer with her hands behind her head and stopped the the building’s ledge to look at the kingdom.

Mona:May favor is simple. I am going to do something horrible, and I need you to look the other way.

Carmine:I think you forgot how I spend my days making sure horrible things don’t happen. Plus I’d never make a promise with something that vague.

Mona:Ugh, I can see why you don’t have friends. Listen, I’m not telling you to not do your job. As a matter of fact, do all you can to save the innocent, but only that. Don’t come after me. Keep your pretty little eyes on the situation at hand and be the good little girl people think you are. Although we both know despite my “goodie little two shoes” remark, you’re more than willing to raise a little hell for the sake of humanity. It’s the only fun thing about you.

Carmine:You’re doing a really bad job of asking for favors.

Mona:Come now. Don’t pretend you don’t love the idea of never dealing with me again. You hate me as much as I hate you.

Carmine:I couldn’t care less about you honestly. You’re a broken person who’s no good for the people around her. Not that it’s your fault for being so…you. In fact if there’s anything we can agree on it’s how your mother should be put through hell and back.

Mona:Heh, fair enough. You saying we might’ve actually enjoyed each other’s company?

Carmine:Hell if know. As it stands, you’re like an ill dog in the Pound. Nobody can afford to take you in and nobody will be surprised when you suddenly aren’t around anymore.

Mona:Won’t stop a certain someone for being sad though. Perhaps I haven’t been phrasing this correctly. Don’t count this a favor to me. Consider it as doing Aero one. Like you said, nobody can afford to take me in and I personally never planned on turning my life around. Shouldn’t you be doing everything possible to cut me out of his life as quickly as possible?

Carmine:….

Mona:Look, I can’t promise you completely safety of civilians, but this kingdom has no shortage of heroes and huntsmen. All I can tell you is this, be near the slums at eight at night. Not s minute before, understand? I’m sure between you, your mother, father, and Aero’s parents, no innocent people will die. After all, I’m not trying to hurt innocent people.

Carmine:But you are trying to hurt someone?

Mona:Duh. It’s not like you don’t do the same to further your agenda. Let me fulfill mine and the rest is history.

Carmine:…I refuse to promise I will turn a blind eye. However, I won’t tell Aero. And maybe…I’ll drag my feet a little.

Mona:Hahaha! Works for me I guess. You really are stubborn, but not unreasonable. You have an annoying way of knowing the best course, even when it isn’t popular. I guess that’s the one thing I admire about you.

Mona took off the scarf that symbolized her affiliation to the gang. Honestly she was never the biggest fan of it considering it was inspired by the very girl who stood before her. It’s only fitting it should return to her.

Carmine stared with unblinking eyes at Mona’s gesture. Strange. The notorious bandit held a twinge of pain in her eyes. Maybe…no, Carmine didn’t allow herself to even fantasize about a different outcome between them. In the end, some things are simply beyond anyone’s control. Carmine took the thin, blue silk scarf into her custody; at the very least she could treat this request seriously no matter her final decision when it comes to pass. Carmine tore the scarf in half from the middle and wrapped a portion around Mona’s arm.

Mona:What are you doing?

Carmine:For better or for worse, you were once apart of something bigger. I see no reason for you to leave empty handed. I’ll find a use for the other half eventually.

Mona:Whatever you say. Welp, see ya never, probably. At least not in this scorching dump. Remember, this talk never happened. Oh, one final thing, a token of wisdom from your elder. You might want to consider working on your people skills.

Carmine:…..

And just like that, the notorious gem of the slums fell back into the city lights. Carmine couldn’t even see the woman anymore. She’d be lying if she said she felt unbothered. No good comes from a person as chaotic as Mona getting serious. All Carmine was certain of was despite her own gifts, this was the last time she’d see that messy blue hair in Vacou ever again.

[deadfooting]

I would like to hear about your Deadstar au!

and howdy specifically to the other two of you who said yes. thanks for enabling me :3

basis for some of the timeline stuff takes inspiration from @bonefall’s better bones AU, where squirrelflight, leafpool, and crowfeather are full adults by the time of the TNP journey. there are some family tree shuffles, and event additions/changes/shuffles as well.

the point where it diverges from canon is at the windclan massacre. tallstar loses one of his lives in the slaughter, and deadfoot struggles to drag his leader's recovering body across the moor as fast as possible. ashfoot is helping usher cats out of camp as well, and the moor cats flee as far as they can into the night. deadfoot leads his clan to a distant, murky tunnel, and the group then starts to live off rats.

deadfoot waits patiently for some kind of word to reach them about the state of the other clans and their home. maybe bluestar would've found her need for justice spurred, and sent out a patrol to fetch them?

every day, deadfoot watches the horizon, watches as his leader's lives drain away from sickness and starvation as he offers his meals to the cats that need it more, hoping someone will appear over the rise to save the clan.

but they are alone.

finally, tallstar succumbs to the weakness he's subjected himself to in hopes the rest of his beloved clan could thrive. mourning is quick and short-lived; there's no time to honor his memory at the moment. windclan is dying, starving, and ill; and deadfoot must take up the mantle of the forsaken clan immediately. there is no time to waste.

unfortunately, deadfoot lacks the proper rights to fully assume the title of leader; the pilgrimage to the moonstone is unfeasible at this time. their ancestors have turned their backs on them, and refuse to send any guidance. deadstar feels as though his new ‘name’ is an omen in and of itself; it symbolizes the dying nature of his clan. the stars that were once their ancestors are dying, leaving their descendants deserted and forgotten.

some cats want to return to the forest territories, but deadstar and ashfoot forbid it. the cats can’t return back, lest the other clans chase them out again; or even worse, they’ve already colonized their land, and windclan does not have the stench or number to take their moors back.

eventually, though, the cats do decide to look for greener pastures and they vacate the murky, rat-infested tunnels. they settle into some land adjacent to a twolegplace, but it’s… not great. their land back home was far more flourishing and generous to the clan. but it’ll have to do for now.

ashfoot then bears two kits: eaglekit and crowkit. they are some of the healthiest and strongest kits the clan has seen in their time of exile! it must be a sign of good times and fortune, and that starclan is looking down on them once more! the children carry stars in their eyes, glistening like the tears of their clanmates who lost loved ones in shadowclan’s invasion.

as they grow, barkface takes on crowpaw as an apprentice. eaglepaw is apprenticed to (idk man there’s not enough room in my brain for information that’s not my OC but whatevs. also i don’t really remember what other windclan warriors would be alive at this time? my knowledge is rusty, forgive me. anyway it’s probablyyyy onewhisker bc of future things that happen in this AU [insert me rubbing my hands together like an evil little fly]). early on in their their apprenticeship, barkface and deadstar prophesy that the siblings will deliver their clan out of exile. (i’m like. really bad at writing prophesies but i was mostly thinking of michael joncas’ song “on eagle’s wings” bc that was a song my elementary/middle school sang a lot during wednesday mass and also the idiom “as the crow flies”).

so, crowpaw heads out with his sister and eaglepaw to find a new land for their beloved clan; they come across the tribe cats, appreciate their hospitality, and carry on their way. then, over the ridge; they see it: a sparkling lake swathed in heather and oak. excitedly, they pick up the pace on their trek, eagerly exploring the land. the streams are clear and the moors are thick with unfamiliar but homely scents. eaglepaw remarks on the intense fernweh she feels, knowing her brother must share the same sensation.

this is it. their prophesied homeland.

crowpaw stumbles across a bubbling waterfall that cascades gently into a pool of stars and silver; it whispers to him, tickling his ears in foreign yet intriguing tongues. sleeping here with his sister for the night, crowpaw dreams of starclan, an unfamiliar body of cats he’s never known, yet walked beside his entire life.

a gangly black and white tom speaks out from the amorphous mass, introducing himself as tallstar. he’s pleased with crowpaw and eaglepaw’s journey, and relieved that barkface and deadstar heeded starclan’s word despite their moonslong silence. the only thing now is to return to their clan and lead them back here.

and that's exactly what the two siblings do. with two pairs of ears clipping over the horizon, the messiahs are spotted first by young warrior gorsepetal, who has just served his moonlight warrior vigil. he lets out a joyous, earsplitting yowl, quickly rousing deadstar from his sleep as he fears that shadowclan has tracked them down again to finish the job. but instead, the aged harley (my term for an old, non-male or -female cat. fran is my term for a younger one) is tackled by his twin children, who excitedly recount their journey in overlapping enthusiasm.

ashfoot peels her kits off their father, and they finally calm down to announce to the clan their journey and findings in alternating turns. pelts of their clanmates ruffle in excitement, anticipation, and apprehension; some suggest the clowder should head out for their promised land now, while others raise scrutiny about why they should trust the word of two juveniles who've been gone from their clan for several weeks.

eaglepaw jumps to her and her brother's defense. they raise a good point, yes, but why would the pair lie when they sincerely want what's best for their suffering clan? has windclan not been the holiest clan since its founding, traditionally sleeping under the stars? why do they want to reject starclan now when their ancestors have finally reached down to cradle the moor cats in their arms after so many moons of silence?

it's decided. the clan will set out in two days for their star-gifted land.

eaglepaw and crowpaw lead windclan through the mountains and into the land around the lake; the moor cats quickly take up the entire land for themself. the twins are commemorated for their guidance and achievements, and are named eagleflight for being the main navigatoron the journey and crowpond for discovering the moondpond. deadstar finally has a way to claim his 9 lives.

moons of prosper and fortune pass, but suddenly... strange scents float upon the wind one brisk morning. deadstar heads out with a large patrol to investigate, and they come upon a group of a brown tabby, a ginger molly, a brown and gold tortoiseshell, a light silver tabby, and a silver-gray tom. there are stars in the eyes of the ginger cat as deadstar introduces his patrol as cats of windclan. the others say they are brambleclaw and squirrelpaw of thunderclan, tawnypelt of shadowclan, and feathertail and stormfur of riverclan, respectively. deadstar's whiskers twitch with hesitant recognition of the clan names. thoughts still linger in the back of his mind that these cats are here to destroy windclan... but deadstar will give them a chance.

it's been ages. windclan will be fine.

squirrelpaw starts to gab about how she's heard of windclan; a fable of a music clan driven out for being too weak. insulted, deadstar snaps about how could they possibly be weak if the stars guided them here to this bountiful land for them all.

tawnypelt steps forward to quell the storm. she explains that starclan has also guided them here after they met with a badger who called herself midnight.

apprehensive but not inhospitable, deadstar reluctantly guides the travelers back to the central moor camp so the foreigners can rest and eat. they stay for day, and then leave out again towards the mountains.

some weeks later, a horde of mysterious cats suddenly swarms upon their land. they linger on the edges, but brambleclaw, squirrelpaw, tawnypelt, and stormfur are immediately recognized. deadstar and a patrol of various warriors escort the original travelers to their camp to explain what's going on.

stormfur mournfully mumbles how feathertail sacrificed her life to kill this mystical giant cat named sharptooth to save the tribe in the mountains shortly after they'd departed. brambleclaw recounts how twoleg monsters invaded their territories and started capturing cats, with squirrelpaw interjecting how they were poisoning the rivers and tearing their trees right out of the ground. tawnypelt weeps as she tells deadstar how they had to leave everything behind to keep themselves safe.

sympathy is first offered by deadstar, but then his fur bristles with anger as brambleclaw proposes that windclan let the other three clans settle around the lake.

and the black harley snaps.

why should he let them colonize their land that was gifted to them by starclan? sure, they were chased out of their land, but they had a choice to either adapt to their surroundings and lose cats in the process, or leave for a new land.

windclan didn't even get a fucking warning.

why should he let them settle their land, when they didn't even try to find them after their exile?

throwing them out, deadstar speaks of the other three clans' proposition. some cats united under mudclaw, who rejects the idea of the other clans living here. this is their land, and not up for the taking.

onewhisker is open to the idea of the other clans living here alongside them. it's been years; they shouldn't hold a grudge and make children pay for their forebearers' sins.

crowpond and eagleflight find themself at odds. crowpond says they should send these new felines way; they found this land first, and finders keepers. plus, that stupid brown tabby who's apparently the sister of squirrelpaw is starting to claim she found the new holy site, that she's calling the moonpool? when crowpond found the moonpond first?!

eagleflight, always one open to new possibilities... thinks they should give the newcomers a chance. she tells her brother that leafpool means no harm; she just doesn't know better. she's in an unfamiliar land, and the other clans haven't been with windclan for a generation or two; leafpool's probably got so many thoughts swirling around in that pretty little head of hers.

rebellion breaks out; mudclaw and onewhisker both leading their respective sides. deadstar and ashfoot are trying their best to keep their clan united, but onewhisker's forces have teamed up with the rest of the clans to force themselves in.

in the resulting lakewide battle, deadstar loses a life; he sees tallstar, who can't bear to meet his former deputy's gaze. he didn't want it to end up this way. starclan is deliberating what the clans' fate will be. deadstar is sent back to his body, pleading for guidance on what to do.

deadstar wakes up just in time to see mudclaw and onewhisker grappling in shallow waters several paces ahead of him. as mudclaw rises to try and slam onewhisker's head into the water to drown him, onewhisker kicks the brown tabby away with his powerful hindlegs. lightning strikes in sync with the kick, and a dying tree is sent crashing down on the older warrior.

windclan is sent racing back to their camp without their leader, with crowpond trying to help his father limp back to their primary moor camp. in their absence, riverclan, shadowclan, and thunderclan move in.

many of the cats who rebelled with onewhisker are exiled, and they disperse into the other three clans.

a few days later, eagleflight pads into camp, shame and guilt smeared across her face. she pleads for her father's forgiveness, saying she didn't want to hurt or oppose him; she just wanted everyone to get along.

she enters mateship with nightcloud. two months later, breezekit is born. his eyes carry stars that shine like the tears of his forebearers.

four months later, on a border patrol, deadstar swears he sees stars in the eyes of lionpaw, jaypaw, and hollypaw. they sparkle like the tears of their ancestors lost in the great exile.

[caspersickfanfics]

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, amnesia, mentions of other symptoms including headaches/brain fog/passing out, mentions of blood, speculated poisoning, trauma response

A/N: Yeah so... this is none of the WIPs I've been working on for months, actually, but I just Needed to get something done this weekend, so. Here we are. I have Ideas for a part 2 for this and if you read closely you might be able to pick up on some intentional loose ends but also I'd feel irresponsible adding to my WIP list at this point. We'll see. Anyway, this is for @monthofsick day 21: Sleepy Sickie

It’s the dead of night, amidst a humid summer heat, when Cyno shows up at Tighnari’s doorstep, feverish and ill. He’s trembling all over, downtrodden, and exhausted. His hair is sweat damp, his face marred by tear tracks, just barely visible in the lamplight.

Tighnari guides him inside. He has Cyno sit, and then wordlessly checks that his body is in one piece. For the most part, yes, it is, but he makes quick work bandaging a dozen or so surface level wounds. By the time he’s done, the matra has dozed off, slumped back against the chair with his head lolling on his chest. Tighnari wants him to rest, but worries about his fever and gently wakes him to gather more information.

“Hey,” Tighnari says quietly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Tighnari?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a flash of panic across his face, and Cyno’s muscles tighten. Responding immediately, Tighnari places a firm hand on his chest, and while Cyno stops struggling to stand, the tension doesn’t fade, his eyes searching Tighnari’s face. Tighnari feels his brow furrow when Cyno asks, “Where are we?”

“We’re at home,” he states. His voice is masked with a carefully curated calm. He can feel Cyno’s heart rushing far too quickly under his hand. “We’re safe.”

Cyno looks completely lost, but after checking and double checking his surroundings - as if he doesn’t believe his eyes - slowly relaxes. He still looks off-kilter.

Tighnari’s unease heightens. “You don’t remember why you came here?”

The matra’s face scrunches up, confused and distressed. “I don’t even remember coming here,” he mumbles. He hardly sounds like himself, voice even lower than usual, words slightly slurred. A shiver runs through him.

“It’s alright,” Tighnari reassures. “Let’s not worry about that. If I give you a list of possible symptoms, can you let me know which ones you’re experiencing, or if I'm missing any?”

Cyno agrees with a nod, and proceeds to respond to the rest of Tighnari’s questioning in a similar fashion. Headache, muscle pain, stomach ache, nausea, hot flashes, shivering, weakness, lightheadedness, fatigue, brain fog… Tighnari clocks the silent but affirmative responses to each item on the list with a growing sense of dread.

“You don’t remember if you ate anything suspicious recently, do you?”

“Don’t know.” It’s clear he’s running out of energy. When his head dips forward, Tighnari cups Cyno’s cheek in his hand. “Wanna sleep, Nari.”

Again, Tighnari wants to let him sleep, but Cyno’s needs take priority. “Not yet. Stay awake for me, love - can you do that?” 

Cyno sniffles sadly, but his eyes remain open, if glazed. They’re certainly bloodshot.

Tighnari cleans him up. He hopes to help ground him. Sometimes Cyno needs time to settle in a given location, and things like a warm bath can help.

It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference this time, but at least he’s no longer covered in mud and blood and… well, the sweat reappears quickly enough. Cyno all but falls into the bed, sending his partner a look of utter betrayal when Tighnari guides him to sit rather than lying down right away. He smiles in apology and squeezes Cyno’s hand. “Just a bit longer, hm? You’re doing so well.”

When Tighnari offers him water, though, any color left in Cyno’s face drains in an instant, and the next, he’s pitching forward with a retch.

“Oh–” Tighnari quickly steps back, sets the glass on a table, and helps Cyno over the edge of the bed. Nothing comes up, and it’s just strands of saliva dripping to the ground, but he heaves again and again. There’s a strangled noise, like he’s trying to speak. Tighnari tries to quiet him.

“Shhh, Cyno. Settle. It’s okay.”

“I— hurrrrgh!” His body is relentless, abdomen clenching in a cruel attempt to expel something that simply isn’t there. He groans.

“I can’t,” Cyno grates out. It hurts him to do, and he’s thrown into a violent coughing fit that devolves into more heaving and more pain. He’s shaking horribly.

“It’s okay,” Tighnari repeats. He'd do just about anything to make this stop, and yet, the only thing to do is wait it out. “Oh, Cyno… just breathe.”

When he finally regains control of himself, Cyno is gutted in a way that he can’t put words to. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and releases a single sob. Tears stream down his face - and he doesn’t understand why. Tighnari is alarmed, checking him again for injury, asking about whether he’s hurt himself internally. He shakes his head and pushes Tighnari's hands away, because there's nothing they can do to fix this.

“Need to sleep,” he moans, and it’s desperate. His stomach is going to start revolting again if he stays awake much longer, or maybe he’ll simply pass out. And he craves sleep. So, so badly. After a moment, Tighnari nods.

“That's alright, love. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

–––

Send asks here!

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Hail Hydra - Chapter Twelve “Acceptance doesn't mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there's got to be a way through it.”

Bucky settles into his prolonged captivity until his creator is ready to return to him, and finds out exactly what it means to obey without question. Prompts fulfilled; - ‘Fell Asleep Crying’ - @multifandom-flash (Dozen); - 'Everything Comes With a Price' - Winter Wonderland Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo); - ‘The End… Or Is It?’ - Multifandom Flash (Beehive); - ‘Begging’, ‘Handcuffed’ and ‘Punching Bag’ – @fandom-free-bingo (Frosty Edition). CW: Restraint, forced obedience, physical punishment, sexual slavery/non-con, self-induced vomiting, disassociation following trauma.

Check it out below or on AO3 here. Boards at the bottom. Please heed the CWs and consume responsibly.

Banner by @mmadeinheavenn! Very apt. <3

The days passed slowly in my new prison.

It was far comfier than my previous quarters, and I could exist in the space without losing feeling in my extremities. I was fed more sufficiently for my increased metabolism, and my body began to gradually hide the sharp angles of my bones once more.

There was no more random torture or tests of endurance, no pushing my mortality until it bent or I broke.

But everything comes with a price.

I was forced into backbreaking manual labour, lugging machinery and anonymous crates, and frequently used as a punching bag for any perceived slight, whether real or imaginary – not working quickly enough, not carrying enough, or for simply seeming ill-manner or ingrateful for their ‘generous hospitality’. For this, my hand would be bound behind my back and secured to a chain in the floor, holding me fast and limiting my capacity to fight back.

Not that I had the willpower anymore anyway.

No. I simply took the blows and returned to work when they directed that I do so, completing my task even as welts rose on my bare skin. All I could hope for at this point was that they eventually grew tired of punishing me for arbitrary reasons, and that I could spend my time here flying under the radar as much as possible.

I lived in a vague hope that this may be feasible right up until I was summoned by Lebedev, around a month after our last interaction.

Fierce trembles wracked my body as I entered his office, skulking silently past the two guards stood either side of the doorway. I coulnd’t help ut recall what had happened to me the last time I had been in the Lieutenant’s presence – the hand in my hair that forced me to my knees, humiliation making it hard to breathe as I stayed rooted to the spot, even when his touch lifted from my head to secure the heavy metal around my thoat.

I could only pray his intentions this time were less dehumanising, but the flow in his steel eues left me with little hope, his gaze flicking to the collar still secured around my neck.

“Kneel.”

This time I obeyed without hesitation, wincing at the heavy collision of bone and concrete that echoed around the space in my haste. He smirked, nodding approvingly, and moved to stand behind me. “Hand behind your back, Asset.”

My hesitation was minute, but my wrist was grasped and wrenched back without warning, shoulder creaking in protest at the violent motion, and I let out a soft hiss of discomfort, eliciting an amused snort.

“If only you’d learn to obey orders immediately, you may not have found yourself back here.” His voice was quiet as he secured a cuff tightly around my wrist, rotating my collar to anchor the restraint before stepping back once more. I was helplessly trussed up, only able to peer up at him pitifully as he stared down at me with a grin. “As it is… I hear you’ve been making a nuisance of yourself. Failing to complete orders in your allotted time, or failing to complete them to a satisfactory level.” With a quiet tut, he moved to stand before me, still wearing a predator’s smile, his fingers catching in my hair once more. “I suppose I’ll have to oversee your training myself.”

A dry lump formed in my throat, terror gripping my muscles tight and setting up an intense shiver throughout my entire body at the thought of what may yet be ahead of me. He moved closer, and my stomach seized as he reached for his belt.

No. God, no. Not that. Anything but that.

“Now… show me how obedient you can be. Suck my cock.”

Bile rose in my throat, and I looked up, meeting his eyes as I shook my head. “No.”

His hand found my cheekbone, and I groaned as my skin split under the blow, feeling the bone crack under the force.

“I wasn’t asking. You’ll suck my cock, or I’ll find somewhere else to put it.”

“Please. Please, I-I can’t… I don’t want-”

His thumb found the break in my bone, and he pressed firmly, making me yelp and recoil automatically, but a hand in my hair held me fast as I squirmed. “Get it over with, Asset, or it’ll be worse for you.”

Fuck. Please. No. Not this. Anything but this…

Breathing softly around my clenched teeth, I diverted my gaze as I pulled him from his slacks, squeezing my lids shut as I took him in my mouth lightly. He was already half-hard, stimulated by my fear and my trembling hands.

It was warmer than I thought it would be, sliding easily over my tongue and making me wince when he brushed my tonsils, recoiling automatically.

His fingers wrapped harder in my hair as he thrusted roughly, tutting. “No, no… You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to be soft and gentle. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to choke on it,” he grunted, and I gagged briefly as he pushed against the back of my throat. “I hope you think about what happens when you disobey while I fuck that pretty mouth.”

Tears spilled from my clenched eyes as my dry lips split, and pain sparked in my cracked cheekbone. He let out a soft groan, and I wished I was anywhere else.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I shook my head as best I could, fighting back a whimper as his length dragged over my tongue, and he hissed. “Oh, I bet you have… You’re trying not to, but I can feel you suckling at me. Desperate.”

No. That… That’s not true. I don’t want this. I hate this.

… Don’t I?

I know what I am, but…

But I don’t… want it. I don’t.

He grunted as his hips snapped up, my fingers curling instinctively where they rested against my back, and he chuckled roughly. “Oh, you like it like that, do you? You like it rough?” I shook my head again, but he flicked the bruising on my face firmly, hissing when my jaw clenched minutely through instinct. “Easy with the teeth, boy, or you won’t have any. Look at me.” Swallowing dryly, I forced my eyes open, locking with his and eliciting a quiet moan. “That’s it – see? You know how to obey orders… You watch me with those baby blues while you take it.” His hand fisted my hair tighter, holding my head still as he fucked me mercilessly, the feel of him grinding against my throat making my stomach turn. “That’s it, boy. Just like that.”

He released without warning, pushing himself deeper as I coughed and spluttered, his seed thick and choking, clinging to the inside of my throat. I tried to pull away but he simply snarled, forcing my head down, his eyes still locked on mine as they blew wide with pleasure and I was made to swallow.

Trembling and twitching, he eventually released me, leaving me to retch and gag, wishing more than anything I could be sick. He watched me in silence as he reassembled himself, letting out a quiet, horrifying chuckle as he undid the cuff restraining my wrist. “It’s not so bad. Now… Get out of here. I hope you have learnt your lesson.”

I stumbled to my feet obediently, shivering with shame and revulsion I entirely deserved. “Yes, Sir,” I muttered quietly, wrapping my arm about myself uncertainly.

“What do you say?”

I glanced back reluctantly, not quite meeting his gaze where he still stood buckling his belt, panting lightly.

“…Thank you, Sir.”

I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself.

He nodded once, offering me a truly ominous grin. “We’ll teach you to obey soon enough, Asset.”

I stumbled back to my room – my cell, just with a prettier dressing – without escort, blinded by tears and still coughing on the cloying taste of him. The door locked automatically as it slammed behind me, and I staggered into the bathroom instinctively, hoping against hope that the motion of leaning over the toilet would be enough to trick my body into sickness.

When it wasn’t, I resorted to reaching into my own throat, recalling the bile that rose in my oesophagus when he buried himself against my uvula, the churning of my stomach, the-

Oh, God…

It doesn’t taste any better coming back up.

The taste and texture of the regurgitated seed was enough to encourage my stomach to continue emptying until I was retching fruitlessly, drool hanging from my lip and driving further dry-heaves until I managed to spit it away, trembling weakly. My body ached, throat and nose burning from stomach acid – but more than anything else, my heart was breaking, shattering under the force and dehumanisation of the assault.

That was the first time I was with another man.

That will always be the first time I was ever with another man.

Fear made my muscles contract automatically at the idea that this may not be the first of my firsts that he stole from me, and I whimpered under my breath as I headed to the shower, the break in my cheek aching from the force of my vomiting.

By the time I crawled into bed, my muscles tender and my head pounding, my mind had lapsed into numb silence. I still shook with unconscious disbelief and fear, but I couldn’t form a single coherent thought, too stunned and broken to be anything but empty. Tears still fell silently down my cheeks as I stared distantly at the wall, the sheets gathered around me, my emotional void allowing the exhaustion to take over my body.

This is it now, isn’t it?

This is the rest of my life.

This is what I am now.

He was right.

Bucky Barnes is dead.

I’m just… An Asset. A slave.

I’m only darkness.

[goldeneyedgirl]

AILess Whumptober Day 12: Self-Harm

sharp objects. (day 12: self-harm).

twilight, alice/jasper, pg, human alice/vampire jasper.

trigger warnings for self harm & allusions to suicidal ideation.

I had a galaxy brained alternative to this after I wrote it, so now I'm mad. Had a few days off because I was ill/traveling/homework, so the next couple will be out of order.

He doesn’t like leaving for too long.

But Carlisle had planned the family hunt up in Canada, and even Edward was being pried away from Bella for the four days. And it was going to be sunny, so it wasn’t like he could have left the house anyway.

(He tries to negotiate with Carlisle, to get them to leave at midnight so that he’ll be there until she falls asleep. Carlisle laughs at him and says that he and Alice will be fine if they’re apart for one weekend. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell Carlisle the truth.)

Alice says that she’ll be fine, and she doesn’t give him any reason not to believe her; she’s had a good few weeks and she even teases him about being overprotective.

But she’s good at that, at convincing him everything will be okay.

It’s only four days. He’ll be back Monday night.

The uneasy feeling settles in the second he leaves her with a kiss Friday afternoon, watching her walk up to her grandmother’s front door and slip inside.

He has little to no respect for Mrs Brandon - a sharp, cold woman who treated Alice with either disinterest or disdain, she was possibly the worst choice for a guardian when Alice was so very fragile. It was no secret that Mrs Brandon planned to evict Alice from the house in February, the day she turned eighteen - Alice even had a countdown calendar inside her wardrobe of how many days left (one hundred and fifty-eight).

The only upside of Mrs Brandon was that she was a busy woman, scheduling dozens of social events every week. This week she was in Neah Bay on some painting jaunt that left Alice alone in the old house that smelt like rain, an impersonal grey and white residence that showed no evidence that Alice existed in Linda Brandon’s life - not a photograph, not a pair of shoes, not a stray pencil.

Jasper couldn’t understand how the old bitch was the best guardian for Alice. That there wasn’t an aunt or cousin out there that would have welcomed her into their home.

When he’d asked her, Alice had laughed - the Brandons were just like that, according to her. She couldn’t remember the last time her father had hugged her. Her father’s family, they didn’t even acknowledge her when she was in the room, their gazes sliding over her like she’s part of the furniture. An embarrassment, the bastard daughter from that slut of a secretary; not white enough to blend in with the Brandons - a beacon for gossip and slander and worst of all, the truth.

She doesn’t know her mother’s family, and she has no information on how to find them.

(Her mother was always sad, according to Alice. Insubstantial and halfway gone when Alice was small. She didn’t answer questions she didn’t like; if Alice pestered her too much, about things she didn’t want to talk about, there would be a slap to the face. And then soft, gushing apologies and tears.)

So Linda Brandon was the only choice. A resentful divorcee in a cold house, pointedly ignoring the traumatized girl haunting the top floor. A recipe for disaster. But Alice is alone and she’d been excited to cook for herself, listing half a dozen dishes she was going to make before Linda returned home on Wednesday. How she could watch TV in the living room, and do her laundry properly, and it was going to be a good weekend.

(He checked that she had her medication. A few times, because she’s forgotten before. Or her idiot father hasn’t put her allowance in and she couldn’t afford to pick up refills. He takes care of that now. He takes care of everything.)

They only come home early because Carlisle gets a call from the hospital about an emergency shift change. It’s late Sunday night, Monday morning really, when he crosses into the backyard of the Brandon house.

He knows before he’s even in the tree. He can feel it. He can smell it.

(He wishes he could ask for help. But he has to take care of her, he has to protect her. The family has barely accepted Bella and she’s ordinary. Sturdy. And Edward’s love. He’s terrified that Alice - brittle, sweet, funny, sad, beautiful Alice - won’t measure up. That they’ll say things and do things that can’t be taken back. That she won’t be good enough; that he isn’t good enough.)

She’s sitting on her bed, and he can feel that she’s been crying, even though she’s quiet now. The room is still dark, relying on the clear night to illuminate it - the bare walls, the utilitarian furniture, the absence of any sign that this is Alice’s room.

And there is just… so much blood; on her, on the duvet. It smells divine but the thick hopelessness and misery of her emotions smothers the appeal from it almost instantly.

(The first time he caught her, he nearly lost his mind. “You can’t do that around me.” He’d nearly shaken her, and she’d been afraid, and he’d… he’d had to explain. She knew everything, just like Bella. And he thought it helped her, at first, being unable to bleed around him. But really, she just planned it better, hid it better. It was worse not to know, he decided.)

“Alice.” His voice is calm, soothing, as he climbs in the window, immediately grabbing the shirt hanging over her desk chair to press to the cuts. Her eyes are wide and so, so lost that he just wants to fix her. “What happened?”

Their routine is a good one. He comes over at nine, after she goes to bed. Mrs Brandon sleeps downstairs, so she never hears a thing. He usually stays until midnight - by then, she’s safely asleep and will most likely stay that way for the rest of the night. If she’s going to have the nightmares, her sleep won’t be peaceful and he’ll know. And it had been working. If only Carlisle…

(Carlisle wouldn’t have insisted on the family hunt if he had explained. None of them would have expected him to attend if they knew how bad things were.)

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says softly, dully. Her weapon of choice is a naked blade from an old-school razor and he wonders where she got it. If she’s bought a box of them, secreted away somewhere. He’s always tempted to go through her things to find all the sharp objects, but he can’t. He loves her and she trusts him. And hiding her scissors and her nail file doesn’t help when she can just go downstairs and rifle in the cutlery drawer. “I can’t, Jasper, I can’t.” There’s an edge of hysteria in her voice.

Her panic is a dying animal struggling against the inevitable.

“Let me see,” he says gently, and he pulls back the shirt. He’s learned how to patch her up; there’s a rough first-aid kit in her nightstand. Steri-strips, liquid bandages, dressings… he’s had a crash course in human first-aid. The Cullens would be so, so proud of him if they knew he could face this and control him. Even Esme couldn't manage this kind of resistance.

(Really, Alice does the heavy lifting when she calms down. She’s always told him that she doesn’t expect him to piece her back together. He just needs to be there and keep the bleeding to a minimum, and she’ll do the rest. But there’s something he likes about being able to tend to her wounds and clean her up and fix everything for her. He likes being the hero for once, the caretaker.)

Arms and thighs.

She’s gone so deep this time, and his stomach twists tightly that maybe she was trying a more definitive method this time. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t supposed to come home early.

There’s so much blood and it’s not stopping.

He reaches over to flip on the lamp, and it’s like the world comes back into focus, like reality smacks him in the face. The sodden duvet, her bleached-white face, the blood seeping through everything.

(This cannot be fixed with a bandage and a kiss.)

His panic is rising, and she’s slumping over now.

He has to fix this. That’s what he does. She loves him completely, has never once turned away from him and his scars… and he loves her just the same, and his job is to hold her together until she’s feeling better. His job is to take care of her, and he doesn’t know what to do, and every second it’s getting closer to something so wrong… he feels sick, he’s terrified.

Alice begins sniffling again, and he can’t… he can’t just sit here.

He can’t do anything. He’s a killer, not… he’s never changed anyone. He hasn’t got the strength. But Alice…

(Somehow, his phone is in his hand, and he’s already dialing. He’s made his decision without realizing because he’ll do anything.)

Alice is slumped against him now; he’s pulling pillowcases off and tying them tight around her arms, hoping that helps for just a while longer.

“Carlisle?” His voice is shaking, and even to his own ears, he sounds wrong. “Carlisle, I need you to come to the Brandons now.”

“Jasper, what’s going on?”

“She’s dying, Carlisle, she needs help.” He sounds hysterical now, and he is. There’s nothing he can do, and he’s ready to plead and bargain and beg for anything, anything to make this better.

He can hear Carlisle already moving, and that… that makes everything less hopeless, like maybe they aren’t the only people in the world right now. He can hear Carlisle asking questions, his own voice robotic and distant. Instructions, encouragement, Carlisle will fix this.

(He hopes they’ll understand. He hopes they can fix her. And he hopes that when they look at her, they’ll see the joy, the humour, the light that practically shines out of her. That this is a bad day, he never should have left her. The nightmares, they cut too deep. This is not the person she is.

And they’ll understand that he loves her in a way he never knew was possible.)

He holds her tight and he hopes.

He’s never leaving her again.