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spikedfearn · 1 month ago

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As if It’s Heaven’s Gate

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: You take a job as a live-in nurse for the town’s most infamous recluse—Remmick, the strange, soft-spoken man hidden away in a rotting Victorian farmhouse no one dares approach. Locals warn you not to touch him. Not to linger after dark. But when you meet him, he’s all big eyes and broken manners, trembling hands and gold chain glinting at his throat. Touch-starved, tender, and ruinously ancient. He flinches when you reach for him—and sobs when you don’t. You drop to your knees, and he forgets the taste of blood. He’s already yours before you ever put your mouth on him.

wc: 8.5k

a/n: holy 2k followers batman!! I wanna thank everyone for the outpouring of love and support my work has gotten over the last month, truly insane, still processing, gonna release something soon as a massive thank you <333 based off this post, I'm sure I'm not the first but I haven't come across any fic of reader going down on Remmick yet and I have a great need to suck that man's dick until his stomach caves in like a Capri-sun (someone revoke my internet access) so here we are. Thank you to @ddlydevotion for finding my photo refs. Dedicated to Sam @matrixfangs for not only beta reading this but also requesting I incorporate Jack's cross tattoo into one of my fics!! title from the song too sweet by hozier.

warnings: vampirism, oral sex (m!receiving), d/s dynamic, begging, spit kink, hair pulling, praise kink, humiliation kink (soft), drool, overstimulation, ruined man behavior, touch starvation, religious imagery, cross kink?, control kink, sub!remmick, somniloquy, emotional degradation (tender), slight dacryphilia, mildly unhinged reader, dark romance, southern gothic atmosphere, implied violence, implied murder (offscreen)

I am doing away with my tag list because it's getting a little long so I recommend turning on notifications if you don't wanna miss when I post c:

likes, comments, and reblogs always appreciated, enjoy!!

The bus wheezed like it was exhaling its last breath, sputtering to a stop in the middle of nowhere. Dust kicked up around its wheels as the brakes hissed and the door creaked open with a reluctant sigh.

You stepped off into the heat—that heavy, wet Southern heat that sticks to your skin like tacky glue, curling into your clothes and dragging its teeth across the back of your neck.

The sun hung fat and merciless in a sky bleached bone-white, cicadas crying loud enough to shake the treetops. Sweat bloomed across your collarbone before your boots even hit the dirt.

It wasn’t real pavement, not out here. Just cracked-red earth, dry and crumbling, veined with weeds and the roots of things too stubborn to die. The main road—if you could call it that—was lined with rusted fence posts, bowed under the weight of creeping kudzu and wire that hadn’t held anything in years.

The town itself looked like it had been forgotten in a drawer: sun-wilted storefronts with paint peeling off in strips, glass windows clouded with grime, and a gas station that hadn’t changed its prices since Prohibition.

A man with no teeth watched you from a bench outside a bait shop. A girl gnawed a peach in the shade of a feed store awning, juice dripping down her wrist as she stared without blinking.

No one smiled. No one welcomed you. Just silence and the shrill, electric whine of summer bugs, loud as a curse.

You adjusted your grip on the suitcase handle—leather, secondhand, the clasp a little loose—and stepped forward, your boots crunching on gravel as the bus hissed again and pulled away behind you. The sudden stillness in its absence made your ears ring. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked once, then went quiet.

The driver who’d agreed to take you the last few miles was late. Or not coming. You checked the watch on your wrist—scratched crystal, the hour hand a little jittery—and waited. The skin on your shoulders prickled. Not from the heat. From the eyes.

They were still staring.

A woman in a gingham dress crossed herself. Didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look at you twice.

Then a voice—cracked with age and smoke, coming from just over your shoulder—broke the thick, humid quiet: “That house got ghosts in it.”

You turned. It was the man from the bench, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes milky with cataracts. He spat to the side, aimed like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“He don’t come to town. Don’t let him touch you, honey.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant, the groan of old suspension and rattling chains cut through the air.

A pickup truck, wheezing like the bus, pulled up in a cloud of red dust. Faded forest green with rust eating away the sides and a crooked license plate hanging on by one bolt. The man driving it looked as old as the truck—tan leather skin, yellowed shirt, a straw hat pulled low.

He didn’t say your name. Just nodded once. Like he already knew.

You climbed in beside him, the vinyl seat burning hot through your skirt. Neither of you spoke. The ride out of town was long and winding, lined with cypress trees and fields that had gone to seed. Every now and then, the man would spit out the window. You watched the land unravel into nothing—just swaying grass, rusted scarecrows, and buzzards perched on telephone wires.

Then, after what felt like forever, the truck crested a hill.

And there it was.

The house.

Aging Victorian farmhouse, two stories tall, white paint weathered to the color of bone. Porch bowed in the middle like a snapped spine. Shutters hanging off their hinges. The front door was so dark it looked like a hole punched through the front of the house. Vines crept up the sides like veins, crawling toward the chimneys and windows like they wanted to choke it. Or hold it down.

The iron gates at the front were rusted and tall, still latched shut. You could make out glass-paned windows that looked hollow, staring out at the road like eyes that hadn’t blinked in years.

The man parked, killed the engine, and didn’t move. You stepped out. Shut the door behind you. He didn’t offer to help with the suitcase. Just lit a cigarette, slow and deliberate.

“He sleeps durin’ the day. House is yours ‘til sundown. Don’t linger on the porch.”

You waited for more.

He didn’t offer it.

He put the truck in gear and reversed down the dirt road without another word, vanishing behind the veil of oak and kudzu until there was nothing but eerie birdsong and your own breath.

The wind kicked up. Dry. Hot. Mean. The house creaked—just once. Like it had been holding its breath too.

And then…the front door groaned open.

The open door breathed out a draft of air—cool and heavy, smelling of cedarwood, old paper, and something vaguely sweet, like dried flowers pressed between book pages. It curled around your ankles like mist.

You stepped forward. The porch groaned beneath your feet, boards soft with age, and for one heart-pounding moment you thought the whole thing might give. But it held. Just barely. The screen door had been ripped clean off its hinges long ago. The wooden door itself was open wide now, dark as pitch inside.

You crossed the threshold. The world behind you dropped away like a curtain falling shut.

The house swallowed sound. Swallowed light. It was dim and old in the way caves are old—cooler than it had any right to be, shadows pooling like ink in the corners. Lace curtains yellowed with age hung limp at the windows. The wallpaper had peeled back in strips, revealing ribs of rotting wood beneath. A hallway stretched long ahead of you, lined with crooked picture frames and closed doors.

Your hand skimmed the wall, trying to find your balance. The place felt like it was holding its breath.

Then you saw him.

He stepped out of the parlor like he wasn’t used to being seen, like he expected to vanish the moment your eyes landed on him.

Remmick.

And he was…nothing like you expected.

Not some grizzled recluse with wild hair and yellow teeth, not a hissing, skeletal shut-in like the townsfolk seemed to imagine. No. He was—

Broad.

His shoulders were built like a man who used to work with his hands, chest thick under the open collar of a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up, the sleeves messily rolled to his elbows. Beneath it, a threadbare white wife-beater clung to his torso like second skin. His jeans were dark, faded, worn at the knees, and he was barefoot—toes pale, dust smudged across the tops of his feet, like he hadn’t stepped outside in years.

His hair was short and messy, soft-looking, brown with uneven bangs that fell just above his brows in a way that felt almost boyish, almost accidental. Not styled. Just…unbothered. Untamed. Like he’d dragged his fingers through it and given up halfway.

And then his eyes.

Blue. Too blue. Not sky-blue. Not ocean-blue. The blue of cracked porcelain. The kind of blue that shouldn’t exist in nature. They looked almost glassy, as if someone had painted them on too carefully.

You didn’t know that they were artificial, not yet, like a predator blending in with its surroundings to fool the naive prey. That the real eyes were red as flame and waiting underneath.

But even so, you felt it.

Something inhuman. Something primordial.

You didn’t know what you were seeing. But you knew it wasn’t just a man and yet—you weren’t scared.

He froze when he saw you. Like he’d walked into a memory.

His mouth parted slightly. His hands hung at his sides, rough-knuckled, long-fingered. One of them twitched, just once, like he meant to lift it—and then stopped. Like the very thought of touching was…too much.

His voice came slow, thick. Raspy from disuse. “Evenin’.”

You blinked. “Hi.”

That same hand moved to scratch the back of his neck—awkward, almost boyish. He ducked his head slightly, eyes flitting away from yours. His lips pressed together like he wasn’t sure whether or not to smile, and then decided against it.

“I, uh…I didn’t expect you so soon.”

There was a tremble in his voice, barely there beneath the deep drawl. But it was there. Not nervous. Not quite. Just…unused. He sounded like someone who didn’t speak unless he had to. Someone who had been silent for too long.

You stepped forward, instinctive. He flinched.

It was subtle—just a twitch of his shoulder, the stiffening of his posture, a faint shift backward—but your body caught it. Your eyes caught it. His eyes never left you.

“I’m your nurse,” you said softly, giving your name, your voice feather-light.

He nodded. Still didn’t move closer.

There was a thin gold chain around his neck, peeking out from beneath his collar. It caught the faint light from the window and glinted, just for a second, brushing against the pale hollow of his throat when he leaned forward slightly. Like it had weight. Like it mattered.

You took a breath, trying to read him. He was watching you the way a starving man watches a feast. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Haunted.

Like he was talking to someone who no longer walked this mortal coil.

“Where should I…?” you asked, fingers curling slightly around the strap of your bag.

He startled. “Oh. Right. Room’s upstairs. I, uh—” he hesitated, scratched at his forearm where the button-up had slipped back just far enough to reveal the edge of a vein that looked darker than it should—“I ain’t had company in a while.”

“How long?” you asked.

He blinked at you. Like the question hadn’t occurred to him before.

Then, just as softly, with a note of old sorrow so quiet you nearly missed it, he answered:

“Too long.”

He turned, shoulders shifting beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and motioned for you to follow. He didn’t offer to carry your bag. Not out of rudeness—it was something else. A hesitation that clung to him like sweat in the air.

The hallway creaked under your steps, your boots heavy against the worn floorboards. His bare feet moved near-silent, just the soft pad of skin on old wood. Dust stirred where he passed, curling like smoke in his wake. You watched the muscles move beneath his shirt—the way the thin material clung to his back, the curve of his shoulders, the faint outline of his spine shifting when he turned a corner. You could almost imagine him once being a laborer, maybe a carpenter, with those thick forearms and that sunken posture—like he hadn’t stood tall in years.

He didn’t look back at you until he reached the stairs.

“They’re steep,” he warned, voice low, accent thickening just a touch like the words were sticking to his tongue. “House wasn’t built for comfort. Not anymore.”

You followed him anyway.

The staircase was narrow and curved, wood darkened by age and use. The banister wobbled when you touched it. His hand hovered near the wall as he climbed, but he didn’t steady himself on anything—as if he was afraid to touch the house too long.

The landing opened into a hallway lit only by a single cracked window. Dust motes danced in the beam of sunlight, and Remmick avoided it completely, skirting the edge like a shadow. You didn’t think much of it. Just heat, maybe. Or habit.

He stopped in front of a door at the far end. It was plain—faded green paint, iron handle gone dull with rust. He opened it for you but didn’t step inside.

“Room’s clean,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “Did it myself this mornin’.”

You peered in.

Small, but tidy. The bed was old but made, white sheets tucked tight. There was a vanity with a tarnished mirror, a small closet door that hung slightly crooked, and a bedside table with a worn oil lamp and what looked like a book left behind years ago. A hand towel had been folded and left on the pillow.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

“I did,” he said simply. Then, quieter: “Didn’t want you thinkin’ I’d leave it…unfit.”

He stood there, barefoot and awkward, hands half-curled at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His bangs had fallen deeper over his eyes, hiding them. But you saw the shape of them behind the strands—wide, almost deer-like.

He looked like he didn’t know whether to apologize for being alive or thank you for showing up.

You stepped inside. Set your bag down. When you turned to speak again, he was already halfway down the hall.

He hadn’t made a sound.

Later, after you’d unpacked and washed your face in the cracked porcelain basin, you made your way down to the kitchen, following the faint clatter of dishware. You paused at the doorway.

He stood at the sink, back to you, sleeves rolled higher now—his forearms dusted in pale hair, thick with muscle, the veins just barely raised under the skin. The gold chain shifted at his throat as he rinsed out an old tin mug. He didn’t seem to notice you.

The light from the window cut across the floor, a bright bar of late-afternoon sun. It stopped just inches from where he stood, and he didn’t cross it. His toes curled against the edge like it was a line he couldn’t breach.

You finally spoke. “Do you want any help?”

He jumped.

Not violently—just a twitch. His shoulders drew in, spine straightening, as if your voice had reached into him and plucked something loose.

Then he slowly turned. His eyes—still too blue—met yours, and for a second you thought he looked guilty. Like he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“No,” he said, swallowing. “But…thank you.”

You stepped forward anyway.

He froze. Again.

“I’m just getting a glass,” you said, brushing past him, your fingers grazing the inside of his forearm by accident—just a whisper of skin against skin.

He flinched. Actually flinched. Not hard. Not violently. But enough to feel like a blow. You pulled back, brows furrowing.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, voice hushed and low and cracking like dry wood underfoot. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

You turned your head, studied him.

“Do you not like to be touched?”

A pause.

He looked down at the floor. His hands opened and closed once.

“I just…ain’t used to it, is all.”

Not used to it. Not anymore. Not in a long, long time.

You felt something tighten in your chest then, strange and aching. A tether drawing taut. You didn’t know what had happened to him. Why the town feared him. Why the sunlight seemed to singe the air around him. Why his voice trembled when you spoke too softly.

But you did know this:

He was alone.

And he had been alone for a very, very long time.

The glass was cloudy. Not dirty—just old, like everything else in this house. When you turned the tap, the pipes groaned in protest before surrendering a stream of lukewarm water. You sipped, then leaned against the counter, your eyes sliding back to him.

Remmick hadn’t moved.

Still by the sink, shoulder just shy of that stripe of sunlight, arms stiff at his sides like he didn’t know how to stand. The water dripped from the mug he held. A single droplet clung to the edge of his knuckle and then slid down, curling over his wrist.

He stared at the floor. At your boots. At anything except you.

“You live here alone?” you asked.

His head tilted slightly, as though the question had startled him. He nodded.

“For how long?”

A beat.

“…Long.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just that one syllable, spoken like a stone dropped into a well. No echo. No follow-up.

You took another sip. “Locals said you don’t like company.”

His lip twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. It was more like…a ghost of a smirk, something he might’ve worn naturally once, long ago, before it fell out of practice.

“I reckon they said worse’n that.”

“They said not to let you touch me.”

That made him flinch for real.

A sharp intake of breath, his spine straightening, knuckles whitening around the tin cup. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. But the shame bled off him like heat, pouring into the space between you until the air turned too thick to breathe.

You waited.

And when he still didn’t say anything, you set your glass down with a quiet clink and asked gently:

“Why would they say that?”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

Eyes wide. Blue. Too blue. Glassy in the way that porcelain is glassy—shiny and fragile and false. A color that didn’t feel real, not on a living thing. His brow was furrowed like the question pained him.

“…They scared,” he said softly. “Always been. But fear makes folks say things that ain’t...whole.”

“Is it not true?”

His throat bobbed. That thin gold chain moved with the motion, catching what little light the room offered. His jaw tensed, a tick pulsing just beneath the skin. When he finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

He said it like it was a rule, not a defense. Something sacred. Something self-imposed and unshakable.

“I didn’t think you did,” you murmured.

That made him pause. Head tilted again. Studying you like you were a puzzle with too many pieces.

“Then why’d you come?”

You gave a small shrug. “They said you needed help.”

“And you believed ‘em?”

“I believe you now.”

That silenced him.

He set the tin mug down gently, almost reverently. The sound was soft. Barely there. Like he’d learned to be careful with his strength. Or maybe he was just scared of breaking things.

“I ain’t had a nurse before,” he said. “Didn’t think I needed one.”

“Well,” you said, tone light, “I’m here now.”

Another pause.

He nodded, still not smiling. Just…accepting. Resigned. Like he’d already decided you were temporary.

A flicker of something passed behind his eyes then. Regret. Fear. Hunger. You couldn’t tell. But it made you step closer. And again—he moved back. Just a step. Not far. Not fast. But enough.

Like your nearness singed. You didn’t take it personally. You were starting to understand: it wasn’t you he didn’t trust. It was himself.

“Can I ask your name?” you said, after a beat.

He blinked. Then, slowly, he answered:

“…Remmick.”

You repeated it once, soft. Let it settle. His breath hitched. And just for a second—less than a breath, less than a blink—his eyes flashed red.

Bright. Brief. Burning.

Gone just as fast.

You didn’t say anything. You weren’t even sure you’d seen it. But he turned away like he had something to hide.

“I’ll, uh…be out on the porch. If you need me.” His voice cracked again. “Dinner’s in the oven.”

“Remmick.”

He stilled.

“Thank you.”

His hand touched the doorframe. Just the tips of his fingers. Then he left without looking back, the gold chain glinting once over the curve of his collarbone as he slipped into the shadows again.

You didn’t know what you’d just seen. But you knew you weren’t afraid. Not of him. And not of whatever was buried beneath those woeful eyes.

The dining room was crooked.

The long table—mahogany once, now dulled and water-stained—sat slightly uneven, legs warped from heat and time. One chair at the end had been worn smooth with use. The others were still draped in white sheets, untouched, forgotten. The chandelier above was dust-choked, only one bulb flickering faintly. Shadows wavered across the ceiling like they were alive.

Remmick was already seated when you stepped in, spine stiff, hands folded neatly in his lap. Not touching the silverware. Not even looking at the plate in front of him. A modest meal—roasted potatoes, black-eyed peas, cornbread—steamed in a careful arrangement across two plates, though yours was a little fuller.

He’d set it out like it was a ritual. Like it mattered. His eyes jumped to yours the moment you crossed the threshold. That same stare—wide, dark in the low light, too big for his face—gave him the look of something puppyish, soft in a way that didn’t match the rest of him.

“I hope it’s alright,” he said quickly, words too fast, too eager. “I cooked it this mornin’. Tried to keep it warm without dryin’ it out.”

You slid into the chair across from him. “It smells good.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction, like a wire had gone slack. “Ain’t had much reason to cook for two.”

You took a bite, slowly. It was simple—salt, butter, heat. No herbs. No flair. But it was made with care. You could taste that.

Across from you, Remmick didn’t eat. He watched you instead.

You didn’t comment on it at first, but when you finally glanced up, fork paused midair, he looked away too quickly. A flicker of red threatened behind his lashes—gone before you could be sure.

“You’re not hungry?” you asked gently.

He hesitated. “Not for that.”

You blinked.

He flinched. “I mean—nothin’ wrong with it. I just—I don’t eat much. Not lately.”

You let it go. For now.

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t easy either. It strained under its own weight. Not tension between you, but the kind that comes when someone’s forgotten how to be in a room with another person. He kept shifting in his seat—shoulders tight, hands flexing slightly in his lap, like he had to remind himself to stay still.

You tried again.

“So…you’ve lived here a long time?”

He nodded. “Since before the war.”

“Which one?”

His lips twitched. “Exactly.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Do you ever leave?”

Another long pause. He looked down at the table, fingers tracing the edge of a scratch in the wood.

“I used to,” he said. “Town was smaller then. Or maybe it just felt that way.”

“You don’t go anymore?”

“I scare folks.” He said it plainly. No self-pity. Just fact. “And I don’t…do well in the sun.”

You watched the way he said it—carefully. Intentionally vague. Like he was testing how much he could say without scaring you off.

“I noticed,” you murmured.

His eyes lifted again. In the dim lighting, they looked almost black, shadows swallowing all the unnatural blue. The wide shape of them gave him a look so innocent it was disarming—a big-eyed, vulnerable softness, like a boy too shy to ask for what he needed.

“I’m not scared of you,” you added.

He swallowed hard. The gold chain at his collarbone shifted.

“You should be,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you’re not.”

The food sat cooling between you.

You noticed he kept glancing at your hands—how they moved, how they curled around your fork, how they pressed briefly to your chest when you swallowed water. He didn’t leer. Didn’t ogle. But he watched with the intensity of someone who’d gone without touch so long, he’d forgotten what warmth looked like.

“Do you miss it?” you asked.

He looked up sharply. “Miss what?”

“Conversation. Company.”

He blinked like you’d hit him.

“Yes,” he said. Just that. No hesitation. Voice cracking around the edge.

Then, quieter:

“I try not to. But yes.”

You sat with that for a beat.

“I could talk more,” you offered, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “Or less. If you’d rather quiet.”

He shook his head, too fast. “No—no, I like it. I…I like your voice.”

You blinked. Your cheeks went warm.

He blinked too, startled at himself. “Shit—I mean—not like that. Just. It’s nice. I ain’t heard anything like it in…”

He trailed off. His ears had gone pink.

You laughed gently. “You’re a little out of practice, huh?”

“I’m fuckin’ terrible,” he muttered, half to himself. Then, with a glance at you: “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “It’s nice. You’re…nice.”

He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with that word. And then, without warning, a loud creak echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. The pipes moaned. The lights flickered.

You jumped.

Remmick didn’t move. But the red flashed again in his eyes—just for a blink, just enough to raise the hairs on your arms.

“Old house,” he murmured.

“Right.”

But he was staring down the hallway now, like he heard something you couldn’t. His jaw clenched. One hand curled tight against his knee, as if fighting the urge to stand.

“Is it safe?” you asked, your voice dipping instinctively into something wary.

His eyes cut to yours.

And something about the way he looked at you then—those big, dark, wide eyes still soft as a dog’s, still scared to ask too much—made your breath catch.

“With me?” he said.

A beat.

Then, softer:

“Always.”

The house changed at night.

It didn’t creak. It breathed—slow and hollow, like the walls had lungs of their own. The old wood carried footsteps in strange directions. Voices turned inward. Time unspooled.

You lay in bed, still dressed, still wired, the heat slick on the back of your neck. The lamp on your bedside table cast a low, amber glow across the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a whippoorwill called once and went quiet.

The room smelled like lavender soap and old cotton. The fan in the corner ticked every fifth rotation. You hadn’t seen Remmick since dinner.

He hadn’t said goodnight. Not that you blamed him.

He’d looked like he wanted to linger. Like his legs didn’t quite want to carry him away. But something in him—something knotted deep—had yanked him back into the dark, like a leash.

Still, you thought of him as you lay there. The way his eyes kept dropping to your hands. The way his voice cracked when he spoke too kindly. The way he watched you like he hadn’t watched another soul in decades—and didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You didn’t mean to doze. But the silence folded over you like a sheet.

And then—

You heard it.

Low. Fragile. Muffled.

A sound curling up through the floorboards.

You blinked awake, heart ticking faster, every hair on your arms rising before your mind even caught up. You sat up slowly. The fan ticked again.

And again, that sound.

A moan.

Male. Soft. Throaty.

Followed by something rougher. Shaped by a tongue and a mouth. Words.

You slid from the bed, bare feet ghosting over the cool floor. Pressed your palm to the wall. Leaned close.

The voice—Remmick’s voice—was speaking. But not English. Something old. It came in broken fragments. Whispered. Half-strangled. And aching.

“A chuisle…mo chuisle, mo chroí…”

(My pulse…my pulse, my heart…)

The wood under your fingers thrummed.

“Táid mo lámha ag crith…Dia, tá brón orm…”

(My hands are shaking…God, I’m sorry…)

A sound followed—wet. Guttural. Like he’d tried to breathe through a sob and swallowed it.

You stepped back, heart rabbiting, heat pooling low in your belly—not from fear, but from something else.

The need in that voice. The loneliness. The way the words clung to his throat like they hurt coming out.

And then—

A moan. Sharp. Broken open.

“Lig dom é a mhothú… lig dom tú a mhothú…”

(Let me feel it…let me feel you…)

You were rooted to the floor, bare toes curling against the wood as something bloomed low in your abdomen—hot and needy and shameful in its intensity. Your thighs pressed together before you even realized you’d done it.

He sounded desperate. Not sexual—not entirely. But starved. Ragged.

Destroyed.

Like he was begging for something he didn’t think he deserved to have, not even in sleep.

“Tá tú anseo…tá tú fíor…ná fág mé…”

(You’re here…you’re real…don’t leave me…)

The words were choked now. Slurred. Drenched in a broken kind of longing. You didn’t mean to press your palm flat against the wall. Didn’t mean to close your eyes.

Didn’t mean to whisper: “I’m here.”

But you did.

And somehow, the sounds stopped. Not abruptly. Just…slowed. Faded.

As if he'd heard you.

As if, wherever he was in that dream, the presence of you at the wall soothed something raw and ancient inside him.

The air stilled. No more moaning. No more whispers. Only quiet. You stood there for a moment longer, breath shallow, chest tight. Then turned back to the bed.

And as you crawled beneath the covers, something inside you whispered—

He wasn’t dreaming of just anyone. He was dreaming of you.

You didn’t sleep long.

When you woke again, the air was different. Thicker.

Your body was heavy with it, sunk into the mattress, heart drumming in your ears like you were already in motion. The fan had stopped ticking. The lamp had gone out. A soft glow slanted in through the hallway—a light left on downstairs, maybe. Or—

No.

Someone had turned it on.

You sat up slowly. The floorboards creaked outside your door. Once. Twice. A pause. Then a knock. Soft. Barely there.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yeah?” you called, voice still sleep-rough, soft enough that he could ignore it if he needed to.

But he didn’t. The door opened a crack. And there he was.

Remmick.

Still barefoot.

Still dressed the same—pinstriped button-up wrinkled from sleep, sleeves rolled to the elbows, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. His hair was mussed now, falling harder into his face, and his chest rose and fell beneath the thin white wife-beater like he’d climbed stairs too fast. Or hadn’t been breathing right since sundown.

He didn’t cross the threshold. Not at first.

He stood there like a man unsure of his place in the world—a broad shadow outlined in gold from the hallway light, wide-eyed and fidgeting, arms at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to lift them.

“Sorry,” he said, voice raw. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

He hesitated.

Then: “Can I…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. But his eyes flicked toward the inside of the room—dark and private and unthreatening—and you understood.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He stepped in.

Carefully. Like the floor might bite him.

The door shut behind him with a click that echoed louder than it should have. He stood near the dresser, eyes darting—not in panic, but like he was looking for something to anchor himself to. His fingers worried the hem of his sleeve. His shoulders were hunched, defensive, vulnerable despite the width of them.

His eyes—dark in this light, wide and glassy—looked almost wet. Puppyish. Devastating.

“I heard you,” you said quietly. “Last night.”

He stiffened.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added. “I just…couldn’t sleep.”

His jaw flexed. His throat bobbed. He didn’t look at you.

“You were speaking in another language.”

“Gaelic,” he muttered, almost like he was ashamed of it. “From…before.”

“Before what?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer. His hand twitched at his side.

“I didn’t know I was talkin’,” he said. “I don’t—usually.”

“You sounded upset.”

“I was.”

You waited.

Then, just above a whisper:

“I was dreamin’ of you.”

The room tilted. Your breath caught.

He raised his eyes then—still that soft, drowning dark, still wide like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say your name, let alone admit this.

“I know it ain’t right,” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost breaking. “But I’ve been here so long. Been quiet so long. And then you—” His breath hitched. “You come in here like you’re made of light. Like you belong. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You stood slowly.

He didn’t move. He watched you with that same broken hunger, like he’d already decided you were too good for him, but couldn’t stop himself from needing you anyway.

“You’re shaking,” you said.

He glanced down. His hands were trembling. You stepped closer. He didn’t flinch this time.

But he didn’t touch you either. Just stood there—shoulders tight, breath shallow, like if he touched you, you’d vanish.

“I ain’t touched anyone in so long,” he whispered. “And I keep thinkin’ about what they said. About me. About my hands. That I ruin things.”

You reached up, slowly, brushing your fingertips just above his collarbone—where the thin gold chain clung to his skin.

He gasped like it burned. You didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t ruin this.”

His eyes fluttered shut. His lip trembled. A sound caught in his throat—half a sob, half a moan—as he leaned forward, forehead just barely grazing yours.

“Tell me not to,” he whispered. “Tell me to leave, and I will. But if you don’t—if you don’t say it—I swear to God, I’m gonna fall to my knees.”

The air between you crackled.

And his voice dropped, Irish blooming up from the roots of him like something ancient and helpless:

“Cuir do lámha orm…ná tabhair uaim thú…”

(Put your hands on me…don’t take yourself away from me…)

You didn’t speak at first. Didn’t move either.

Just breathed—slow and even, like you were the calm center of a storm, and he was every desperate gust of wind trying to press against your skin.

Remmick stood there, trembling. Not from fear. From need. It curled off him like steam, thick and desperate, clinging to the air between you. His pupils were wide, swallowing the color of his irises until they looked nearly black, and his lips parted like he wanted to say more, to beg, to confess—but didn’t know how to start.

You reached for him.

He gasped—actually gasped—when your fingers slid up the open placket of his button-up, brushing the edge of his white ribbed wife-beater. You felt the tremor through him, all the way down. His chest was warm and solid, rising and falling like he was trying not to pant.

Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, palms splaying against the thick muscle hidden beneath soft cotton. And then, softly—gently, like it was a kindness—you pushed him.

He let you.

Without resistance, without question, he backed up until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and then he sank down like he didn’t know how to carry his own weight anymore. He sat there, breath shallow, eyes wide and wet and locked on you like you were the moon and he hadn’t seen the sky in a hundred years.

You stood between his knees. Tilted his chin up with just two fingers under his jaw.

“Hands to yourself,” you ordered, soft yet firm.

His breath hitched. His fingers dug into the comforter on either side of him, white-knuckled and obedient.

You watched the way he fought his own instinct—fought it like it pained him. He wanted to touch you. God, did he want to. It rolled off him in waves. His thighs were tense, knees spread wide, shirt wrinkled where your hands had touched him. He looked wrecked already.

“Y-you sure?” he asked, voice cracking like shaky glass under the burgeoning weight of desperation.

“I didn’t ask for your hands,” you said. “Not yet.”

His throat bobbed. The gold chain swayed at the base of his throat as he nodded—once, sharp, frantic.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, I—yeah, I can do that. I’ll be good.”

You smiled, slow and soft and wicked.

“I know you will.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. A soft, strangled sound pulled from the depths of him, one he didn’t seem prepared for.

His hair had fallen over his brow again, mussed and curling faintly with sweat at his temples. You brushed it back, deliberately slow. He didn’t lean into the touch—he melted under it. His lashes fluttered. His lips parted.

“You’ve really gone this long?” you murmured, thumb stroking the sharp line of his trembling cheekbone.

His voice was barely audible.

“Thirteen hundred years.”

You blinked. He looked away, ashamed.

“I feed when I have to,” he said, “but touch? Mouths? Skin? That kinda closeness?” He shook his head, jaw tight. “Not since—fuck. Before the plague hit London.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You’re starved.”

He looked back at you with those wide, dark, pleading eyes, red bleeding into his pupils like a fresh laceration, like a man who's learned to lick his wounds clean in silence finally cracking open wide and letting you see the most vulnerable parts of him.

“I’m starvin’.”

You nodded, slow and understanding, letting your hand fall away from his face.

“Then sit still, Remmick,” you murmured, hushed, like you were afraid to shatter the silence. “And let me feed you.”

His breath shuddered out of him like you’d punched it from his lungs. His hands curled tighter in the sheets. His voice was hoarse, shaking, with the faintest Irish crack as he whispered:

“A ghrá…táim i do lámha…”

(My love…I’m in your hands…)

You stayed standing between his knees, just looking at him, because even if you didn't know what those words meant, you could feel them carve into your soul like a brand.

And Remmick—God help him—let you. Didn’t dare breathe too deep, didn’t dare move a single muscle. He was shaking with it. With restraint. With want. With that terrible, ancient hunger not just for blood, but for closeness, for skin-on-skin, for the obscene luxury of being touched.

Your fingers reached for him. He twitched.

Not in fear. In anticipation. His lips parted, a fine strand of spit hanging off one corner, catching in the gold glow of the hallway light behind you. It glistened, trailing down toward his chin before pooling at the dip beneath his lower lip—thick, warm, a little foamy, and wholly instinctual. His breath came in short, shallow bursts now, as if his body was preparing for something it didn’t fully understand.

You slid his suspenders off the broad slope of his shoulders first, snapping one against his pec, feeling arousal pool into your cunt like molten hot lava when he whimpers at the pleasant sting of it, letting the thin scraps of fabric fall down beside his hips.

Then you undid the first button of his shirt. Then the next. And the next. Slow. Deliberate. Never breaking eye contact.

Remmick’s eyes were huge in the dark—dark and shiny, wide like a dog waiting to be called forward, like he’d sink his teeth into the floor just for a word from you. Sweat pearled at his temples. His thighs spread slightly wider beneath you as the shirt parted open.

His chest was beautiful. Scarred, but beautiful—pale muscle threaded with faint blue veins, the sort that spoke of long nights and longer hunger. His skin was cool beneath your fingertips, though you could feel the heat roiling beneath it, just under the surface.

But what drew your eye—what made you pause—was the tattoo.

On his left ribcage, inked into him like a brand, was a budded cross—old, faded, the lines a little blurred from age but unmistakable. A Christian cross, yes—but older, rougher, like it had been carved into him by a trembling hand in candlelight.

You stared.

He followed your gaze, and his throat worked, the motion making his chain jump slightly against his collarbones.

“I got that when I still thought it’d save me,” he whispered, voice tight.

You dropped to your knees. He whimpered.

No contact yet—just the sound of your body lowering between his thighs, the shift in the room, the weight of your presence pressing into the cradle of his hips. He tipped his head back against the edge of the bed, more thick drool sliding from the corner of his mouth, breath now shallow, frantic, like he was trying not to choke on his own spit.

You leaned forward. Pressed your mouth to the edge of the cross.

He hissed.

You kissed it. Then licked—tongue flattening over the cool ink, tracing it reverently, slowly. He trembled beneath you like a man being sanctified and defiled all at once.

The irony rolled off your tongue with every stroke.

A man like this—older than gunpowder, older than the books that tried to define him—wearing a cross close to his heart like it still meant salvation.

You dragged your lips lower.

Down his ribs. Over the ridges of muscle. To the soft trail of hair starting just below his navel—a dark, fine line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You licked that too. Just once. Teasing.

Following the path slowly, like you were on your knees at an altar, taking your time with worship. His happy trail twitched under your tongue.

Above you, Remmick made a noise that wasn’t a moan or a sob but something shattered between the two.

More drool slipped from his lips now—foamy, thick, sliding down his chin, catching on the curve of his neck and the edge of that trembling gold chain. He didn’t wipe it. Couldn’t. You’d told him not to touch.

His voice broke apart.

“I c-can’t take it,” he choked. “I swear to God, I’m gonna come just from you lookin’ at me like that—just from that tongue—fuck, darlin’, please.”

You looked up at him.

Still on your knees. Still reverent. And said, with quiet finality, “Good.”

You reached for his belt.

His breath caught—sharply, like the sound a deer makes when it hears the snap of a twig too close behind it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared down at you with those wide, wet eyes, black in the low light, pupils blown to the edge. His chest rose and fell like he was sprinting through mud.

The leather was worn, soft from age and use, the buckle cool in your fingers.

You took your time.

Slowly, purposefully, you undid the clasp, the soft clink of metal loud in the hush of the room. He whimpered, his thighs tensing beneath you, and more drool spilled from the corner of his mouth—thick, glistening, sliding down his chin

“Stay still,” you reminded him, voice silk-wrapped steel.

He nodded, a jerky, miserable little movement, and you swore his lower lip quivered. You dragged the zipper down, each tooth catching slightly, the sound sharp and intimate.

And then—finally—you pulled him free.

Your breath hitched.

He was hard. Painfully so. Flushed deep red at the tip, already leaking, the slit glossy and wet. He twitched in your hand, a thick vein pulsing along the underside, and his thighs quivered like he could barely keep himself grounded.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Remmick gave a breathless, broken laugh, chin tilted back as he struggled not to move. His hands were fists in the sheets now, white-knuckled, his gold chain trembling across his throat with every shallow breath.

“I—fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can’t stop—fuck, it’s so much—”

You looked up at him as you gave him the first stroke.

Just one.

Slow.

Base to tip, twisting your palm, watching his mouth fall open wider—thick drool spilling freely now, down his neck, dampening the edge of his shirt. He looked utterly destroyed already.

“Does it feel good?” you asked, your voice soft, cruel with how gently you said it.

He nodded frantically.

“Use your words.”

His head lolled forward. His voice was wrecked. “Feels like heaven,” he groaned. “Oh God, sugar, I cain’t—I cain’t believe—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned forward, licking up the length of him, tongue flat, slow, letting his taste settle warm and heavy on your tongue—salt and skin and something a little coppery, something distinctly him, something old. He sobbed. Actually sobbed, chest hiccuping, thighs jerking just slightly before he caught himself and moaned through clenched teeth.

Your mouth wrapped around the head. He cried out.

No words now. Just a strangled sound ripped from his throat, and more drool frothed at the corners of his lips. He looked dazed—eyes rolling back, lashes fluttering. His hips bucked once—a reflex—and immediately stilled like he was terrified to move again without permission.

You pulled back just enough to speak, saliva stringing between your lips and his flushed cock.

“I told you,” you whispered. “Hands to yourself.”

His voice came out wrecked, breathless.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then your mouth was back on him.

You took him deeper this time—slow, tight suction, twisting your wrist around what you couldn’t take yet—and the way he howled, you’d have thought he’d been starved in every way a man could be. Which, of course, he had. Thirteen hundred years of this. Denied. Suppressed. Begged away.

His thighs trembled. His belly tensed. And still he didn’t move. Didn’t touch. Didn’t dare.

You sucked harder.

He broke.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—darlin’, I—I can’t—oh, please, please, I’m so sorry—”

He was crying.

Not just drool now—actual tears, shining in his lashes, streaking down his flushed face as you sucked him through it, as he jerked and shook and whimpered out your name like it was a hymn.

He came with a sob, hips barely stuttering forward as his whole body went taut, his cock pulsing against your tongue, spilling hot down your throat in waves, thick and heavy and so much you almost gagged on it.

He was loud.

Pathetic.

Perfect.

When you finally pulled off, he was slumped forward—a wrecked, shivering mess, his lips bitten red and his chain soaked through with spit and sweat. His chest heaved. His thighs twitched.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your mouth slowly.

“Still with me?” you asked.

He nodded, weakly. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you leave.”

He collapsed.

Not fell—melted. Like every bone in him had turned to syrup and grief, his body slumping forward, catching on the edge of the bed before slipping down to the floor.

Boneless.

His cheek pressed to the old wood, hair clinging to his forehead, the buttons of his half-undone shirt twisted beneath him. He was drenched—sweat slicked across his chest and ribs, his pale skin kissed pink from effort, a shine of drool still slicking his chin, clinging to the corners of his mouth like foam. His gold chain was crooked now, stuck against the sweat-damp hollow of his throat.

You rose slowly to your knees, then leaned forward—not to comfort him, not yet—but to press your lips to that chain.

Right at the dip of his collarbones. He gasped. Like it burned. Like your mouth was fire and he’d been craving the flame.

His eyes fluttered open—glass-wet, dazed, the whites shot red, his lips trembling from overstimulation. He looked wrecked. Used. Holy.

And still. Still, he tried.

One shaking hand rose, dragging along the edge of your thigh—hesitant, aching, reverent. His fingers brushed your hip like he was praying through it.

“Lemme touch you,” he breathed. “Please. Let me—wanna make you feel good—want your taste on my tongue, sugar, please—”

You caught his wrist mid-rise. Firm. Final. His breath hitched. His mouth parted. But he didn’t resist. Didn’t fight. You leaned in close, until your mouth was at his ear, and whispered—

“You don’t get to yet.”

His eyes fluttered. His breath caught.

“You’re gonna learn to wait.”

A tremble rolled through him, from head to toe. His hand fell away, limp at his side. And then he nodded.

Small. Shaky. Utterly obedient.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait, I swear.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently now, and he whimpered at the touch.

“Look at you,” you murmured.

He did. Glassy-eyed. Pathetic. So fucking into it.

His tongue darted out across his lower lip, catching more of the drool clinging there, and he looked at you like he’d fall on his knees all over again if you so much as told him to.

“Did I do good?” he asked, voice so small, so needy it nearly broke something open in your chest.

You smiled.

And whispered, “You were perfect.”

He didn’t get up. Didn’t even try.

Just curled in beside your legs like a dog, bare chest heaving, forehead pressed to your knee, as if your body alone could tether him to the earth. His arms folded in at his chest, drawn tight like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you again.

You stayed still. Let him have it. Let him exist in the aftermath—his breath still catching, his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his brow, drool drying tacky at the corners of his mouth, his jeans half undone around his hips, completely forgotten. He looked small down there, despite the size of him. Small and wrecked.

He murmured against your thigh—words so soft you almost missed them, lips brushing the fabric of your skirt like a confession:

“Didn’t know it could feel like that…”

You glanced down.

His eyes were closed, lashes wet. His lips parted as he pressed the side of his face closer to your leg, as if nearness was the only thing keeping him from coming apart again.

“Didn’t know I could feel like that.”

You stroked his hair gently. He shivered.

“I ain’t been held like this since…” He swallowed. “Since before.”

You waited. Then, with a sigh that hitched in his throat, he said:

“Before I stopped bein’ a man and started bein’ a thing.”

Your fingers paused at his temple.

But he nuzzled into your knee like he hadn’t said something awful. Like he hadn’t peeled that truth out of himself and bled it onto your lap.

“I remember what it was like,” he whispered. “Before I turned. Before the hunger. Before all that silence got in me and stayed.”

Another pause.

“I used to think about what it’d be like, y’know? Fallin’ apart for someone. Just crackin’ open. Bein’ touched like I was human.”

He sighed again.

“Didn’t think it’d ever happen.”

Your hand returned to his hair, soft strokes over the messy bangs sticking to his forehead.

He let out a low, contented whine.

“Felt you on my tongue before I ever tasted you,” he breathed, voice thick and syrup-slow. “In my dreams. In my fuckin’ bones.”

His fingers brushed the floor. Not reaching. Just hovering.

“Tell me you won’t go,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t move. And that was enough.

He breathed deep then, nose brushing your thigh, the gold chain glinting dully in the light. His body slackened further, weight pooling against you like he meant to stay right there forever—a crumpled thing collared in sweat, salt, and shame, held together only by the sound of your breath and the soft drag of your fingers through his hair.

“I’m ruined now,” he said sleepily. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smiled faintly.

“Good.”

He whimpered again. A sound so low and lovely it curled down your spine and planted itself deep in your stomach.

And then he sighed—the sound of someone finally coming home—and nuzzled in deeper at your thigh.

#for the sub!remmick nation #sainted by spit #1300 years of celibacy destroyed by (1) act of service #sinners 2025 #sinners au #sinners remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #jack o'connell

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whorelaud · 7 months ago

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OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (01)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch warnings none !

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 01 ¡ 02

“Wake up, we’re here.” Ryan nudged your side, observing as your parents unloaded the trunk, arguing over the amount of luggage each one of you brought. “Get up, Bug, mom is gettin’ mad.”

Ryan gave you a harsh push, disturbing your slumber as you jolted up from your seat. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes, eyeing your surroundings with haze, a mere attempt to make sense of the new setting that encircled the Airbnb your parents ranted.

It was a beautiful view, the sight of the beach not too far away, ocean breeze heading in your direction. Ryan’s figure instantly filled your vision, earning a low grumble out of you. You tucked your hair out of your face, stretching out your arms over your head.

“You slept through the whole ride.” Your brother scoffed, gathering the crumbled candy wrappers from the cup holder. “Help mom! She’s really mad, why’d you bring so many luggages?”

“Don’t piss me off,” you mumbled, kicking his knee, the gesture causing the latter to stumble back. “Move.”

You shuffled out of your seat, hopping out of the car. The place was surprisingly big– not for a family of four, that’s for sure. An unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway, the sight earning a puzzled expression out of you.

“Is someone else here?” You questioned, attention shifting to Ryan, who was busy tidying your side of the vehicle. “Who’s that car for?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Ryan shot back, furrowing his eyebrows with confusion. “What, you thought we’d be here on our own?”

“Wasn’t that what we had in plans?” You mumbled, strolling towards the creaked door. You peaked your head inside, an audible gasp escaping your throat when you spotted your parents chatting with a middle aged couple, whom you would assume were the guests staying with you. Their identities remain a mystery as they were faced away, unable to recognize them with only the back of their heads. You turned to face Ryan, whispering your next sentence. “There’s people inside.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He rolled his eyes, shutting the door to the car. He approached you, squeezing by as he let himself inside. “You think I’m spending the next two months stuck with only you? Hell no.”

“God, we should’ve let you rot on campus.” You groaned, following behind him. You remained as quiet as physically possible, not wanting to capture the elders’ attention, aware of the conversation they planned on dragging you to.

While walking up the stairs, you winced, as the suitcase you carried collided into the wood on your way up, creating a thud. Your gaze shifted to where your parents stood, a sigh of relief escaping your throat when you noticed they were still accompanied by the couple to their side.

You carefully settled your suitcase down, dragging it along as you observed each room, deciding which one would suit you best. You came to a halt once one caught your eye, growing intrigued as you opened the door all the way through, revealing the layout of the furnitured space.

“Pretty.” You whispered to yourself, tracing the designed light switch with your fingers.

“Not bad,” Ryan replied, his presence startling you. “Good choice, this room is actually mine.”

“I was here first!” Your face twisted with annoyance, watching as your brother leaned against the wall, now facing you. “It’s my room, not yours.”

“Oh, we’re going there?” He warned, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll tell dad about the time you sneaked out every day for an entire month, and made me cover for you whenever you got in trouble.”

“That was four years ago,” you reasoned, huffing at his ridiculous threat. “Besides, you’ve done worse. Remember all the marijuana you hid in my room? Or did we forget about that?”

“Okay– that was–” Ryan stammered, slumping his shoulders as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll kill you if you tell anyone about that.”

“Whatever, get out of my room.” You shoved his arm, the contact earning a dramatic gasp out of him. “Go complain somewhere else, I’m not giving you this room.”

“C’mon, Bug!” He whined, resisting the hands pressing to his back, forcing him out of the room. “There’s better rooms, why do you want this one specifically?!”

“Probably for the same reason you do.” You exclaimed, sighing once you gave Ryan one last push, the action causing him to stumble out into the narrow hallway. “And stop calling me that, I’ll kill you if you refer to me as Bug in front of everybody.”

“Everyone calls you Bug.” He clicked his teeth, fixing the collar of his shirt. “I forget that your name isn’t Bug sometimes, you know, jus’ used to it.”

“Are you trying to distract me right now? ‘Cause it’s not working.” You forced a tight-lipped smile across your face, earning a groan out of Ryan. “Busy yourself with something else, I don’t have time to pamper you.”

“‘Kay, fuck you then.” He spat out, flipping you off as he walked away.

You shut the door with a chuckle, taunted by your brother’s lash out. You placed your luggage on the bed, growing confused when you noticed the bed was slightly undone, indicating someone clearly had been there. You brushed it off, thinking it was Ryan’s doing, as you were too exhausted to further process it.

You searched through your suitcase, acquiring your everything-shower bag. You set it to the side, retrieving a clothing set, one suitable to be seen in, and comfortable enough to get you through the night.

Once you had everything you needed, you grabbed your belongings, freezing when footsteps echoed through your ears. You were painfully aware that this was not Ryan, as you would’ve heard him come in with the click of the door.

You aimed for your bag, equipping yourself for the hit you planned to swing, now that you sensed your life being at risk. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you had coming as you swiftly turned around, a ragged breath escaping your parted lips at the sight of a certain someone.

Mere inches away from you stood Rafe, the Rafe Cameron whom you have messaged a few hours from now. You couldn’t believe your eyes, instantly brushing this off as a dream, because there’s no way in hell he was there, half naked, with only a towel hanging low around his hips. A blank expression remained plastered across his face, not too astonished by your presence.

A nervous gulp dried your throat, gaze following the water drop trailing down his exposed chest, on full display, revealing his muscular figure. God, his arms, the photos weren’t doing him justice, because besides his toned body, the man was gorgeous.

His eyes were a radiant shade of blue, nose slightly pointy, as well as his pink lips, that you wouldn’t describe as big, but just the right size, as you wanted nothing but to lean forward and kiss him, ceasing the unnecessary distance between you.

You shook the thoughts off, clutching into stuff that you had in hand, instantly growing nervous by the latter as he took a step forward, now towering over you, making you feel small under under his gaze. You glanced up at him, shifting your vision back to his chest when you caught him already staring at you.

Rafe broke into a grin, amused by how flustered you were, nothing compared to how brave you were over text. He remained in front of you for a moment, awaiting a response out of you, a question perhaps.

“I…” ah, there it was. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, voice dripping with sweetness, that the moment he spoke, you found yourself melting in the spot. “Look at me.”

Your face flushed with heat at the statement, shifting your gaze back to his face, breath knocking out of your chest when his eyes locked with yours, creating a mess out of you. He leveled himself with your body, adjusting his position where he stood now that he caught your attention.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he hushed out, grogginess visible through his tone. “Bug, was it?”

Yeah, had you known Rafe Cameron was spending the next two months with you, you would not have shown up, aware of the consequences that came with your feelings.

How were you supposed to set a limit for yourself when he’s there, existing and looking so attractive while doing it?

a/n prepapre to be sick of me theyre my new obsession!! also i PROMISE i have something planned for the whole bug nickname pls give it a chance ehebhe ei hope you enjoyed wheww im so nervous to publish this

TAGLIST @greyswaren @slut-4-gojo @depthsofdespairr @littlelamy @lilithblackkk @starkeydolly @mattyskies @percysley @aariahnaa @jaklvbub @inlovewithdob @ilovefiction4lmen @theeternaloptimistt @maybejj @icaqttt @idgasb

lmk if u wanna be added >__< !!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x brat!reader #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron social media au #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe obx #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey

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science-hoes · 2 months ago

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Taste

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: FILTHY smut, lactation kink, unprotected sex, language, canon typical medical drama, mentions of addiction

Description: Robby is fighting nicotine withdrawals, but the reader has something sweeter to curb the cravings.

Michael Rovinavitch Masterlist

—

Robby sipped on the beer that Donnie had tossed him before leaving the usual post-shift hangout. He used to stay longer, maybe even have two beers, but now he had you and Eliza. That was much more rewarding after a grueling day in the Pitt.

Especially after today. Three kids ended up in his ER following a “chicken pox party.” They had been given aspirin and developed Reye’s syndrome, each being sent to the pediatric ICU after Robby evaluated them. What a surprise that anti-vax parents also didn’t know the contraindications of aspirin. The parents were sent with them, but not without a scathing lecture from the chief attending. The selfishness of those parents refusing to immunize their children bewildered him in general, but now that he had a baby girl waiting at home for him, who didn’t have a full immune system yet, it made his blood boil.

As he walked home, he could smell the intoxicatingly thick smell of cigarettes as he passed by strangers with the vice between their fingers. His eyes nearly rolled back at the aroma, wishing he could relieve his stress with a long drag. Just one, that’s all he would need. But cigarettes were seductive, and he could never have just one. Instead, he reached into the side pocket of his backpack and popped a piece of nicotine gum out of the aluminum packet. Not nearly enough of the drug compared to a cigarette, but it kept him clean.

Robby approached the small but beautiful house you had picked out together just a month ago. Only a few blocks from PTMC, making it an easy walk to and from work. That was the main selling point, along with the somewhat spacious backyard for Eliza to play in as she grew up. He juggled his keys, finding the new house key, and unlocked the door carefully.

“Hey, kid. I’m home.” He called out, but not too loud, just in case the baby was sleeping.

After there was no response, he shut the door quietly behind him. His backpack dropped to the floor, a physical metaphor for the burden that fell off his back the moment he smelled the warm vanilla scent of the candle you had been burning. Even while on maternity leave, you found time to make the new house feel welcoming.

Robby stepped out of his New Balance sneakers and padded across the hardwood floor to the living room. There he saw you on the couch, cradling Eliza in your arms, as she drifted off to sleep. The sight was truly beautiful. He couldn’t hide his smile even if he wanted to.

You looked up to him and smiled. “Hey.” You whispered.

He sat down next to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his nose into your shoulder. A heavy exhale left his lungs while he watched his daughter. Eliza’s eyelids fluttered as she dreamed in her mother’s arms.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day.” Robby mumbled into the fabric of your shirt. His shirt, actually.

You tilted your head slightly until it rested against his. “Long day?”

“Mmhmm.” He murmured.

“Do you want to put Eliza down? Then we can talk about it?” You asked.

That was the routine in the Robinavitch household since Eliza was born three months ago. Robby would come home from his 12 hour shift, but the baby would already be asleep. So, you let him put her down in the crib, always taking a few minutes to absorb her snuggles and kiss her before letting her rest until she woke up in the middle of the night. He would always get her before you could register her cries, just for the chance to see her while she was awake.

Robby sighed heavily and shook his head reluctantly. “No. We had some kids come in today with Reye’s syndrome from chicken pox. I don’t want to touch her right now just in case.” He answered, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice.

You turned your head slightly to press a kiss to his temple. “Okay. Let me put her down then.” You offered.

Robby didn’t answer but let go of your waist. As you slowly made your way to the nursery, he couldn’t help but watch the dancing flame coming from the candle you had lit. Almost taunting him. The same tiny burst of light that used to burn his tobacco for him. He rubbed his eyes to alleviate his thoughts, jaw faithfully chewing the gum that was supposed to be curbing his desire.

You walked back into the room and noticed his distress. “What’s wrong, love?” You asked as you sank in the couch next to him.

Robby’s hands moved from his eyes to scratch his beard. “You know it’s days like this that I really crave a fucking cigarette.” He muttered.

Your hand reached up to rub the back of his neck, fingertips kneading into the wrinkles there. “You don’t want to break your clean streak. Is the gum not helping anymore?” You asked.

He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes, indulging in the comforting movements. “I’m going through a pack a day.” He admitted.

“What about Zyns? That’s what Langdon uses.” You suggested.

He huffed and opened his eyes just to roll them. “Yeah, because he’s the poster child for making good drug choices.”

Your eyes narrowed, massaging hands stopped. “Michael.”

Robby scrunched his face at the use of his first name and nodded. “Sorry, that was mean.” He confessed. He held his hands in front of him, watching the way they trembled. “I’ve gotta do something. I’m fucking shaking. I can barely run a simple stitch. This plus the caffeine…it’s getting to be too much.”

After his apology, your nails began to scratch the freshly buzzed hairline at the base of his neck. “Maybe it’s time for one of those nicotine nasal sprays?” You offered.

He just nodded in agreement, leaning back into your touch. He would have fallen asleep right there on the couch like that, with your hand in his hair, but your tiny moans of discomfort pulled him back to reality. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked, sitting up a bit.

You pressed your hands to your chest, pushing against your breasts to relieve some kind of pressure. “I’m gonna have to pump again.” You grunted.

Robby put his hand on your back as you shifted uncomfortably. “How many times today?” He questioned.

“Eight.” You admitted.

His brow furrowed with slight concern. “Eight?”

You nodded. “I’m gonna have to start taking some of the frozen milk to a bank. We don’t have enough room in the freezer for anymore.”

Robby watched you for a moment, gears in that genius brain of his turning, jaw grinding on the nicotine gum. Without a word, he got up and walked to the kitchen. You heard him spit the gum out in the trashcan before he returned. He shrugged of his navy hoodie and tossed it on the ground. He sank onto the couch again, legs sprawling naturally, and patted his thigh.

“Come here.” He ordered.

You watched him with skeptical eyes, but followed his lead as he guided your legs until you straddled him.

“Robby, I need to-“

“I’m gonna handle it.” He cut you off.

Before you could answer, he’d pulled that baggy old shirt of his off your upper body, leaving you in nothing but your pajama shorts and maternity bra. His coarse hands ran across the luxuriously smooth skin of your waist, thumbs brushing against your shriveling stretch marks from pregnancy.

Your cheeks reddened as you realized his intentions. “Oh.” Was all you could say.

His fingers trailed across your skin until they reached behind you, unclasping your bra. The silky straps slid down your shoulders, and you tossed the bra behind you. Robby groaned unconsciously as your breasts dropped to your chest and a smirk played at his lips.

“What immunoglobulin is found in breast milk?” He asked.

Your eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. You grabbed fistfuls of his black scrub top, pulling him forward. “Don’t you dare quiz me right now.” You hissed.

Robby’s smirk turned into a devilish grin, and those brown eyes darkened with blown pupils. “I’m your attending. It’s my job. Plus you have boards coming up soon.” He replied.

Your glare could have sliced through marble, but your husband was a force to be reckoned with. “Breastfeeding isn’t on the board exam.” You grumbled.

He chuckled and winked at you, that fucking charming man. “It could be.” He teased.

Your breathing was becoming labored as the fullness in your chest increased. “Michael Robinavitch, if you do not help me, I will report you to the Board for sharing unauthorized board exam content.” You threatened.

But he knew your threats were empty and driven by madness, and that diabolical grin remained on his face, smile wrinkles deepening around his eyes. He tilted his chin up to where his lips ghosted against yours. “I would answer the question if I were you.”

His fingers began to trace your shoulders, moving down but not close enough. You shoved him back against the couch, his hospital badge clacking against his chest. “IgA.” You finally answered through clenched teeth.

“Good girl.”

Robby’s large, freckled hands moved to your engorged breasts, massaging them gently. The sound that left your throat was animalistic. You grasped his forearms, trying to guide him to what you needed.

“What is the sympathetic innervation of the myoepithelial cells in breast tissue?” His voice was unwavering.

Your face scrunched as the fullness began to become overbearing. “Robby…” You growled.

His thumbs hovered above your aching nipples. “Come on, pretty girl.” He beckoned.

You struggled to sort through your medical education as his hands kneaded into your chest. “T1 through T5.” You responded.

Robby chuckled and moved his lips to your breast, his beard adding a rough sensation. “Yes, ma’am.” He affirmed, beginning to kiss your skin.

His fingers began to tweak your nipples, eliciting a moan of painful pleasure from you. Your hips rocked once against his absentmindedly. “Michael, please.” You begged, grabbing the back of his head to guide him.

Robby paused all of his ministrations to look up at you with those big brown eyes, glistening in the dark. “Last question.” He mumbled against your breasts. “What hormone initiates the let-down reflex?”

Your chest heaved in anticipation, and your grip on the back of his head tightened. “Oxytocin.” You answered like your life fucking depended on it.

He smiled and wrapped his lips around one of your hard nipples. Your mouth dropped open as he suckled gently and kept his fingers on your other breast. His free hand moved to your lower pack, guiding your hips to rock against his. You could feel his hardness teasing against your clothed pussy as you grinded.

Then that familiar pins and needles sensation rushed through your chest. You shuddered as the let down reflex ran its course. Robby hummed against your breast as the first drops of milk graced his suckling tongue. Liquid pearls slowly dribbled down his hand that tweaked at the other nipple. The rush of oxytocin seeped through your whole body, and you finally relaxed in your husband’s embrace.

Your fingers massaged the back of his neck like you had earlier, rewarding him for his assistance. His rapid, small suckles began to turn into longer, deeper pulls as the flow became continuous. Your other breast began to leak freely, a small river of cream streaking down his hairy forearm. He breathed loudly through his nose in between swallows, indulging his new favorite dessert.

“What does it taste like?” You breathed, enamored by the sight before you.

Robby took a long drag at your nipple before sitting up and pressing his mouth against yours without a word, pouring your own nectar onto your tongue, the rest spilling in between your chins. It was sweeter than you expected, and you understood why he hadn’t come up for air in several minutes.

“Jesus, fuck, I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you.” He mumbled against your lips.

You pulled away to look at him. The beads of white meshed into his beard, peppering it further, and his lips were swollen from suction. Your husband had never looked so viscerally attractive. You reached at his waist and hiked up his scrub top, tossing it behind you.

“Can I please ride you?” You asked, desperately chasing your oxytocin high.

Robby chuckled and leaned back against the couch for a moment to shift out of his scrub bottoms and boxers. “Can’t say no when you ask so nicely.” He teased.

You giggled and shimmied out of your pajama shorts that had a wet stain already. Without a moment of hesitation, you sank down on his massive cock, the familiar stretch that still made your back arch. He took advantage and latched onto your nipple again, groaning at your tightness before he began to suck.

You bounced on his hips, adding to the suction patterns he pulled on your breast. He continued to tug at the other nipple, the milk spraying across his bare chest, scratching the itch in your sensory neurons. His thrusts grew stronger, and your release drew closer.

“Robby, I’m gonna-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Robby fisted both of your breasts, squeezed them together, and enveloped both nipples in his mouth. You held back a scream as he swallowed hard around them, determined to get every last drop.

Your eyes squeezed shut as the white hot explosion of your climax shot across your nervous system. Your body went limp, draping your arms around his shoulders. His grunts became more frequent as his hip thrusts faltered at the feeling of your pulsing walls. The only time his mouth let go of your breasts was to grunt as he came. You rocked gently, working him through his orgasm, pulling every last bit of cum he had to offer.

Robby slouched back against the couch, and you enjoyed the view. His soft upper body glistening with sweat and tributaries of milk. His face and ears flushed with exertion. His lips swollen from half an hour of suckling. The pearls of milk still nestled into his beard.

“You’re hot.” You teased, resting your hands on his biceps, tracing his tattoos.

He let out a strangled chuckle as he caught his breath, and a content smile played on his lips. “You keep me young, kid. You know that?” He asked.

You smiled and leaned to give him a sweet, soft kiss on his puffed lips. “Good. We need you around for a long time.” You replied.

Robby lifted his hand to caress your face. “I’m gonna be. Not gonna miss a second.” He assured you.

You raised an eyebrow. “That means no relapsing on cigarettes.” You lectured.

He sighed and nodded. “I know.” He replied, looking down at his forearms that were still streaked with milk. “But I think I found something to distract from the cravings.” He winked at you as he dragged his tongue across his veiny forearm up to his wrist, gathering every last drop.

You couldn’t help but blush through your laugh. Carefully, you lifted off his lap and pulled your pajama shorts back on. You used the old t-shirt that you had been wearing to clean up the mess on your chest and his.

“Hey! That’s my shirt.” Robby complained as you wiped his upper body.

You shook your head. “It’s our shirt.”

He rolled his eyes and hoisted his boxers and scrub pants back on. Just as he was about to make a snarky comment, tiny cries came from the baby monitor that sat on the table next to the couch.

You smiled slightly. “Go see our girl. She’s missed you.” You said.

He hesitated for a moment. “I saw those kids today.” He said.

“You don’t have your scrub top on. Use the hand sanitizer next to the changing table. You’ll be alright, doc.” You replied.

Robby chuckled and headed to the nursery. Within seconds, the crying stopped, and you heard his smooth voice singing a Hebrew lullaby to Eliza. He reentered the living room with your baby girl tucked into his elbow like a football. She was so tiny compared to his large frame. You walked over to him and rested your head on his shoulder. Eliza’s big brown eyes stared at her father’s identical ones.

“Did you have a good day with Mommy?” He cooed.

She reached for the sparkling pendant at his neck, and he held her closer to put it in her grasp. Her tiny fingers wrapped around the Star, pulling it to her mouth.

“She’s gonna start using that to teeth pretty soon.” You mused.

He smiled. “I know. She’s getting so big.”

You felt an unusual ache in your heart. “I know. I hate it.” You admitted.

“I’ll stay up with her a little longer. You get some sleep. You’ve been working hard today.” He offered, pressing a kiss to your head.

You stifled a laugh. “You’re the one who worked a 12 hour shift.” You reminded him.

Robby met your gaze, his eyes shining in the living room glow. “You’re with our daughter all day. Taking care of her. Loving her. Making our new house a home.” He leaned down to kiss you sincerely. “You’re giving me the world, kid. That deserves some rest.”

You hugged your husband tightly, tears stinging your eyes. “Thank you.” You whispered.

“Thank you.” He repeated. “Now, go. I’ve got our girl.” He assured.

You kissed Eliza goodnight before walking to the bedroom. As you neared the room, you heard Robby’s voice carrying through the hallways as he sang his Hebrew lullaby again.

—

A/N: Thank y’all for humoring my pathetic Dr. Robby thoughts. As soon as I came up with this idea, I couldn’t stop writing until it was done. I can’t wait to write some more smut for him.

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #doctor robby #the pitt hbo #dr robby #Michael Robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #doctor robby x reader #Eliza robinavitch

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lilacgaby · 9 months ago

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prohero!katsuki awoke in the middle of the night to the sounds of the baby monitor. you were beside him, utterly exhausted from taking care of your newborn the entire day. so, as you moved to go sooth your baby, he gently pushed you back down, "i got it babe." he said, before walking over to the nursery.

as he walked down, he was slightly nervous. your baby was only a month old, and in that time he had never done this alone. you were always there, guiding the two of them as he rocked the baby in his arms.

but now as he eyed your baby, fussing and crying because it was the only way they knew how to communicate, he felt his instincts take over. he took the baby into his arms as gently as he could, his son almost fitting in the palms of his two hands.

he tried to coo at the baby like you did, the noises feeling odd on his voice. but after a while of rocking the baby back and forth, he decided to take his own approach. he spoke normally to him. "hey little guy, you gotta calm down so we can figure out what's wrong with ya."

it seemed to work, his son's cries turning into gurgles of interest. "yeah bud, are.. you hungry? wait you can't answer. shi---oot. shoot." he walked him down to the kitchen, getting the bottle ready like you showed him, and feeding the baby.

after getting a meal, his son started to get sleepy once more. but just like his mom, he refused to go to bed for some reason, almost forcing his eyes open.

katsuki sat in the very comfortable chair you two bought for the nursery, and continued talking to him. "you're just like your mom, stubborn. lucky i love you two."

the baby fell asleep to the sound of katsuki telling the story of the villain he fought today. "-- and it ended in me winning, like always. after all, i can't be your dad if im a loser right?" before his son fell asleep, they made a noise as if to say they agreed.

what he didn't know though, was that his storytelling had soothed you to sleep too, the baby monitor mirroring his words to you. when you awoke to his lack of presence, you went to investigate.

the sight that awaited you was adorable. your two boys were asleep, peaceful and snoring as your son settled in katsuki's chest, and katsuki settled in the backboard of his seat.

you let them sleep in a bit longer.. but not before filling up your camera roll with photos of them. after all, love for sleep and being photogenic must run in the bakugo genes right?

#AKXJJD i love. him.#lilac speaks꧂#bakugo drabble #bakugo oneshot #bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugo x you #katsuki x you #mha x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x reader

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kingkaisen · 1 month ago

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— 彡 OBSESSION — TEN FORBIDDEN DESIRES EVENT

ROCKSTAR! EREN YEAGER stared into his propped-up phone camera from where he sat at his kitchen table, his emerald eyes scanning through the uncountable amount of comments rolling into his Instagram livestream.

Most of them were quite repetitive, just different variations of: ‘Eren, come to Brazil!’, ‘I love you so much!’ or ‘Next tour is when?’

He absentmindedly tugged on the strings of his black hoodie.

“My favorite color?” Eren read one of the comments aloud. “Red.”

“Can you say happy birthday to Emily?” He read. “Happy birthday Emily. Have a great one.”

The bored man continued on and on, answering questions and occasionally promoting his new rock album, which was why his managers forced him to livestream in the first place.

He, however, didn’t give a damn about promotions. Not when you happened to be on the other side of the house, watching your favorite comfort show in his bedroom.

He wanted to be with you — you, you, you. Not sitting in his kitchen, trying to boost his sales to an audience who, for the most part, cared more about his face and body rather than the chords he strung on his electric guitar.

A familiar username caught Eren’s eye. In an instant, it vanished as a wave of fresh comments rolled in, but he reached for his phone and scrolled up until his eyes landed on Connie’s username.

conmanspringer: booooo where’s your girl? we don’t wanna see you booooo

“Damn it, Connie, I could kick your ass. Please go lay down in traffic.” Eren grinned playfully at his phone. “Does anyone know how to make Connie vanish?”

Truth be told, he was happy someone asked about you no matter the reason. In fact, it sparked a new hot topic for his viewers, who all left comments asking about your whereabouts.

“She’s upstairs. She’s watching the new season of that Netflix show . . . damn, what’s it called?” Eren thought about it for a second, but when you were telling him about the show several weeks ago, well, you were coming out of the bathroom after a hot shower, and he was a little distracted.

He'd never forgive himself for forgetting the name of the show you were watching. Why would he? He was supposed to know everything about you, and he truly did, everything from your grandmother's middle name to which shoe you preferred to put on first. Some details you shared with him, but most of what he knew about you, his sweet lover, came from months of thorough "research," as he'd call it. So how . . . just how . . . could he let himself forget the show you were watching?

conmanspringer: me personally? i would’ve remembered the show if she told me

“Go to hell, Connie. She’s mine,” Eren snapped. He grabbed his phone, taking it — and, thus, his viewers — with him as he made his way to the bedroom.

Eren opened the door, his tone softening as he addressed you. “Baby? Wanna say hi to everyone?”

Oh, his fans would certainly run to social media to talk about the way Eren’s eyes were glossed over with pure love as he looked at you; the way his lips were slightly upturned from merely being in your presence.

“Sure,” you said, grabbing the remote and pausing your show.

Eren approached the side of the bed. He placed his hand on your back, indicating for you to scoot away from the headboard, and when you did, he positioned himself behind you, in between the headboard and your back. With you now lying against his chest and right in between his legs, he gave you his phone.

“Hi everyone,” you waved.

The comments were a mixture of compliments and questions from Eren’s fans, but his friends as well.

arminarlert: You look beautiful today :)

“Thank you, Armin,” you said with a grin.

Eren didn’t know if his best friend was up to something, or if he was simply being nice. Eren rubbed his hand along your thigh, grateful that his camera could only capture you and him from the chest up. That realization? Well, he was going to take advantage of it.

If you accidentally flipped the camera around, you both would have been screwed. But as he read the complimentary comments flooding in over your appearance, he couldn’t help himself, as if he was a man possessed by his raging feelings rather than logic.

conmanspringer: if you and eren don’t work out, im richer and taller than him btw

jeankirsteinmusic: Connie’s a liar, but funnily enough I actually AM taller haha

Eren moved his hand down your shorts. He pushed the soft fabric of your panties to the side. He couldn’t express his true anger. Not while he was on camera. All he could do was remind himself that you belonged to him.

Eren’s fingers found your clit. He toyed with it, all the while repeating in his head: “She’s mine. She belongs to me. This body belongs to me.”

You started to squirm. Eren was quick to move one of his legs on top of yours, holding you still.

“You’re all mine,” he thought. “All fucking mine.”

“Guys, um, I-I think I’m gonna end this live for Eren,” you stammered out, fighting to hold back a moan.

“Don’t you dare,” Eren said darkly. “Hasn’t been long enough, and everyone wanted to see you, baby.”

He swirled his finger around your clit. His dick was starting to harden. Pressing his lips against your ear, he whispered low enough for only you to hear, “I’m gonna have to eat you out later.”

The phone was starting to tremble in your grasp. You were close. He could feel your body tense up, and he quickened the pace in which he rubbed your clit.

The majority of the comments wanted to know just what Eren had whispered. At least, that was what you gathered from Eren’s little responses as he proceeded to engage with his audience as if you weren’t on the brink of an orgasm.

A comment from a fan caught Eren’s attention:

I want Eren’s girlfriend so fucking bad

That was his final straw. He snatched the phone from you with the hand that wasn’t rubbing your pussy.

“On second thought, I’m ending the live. I gotta fuck my girlfriend now, so bye.”

If your orgasm didn’t wash over you the very second he finished speaking, you would have shouted in shock. Just what was he thinking?

But, as Eren ended the livestream and tossed his phone to the other end of the bed, he clasped his hand around your neck and jaw, raising your head slightly as he sucked on your neck. He rubbed your clit more ferociously as you thrashed around from your orgasm.

Eren released your neck. He brought his lips to your ear once again. “You belong to me, don’t you? Say it.”

“I belong to- ah!”

You suddenly jumped as Eren ran his tongue across your ear.

“Couldn’t bring yourself to say it?” He mumbled. “You must really want one of those other damn fools, then huh?”

“No!” You inhaled sharply as Eren pushed two fingers into your hole.

“All the songs I’ve written about you . . . all the times I’ve made you cum over and over again . . . all the money I’ve spent spoiling you, and this is how you repay me? Can’t even tell me you belong to me? Can’t tell me you’ll stay with me forever? Do I gotta lock you up or something?”

“I’m yours, Eren. I’m yours. Please don’t stop.”

Despite your desperate plea, Eren pulled his fingers out of your pants. He moved away from his previous position behind you, walked toward the end of the bed, grabbed your ankle, and yanked you down.

“You don’t tell me what to do. Besides, I’m not convinced you believe your own words.” He stared down at you with a dark gaze as he unbuckled his belt. “I’ll make you believe it, though. I’ll show you that you’re mine, baby. Hell, I’ll show everyone. I don’t care if I have to fuck you right on stage during my next show . . . you’re mine, and everyone needs to know that. You’re mine.”

— 彡: @merakidoll @priv-rose @keriaonmarz @notgoodforlife @2n1ghts @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @crazychaoticizzy @averysmolbear @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @koikohib @thequeenofcurses

#aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #aot #x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #aot eren x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot fic #aot x reader smut #eren x reader #tw sex mention #tw smut #cw smut #cw sex mention

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 3 months ago

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Another Clone Danny au, but the twist is he's basically reincarnated. CW shoved his core into a soulless LoA Damian clone to keep the halfa from completely dying after his original human body was destroyed in his og dimension. Danny is currently mute, too. Be warned, this is long. [Pt 2 here]

Danny had become completely aware in his new body after about a month of barely processing what is happening. The trauma of everything that's gone wrong in his life putting him in a disassociative state while his body's creators train and test him for something. It takes a while for him to realize he's not their first clone, but is the first to not be a soulless husk. These people talk too freely around him, but rarely each other, confident in his inability to understand anything outside of orders. So he decides to play along, learning about this hell hole and what little of the outside world he can. He takes the latter with a grain of salt, he can smell how delusional his creators are.

"Hmm, something is defective with this clone." A tall, beautiful woman says while glaring at Danny's eyes, "Damian's eyes are Juniper. This thing's eyes have been fading to a bluer colour every time I see it. Someone has made a mistake.... no matter. Beloved and my son shouldn't notice it's eyes are pine if we send it now. It is ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Give it its instructions and get it out of my sight."

And this is how Danny learns he's been made to attempt to kill his template or die trying. He gets the full feeling that they expect him to die, like the, apparently, dozen before him. (He hides his amusement when realizing he can truly relate to Dani now.) Too bad for his creators, he's not like the rest and fully intends to not do any murder once he's out of this godforsaken lab.

Keeping himself from reacting gets a whole lot harder when he realizes they intend to put him in a crate to ship him to some place called Gotham, but he stays as blank and relaxed as possible. It's only once they unload him, inform him of his Template's whereabouts, and ditch him in the middle of what he assumes is Gotham, does he finally grimace and shake off the shitty shell persona he had going on. As he stretches out his limbs and thinks on how he wants to play this, he takes in how absolutely drenched in the smell of death the city is. It reminds him enough of Amity that he knows his ghost half would never go hungry here, but what to do with his human half? He wonders if his Template and his father would care for another sibling. He caught the tall lady and her father saying insulting things about how many strays, he assumes kids, his Template's father adopts, it's usually over how pissed they are that his Template isn't treated like God's gift for simply being blood related.

So with a bit of hesitant hope, Danny heads towards where he was told his Template was. He's hit with a wave of weariness when he finds a kid of the same colouring as him decked out in a hero costume and arguing with a giant man dressed as a.. bat? Danny has no idea what he's looking at and is a little scared of how aggressive his Template is. Aggression means he's probably going to have to at least dodge a lot.

Danny's awful luck strikes again when before he can even decide on how exactly he's going to approach this, he hears a light crunch that has him bolting several feet in the opposite direction before he whips around and into a defensive fighting stance.

"Shit, sorry, BB." A blonde woman dressed in a purple hero costume says to a small figure that looks like a creepier verson of the bat dude. Purple is standing where the crunching sound came from, and scarily, "BB" is almost exactly where Danny had been. "Shit. He looks like Demon Brat.."

"Calm.." "BB"'s voice is soft and feminine, and she(?) seems to be trying to project "we're not going to hurt you" and "let me near" with body language alone. Which Danny finds impressive but doesn't trust, Purple is too tense and is too ready to attack. So when his Template and his father climb onto the roof, apparently seeing a commotion, and they too look ready to fight, Danny just bolts. He's not dumb enough to test if he can fight 4 unknown trained fighters. He can see why all his predecessors instantly died if they just automatically started fighting and trying to kill people.

The fact he ran seems to surprise them and gives him a few seconds headstart. He ducks and weaves, avoiding everything they throw at him to the best of his ability without tapping into his ghost half. He REALLY doesn't want to out himself as a freak just yet.

"Kid! Get back here! I'm sorry for scaring you!" Purple yells, slightly out of breath and somewhere behind him to the left.

"I demand you stop running!" His Template sounds pissed and directly behind him, so Danny quickly rolls to his right, dodging a tackle. Which apparently BB was ready for, because she's right there and grabs ahold of him, taking them both to the ground. He's scared, trying not to hurt her, and absolutely stuck in her hold without his powers. He lets out an inhuman whine as he struggles. He hasn't spoken a single word in this body yet, he doesn't know if it has the ability yet, and something he hadn't realized would complicate this situation in the way it has.

"Safe" BB tries to soothe, but Danny can't be soothed, not when he can see and sense the rest of his pursuers closing in on them. BB seems to realize this and snaps at her people in annoyance. "Back!"

Danny flinches and trembles in her hold, not knowing if they'll ignore her and ... he's not sure what, but do something to him. But to his endless surprise, they listen and back up several feet. Close enough to help her if she needs it, but far enough Danny relaxes a fraction. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get his anxiety down to a more manageable level. And even though he thought she'd start questioning him now, she simply waits. He's still confused and scared, but slowly relaxes in her hold, an odd sort of trust forming against his will at her calm and "Please trust I won't hurt you" vibe she's yeeting at him.

"Safe." She says and releases her hold just enough to free one of her arms. She gently runs the hand through his hair and rubs his forehead and cheeks, just softly petting him. It's a gentle affection that reminds him of Jazz. He can't remember the last time he was touched kindly, and it's enough to make him tear up. She wipes away any tears that escape. "Safe."

Once he finally stops trembling and he's emotionally spent, she finally fully releases her hold and moves to sit by him so he can sit up. He feels so awkward when he realizes his Template's father and Purple are staring him down while his Template looks like he's trying to pretend to not be interested, but is glancing over too frequently to be believable.

Danny takes a shakey breath and gives a little wave, unconsciously trying to lean towards BB when he sees their body language all sharpen and focus harder on him.

"Who are you?" Bat dude demands, and Danny can see the resemblance between him and his Template, even while he's panicking to figure out how to communicate without his voice. He ends up pointing at his Template with a nervous energy. "Are you a clone?"

Danny is so relieved at the yes or no question, he almost forgets to be nervous about frantically nodding yes. Almost.

"Can you talk?" Purple asks next and he's trembling again as he gives a hesitant no. "Yes or no questions it is!"

He nearly jumps out of his skin when BB starts rubbing his shoulder in a soothing manage. He tries to subtly self-sooth by rubbing his thumb along the middle phalanx of the pointer finger on the hand hidden between him and BB. It's the first time he's done it while not completely alone. He's not sure what the LoA would have done if they'd seen, but he can't imagine it going well for him. He stops self-soothing at the thought. BB's vibes turn very sad next.

"Based on your outfit, the League of Assassins sent you, yes?" His Template growls menacingly at him and Danny winces for the guy's poor teeth the way he grides them at Danny's nod. "To kill me?"

Danny wants to bolt again, but BB is already pulling him into a hug, trapping him. The spike in anger at his nod sends him into a panic, but BB's hold is inescapable, so he ends up "hiding" in her arms. He curls up as small as he can while pressing his face into the front of her shoulder. He feels like a scared little kid.

"Geeze, kid..." Purple sounds sad.

"All of the LoA clones have been nothing but mindless shells. Why are you so different?" His Template doesn't actually sound like he's talking to Danny, but even if he was, Danny literally can't answer that with some sort of aid. Though, Danny doesn't trust these people enough to explain even if he could. "Father. I believe we should take him to the batcave."

Danny tucks himself deeper into BB. She's petting his hair and back the way you would a cat. "Safe."

"One more question." Bat dude says. "Are you planning on going through with your orders?"

Danny can feel BB get defensive on his behalf, even as Danny pulls away to look Bat dude in the face as he frantically shakes his head no.

"Honest. New brother?" Something seems to change in them when BB says this. Amusement and resignation are as easy to read as their weariness. He can't blame them. He's far from their first LoA clone, just the first to not be a mindless murder machine.

"Hn."

"Tt. Really, father?"

"Hn."

"Tt!" Danny blinks in fascination at the weird monosyllable conversation between his Template and his father. BB gets up before pulling Danny to his feet. She keeps a loose hand on his wrist, probably in case he tries to bolt again, but it's still nice. It does get awkward when she keeps her hold as they climb off the roof, and Danny needs a little help getting down with only one hand.

He tucks himself half behind BB when Purple decides to ask him a random assortment of questions while they wait for something called "the batmoble". He's a bit intimidated by her energy, it's so much like his parents'.

'Do you have a favourite food?' No. He hasn't actually eaten food yet in this body, just iv-ed nutrients. 'Favourite animal?' No. He doesn't know this dimension's animals. 'Flowers? Or plant?"No. Same problem. 'Are you hurt in any way?' Shrug. He's a little scratched and bruised, but it's not even in the top hundred of hurt he's been through. He's actually pretty happy this body doesn't have all his scars, his ghost half will have them, but his new human half is basically a blank canvas, and it's a glorious reprieve. 'Have you been anywhere besides the LoA and Gotham?" No. 'Did you at least stay somewhere nice in the LoA?' No? Does the lab count? It was a pretty nice lab all things considered.

Danny nearly jumps out of his skin when a black, sleek car shows up without a driver. He clings to BB when they climb in. He's nearly in her lap.

He can't help but wonder about how out of character he feels. He wonders if it's because this body is, at most, 2 months old, or if his time as only a ghost core kick started childish instincts, his ghost half IS only about a year old, or if the trauma of everything that happened caused a mental regression. He vaguely remembers Jazz talking about age regression as a coping mechanism, not enough to understand if that's what's happening right now, but it sort of feels like it. At least BB doesn't seem to mind having an overgrown toddler using her like a security blanket.

The drive is pretty smooth considering the speed bat dude is driving. Danny looks around "the batcave" in wonder when they pile out.

"Who's that?" A cheerful man in black and blue bounces over. Danny hides behind BB again and wishes he knew literally anybody's name. Currently, he just knows his Template's non-hero identity as Damian Al Gul. BB's hero identity of BB definitely means something, but all he has is what Purple called her.

"New brother!" BB chirps. Blue guy thankfully stops a few feet away while a tired guy about Purple's age wonders up.

"Why does he look like Demon Brat?" Tired guy sounds grumpy and on edge.

"The LoA apparently made a new clone of me. This one seems defective. Simply trying to run away and escape when Black Bat and Spoiler spotted him watching father and I." The new people tense, and Danny fully ducks behind BB, while Damian continues, "He did not throw a single punch and showed true panic at being caught. As you can see, he's been glued to Cassandra's side since she calmed him down."

"Likelihood of this one trying to kill me?" Tired guy asks. "I'm tired of new siblings trying to kill me."

"Unlikely. Kid ran like a scared deer the whole time we were chasing him." Purple, no, Spoiler? reasures tired guy.

"Well, if you weren't so stabbable." There's a teasing tilt to his Template's voice. Danny kind of wants to know what THAT means, so he peeks curiously at them. Tired guy just looks more tired when their eyes meet.

"Damian and Jason both tried to kill me, multiple times." Tired guy explains with a tone that'd be more fitting for a conversation about a sibling stealing a favoured toy in the past, not admitted homicide attempts on one's life. Danny's eyes dart at blue guy and Damian, wondering if they'll try to kill him too. Tired guy frowns before asking, "Do you actually know who any of us are?"

There's a whole lot of squawking when Danny shakes his head no and just points to Damian. Damian is complaining about how little sense it makes to only tell Danny a kill order. Spoiler is embarrassed and complaining about not realizing. Bat dude is giving off embarrassed vibes, even if literally nothing changed in his stance or face. Blue guy, tired guy, and Cassandra all seem very amused, but blue guy is also stressed and tired guy is just resigned.

"Okay, so introductions. I'm Timothy Drake-Wayne, just call me Tim or Drake. My vigilante name is Red Robin." Tired guy says before pointing to each of the other people. "Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, call her Steph. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Cassandra Caine is Black Bat, call her Cass. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Dam-"

"I am Damian Al Gul Wayne. I am the current Robin and the only blood son of Batman." Danny's Template cuts off Tim.

"Can't say you're the only blood son if we keep the clone," Tim teases and gets a knife thrown at him for it. He easily dodges it and continues talking to Danny. "There's also Jason Todd, who's not here right now. He's Red Hood. Barbara Gordon is our eye in the sky, better known as Oracle. Duke Thomas is Signal, he's our Day shift so he's asleep upstairs currently. And Alfred Pennyworth is the real head of the house and pseudo grandfather, even if he says he's just the family butler. There's more, but they're who you'll most like to interact with anytime soon."

Danny must look as overwhelmed as he feels because Dick(? Why is he named that?) steps closer, hands where Danny can see them. "You okay, little buddy? Do you have a name or something you want us to call you?"

Danny gives Damian, Steph, and Mr. Wayne a panicked look. Steph comes to his rescue.

"He can't speak. We're unsure why he can't, but he hasn't even tried to say anything. Only made a whining noise when Cass pinned him. We'd think it was another Cass situation, but he can understand everything we say."

"Oh.. Maybe he just never learned?" Dick wonders aloud before asking Danny, "About how old are you?"

Danny points to Damian. He's pretty sure his body is the same age as his Template's, who is about as old as Danny's whole existence. Unlike Dani, who was made slightly younger than Danny in body, but is currently only a year old in spirit.

"No, I mean, how long have you been alive?" Dick corrects gently. Danny blinks and figures the correct answer is how long his clone body has been alive. He can explain later when he can communicate better, if he feels safe enough to do so. He holds up 2 fingers. "2 years?"

There's grimaces when he shakes his head.

"2 months?" Danny cautious nods and startles when Steph gasps loudly.

"A Baby!" Danny pouts at that, but can't exactly refute it. He does move so Cass is more between them.

Cass unexpectedly decides to remove her creepy mask, making Danny stare in wide-eyed surprise at her short dark hair.

"Oh! The baby hasn't seen our faces yet!" Steph is delighted and pulls her own mask down. The rest of the group unmask, minus Tim, who's already in civilian clothes. Danny looks at them before circling Cass so he can see her. She's very pretty, some sort of Asian, and giving off happy and calm vibes. It reminds him a little of Jazz when they could just exist, no parents, school, or ghosts to worry about. It's nice. He likes that his new big sister has that peacefulness.

"You see?" Cass smiles and clarifies, "Language of body?"

Danny brightly nods. He had to learn to read body language or die the rest of the way. It wasn't a failure to read it that nearly got him killed.

"I'll teach you to read it even better and to hide your own." Danny is startled by Cass speaking a full sentence before he excitedly indicates he wants to show her something. He can see how absolutely horrified they all get when he slams his body language into the soulless husk both labs of horror he got stuck in wanted. He turns lifelessly to each person, taking in their reacts to it, only breaking character only when he turns back to Cass. He beams excitedly at her, wanting her opinion. "That was very good. Almost no one would be able to tell."

"I can see how the LoA wouldn't know you weren't like the others if you just behaved like that the whole time." Tim hums, seemingly more fascinated than horrified, unlike the rest. They look ready to jump him, so he goes back to hiding behind Cass, deciding right now that he's staying with Tim and/or Cass, until he either runs away or they're all more comfortable with each other.

"Be nice." He can hear the scowl she's giving everyone, but Tim. Tim edges closer with a fancy piece of technically that Danny's never seen before. It almost looks like a clipboard at first glance, but is clearly a sci-fi computer thingy. Danny noticed technology is far more advanced in this dimension, but hasn't had a chance to figure it out.

"Do you know how to work an ipad?" Tim doesn't give him a judgmental look when he shakes his head, just steps closer with clear intent to teach. "Okay, I'll show you. You can read, correct?"

Danny nods and cautiously steps towards Tim so he can see the device better. The others start to wonder off and change into civilian clothes while Tim gives him a crash course on everything Danny can do on this iPad. He does explain there's basically a child lock on it to keep Danny from accidentally going on an unsafe website. It's more for his safety as he learns. Danny accepts that reason, despite knowing that's definitely not the only one, because the other reasons don't matter. He's probably only going to be using it to look up everything he doesn't understand in this dimension and communicating with whoever is in front of him, at least for now. He feels a lot like a toddler with how out of his depth he is, which is honestly a good thing right now. Really sells the "I'm a harmless baby, protect me!" thing he has going on.

"Now that you can answer." Tim smiles a little, "Is there any you want to be called? It's okay if there isn't just yet. Finding your name can be difficult."

[Danny] Danny excitedly shows Tim.

"Danny? Not what I was expecting, but it suits you." Tim's easy acceptance is wonderful, too bad his Template ruins the moment.

"Absolutely not. You need a proper name. How about Daniel? Or maybe the arabic version? Danyal?" Danny throws his most disgusted face he can pull.

"That's a no." Tim sounds like he's barely concealing laughter.

"He needs a proper name. How about Dante?"

[It's better than Daniel, but I still don't like it.]

"How about we come back to this later? We can look up names that Danny can be a nickname for and he can pick from those once he's settled in." Tim basically orders when Damian opens his mouth. "Danny should shower. I'll grab him som-"

Danny grabs his sleeve. Cass isn't here, so Tim is his current security person. He doesn't feel safe with his Template yet.

"Nevermind, I'll get him showered. Could you grab him some clothes?" Tim adjusts to the quiet demand easily, glancing to Danny to ask. "Any idea of preference?"

Danny glances at the stiff outfit he's currently in before writing [Comfy?]

Tim nods and tells Damian, "You should snag one of Dick's hoodies and one of my fluffy pj pants. Alfred probably has some unused underwear somewhere with how many times a guest needed some."

Damian doesn't look pleased, but seems to follow Tim's lead. He does quizzically eye Danny one last time before he leaves. Tim gently leads Danny to what looks like a locker room. No one else is currently in there.

"I know he seems abrasive, but that was his version of trying to bond." Tim explains, "He's trying his best. Just say something if it's too much."

Danny nods and strips. Uncaring of Tim looking at him as he hops in the shower, he only seems to be checking for injuries, then he only glances over every once in a while to make sure "the baby" is cleaning himself properly and doesn't need help. He doesn't get any creepy vibes from the man. He's awfully familiar with the vibes to look out for since some of the scientists would bad touch him, claiming it's for science. It wasn't. Needless to say, being a labrat kind of murders shyness over being naked in cold blood.

Damian shows up with the clothes Tim requested when Danny is drying off. Danny makes sure to scribble a [Thank you!] and show it to him before taking the clothes.

"You are welcome."

"Alfred will be happy his newest grandchild comes with manners pre-installed." Tim jokes, and adds at Danny's curious glance. "The rest of us were feral. You'd think that I'd be an exception since I'm from high society, but I literally blackmailed my way into being Robin and then made a fake uncle to keep myself from being adopted."

Danny gives Tim an alarmed look, and Damian looks curious.

"Okay, so I used to stalk Batman and Robin every night because I lacked adult supervision. I was just taking pictures because I was a huge fan and had figured out who they were when I was 9. Then when I was 12, Jason died for a little bit." This makes Danny more alarmed, so Tim quickly adds. "He's alive and as well as he can be now, but he was Robin at the time, and Bruce, Bruce was devastated. He was taking it out on everyone. Purse snatchers were ending up in the ICU. So I first tried to get Dick to come back to Gotham, when they didn't work, I showed up on the doorstep with photographic evidence I knew everything and demanded I be Robin to keep him safe. I.. It was a rough time. He hated me with every fiber of his being for a while, but I couldn't let Batman die. We were partners, but not family by any stretch of the word. Then.. my parents died and I couldn't let him adopt me. I wasn't his son. I hadn't had an adult keeping track of me in years, hell, B barely tracked me as Robin, thinking it would make me stop. Jokes on him, I'm too stubborn."

"That's unfortunately true." Damian sounds exasperated.

"I hired an actor to pretend to be my fake uncle to keep Bruce from questioning my living situation. Clearly, that didn't last." Tim chuckles, "Steph compared me to a feral cat a lot during that time."

Danny has to pull up his (Dick's?) sleeves to use the iPad. [Are all of your lives so weird?]

"Unfortunately." Damian sighs, "Every single one of us has a different tale of how we came to be with Father."

"Kid, you're a defective clone that just escaped from a cult of assassins and are actively being adopted by the family of your target." Tim teases. "You fit in perfectly."

Danny flusters at that, but has nothing to say against it.

"I apologize if this is a sensitive issue, but I have to ask." Damian does look sorry. "Why don't you talk? I know a few of the Clones were instructed in the past to say things, so I was wondering why you can't."

[Never talked before. Don't know how to. Wasn't taught before mission. Tall lady didn't like my eyes and wanted me gone.]

"Tall lady? Probably Talia. But she didn't like your eyes? Why?" Tim tilts his head.

[Wrong color. Fading slowly to bluer color. Wasn't perfect copy anymore and getting less perfect by the day. Needed to die faster.]

"She wanted you to die because your eye colour?" Tim and Damian look shocked as Danny nods.

[Imperfections die. Barely good enough to be sent out instead of killed in lab.] Danny lays it on thick, but it wasn't untrue. He ended up seeing other "Imperfect" clones be terminated near the end of his stay.

"Well... actually, what colour do you think they'll end up? Now that I'm paying attention, I can see the difference. You think it's a result of whatever made you different?" Tim seems excited by the idea. Damian just looks thoughtful.

[Unsure. Changed from Damian's color to current in a month. Tall lady was very unhappy by it. Don't know why change happened.]

Danny suddenly yawns. He didn't get much sleep in the crate. Too scared to.

"Alright. We can talk more after you get some sleep."

"Alfred told me to tell you you're cut off from caffeine until you sleep a minimum of 6 hours, Drake." Damian looks a little too amused by Tim's despair over that news, before turning to Danny. "Your new room is next to Cassandra's. She apparently requested it while we were otherwise engaged."

Danny is delighted by the news, hugging his iPad to his chest. Tim and Damian lead him to his new room, pointing out things and whose room is who's while they walk. Danny's dazed look and slowly making a list of things to look up really sells his new role. He's also scared to even breathe on anything. Everything is so fancy.

"Getting you your own clothes and room decor will have to wait until tomorrow." Damian informs him apologetically before the brothers bid him goodnight. And Danny doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't feel safe in this too nice room. So he grabs one of the pillows and the thin extra blanket at the foot of the bed before cramming himself under the bed. He curls up in a ball under the head, the end tables blocking the sides, making him feel safer.

He wakes the first day to Cass laying on the floor nearby, but not under the bed. It's a very weird day for him, but Tim, Cass, and his Template are very helpful and mostly non judgemental to the mess he is. He does find a moment to naturally "discover" his obsession with space. Thankfully, it turns out this dimensions space is so different that he doesn't have to pretend to be clueless. Everything is so different and Danny kind of loves it. He's gifted so much space themed shit and books on space and alien culture throughout the week, he has to fight to keep from glowing in his excitement. He knows they noticed, but let him pretend to be normal for a bit. It's harder to hide his inhumanity in this body, but he does his best.

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sayruq · 1 year ago

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AHEAD OF THE United Nations Security Council action to consider the Palestinian Authority’s application to become a full member of the international body, the United States is lobbying nations to reject such membership, hoping to avoid an overt “veto” by Washington. The lobbying effort, revealed in copies of unclassified State Department cables obtained by The Intercept, is at odds with the Biden administration’s pledge to fully support a two-state solution. In 2012, the U.N. General Assembly passed a resolution granting Palestine the status of a non-member observer state. The diplomatic cables detail pressure being applied to members of the Security Council, including Malta, the rotating president of the council this month. Ecuador in particular is being asked to lobby Malta and other nations, including France, to oppose U.N. recognition. The State Department’s justification is that normalizing relations between Israel and Arab states is the fastest and most effective way to achieve an enduring and productive statehood. While clarifying that President Joe Biden has worked vigorously to support “Palestinian aspirations for statehood” within the context “of a comprehensive peace that would resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict,” a diplomatic cable dated April 12 details U.S. talking points against a U.N. vote for Palestinian statehood. The cable says that Security Council members must be persuaded to reject any proposal for Palestinian statehood — and thereby its recognition as a sovereign nation — before the council’s open debate on the Middle East, scheduled for April 18. “It remains the U.S. view that the most expeditious path toward a political horizon for the Palestinian people is in the context of a normalization agreement between Israel and its neighbors,” the cable reads. “We believe this approach can tangibly advance Palestinian goals in a meaningful and enduring way.” “We therefore urge you not to support any potential Security Council resolution recommending the admission of ‘Palestine’ as a U.N. member state, should such a resolution be presented to the Security Council for a decision in the coming days and weeks.”

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #palestinian state #genocide joe #joe biden #united nations #security council #two state solution

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everytimewetouch-dot-mp3 · 7 months ago

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svsss omegaverse au where only those with profound cultivation ability develop into alphas or omegas. this means both powerful spiritual cultivators and powerful demon lines

under luo binghe’s rule, any alpha or omega in the general populace is brought to bingge’s palace. omega women are added to the harem without question, tho there are a notable few alpha women there as well (shl and lmy).

sy transmigrates into a wandering omega cultivator exploring the world (the world building was the best part of that dumbfuck novel and now he gets to experience it firsthand!!!). his exploration quickly takes him from the few safe remaining human cities and into the wider world.

he’s chased for days by different demon groups until one finally catches him, because junshang’s been hell-bent on finding some particular male omega for the past few months. he’s put out a bounty and everything; whoever brings the right omega gets riches and their choice of one treasure from junshang’s vault.

everyone thinks he’s gonna kill this dude. they assume the omega wronged junshang somehow and he wants revenge. sy is scared absolutely shitless. these guys tie him up in immortal binding cables and beat him up a little bit. by the time they make it to the underground palace, sy looks fuckin rough

and surprisingly, lord luo is not pleased by this. so displeased, in fact, that he cuts the demons down right there in the middle of his reception hall? sy is 100% sure he’s gonna be next and he nearly passes out when bingge approaches. (part of him is screaming because!!!! luo binghe!!! in the flesh!!!!! with an air of power and deadly beauty and strength!!!! the protagonist!!!)

lbg studies sy’s face for a minute, then has servants take him away. he’s bathed (THOROUGHLY!! maybe TOO thoroughly!!! he can wash his own ass!! thank you!!) and styled, and with the cables removed he can finally heal his injuries from being captured.

the next time they meet, lbg seems weirdly angry. his hands are shaking and his face is red, and every time he makes eye contact with sy, he growls and looks sharply away. he’s definitely barely holding back from killing sy!! maybe it’s because sy left the human cities? maybe it’s because he was poking around somewhere off-limits?? sy has no idea what he did.

lbg leads him down down to the water prison, and again sy almost passes out. my mans definitely pukes into the water just from the smell alone. it’s…a gory scene. but what’s most unsettling about it isn’t the emptiness in sqq’s eyes or the desperate grunting that only becomes louder the closer lbg brings sy.

what’s most unsettling is how similar they look. they could be brothers, their family resemblance is powerful. same face shape, same nose, same cheekbones.

and sy gets it then. bingge is done playing with sqq; there’s nothing really left to do to him (though he’s still got his dick…sy was one of the loudest proponents of cutting it off for what he did to ning yingying!) so lbg must be looking for a replacement.

lbg studies them both for a long time, as if cataloguing all the similarities between their faces. the whole time, sy is shaking, trying not to fall over. eventually, lbg must be satisfied, because he looks sy up and down slowly before muttering. ‘you’ll do for now. we can see how you measure up.’

POORLY!!! shen yuan is determined to measure up extremely poorly to that old shizun of lbg’s!! to save his own skin, he’ll be nothing like that asshole!!

thus begins shen yuan’s plan to treat the emperor with such doting, kind respect that he’ll see nothing of sqq in him beyond his unfortunate face!! surely lord luo won’t want to kill someone so kind to him!!

(every measure of shen yuan’s kindness is overwhelming to lbg. after so long he’s found what that other him flaunted in his face. a close relative of his shizun’s, no doubt, (maybe a twin separated at birth?) who became that other binghe’s shizun in that timeline. he’s kind and gentle and so concerned with binghe’s wellbeing in a way…no one has since his mother, so so long ago. that one morning with the other shizun was so sweet, but this—having this omega here in his palace, fussing at him to eat more and dress more warmly when he goes to the north, smiling unrestrained, smelling so impossibly sweet—this is so much better than he could have imagined. luo bingge will convince this shen yuan to be his omega. not as a concubine, but as a proper wife. first wife, maybe. empress, even. whatever it takes to get him to say yes. whatever it takes to keep him.)

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jetblack4realz · 20 days ago

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not a choice - jacaerys velaryon

summary - when rumors spread surrounding a new choice in bride for jace, your insecurities get the best of you

targ!reader, so you have white hair. pre-war and they're just chillin on dragonstone so slay

also, tell me why i can write SO MUCH for jace?! like, over 6 and a half thousand words? huh??

warnings - nah

word count - 6.5k

______________________________________________________________

you were the one to see jace off when he left for the baratheon's rebellion at storm's end.

"stay safe," you requested gently, hands on his biceps as he offered you a bit of a sideways smile.

"don't fret, love," he told you, squeezing your waist as he pecked your lips. "i'll be perfectly fine, and i'll learn a lot. it's a miracle mother allowed me leave in the first place."

"i know, but i still worry," you answered with a short sigh. "it's a war you're attending to."

"a war that will be resolved quickly with the help of a dragon. when daemon went to the stepstones it was resolved rather quickly," he said.

"he was gone for months, jace. and you're not him, and vermax isn't caraxes," you reminded. "all i'm asking is to be careful. remember that you have a girl back home waiting for you."

"how could i forget? you're the most beautiful girl in all of westeros, it'd be difficult to forget you," he said with a widening grin as he pulled you in for another kiss. you smiled into it, hands sliding up to his shoulders as he held you tightly. "i'll talk to my mother when i return. i promise." he kissed you again. and then when he pulled back, he winked. "and your hand will be mine." he pressed his lips to yours even more firmly than before.

when he pulled back you noticed the dragon pit guards looking awkwardly away from you both and you let out a breathy laugh and nodded. "i'll be looking forward to it. but now, you need to go. lord borros is waiting for you."

"i'll write if i can," he promised.

"i will too," you answered. "be safe."

"i'll be better than that - i'll be victorious."

his laugh echoed behind him as he mounted the green dragon he was bonded to, the agile thing chirping as you offered them both a wave. he winked before taking off into the clouds, headed straight for the narrow sea.

you let out a deep sigh, spinning the ring on your middle finger as you watched him disappear into the sky.

"you know it's your last time you'll see him like that, huh?" your handmaiden asked with a sad frown as she looked at you.

your eyes snapped to hers, brows knitted tightly. "what do you mean?"

her eyes widened. "that's just what everyone around the grounds has been saying. that he's headed to help win lord borros' favor to wed his eldest daughter. apparently there have been talks."

"that's ridiculous. we're practically betrothed, my father would never allow it," you answered, waving the suggestion away.

"your father isn't here, my princess," she said quietly. "but lady elenda and their daughters are arriving in a fortnight, as you know. it seems as though princess rhaenyra wants the alliance."

"what need do we have of the baratheons?" you asked, shaking your head even as your brows furrowed further. "this is a nonsensical idea. jace and i have been set to be betrothed for years."

"it's just a rumor, your highness," she said, volume dropping even more.

"yes," you said, glancing up at the skies once more. "just a rumor."

the baratheons arrived only days after jace's departure in order to stay safe from the chaotic rebellion on their homeland and you were surprised to not be called to treat with them. rhaenyra insisted there was "no need" for you to bother yourself with the formalities.

apparently, they would not be staying long.

you were walking with baela when you were approached by a courtier you knew was a lover of gossip.

"is it true?" he asked with a tilt of his head and an interested smile. "is your almost-engagement off?"

you raised your brows. "funny. no, it's not."

"rumor has it it's going to be," he told you, tsk'ing his tongue as he shook his head. "the baratheon girl - cassandra - she's a beauty. dark haired like our prince with glittering gold eyes. fit for royalty."

"you cannot announce such implications like that to your princess," baela said with a glare. "off with you. the baratheon girl will leave and y/n will remain. and if you anger her more it will be your pain."

"as you wish, my princess," the man said with a slight bow, though his smile remained ever so slightly on his lips.

"ridiculous," she scoffed as he went on his way.

you hesitated as the four baratheon sisters rounded the corner, all strikingly beautiful in their own ways - in ways completely opposite you. the oldest, cassandra, held herself high, poised, proper in every way as her sisters giggled about her. "is it, though?"

baela followed your eyes before scoffing again and slapping your arm. "it is. you two have been head over heels for each other as long as i can remember. father and rhaenyra are betrothing you. those arrangements are set in stone."

"except they aren't. and father is not exactly in rhaenyra's good graces currently."

"she's not cruel," she told you. "she will not take out her frustrations with our father on you. or jace. he loves you, and she knows that."

your eyes remained on cassandra for far too long until you both finally turned the opposite corner and you let out a breath. "right."

you were surprised when you received your first raven from jace a few weeks later, not entirely sure if he'd be able to get one out to you.

my love,

i finally understand how the stormlands got their name. vermax hasn't taken well to the constant wind and rain, but we've managed to calm the fight a decent amount. i'm certain i'll arrive home soon.

lord borros has been kind with me, though he is a rather gruff man. he trusts my judgment and allows me to make my own moves with vermax, which i appreciate. we've worked well together and i see us continuing to be powerful allies in the future.

i hope you're staying entertained without me. i wish you were here. well, i don't wish you were actually here, but i wish i could see you. i miss you.

have you spent time with the baratheon girls? lord borros insists his eldest is a wonderful girl, as does my mother. i hope you've found a friend in her.

i'll try to be home soon.

i love you.

jace

you gripped the parchment tightly, eyes scanning the lines about borros and cassandra nearly a dozen times before you finally rested it against the desk again.

his mother spoke to him of her. lord borros was speaking of her even in times of war and rebellion.

perhaps there was an element of truth to the rumors.

but jace loved you, you knew that. rhaenyra would respect that, or at least you hoped.

luke's approach was quick and his brow was furrowed as he looked down at you. "my mother has been speaking with lady elenda in the war room all morning."

"what?" you wondered.

"she's asked to see you," he continued with a heavy breath.

"me?" you repeated with wide eyes.

"you. now."

you stared at him a little longer as his brows fell into a sympathetic gaze before finally moving around him and heading towards the princess' rooms. as you walked, you spotted the younger three baratheon girls giggling their way to the gardens and then when you were outside the hallway there was cassandra and elenda.

when they spotted you they both fell into instantaneous curtsies, cassandra's head dipping lower than her mother's as she spoke: "your highness."

"the princess is waiting for you," lady elenda said as she rose, looking back towards the doors.

you didn't answer, nodding instead to the both of them and passing them by in favor of rhaenyra's rooms. you heard elenda begin whispering to her daughter but you just kept moving forward, the guards pulling the doors open upon your arrival.

you immediately fell into a deep curtsy, silvery white hair falling in front of your eyes before you raised again.

"you called?" you asked as they shut the doors behind you, eyes immediately falling on the princess seated at her desk.

she looked up at you, eyes softening as a smile pulled at her lips. "my girl, how are you?"

you raised your shoulders and mustered a hesitant smile, still uncertain of what this conversation was going to lead to. "i'm well, thank you. and you, your highness?"

she let out a breath through her nose, smile tightening before she nodded. "i'm fine, yes. thank you, darling."

your eyes roamed the room, hands clasped in front of you as protocol called for.

"what was it that you needed?" you asked when your gaze fell back on her.

rhaenyra stood then, rounding the desk to lean against the front of it and eye you intently, letting out a breath as she mulled over her words. "i need to speak to you about jace."

"is he alright?" you asked instantly, taking a step towards the princess. "he wrote to me a few days ago. has something happened since then?"

"he is perfectly alright," she said, holding her hands out as she shook her head. "he is fine. but, there has been much conversation about him and his future. lord borros is impressed with him."

you paused before speaking. "that's wonderful."

"it is. i think we will end this rebellion with much stronger ties to the baratheons than before," she said.

"i'm sure he's grateful for jace's aid."

"eternally. lady elenda speaks well of him too."

"they've met?"

rhaenyra's eyes were intense as she watched you and you quickly schooled your features so you didn't come off as offensive as you assumed you'd looked previously.

"briefly, when you all were children you were introduced. i believe she once wished her daughter to be wed to him. she's always sought a tie to the throne," she hummed, still watching you closely.

"many do," you answered, rubbing your right thumb over the top of the left in a fit of developing nerves. "i'm grateful you and my father betrothed us when you did."

"yes, we certainly ended those possibilities early," she said.

you held your breath for a moment, trying to bite your tongue as best you could and suppress the little voice within you that resembled your father's.

rhaenyra was still smiling, so you tried to keep yours afloat too.

"are you worried that lady elenda is still set in her previous plans?" you asked her carefully. "it is odd she hasn't found a match for cassandra. she's been of age for a few years now, has she not?"

"yes, she has," she answered. "and i agree that it is odd. i am not entirely sure of her intentions, but she and her husband are quite... stubborn individuals. and very self-interested. if i am to be honest with you, my dear, i'm worried for our standing even after the end of this whole ordeal."

"even after jace practically rescues them?"

"even then."

and then you couldn't help yourself, you had to know. "are you considering dissolving our betrothal in order to secure their support for you as queen?"

the silence that followed was thick.

rhaenyra was a thoughtful woman, and her eyes remained heavy on yours as she went over her words.

it caused your heart to quicken, realizing her silence as your answer.

if she hadn't been considering it she would've denied you by now. but, she hadn't. she was still thinking it through.

"the baratheons are much better as allies than foe," she decided. "it would do us good to secure our alliance with them."

"by putting their daughter on the iron throne next to jace just like they want?" you wondered with wide eyes before you caught yourself. you stood straight and stepped back as her face fell, reaching an arm out to stop you. "we've been betrothed for a decade."

"i know. sweet girl-"

"i'm in love with him," you said, stepping back further as she pushed off the desk and moved towards you. "and he's in love with me. you need to know that before you make whatever agreements and alliances you need to."

"darling," she sighed. "i cannot promise anything. this is politics. this is our lives, you know this."

"i do. i've heard my father's lectures on the importance of strong matches and sturdy alliances, which is why i'm not fighting you on it. i just need you to know what you're breaking before you break it," you said, voice as strong as it could be even as you reached for the handle. "let me know if he sends word."

she nodded, lips downturned as she watched you pull the door open. "i will."

"i'll see you at supper." and then you were gone.

the air of dragonstone shifted after that conversation. other than baela, luke, and rhaena, everyone had begun treating you different. the maids and guards and lords and ladies watched you with a sort of sadness, an odd sort of pity that made you want to crawl out of your skin or slap someone.

and they'd become more attentive to the baratheon girls.

lady elenda, you learned, was a boisterous woman who loved to speak about her daughters. namely cassandra. she'd show the servants her newest stitchings or announce how lovely she was with words, begging the girl to recite a poem of her own writing.

she did it morning noon and night.

at first, rhaenyra smiled and nodded as expected, clapping at the end of the poem or gasping at the beautiful new stitching.

the ladies of court were just as supportive, and so were the servant girls who would be in the room at the time.

baela would just scoff and roll her eyes, whispering to you: "you'd think she was ten, how excited her mother is that she can stitch."

"don't be rude," you whispered sharply even as a smile pulled at your lips. "maybe she just learned."

baela snorted into her glass, earning a few looks and a wide smile from lucerys and rhaena.

elenda narrowed her brows. "did our princesses have something to share?"

"we were discussing our own stitching projects," you answered. "they're a bit... different than sweet cassandra's, but important nonetheless."

the woman wasn't a fan of you, you figured immediately as her look sharpened more. "and what are your projects, if you don't mind my asking?"

"we make our own riding armor," you told her, leaning back in your chair and sipping your wine quietly as the surrounding individuals who were not from storm's end leaned in with excitement. "our father taught us when we were little. since dragonriding is a dangerous and quite adventurous activity we usually get rips and tears in the fabric, so it's easier to fix them ourselves anyways."

and then you made eye contact with elenda, a half smile on your lips.

"i even made prince jacaerys' for him. i've begun teaching him how to repair them, so i'm sure we'll continue our lessons upon his return since there will be plenty to repair."

cassandra's gaze dropped for a second before it sharpened again - something brittle in her pride, like cracked porcelain. she glanced at her mother before looking to you again.

"that's good of you," she said.

"it's quite impressive," rhaenyra chimed in with a smile your direction. "i am always impressed with the princess."

your smirk softened into a smile and you nodded. "thank you."

it was then that the door burst open and her personal guard came to her side, whispering shortly in her ear. she stood, meeting your eyes.

"jacaerys has returned."

that had the baratheons perking up. elenda grinned. "perfect timing! it'd be lovely for him to reunite with cassandra. it's been ages since they-"

"i think prince jacaerys could do with some rest before socializing," rhaenyra said with a shake of her head and a smile. "perhaps in the morning."

"oh, yes, of course," elenda said as you and the princess began to make your way out of the dining hall. when you passed her, she caught your arm. her fingers pressed into the skin just above your elbow, soft but insistent - like a mother restraining a child. it made your stomach churn. "dear, the princess said he needs rest. you should probably stay here and leave the boy be."

you pulled your arm from her and moved to rhaenyra's side in one swift motion, shaking your head. "he'll want to see me."

and then you both left, leaving elenda and cassandra with wide eyes and slack jaws.

baela shrugged, stabbing a piece of chicken and meeting the baratheon mother's eyes. "she's not wrong."

you raced to jace's chambers with rhaenyra on your heels, pushing the door open with an unmatched urgency.

jace turned immediately, brows raised high before his face lit up and he caught you around the waist, burrowing his face in your hair as he held you tightly. he hummed lowly, pressing a kiss to your neck and shoulder. "hello love."

"seven hells i missed you," you breathed out. you pulled back, hands cupping his jaw by his neck as you looked him over. "you're alright?"

he let out a laugh. "i'm better than alright. i'm victorious."

you rolled your eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "good. i'm proud of you, and i'm damn glad you're home."

he pulled you back into his arms, squeezing you tightly. "me too, love."

you only pulled away so that he could greet his mother, sporting a wide smile as usual. "i have a lot to speak with you about, mother. lord borros is a talker."

"i've heard," she said, matching his smile. "you've done well, sweet boy. rest for now and we will speak in the morn."

"no, i'm quite alright," he told her, waving the suggestion away. "if i could speak to you now, that'd be preferable. if you have the time, of course."

rhaenyra looked at you then, like she knew something you didn't before returning her eyes and smile to her son. "yes. i've got the time."

"wonderful," jace said before glancing back to you and reaching for you again. "give me a few minutes and then i'll come find you, yeah?"

"alright," you answered, unsurprised by his desire to get whatever it was he wanted to speak with his mother of over with before fully relaxing. you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "i'll be in my chambers."

"i'll be there in a few minutes," he promised, hand on your cheek as he directed your lips to his for a few seconds before pulling back with a cheeky smile.

"okay," you said, grinning as you backed to the door.

"okay," he answered.

you exchanged a nod with rhaenyra before disappearing into the hallway.

you trusted jace with everything you had. you trusted him more than anyone else in this world - more than your father, or either of the twins, or rhaenyra. you knew he loved you, that much was evident. but, you also knew of his dedication to his mother and the throne that would one day be his own. if she decided to mention potential matches to him you weren't entirely sure which way he would sway.

it was a conversation you would save for later.

after an adequate welcoming home.

"i missed you," you mumbled against his mouth, hands in his hair as he pushed you back into your room and closed the door behind himself. he grinned into the kiss, flicking the lock shut before wrapping an arm around your middle and pulling you into him.

"i missed you too, darling," he hummed, squeezing you tighter as you stepped with him back towards the sofa in front of the fire.

it didn't take much effort to push you onto it, the boy holding himself just barely over you as he shifted his attention from your lips to your neck.

"what'd you speak with your mother about?" you asked, breaths deepening as he bit down gently on a sensitive spot, quickly soothing the bruise with a swipe of his tongue before he pulled away to meet your eyes with the same mischievous grin that had won you over years prior.

"why should i tell you?" he hummed, capturing your lips before you could object, one hand sliding up from your waist to cup your jaw and keep you close.

"because i'm intrigued," you answered, breathing out a laugh as you dodged his next kiss even as he tried to pull you back in. "we had a very interesting conversation the other day, and i'm curious if she mentioned it to you."

he paused, hovering over you as his brows slowly furrowed. "what did you talk about?"

you held his eyes for several moments before breathing out: "you first."

he considered you, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips before he finally pushed off you and sat back against the arm of the sofa, gesturing you to him instantly. you sat up, leaning sideways against the back cushion and reaching for his hand which he immediately allowed you to take.

"i suspect that our alliance with the baratheons is a fragile thing," he began carefully, squeezing your hand absentmindedly. "lord borros is a prideful man. he spoke much of his family and their successes. he made mention of his belief that the baratheons could have been what we targaryens are had they been the ones with dragons."

"but they don't have dragons."

"exactly, and they never will," he answered with a nod. "still, it was slightly concerning to hear. i don't believe he holds true loyalty to my mother or to alicent in regards to our inevitable debate for the throne. whoever will cater to him the most will gain his support."

"his wife seems to function in a similar manner," you told him with a thin smile. "a bit of an obnoxious lady. she's very proud of her daughters."

he perked up a bit at that, as though he just recalled something. "have you met them?"

"her daughters?"

"yes. lord borros said good things. i thought maybe they could be friends to you, given that there aren't many our age on the island."

you breathed out a laugh, shaking your head as you looked down at your joined hands. "no, jace. i don't anticipate any friendships forming soon."

"why?" when you looked up at him he seemed genuinely curious, head tilted and brows furrowed at you. he squeezed your hand. "what makes you say that?"

you looked over his sharp targaryen features that resembled his mother and even your father in some ways, and then the soft pouty lips and dark brunette curls that belonged to his true blooded father. the deep brown of his eyes accented with an amethyst hue, and the perfectly dotted freckles sprayed across his nose.

and strangely, cassandra came to mind.

her delicately waved nearly black locks she braided with purple ribbons and the dots of blush she always applied to her cheekbones. she was a few years your senior and her bone structure showed it - a perfect button nose, high cheekbones, plump lips and a jawline that was defined just enough to be amazingly feminine.

she was an elegant little doe, just as she'd been trained to be. gentle and simple and the right amount of stubborn, unlike her mother.

and you deflated a bit, glancing away from jace to the fire beside you.

"no reason," you finally decided, mustering a small smile. "she just seems content with her sisters, as am i. i'm not desperate for friendship, jacaerys. i'm quite content with baela, rhaena, and luke."

"and me," he said, grinning as he pulled you towards him.

you laughed, nodding slightly and settling yourself comfortably on his lap. "yes, jace. if i've got you, i'm alright. no need for baratheon girls to fill my time."

"ditto," he hummed, hand on your neck again as he guided your lips back to his.

the next day lady elenda forced the two to meet, and neither you nor luke were invited.

"i don't like that woman," you muttered to the younger boy as you both strolled the grounds, hands clasped in front of you.

"neither do i," he breathed out with a shake of his head. "she's been trying to set me up with her other daughter, elliana, and i've reminded her of my betrothal to rhaena nearly a hundred times. i reckon jace is doing the same."

"except he can't," you said, kicking at the pebbles by your feet with a huff. "we're not betrothed."

"you're not?"

"not technically. my father's never actually declared it. your betrothal to rhaena happened before laena's death whereas mine has been left in daemon's hands. and, well, you know how he is."

lucerys watched you for several moments before nodding. "right. either way, i'm sure jace is fending off their advances."

"he'll do his best," you sighed decidedly.

luke's eyes remained on you longer than you appreciated before he opened his mouth to speak again, only cut off by the call of his older brother.

"can i join you?" jace asked as he came to luke's side with a grin.

you looked over at him with a thin smile, shrugging gently. "i'm actually meant to meet rhaena soon. how about you two practice some?"

"you don't want to watch?" jacaerys teased, moving around his brother to rest a hand on your arm.

you breathed out a half a laugh. "as much as i'd love to, i can't. how were the baratheons?"

"cassandra seems kind," he answered with a shrug. "her mother is as you said - very pushy. my mother seemed strangely interested in the whole thing. but, i'm glad to be done with it." he smiled at you. "you sure you don't want to watch us train?"

"i know where to find you if i do," you told him, smiling slightly as you patted his chest before passing him by towards your rooms. you looked to luke. "who knows, maybe rhaena will want to stop by."

the boy flushed red, earning laughs from both you and jace as you left.

"goodbye, love!" jace called, brows furrowed slightly at your swift absence.

you waved over your shoulder and moved quick to your rooms.

that night at dinner things were as they'd been for weeks.

you sat between jace and baela, whispering quiet quips to the latter as elenda began her daily bragging. jace, a virgin to her tales, seemed too interested, which made the baratheon women smile widely.

"that is quite impressive," he said with a nod. "you are quite the poet, lady cassandra."

"why thank you, my prince," the dark haired girl answered, eyelashes too long as she blinked and smiled at your boy. he returned her smile, your heart pounding once in your chest as you looked between them.

it had to be instinct, but your hand went straight to his upper thigh, running from his knee to his inner thigh quick and then slow, which earned his immediate attention.

his eyes were wide and his pupils dramatically dilated as they met yours, head tilted in question as the corner of his mouth lifted and then fell again. his voice was quiet when he spoke: "did you need something, darling?"

"nope," you said, holding your fork with your free hand and poking at the food on your plate. when you looked back at him you smiled sideways. "just missed having you next to me."

he hummed, catching your hand as it slid back up his thigh and holding it there. "i missed this too."

you held his eyes for several moments before flashing a quicker smile, squeezing his thigh, and returning to your plate while bringing your hand back to your own lap.

you glanced up to meet cassandra's frustratingly gold eyes, only looking away to see her mother and rhaenyra stuck in a stare off. baela nudged your side, nodding at the scene before elenda finally cleared her throat.

"prince jacaerys, your mother tells me you're a wonderful dancer," she said, looking to the boy with an expectant smile. "how about you and cassandra indulge a bit? this music is excellent."

for the first time that night, you noticed the music. it was a common tune, the dance that went with it known by nearly all who resided in westeros. you exchanged a look with jace before he swallowed and turned his attention to the black haired woman.

"does lady cassandra dance?" he asked.

"she knows enough, but not as well as you i'm sure," her mother answered. "she could use a teacher as skilled as you, sweet prince."

you cringed, jace's eyes flicking back to you before he nodded. "yes, i'm sure princess y/n and i could demonstrate. it's an easy enough dance-"

"how about you simply dance with cassandra? cut out the middleman, if you would. the princess needn't assist where her assistance isn't needed."

you met her eyes this time, mouth thin and eyes sharp as steel as your features schooled into a look that rhaenyra could only describe as daemon-like. jace reached for your hand, but you pulled away, standing from your seat with an all-too-polite smile and shooting a look to rhaenyra and then to the lady baratheon. "if you'll excuse me."

and then as you stepped away from a watching jacaerys cassandra stood, rounding the table and walking past you to stand opposite the boy. "if you don't mind, my prince, i'd be happy to dance with you."

you heard baela's scoff as you walked away, but you ignored it, and you ignored whatever jace's answer was.

and since he didn't follow you, you had a pretty good idea of what it was.

you didn't have it in you to socialize the next few days, resolving to stay in your chambers instead. baela and rhaena stopped by several times, but you insisted they go about their days.

"tell rhaenyra i'm sick," you said when they first came to fetch you for supper.

"are you?" rhaena asked with a raised brow.

you let out a heavy breath. "to my stomach, rhaena."

jace attempted to see you, but you never opened the door.

"love, open up."

"i'm sick, jace, i don't want to infect you." you pressed yourself against the door so he could hear you, and so he wouldn't try to bang the thing open.

he sighed. "bullshit, open up."

"just let me rest, i'll be out tomorrow."

"darling, honestly-"

"leave me be, jacaerys."

and then, to your utter surprise and disappointment, he did.

it was another day before he returned, skipping the formality of knocking and simply unlocking the door and pushing it open. you shrieked, pulling your comforter over yourself as he locked it behind him. "jace, what are you doing here?"

"why are you being like this?" he demanded quietly, brows knitted and arms crossed over his chest. "i've been gone for weeks and now you won't see me?"

you sighed. "jace, i don't feel well."

"that's shit and you know it too," he said, shaking his head.

you narrowed your gaze, dropping your arms back to your lap. "it's not!"

"you're not sick, y/n."

"i didn't say i was."

"so, what, you don't feel well emotionally? you don't like having me back?" he asked, brows knitted in a way that suddenly made you feel like a terrible person for insinuating such a thing.

"of course i like having you back," you said, groaning slightly. "i just don't like everyone else having you back too. the baratheon ladies to be specific."

"so you avoid me?"

"so i wallow in my pain and acceptance that your mother is going to marry you off to her," you corrected sharply, glaring at him openly now. "and you know it too. our relations with the baratheons are poor because of their pride and the only thing to fix it is to tie them to us permanently. to put one of their own on the throne beside you. you said it yourself, they will not take the side that does not benefit them."

he stared at you, eyes narrowed and jaw locked as he considered his words. "is that what you think?"

"that's what you said," you told him.

"you know what? you're right," he said, stepping towards you and letting one knee rest on the mattress. "that is what i said. because it's true. they won't do anything unless it be for their own self gain. but when did i ever say that that required us to indulge them?"

you sighed, shaking your head. "you didn't, but your mother-"

"i spoke with her," he told you. "she suggested the possibility. she told me that you understood. that you allowed her to make whatever decision was necessary for her throne."

you sat up straighter, shaking your head again. "that's not exactly true-"

"do you want to know what i said?" he asked, tilting his head at you.

you paused, watching him breathe deeply in and out of his nose before nodding. "yes."

"i told her no. i refused the thought." and suddenly your breath was gone. "i told her that she could take anything she wanted from me, my name, my dragon, my crown, but she couldn't take you. i listen to and abide by every rule she puts before me and the one thing i demand in return is you. and still, you avoid me. you need all my attention one moment and disappear the next."

that had you standing in seconds, running a hand through your insanely messy hair as you rounded the bed towards him.

"jace," you mumbled, reaching for him.

"don't," he said, stepping back.

"jacaerys," you said again, grabbing him by the biceps and pulling yourself towards him. one hand slipped up to cup his jaw as a small frown pulled at your lips. "i didn't want to step on your toes. your mother means the world to you and you are loyal to her to the end. i wanted you to make whatever choice was required of you."

"i'm loyal to you first," he whispered quietly, head falling forward to rest against yours, and your heart skipped a beat.

you reached your arms up to wrap around his neck, hugging him tightly to you and he just melted into it, his arms winding around your waist snugly. "i'm yours, jacaerys," you told him, pressing a kiss to his neck. "i'm yours. always."

"good," he mumbled into your hair.

that night you attended supper, brighter than you had been in weeks and clinging to jace's arm like your life depended on it.

when you sat, baela shot you a grin. "i see you two made up."

"he wore me down," you teased, jace rolling his eyes as he pulled your chair out for you. as you sat you felt nearly every pair of eyes on you, and as you glanced towards the head of the table you noticed both rhaenyra and your father, surprisingly, watching you and jace with the slightest of smiles.

"cassandra has written a new poem," elenda said, earning an amusing exchange of exasperated looks between you, baela, rhaena, and luke. jace knitted his brows and smiled at you, tilting his head in interest.

"this is a reoccurring thing," you whispered, squeezing his knee as he nodded in understanding.

"four poems in four days," rhaenrya mused with what you'd deemed her 'political princess smile' and a short nod. "impressive. you must have a lot of time on your hands, cassandra."

"enough to work my art," the girl answered, adjusting her posture as her gaze flicked to you. "i know dragonstone is quite busy, but i appreciate the reprieve that the oratory arts offer."

"i'm sure. though, i can't say many of us can relate to this," rhaenyra said, her eyes flicking to you and jace. "we prefer a different sort of reprieve. my future daughter by law, for example, spends many of her evenings in the sky."

"yes, she's told of her dragonriding rendezvous," elenda hummed with a thin smile your direction. "how she created her own uniform."

"she created mine as well," jacaerys added with grin.

"so she mentioned," elenda answered. "though we baratheons do not have dragons, we do our best to stay entertained and experienced."

"i'm sure y/n would be happy to give you an experience with a dragon, should you like," rhaenyra offered, glancing your way with a widening smile.

"her dragon is very eventempered," daemon said. "she claimed him when she was only ten and one. vermithor, the bronze fury."

cassandra's eyes widened. "oh! well, i've no need to ride a dragon. i'm quite content with my poems."

daemon snickered into his glass as he took a sip. "not as brazen as your father, are you?"

you breathed out a laugh, thankful for your father's sudden but welcomed return.

"i'm sorry," baela said, turning to rhaenyra with knitted brows and a wicked smile. "did i hear you correctly? did you call her your future daughter by law? are they getting married?"

it was then that lady elenda and her four daughters caught on as well, cassandra looking to the younger three with knitted brows as they looked to their mother.

"oh, yes," daemon said, sitting back in his seat. "we were going to announce that. yes, prince jacaerys will be wedding my daughter."

"when?" cassandra asked quickly, her eyes widening like she hadn't meant to say what she did.

"as quickly as possible," jace answered, holding your hand beneath the table and grinning. "i've been waiting years to call her my wife. i have no desire to wait any longer."

elenda was staring daggers at rhaenyra, whose eyes remained on her plate despite the growing smile to her lips.

"congratulations," cassandra managed, offering you the simplest of smiles.

you nodded, squeezing jace's hand and smiling widely. "thank you."

"well, i meant to announce tonight that we are leaving back to storm's end on the morrow," elenda said with a nod. "now that the rebellion is complete we are safe to return."

"yes, we're very lucky that prince jacaerys sped that up for you all so you could go home," you said, maintaining your smile. elenda narrowed her eyes.

"yes. thank you, prince jacaerys."

the boy lifted a glass of wine to his lips with a grin, nodding. "anytime."

eventually, rhaenyra steered the conversation elsewhere, though you and jace maintained your own semi-privately with your knees brushing and hands clasping whenever there weren't forks in them.

"thank you," you whispered to him as you gazed up with a smile. "for choosing me."

he shrugged, nudging your foot with his own. "there wasn't ever really a choice."

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

thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

masterlist!!

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jace velaryon #hotd jacaerys #hotd season 2 #hotd #house of the dragon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon

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starkwlkr · 3 months ago

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cars go vroom | f1

grid mom series

Albert Park

“Where’s my girl?”

Y/n didn’t have to pick up her head to know who had arrived in the Porsche hospitality. She was currently giving her daughter, Anais, her bottle. Charlie was seated beside her cleaning up the mess he made with the formula powder.

“Hey mate, how’s fatherhood?” Lando greeted Charlie as he sat across the family of three.

“Aside from the obvious waking up in the middle of the night m, vomit down my back, and Ani being attached to her ma, can’t complain.” Charlie smiled at his little family.

“I would ask you how’s motherhood, but you were a mother before this one came into the world.” Lando stood up and immediately went to look at the babygirl in Y/n’s arms. “Oh look at that, she’s got your face!”

“It’s almost like i birthed her,” Y/n joked then adjusted Anais in her arms after the girl had finished her bottle. This was the first time Lando was meeting Anais. He wanted the couple to have some privacy while hey adjusted to their new life. “Look, baby, this gremlin is Lando.”

Anais cracked a little smile as she raised her arm to play with lando’s necklace. “Don’t worry, Ani, I’ll buy you a matching one soon.” Lando tickled her side.

“Has she met everyone else?” The Mclaren driver asked.

“No, we just got here.”

“We’ll get up woman! Anais has to meet her extended family!”

And that’s how Lando Norris ended up with a baby strapped to his chest.

Charlie and Y/n tagged along since it had been months since she saw her friends and also she wanted to meet the rookies. Obviously she had met them before, but this time, they were officially formula one drivers.

“Look, Ani! That’s my teammate Osc!” Lando pointed at the Australian who had just finished taking a photo with a fan. “Guess who found a baby?” Lando showed off Anais.

“Should you even be trusted with a baby?” Oscar approached them. “Hey, congratulations! How are you feeling?” He brought the Porsche driver into a hug.

“I’m okay, some days it’s good other days I just want to sleep the entire day but now I have a daughter.” Y/n looked over at Lando and saw him putting his sunglasses on her face.

“Any chance we’ll see you on track any time soon?”

Charlie knew Y/n wanted to be back on track as soon as she could. He wasn’t filming at the moment so he was more than happy with staying home with Anais, he told her multiple times. But the season had already started and Juan Manuel was in her seat. It didn’t feel right to her if Porsche threw him out and put her back in.

“Um, we’ll see. I’m not done racing, I still have some time left. Uh . . . I haven’t talked to anyone yet about coming back. Juan is doing a good job.” Y/n had noticed the Drive To Survive team was recording nearby. She absolutely didn’t want her daughter near them so she said her goodbye to Oscar and continued walking to visit her friends.

Lando led them to the Williams garage where Carlos and Rebecca were talking. The couple didn’t notice Lando with a baby until he said Carlos’ name in a baby voice.

“Who’s baby did you steal?” Carlos asked.

“Mine.” Y/n made her presence known which caught the couple by surprise.

“You’re back! Holy shit! Oh! Sorry!” Carlos covered his mouth when the profanity slipped from his lips.

“It’s fine, but look at you! Blue looks good on you.” Y/n gave him a hug then it was Rebecca’s turn to receive one.

“Thanks, I think Anais likes blue too.” Carlos noticed the baby taking a liking to the color as she reached for his jacket.

“Oh no, she’s papaya for life,” Lando commented but then got a playful glare from Y/n. “Okay she’s Porsche for life with an occasional mclaren cameo.”

After saying goodbye to the couple, they were on their way to the Red Bull garage. Ever since the news, Y/n had been dying to congratulate Max face to face. She knew Max would be an amazing father.

“Max!” Y/n yelled over the loud noise in the garage. The Dutchman looked at her and ran over to hug her. “I’m so fucking happy for you. Do you know the gender yet?”

“No, but we’re fine with whatever. The baby’s health is more important,” Max instantly smiled at the thought of his child. “Speaking of, is this your beautiful Anais?” He turned over to Lando and the baby.

“My one and only. And Lando is there too I guess.” Y/n laughed.

“Just for that, Ani is staying in the mclaren with my mum.” Lando pretended to leave but Anais had seen Max’s car and cracked a smile at it. “Yeah, that’s Max’s car. His and mine go vroom vroom. One day we’ll put you in there and you can drive it.”

“Don’t even think about it.” The girl’s mother warned.

“Boo! No fun!” Lando teased and he took Anais’ little hands and tried to make a thumbs down gesture, but the girl only giggled.

“Such a good big brother.” Y/n shook her head as she and Charlie said their goodbye to Max and walked to the next garage to greet her friends. Lando slowly walked behind them but would get distracted as he pointed out the track to the girl, whispering how he was going to win the race for her.

#f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 driver!reader #platonic f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot

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fumiliar · 9 months ago

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in your dreams - kento nanami

✎... fluff

everyone knew your crush on nanami in highschool. it was a public secret, from your classmates to upperclassmen, they all knew. when you first entered jujutsu high, you saw the most beautiful upperclassmen, kento nanami. ever since you've noticed the man, you followed him like a lost puppy. taking any chance to strike a conversation with him, you had 2 goals in highschool, graduate and most importantly get with nanami.

when you came back to jujutsu high as a sorcerer, their first words to you were:

"you're the one who liked nanamin right?" the blue eyed man asked

"yeah, i can't believe you still remembered," awkwardly looking around, trying to stare at anything but his face. it was a very embarrassing time of your life.

"everyone remembers, but don't worry, nanamin won't come back anytime soon."

and how wrong he was. 3 months after you came back to jujutsu, kento followed your footsteps, joining as another jujutsu sorcerer.

"i heard nanamin was single, you don't wanna try asking him out y/n? maybe you'd have a different fate," gojo winking at you before he went to take his leave.

you contemplated on asking him out on a date tonight. it wouldn't hurt, right?

as you arrived to the field to supervise the students, you saw a familiar figure, kento nanami. you took your time walking there, admiring the man. kento being the observant man he is, noticed your staring, reciprocating it back to you, making you look away instantly.

as you stood beside him watching the students, kento started some small talk.

"how was your day y/n?" kento asked, lowering his body by just a pinch to hear you better.

"good, what about you?" you replied.

"good as well," kento answered.

"wanna go out on a date with me?" you whispered, avoiding his gaze, making sure no one was paying attention.

"of course y/n, i'm flattered that you asked me out," kento replied with a soft smile.

you tried to cover your joy, but it was too much. a smile slowly manifesting itself on your face.

"[Honorific].Y/n, why are you smiling?" yuuji asked.

"nothing.."

when you had entered the break room, gojo and shoko were already sitting, waiting to interrogate you.

"so are you going out on a date with nanamin tonight?" gojo asked expectantly.

"of course, we're literally married," you answered while taking out your lunchbox from the fridge.

"i know he agreed to go on a date with you, but that doesn't mean you're married to him too y/n," shoko talking to you with a tone she would use in a misbehaving kid.

"in your dreams y/n, i love you, but these delusions need to stop," shoko agreeing with gojo for once.

"what delusions?" kento asked. in the middle of your conversation, kento had also entered the break room, only hearing gojo's part.

"i told them we're married, and they don't believe me," a chuckle escaped kento's lips as you huffed. he slowly approached you, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

"yeah, we are," kento holding up your hand flexing the matching wedding bands you both had. you and kento thought it would be funny to play a game with the jujutsu high people. at first, you wanted to tell them as soon as you arrived at jujutsu high. but due to gojo's incessant teasing, you decided to see how long you could trick him and everyone else. it wasn't like you guys were hiding it, you both wore your wedding bands everyday, it's just kento isn't a big fan of PDA in the workplace.

"what...are you serious..."

#jjk x reader #kento nanami #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #kento x reader #nanami fluff #nanami x y/n #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x you #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #fumiliardrabbles #min...writes

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dreamwritesimagines · 27 days ago

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Declassified [6] - Election Day

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: A hug can mean many things.

Warnings: Explicit language, drinking, angst, yearning.

Word Count: 5252

Series Masterlist

The election day.

You were so on edge that when you got to work, you could barely hear the chaos with blood rushing in your ears. The whole team was busy, some making phone calls, some rushing through the office with papers in hand, and some talking to each other. You knew Sam was already there for moral support, probably in Bucky’s office, and apparently Sarah had brought AJ and Cass so that they could all be there for Bucky. You waved at them, then made your way to your desk to put your purse on it, Caleb coming closer the minute you did.

“I talked to the bar,” he said. “They’ll close it down for us.”

You took a deep breath and sat down. “Okay.”

“We’re gonna celebrate and I’ll try every single cocktail there.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t look so tense.” He reached out to squeeze your hand. “He’s gonna nail it.”

You looked around. “He’s in his office?”

“Mm hm. With Sam and Sarah.” He eyed you up and down. “You could go in and wish him luck, you know? I get why you’ve been avoiding him for two months, but today is kind of special.”

You blinked a couple of times, then cleared your throat.

“How’s the voter turnout looking?”

“Pretty good so far— are you seriously not going to go and say hi?”

“I have like one thousand things to do,” you murmured and switched your laptop on. “It’s the election day.”

“Oh is it?” Caleb asked with a grin. “I was wondering why everyone was so on edge, must be why.”

You let out a laugh as he walked away and you texted Kelsey who was probably with Bucky in his office, then lifted your head when AJ and Cass ran to your desk.

“Hey there.” You smiled at them. “What’s up?”

“Are you very busy?”

You looked at the hundreds of notifications on your laptop and your phone, then shook your head.

“Nope,” you lied. “And either way, I can always make the time for the most awesome kids in the world. How can I help you guys?”

“We have a couple of questions,” AJ said and you hummed.

“Well then it’s your lucky day, because I’m so good at answering questions,” you told them. “Ask away.”

“When will we know the results?”

“After the polls close and they count the votes, so around the evening.”

“How many votes do we need?”

“Mm, that’s a bit tricky,” you said. “We obviously need more than the opponent, but I’m aiming for 170,000.”

AJ’s eyes widened. “Do you know that many people?”

“Nope,” you said. “But more than that many people know Bucky.”

Cass shifted his weight as if he was trying to decide whether to ask another question but then he took a deep breath like he was gathering his courage, making you bite back a smile.

“Yes, Cass?”

“Will Uncle Bucky be president one day?”

“Whoa, that’s such a smart question,” you said and a proud smile lit up his face. “That’s a good one, let me think…The biggest factor is whether he wants to or not. Did you ask him?”

He shook his head. “We haven’t yet.”

“You think he’d make a good president?”

“Yeah, he’s awesome!” Cass said. “If he wants to be president, will you make that happen?”

“Me?”

“He always says you’re the best at everything.”

You could feel the warmth in your chest. “Does he?”

“Yeah, mom asked him about you the other day, and he said you—”

“Boys!” Sarah called out, making them turn to her as she approached your desk. “Let her work, she’s very busy.”

“Multitasking is my middle name,” you told her with a grin while AJ and Cass walked away from you and Sarah leaned back to your desk.

“How do you feel?”

“Tense,” you said and nodded in the direction of Bucky’s office. “How’s he doing?”

“He can’t stop pacing,” she said. “Kelsey had to repeat herself like three times just now, so I’m sure he’d appreciate it if you went in for some encouragement.”

You averted your eyes, shaking your head.

“I’d love to, but I’m swamped with work,” you said, clicking on your emails and Sarah hummed.

“You’ve been avoiding him for two months now.”

“I don’t know why everybody keeps saying that, I’m not avoiding him. I work for the guy.”

“Right. So this whole thing has nothing to do with the fact that he got himself a girlfriend two months ago?”

Your head shot up, your eyes widening and you opened your mouth, then closed it, frantically searching for the right words.

“Wha—he—” you stammered. “Why would that be relevant? That’s not relevant, I almost forgot he has a girlfriend—what? What makes you think it’s relevant?”

Very smooth.

Sarah gave you a look. “Come on.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Sarah.”

“It’s just a funny coincidence that you decided to put this distance between you two months ago, considering you two were basically inseparable before Hazel entered the picture.”

“I’ve just been busy with work and my own relationship,” you managed to say. “I don’t care about his relationship, he seems happy enough.”

“Hazel is nice,” Sarah admitted and you snorted.

“She’s also gorgeous, a billionaire and has a successful business,” you murmured, quickly typing your response to the next email. “But who’s keeping count?”

“But I don’t think their relationship will last.”

That made you look up from your screen, your stomach doing a flip. “Wait what? Why not?”

Sarah shot you a smug smile, then shrugged her shoulders and walked away from you, making you shake your head.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “Election day. Keep your head in the game, do not get distracted.”

After the polls were closed, everyone went to the bar to watch the results. There was no reason to stay in the office anymore; you were either going to move it to the DC or find yourselves new jobs, and either way, staying in the office was not going to change whatever the outcome was.

After you had done everything in the office until the afternoon, you and Caleb had gone to a polling station to make sure everything was going well. When it was closed, Caleb had gone straight to the bar while you returned to the office to grab your coat but as soon as you stepped inside, you pulled your brows together.

Bucky’s office light was on.

Ah.

Your phone buzzed in your hand and you checked the texts, smiling to yourself before making your way to his office. Your heart was beating in your ears as you knocked on the door and opened it to find him half sprawled on his desk, resting his head on his crossed arms.

His voice came out muffled when he spoke: “Nice perfume.”

“Nice crippling self-doubt,” you replied as you leaned sideways to the doorframe, and he scoffed.

“I’m not having doubts, I’m resting my eyes.”

“On the election night?”

That made him lift his head, making your cheeks feel warm at the sight of his handsome face. It was almost strange, how two months of you avoiding him had done nothing to the magnetic pull you felt whenever you were around him, but you tried to focus.

“Bucky…”

“Don’t tell me any numbers. Don’t.”

“Okay,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders and stepped into the office. “They’re still counting anyway. And everyone is at the bar already, come on.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Was this a mistake?”

“Nope!” You snapped your fingers. “Get up sergeant, we’re leaving.”

“Birdie—”

“Get up.”

“Have I ever told you how bossy you are?”

“I grew up in a stressful home, my options were limited.”

“What if—”

“Get up, I said we’re leaving,” you said and he heaved a sigh, then got up from his seat and followed you out of the office. It was a warm pleasant evening, and you took a deep breath, then started walking with him beside you.

For a couple of minutes, it was completely silent as if he was too lost in his own thoughts before he cleared his throat.

“Talk to me about something else,” he said. “Please. Or else I’ll lose my mind.”

You pressed your lips together and stole a look at him.

“How’s it going with your girlfriend?”

“She’s nice,” he muttered. “And with your boyfriend?”

“It’s okay,” you said. “He’s at the bar already.”

“So is she.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a couple of familiar faces –journalists— making their way into the bar, making your stomach do a flip.

Bucky may have asked you not to check the results, but that right there was a very, very good sign.

“So 40s dating etiquette isn’t that different than ours?” you asked, trying to distract him and his eyes widened.

“It’s very different,” he said. “Are you kidding? It’s insane nowadays.”

“Do you want me to prepare a handbook for you?” you asked. “A report—hey, I can prepare a Powerpoint?”

That made him let out a chuckle and he came to a stop in front of the bar window, then turned to look at you.

“Birdie,” he said. “Listen, whatever happens…”

“You’ll have to give a speech to the whole team no matter the result,” you reminded him and he shook his head.

“Not this speech,” he said, “I know things have been weird for the last two months, but I—”

The uproar from the bar cut him off and your eyes snapped over his shoulder to find the TV inside, a gasp leaving your lips.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed and grabbed his wrist to pull him into the bar, the cheers only getting louder the minute you stepped inside. His name was above his opponent’s, the graph showing how many votes they each got and—

Announcing him as the winner.

You turned to him to find him staring at the screen like he couldn’t believe it. A laugh escaped you as his gaze found yours, then he turned his hand so that he could hold your wrist before yanking you to himself to swoop you into his arms, hugging you tight. Your heart was doing flips in your chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and let out a squeal when he lifted you off the ground, making you giggle. His hand cradled the back of your head and he buried his face into your hair, took a deep breath, pressed a kiss to your temple, then he put you down.

You were dizzy.

And breathless.

And—

You felt someone grab your arm before Kelsey pulled you into a hug, Caleb soon joining you to turn it into a group hug.

“I told you, we nailed it!” he exclaimed when he pulled back and Kelsey let out a laugh.

“Oh yeah!”

“We did!” you said and Kelsey licked her lips, then leaned in so that you could hear her through the cheers.

“Sorry for the interruption but it looked like he would kiss you, and the press is here.”

“And your boyfriend, and his girlfriend,” Caleb added and you held your breath.

Max was here.

Right.

You looked over your shoulder to find him by the bar, watching you with a slight frown on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sam hugging Bucky and slapping him on the back, AJ and Cass running around, Sarah smiling at something Sam was saying to Bucky, and multiple people already talking to the press while you made your way to Max and pecked him on the lips.

“Hey!” you said, smiling brightly at him. “Can you believe this?”

“Yeah.” His eyes darted from you to Bucky, then to you again. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” you said while Sarah waved at you, and you waved at her back. “Um, did I make you wait long?”

“Not much,” he said. “Why did you come with him?”

“With Bucky?” you asked. “He was in the office and I had to go get my coat—”

“Birdie!” Caleb called out. “Team photo, come on!”

“Right,” you said. “Max, I need to be in that photo and talk to the press, you know how it goes. Are you okay though?”

“Sure,” he said after a pause. “But can we talk sometime?”

“Absolutely,” you said, already walking away from him to the team. “Drink and have fun, I’ll be back!”

This was why you were in politics.

Tonight was going amazing.

“Yeah, I don’t have the exact voter demographic right now,” you told Gemma, who was a brilliant journalist, while she held her phone close to you so that she could record you. “As you can see, we’re a bit—”

You were cut off when a wave of applause burst through the bar and you turned your head to see Caleb climbing on the bar counter, Kelsey letting out a whistle.

“Alright, alright,” Caleb said and pointed at Bucky with his beer bottle who raised his in turn with a grin. “Bucky made a speech, Paul made a speech, so I’m guessing we can as well.”

“Do it!”

“Take your shirt off and do it!”

“I’m saving that for when I’m more drunk—so let me start by saying,” he said, “there are a lot of journalists here, so I’m going on a record to say that we fucking nailed it!”

The whole bar cheered, laughter echoing in the room.

“It has been very, very challenging,” Caleb said. “I think I’m high on adrenaline but hey, I’m glad Brooklyn made the right choice!”

Cheers got even louder, making Caleb’s grin wider.

“I’m also glad that no one in this room will ever worry about being unemployed ever again!” he said, holding up his phone. “I got five job offers and counting, so Paul, if you feel like giving me a raise…”

All of a sudden, the whole team started shouting numbers.

“I got seven, you amateur!”

“Five!”

“Six!”

“Four and counting!”

“Eight and counting!”

“How many did you get?” Gemma asked, making you turn your attention to her as Caleb climbed down the counter only for another member of the team to climb there.

“Ten and—” you started, then checked your phone. “Oh, sorry. Eleven and counting.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Thank you!”

“And my last question, multiple political sources call you guys Barnes’ Dream Team,” she said. “Job offers only prove that you guys played a huge part in this, so my question is, how did the team approach the strategy? Did you have an exact picture in mind from the beginning, or did you have to adapt a lot?”

“Oh, a combination of both,” you said. “We all got hired at different points during the campaign, but we were lucky to have the type of dynamic that was open to having ideas that feed into each other.”

“Such as using different mediums to reach people?” she asked. “Because at a certain point, you guys were everywhere. Do you think it played a significant part in this outcome?”

“Definitely,” you said. “It was the very first thing we came up with, there would be no corner of Brooklyn that hasn’t heard from us in one way or another. TV, radio, podcasts, social media, town hall meetings—we wanted them to hear us, then decide whether they wanted to vote for him or not. The priority wasn’t the votes; it was to make sure they heard what Bucky would bring to the politics rather than things he was made to do in the past. We’re lucky he doesn’t get tired because I doubt any other candidate would be able to handle the type of schedule we put in front of him.”

“Is he easy to work with, then?”

“He’s amazing to work with,” you said with a bright smile. “The team is only as good as the boss, and vice versa. Every single person in this room is genuinely happy for him, besides the job offers and everything.”

She licked her lips, her eyes finding Bucky before snapping back to you.

“We just saw a very uh…enthusiastic hug there,” she said. “Would you say you are close?”

Ah.

Anxiety made your stomach turn but you managed to keep the smile on your face.

“We all ended up as a very tight-knit team,” you said without a pause. “We spent almost every minute together, so we’re very close with everyone in the team. My boyfriend was just talking about how our list for Christmas presents doubled up because I got another family at work.”

Gemma smiled and she stopped recording, lowering her phone. “In other words, you’re too smart to fall into that trap.”

“I’ve got some experience in media training.”

She hissed in a breath.

“The guy is handsome enough to make anyone and everyone become interested in politics,” she said. “And even more people will be watching him now. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

You held up your hands.

“Work is work, no hard feelings Gemma,” you told her as your phone started buzzing and you checked the screen, pursing your lips. “I need to get this, sorry.”

You stepped out of the bar, then went into the small alley, cleared your throat and answered the phone.

“Hi daddy.”

“Hi pumpkin,” he said. “Congratulations on your victory.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s your boy doing?”

“He’s very happy.”

“He should be,” he said. “Wasn’t a landslide, but wasn’t very close either.”

“Yeah, when the counting first started, I wasn’t so sure,” you admitted. “But apparently we swayed a significant number of people, even in the neighborhoods I was doubtful about.”

“And how many job offers so far?”

“Dad…”

“Pumpkin, you and the rest of his team just entered every politician’s radar,” he said. “They have a point in calling you his dream team, you managed to make the voters love a former brainwashed assassin enough to put him in the congress.”

“Please don’t call him that,” you told him. “He deserves much better.”

“How many?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eleven and counting.”

“Good,” he said and heaved a sigh. “Well I gotta go, Senator Williams has been calling for the third time tonight. See you in DC.”

You shook your head slightly when he hung up and you turned around, a gasp leaving your lips as soon as you did.

“Max!” you said, putting a hand over your chest. “Jesus, you scared me. What is it?”

He eyed you up and down. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure?” you said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“What was that?” he asked, pointing back at the bar with his thumb over his shoulder and you swallowed thickly, but managed to keep your expression calm.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “That hug?”

“What, I can’t hug people now?” Your voice came out way too defensive and Max let out a dry laugh, then shook his head.

“Jesus.”

“He won, we’re all excited—”

“Yeah, he won,” Max cut you off. “So? What does that mean for us?”

You blinked a couple of times. “What do you mean?”

“He’ll be in DC. And you?”

“Max, we talked about this when I first started this job,” you reminded him. “We said—”

“Yeah, back when I didn’t think he’d win!” he snapped, making you pull back slightly, a frown pulling your brows together when the realization crashed down on you like a ton of bricks. “Back when this whole thing was hypothetical.”

Wait.

Wait, Max wouldn’t—

“…Who did you vote for?” you asked, making him roll his eyes.

“How is that relevant?”

“It’s incredibly relevant,” you growled. “Answer the question.”

“What does it matter?”

You covered your mouth, taking a step back. “You voted for the opposition?!”

“It doesn’t matter, okay? And hypothetically, if I did, maybe it was because I didn’t want my girlfriend to move to a different city, have you ever thought about that?”

You could barely hear what he was saying, anger making your ears ring as you dropped your hands.

“This will not work if you move to a different city with him,” he said, motioning between you. “Just warning you.”

A snort escaped you before it turned into a full laugh, making you clutch at your stomach in an attempt to stop your laughter and you lifted your head again, wiping at your eyes to keep a straight face.

“You…” you trailed off, trying to control the feral grin curling your lips. “So wait, not only did you vote for the opposition, now you’re asking me to choose between my career and you?”

“I’m asking you to choose between me and him,” he corrected you, pointing at the bar. “It’s not like New York has a lack of politicians. You can easily work for someone here.”

You dragged your tongue over your teeth. “Uh huh. And you’re saying this based on your extensive knowledge in politics?”

“I don’t have to know shit about politics for this conversation,” he said. “You can either be with me, or move to DC. You can’t have both.”

Another huff of laughter climbed your throat and you ran a hand over your face.

“You seriously think you’re giving me an ultimatum right now?” you asked. “Oh my God, the audacity.”

“If that’s what you wanna call it.”

“You can’t give me an ultimatum when this relationship is already over, motherfucker,” you said, your voice rising with each word. “I’m breaking up with you, not the other way around!”

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Great, very mature—”

“No no,” you said, shaking your head. “I was going to dump you for the voting thing alone, and you pull that shit? Career vs the man? What the fuck do you think this is, 1950s?”

“So you’re choosing to end this relationship then?”

“Max.” You tilted your head. “I’m asking because I don’t understand. Did you honestly, genuinely think I would ever choose you over my career? Are you joking?”

“As I said, not your career. Your boss.”

You didn’t even hesitate: “I wouldn’t choose you over him with a gun pointed at my head.”

Max scoffed a bitter laugh before he licked his lips.

“I knew it,” he spat. “You’re fucking him.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Such a cliché,” he said as you pulled back, glaring at him. “Politician and the younger female aide. Does he know you’re a power-hungry slut yet?”

“Careful there.”

“Or does he think you’re just naïve as fuck?”

“I’m not fucking him,” you said, your voice eerily calm. “But it doesn’t mean I won’t ask him to rip your tongue out if you keep insulting me. Because trust me, things didn’t end well for the last guy and the body part he used to make me feel bad.”

That made him fall silent and you took a deep breath, stealing a glance at the bar before turning to him.

“And for the record, Max,” you said. “I don’t care what your tech bro idol says. Five minutes is not enough for the microwave to finish, let alone a woman, you selfish, spineless piece of shit.”

With that, you made your way back into the bar without so much as a glance back, your heart still beating in your ears.

This was not the time to announce your break up to anyone, tonight belonged to Bucky and his win.

To be completely honest, you were feeling much better than you thought you would. Before this, you had assumed breaking up with Max would’ve made you feel sad or at least anxious, but you honestly couldn’t feel anything other than relief right now.

Relief and excitement about your future.

The press had left but the whole team was ready to party until the morning. Kelsey had already arranged you a table at a very fancy club, saying that her ex friend with benefits was a bartender there, so everyone was slowly finishing their final round at the bar. You had stepped outside to take yet another call for a job offer, pacing in the sidewalk while keeping your eyes on the street.

“I am honored ma’am,” you said. “I loved your work on the clean energy bill you pushed for last month.”

“Even if it didn’t pass?” she joked and you let out a laugh.

“Can’t win them all.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, you’ve done great with Barnes, and my team would love to have you in my campaign for the next term.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “I would have to check in with Mr. Barnes about his plans for the next term as you know.”

“Of course,” she said. “But if he’s not running, or if you’re looking for a change, my team is open.”

“Thank you so much ma’am,” you said. “And if it’s alright with you, I’d love to talk to you about our stance on clean energy once we’re in DC, we have a lot of common ground so I think working together could raise the chances to pass it the next time.”

“That’s great,” she said. “I’ll tell my chief of staff to contact you the minute you arrive. Welcome to the A League.”

“Thank you ma’am,” you said and hung up, then lowered the phone to check your emails but your head whipped around when you heard a familiar voice.

“Planning on leaving me so soon?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky before giving him a mischievous smile.

“Nope, I’m just gonna use all these job offers to ask for a raise,” you said airily as if your heart wasn’t pacing in your chest. “Hello Congressman Barnes.”

He smiled back. “Hi Birdie.”

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly?” he asked. “I think I’m still in shock.”

“I told you we would win.”

His gaze on you was soft again, making your cheeks burn.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Yeah you did.”

“I mean honestly at this point, everyone should listen to me all the time—”

“Thank you,” he cut you off and your grin widened.

“Hey, all I did was basically not sleep for months, work around 100 hours a week, make the public like you in multiple ways, and put you in the Congress,” you said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Would do it for anyone, don’t flatter yourself.”

A huff of laughter escaped him and he hummed. “Of course.”

“But seriously,” you told him. “I know this is not the first time you hear this tonight, but you do deserve it, Bucky.”

That made him pause for a moment, letting out a breath as if a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “I uh…I needed to hear it from you, not anyone else.”

It was almost funny how in sync you and Bucky were; you took a step to lean your back to the wall and his body automatically turned to follow you so that he could keep his eyes on you, like a dance.

“I missed you, you know?” His voice was soft, like he feared that if he said it any louder it would break the spell you had been under for the whole night. You swallowed thickly, resting your head back on the wall, looking up at the stars before your gaze found his.

“Me too,” you admitted in a whisper, hugging yourself. “Sorry about that.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I descended upon your place with the fury of a hellhound,” you reminded him, making him scoff a laugh. “But hey, it didn’t affect the results. I guess you had a point about not being in The Bachelor.”

“I still shouldn’t have brought Max up,” he said and frowned as if the thought just hit him. “Is he taking you home—where is he by the way? You’ve had eight drinks, there’s no way you’re going home by yourself.”

You tilted your head. “You counted how many drinks I’ve had?”

“Observation,” he said after a pause. “It’s…handy.”

“For espionage.”

“And for nights like these,” he said and you hummed.

“Kels drank like half of my cocktails,” you said. “And Max is not taking me home.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “What kind of a shitty boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

That made his head shoot up, the rest of his sentence getting caught somewhere in his throat. You offered him a small smile while he tried to pull himself together, blinking fast as if he was trying to decide whether he heard you right.

“What?” he ended up asking and you nodded your head.

“I dumped him.”

For the first time you’d met him, he was at a loss for words: “…Why?”

“So many reasons.” You heaved a sigh. “But like, at the end of the day, there’s a line, you know? And the motherfucker didn’t just cross it, he ran past it, jumped back, then ran past it again.”

Bucky stared at you, a light you couldn’t quite decipher gleaming in his blue eyes but before either of you could say anything, the door of the bar opened and Hazel walked outside, her eyes narrowing the moment she saw that you were there with Bucky.

Ah.

Bucky, being a guy, had no idea what that glare meant; you doubted he even noticed it despite his perfect observation skills, but the message was quite clear: I saw that hug, back off.

So you did. You stepped sideways when she stepped closer to Bucky and averted your eyes from him to give her a tight lipped smile.

“Hello Miss Brooks.”

“Hi. You ready babe?” she asked Bucky, making your stomach do a painful flip and Bucky took a deep breath as if he was trying to snap out of a daze, his eyes still on you.

“Who’s—who’s taking you home?”

“I’m not going home,” you said, looking between him and Hazel who was leaning on his arm sideways. “Me and the rest of the team are going to the club to celebrate, we’ll probably be outside until the morning. You guys should join if you’d like, Kelsey’s friend is a bartender there, and the place has got like a bunch of cocktail awards.”

Hazel hummed and smiled up at Bucky.

“I think we’ll have our own celebration at home tonight,” she said with a quiet laugh like it was an inside joke, and you tried to ignore the fire in your throat.

Ouch.

Well played though.

Bucky’s brows furrowed like he was a bit uncomfortable with the innuendo, and he stole a glance at her while you forced yourself to smile, taking a step back.

“Have fun though!” Hazel added. “You guys deserved it.”

You couldn’t decide whether that was condescending or you were just unnecessarily sensitive because she was the one who was going home with Bucky tonight and not you.

“Thank you,” you said and nodded at Bucky. “And congratulations, Mr. Barnes.”

With that, you walked past him to make your way into the bar, then approached Kelsey and Caleb.

“Hey,” Kelsey said. “Ready to go?”

You scoffed a laugh, then grabbed her drink from her hand to down it in one go.

“Oh yeah,” you said. “Let’s get me blackout drunk.”

Chapter 7

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #congressman barnes #congressman bucky #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#congressman bucky barnes #congressman!bucky #congressman!bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 11 months ago

Text

A fake soccer date

Summary: Joel asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend to get the soccer moms off his back. How convenient that you're both kind of in love with each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: no outbreak, friends to lovers, FAKE DATING, mentions of dead spouse, a little angst, soccer moms (ugh), fluff, making out, smut (protected sex), dirty talk, a lot of kissing, Joel being in love, banner just for the vibes

Part of Fake Dating drabbles

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

You understood his weekly dread of going to Sarah’s soccer matches now.

It wasn’t the soccer or the getting up at 6 am to drive to some god awful town hours away to watch a bunch of teenage girls play ball.

It was the soccer moms.

And Joel was the only single Dad of the group. There was flirting. There were definitely not occasion appropriate attire and cleavage. There was touching.

And that was only what you saw as you watched him in the middle of at least six women who were fussing over him like he was the only men left alive while you made your way towards the field from the parking lot.

He had asked you before if you would accompany him to one of Sarah’s games.

You had been neighbours since before Sarah was born. He had inherited the fixer upper next door when he just turned twenty and made the most out of it. You had seen his life fall apart within months from the moment he found out his ex girlfriend was pregnant not long after. They had tried to get back together again.

It was you and your late husband Andrew who had been there for him once Sarah was born and his ex had left him alone. You probably spent more times in Joel’s house than your own in those first weeks, all of you being new to taking care of a new born.

But Sarah made it easy.

Andrew, Joel and you grew close in the coming years.

So close that Joel was the first one you called when you were sitting in a hospital in the early morning hours after an accident on your way back from your summer vacation.

An accident Andrew did not survive.

He showed up an hour later with a sleeping Sarah in his arms, holding you all night as you cried into his shoulder.

The time after that was blurry. But you knew Joel was there every single step through your grief, right beside you.

He was your best friend.

And as best friends it was okay to ask you to pretend to be dating him to get the soccer moms off his back, right?

It’s not like he knew that you kind of fell in love with him over the last year, right?

With a nervous inhale you put a smile on your face as you approached Joel from behind, his broad back standing out to you in between the moms who had only eyes for him. You put one of your arms around him as you sneaked to his side, feeling him stiffen for a moment as you looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He smiled down at you, instantly relaxing, his arm coming around you to pull you closer against his side.

„Hi,“ he smiled warmly and you smiled back.

„Sorry I’m late. The line was endless,“ you lied and he chuckled. You felt his hand rest on your hip, squeezing you lightly.

„Glad you could make it. Sarah is gonna be excited to see you,“ he said. Like you had not seen her yesterday when you had dinner together at your house.

He kissed your temple and you closed your eyes for a moment before you turned your head too look at the people standing around you. The women were glaring at you and didn’t even attempt to hide it.

„If you'll excuse me ladies. We got a match to watch,“ Joel said, not waiting for an answer before he pulled you towards the field, not letting go of you.

„I can practically feel them trying to kill me with their eyes,“ you mumbled and he huffed a laugh.

„I told you. I didn’t even do anything. They just appear out of thin air once I get here,“ he groaned and you rolled your eyes. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he’d pretend to not now the looks he received from women around him.

Joel Miller was a catch and everyone knew it.

You came to stand at the fence separating the field and the audience, watching as the girls warmed up on the soccer field. Sarah saw you and waved wildly and you waved back with a bright smile. You felt Joel stand behind you, before his hands came down next to yours on the fence.

„Thank you for doing this,“ he hummed against your ear as he leaned down, his chin resting on your shoulder for a moment. You took a deep breath.

„Anything for you,“ you mumbled, gasping when he fell into you against the fence, someone having pushed him. You heard him groan lowly against your ear, his body flush against yours. He took a step back immediately, turning to his side but you were pretty sure you had felt his hard bulge press into your ass for a second.

You turned your head to look at him, finding his cheeks a little flushed as he looked everywhere but at you. But before you could say anything the kids coach cheered the girls on and they got into position for the game to start.

And a couple minutes later Joel was standing behind you again, and you were leaning against his strong chest, one of his arms around your stomach as you watched his daughter play soccer on the field in front of you.

„Are we…. Are we still pretending to be dating?“ You mumbled against his lips, your fingers unbuttoning his flannel.

Things had…. Escalated a little.

One of his hands was on the side of your neck, tilting your head up as his lips moved against yours, your body pressed against the wall next to his bedroom, his body caging you in.

„Do you want to be pretending?“ He asked, his lips kissing down your throat as his other hand came to squeeze one of your tits over your shirt.

„Cause I haven’t been all day,“ he mumbled and you gasped.

You were both still fully clothed, having spent the whole day together on the soccer field, pretending to be dating.

It was pretend when he held your hand while you grabbed food.

It was pretend when he pulled you on his lap when there wasn’t enough place to sit.

It was pretend when you went up and kissed him when one of the soccer moms had her hands on his chest.

Right?

„Joel….“ You hummed letting you head fall against the wall as his hand slipped under your shirt and towards your chest. You finally had his flannel open your fingernails scratching over the shirt he was wearing underneath.

„I… I don’t want to pretend. I… I want you. I want you all the time,“ you confessed, your eyes closed as he sucked on the soft skin on your neck.

He looked at you then a small smile on his flushed lips.

„Good,“ he simply said, before he kissed you again and pulled you towards his bedroom.

He undressed you slowly, kissing a path from your lips down to your hips before he told you to lay down.

With your arms spread out on his mattress you looked up at him as he got out of his clothes, biting your lip when you saw his thick cock, already glistening at the tip.

„Dreamed of this,“ he said as he joined you on the bed, crawling on top of you, kissing you softly as he laid down between your spread legs.

You nipples hardened as his chest brushed against yours, the only thought in your head being that you wanted him closer. Always closer.

„Yeah?“ You asked with a small smile, your fingers brushing over his back. He nodded.

„Me too. Dreamed of this for months,“ you confessed and he kissed you again.

„Months?“ He asked kissing your nose.

„Mhh… Think I knew when you fixed my bathroom sink and explained every little step you were doing. Thought back then that I’d listen to everything you’d explain to me as long as you wouldn’t leave,“ you said quietly, a little shy.

You parted your lips when you felt his cock slip though your folds.

„When you held Sarah after she fell from her bike last year. I watched you with my daughter in your arms and thought to myself, fuck I’m in love with her,“ he said and you felt a tear slip out of your eyes.

You tilted your chin up to find his lips in a deep kiss before you brought one hand down and between your bodies, hearing him moan when your fingers wrapped around his stiff cock.

„Wanna taste you first,“ he mumbled against your lips.

You shook your head.

„Plenty of time for that after. Wanna feel you please,“ you pumped his cock and he closed his eyes, his forehead resting against yours.

„Fuck. Fuck okay. Condom?“ He asked and you grinned.

„You got some? I’m on birth control and I trust you,“ you said. He looked at you for a moment before he shook his head.

„The last time I didn’t use a condom with someone who was on birthcontrol I got Sarah,“ he chuckled before he pushed off of you and reached towards his bedside table, finding a little golden foil package, ripping it open and pulling it over his cock.

He came back to kneel between your legs, one of his hands wrapped around his cock while he reached for a pillow and with a grin.

You grinned back, arching your back as he pushed the pillow under you and under your ass before both of his hands pulled you towards him. You crossed your legs behind his ass, pulling him closer as he leaned down, lining his cock up with your pussy.

„No more pretending,“ he whispered and you shook your head.

„No more pretending,“ you repeated before you kissed him as he slowly pushed inside of you.

Your lips parted against his as he slipped inside you, both of you breathing heavily, a quiet moan coming from you as he stretched you.

You hadn’t been with anyone since your husband died and Joel wasn’t exactly small.

"You okay?“ He asked, slowing down.

You just nodded, before you kissed him again, finding yourself enjoying the stretch of his cock as it pushed slowly inside of you.

„Keep going, feels so fucking good,“ you mumbled against his lips and you felt him smile as he moved, his cock moving inside of you until his whole length was filling you, both of you releasing a loud breath.

„Should have done this sooner,“ he said as he pulled back and began to slowly fuck into you. You had one hand in his hair, the other on his ass, feeling him as he moved inside of you, his cock filling you perfectly with every thrust.

„Yeah,“ you moaned, closing your eyes.

„Keep your eyes open,“ he hummed and you did, finding him looking at you.

„I wanna see you when you cum on my cock,“ he said and your walls clenched, making him smirk.

„You liked that, huh?“ He asked and you nodded slowly.

„Keep going,“ you whimpered.

„You know what I think of when I jerk myself off in the shower? I imagine the way you look when you cum. I wonder how you sound when I make you cum so hard you see stars. I wonder how you taste. I wonder if you like it hard or slow. I wonder if you wear these pretty lace panties I saw hanging in your bathroom that one time whenever you’re around me,“ he continued and you whimpered his name.

„I wonder if you would let me fuck you at the dining table when we have dinner together. Or if you’d suck me off in the garage when we have a couple minutes to ourselves. Or on the couch after we watched a movie. I wonder if I can make you scream my name so everyone knows that you’re mine,“ he said before he kissed you and changed the angle of how he was fucking you, his cock hitting a spot inside of you that had you shaking.

„I’m gonna take you to the lake house this weekend so I can have you screaming as loudly as you want to,“ he said and you nodded biting your lip to keep quiet, still mindful of the child sleeping down the hall.

„Cum for me baby, let me feel you,“ he said as he crashed his lips down on yours and you shattered, coming harder than you had ever before, your legs shaking as he kept pumping his cock into you in quick deep thrusts.

„Fuuuuuck,“ you cried quietly against his lips, feeling his lips twitch into a smile.

„Beautiful,“ he hummed before his hips stuttered his cock pulsing inside of you as he slowly continued to fuck into you, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he orgasmed.

Both sweaty and out of breath you just looked at each other before he kissed you and slowly rolled you to the side, pulling you against his chest, his cock softening and still resting inside of you.

Kissing his chest you nuzzled against him, feeling his arms tighten around your body.

„Best fake date ever,“ you grinned and you felt him chuckle, before he kissed your head just as you drifted off to sleep.

#my fic #fake dating drabbles #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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