#god it makes me SHUDDER WITH THE MEMORY

[yeelincolnha]

Reigen is so real for having a bug phobia, I must say.

[mickandmusings]

third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

-

i.

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

-

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

-

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

[almostempty]

Look at this photograph

(joel miller x f!reader)

The half sequel (Chapter 1.5) to Never made it as a wise man

WC: 3.5k | Part 1 | Other fics | Rating: 18+ 

Summary: you open Joel’s dick pic and (after examination) decide to give him a call

Note: it’s me ya boi (gn), back with more divorceddadrockdilf!joel bc you guys get me. i know y’all want them to fuck, and I want them to fuck too. unfortunately, this flowed through me first, and I am merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel. 

so, until they get their freak nasty on, please enjoy this as a chapter 1.5, with gratuitous dick pic art critique and crankin’ it over the phone <3 don’t worry, he’s still a lil pathetic. mistakes and bad jokes are all on me. 

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where ch.1 ended, dick pic descriptions, alternating pov, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, it’s all just phone sex, but edge yourself through it with fond memories of ch. 1, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc

inspo playlist i found on spotify: Divorced Dad Rock: BANGERZ

thanks: to @hellishjoel for hosting the #hotdilfsummerchallenge and to everyone who enjoyed part 1 

@gothcsz i promise fuckboy!joel is cookin, he’s just in the crockpot rn. he’s gotta tenderize like a white lady’s pinterest recipe for pulled pork. 

* i tried to tag everyone who wanted more, but if you don’t wanna be here i’ll remove it <3 or if i missed you and you want to be tagged next time pls let me know

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you blurt out after opening the message from Joel. The vulgar dick pick sends a prickly worm of arousal slithering down your spine. 

Without thinking, you tilt the phone down toward your chest, and your eyes shoot up like you’ve got to make sure nobody saw your naughty message. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as the flash of embarrassment starts to dissolve. You don’t need to hide. 

You’re in your bed, in your apartment, wearing Joel’s grubby Creed t-shirt. The one that smells like Degree Sport and a Jiffy Lube break room. You're free to look at all the dick pics your heart desires. And that’s what you’re going to do. 

The wiggle of bashful energy turns into a squirm as you shift your hips, seeking a comfy position in bed. The t-shirt bunches up under your back and you wonder if the unique Joel scent of it will linger on your pillow beneath your shoulders. You knew pilfering the shirt on the way out the door was a good move, and now you get to enjoy your trophy. It makes it feel like the broad-as-a-barn-door DILF himself was still close enough to touch you. 

It gives you another bright shudder when you think about the noises he made when he came in your hand earlier. The disappointed grunts of “fuck, wait” and how he tried to choke down the throaty groan that came from deep in his chest. Fuck. The perverted gremlins that have a permanent residence in your mind have been roused by the digital dick, and now they chitter and squawk at you. More! More! More!  

You reopen the message, and seeing it gives you another rush. You save the picture to your phone storage. For your personal collection. Mine now, big boy. Your chin starts to dip towards your chest. It’s like you’re giving your phone the Kubrick stare with the ghost of a smirk. You’re free to take your time with this one. And you can be as much of a creep as you want. That makes you sigh softly and sink deeper against your pillows. 

Before this afternoon, it was titillating when Joel would pop up in your mind's eye with his slutty slo-mo scenes. The one where he was bent over your car's engine like Megan Fox in that Transformers movie. Or, that damn happy trail tease with the t-shirt-sweat-rag move. You had just enough imagery to let your dirty thoughts take the wheel. 

And, god, you had a good production team in your mind for projects starring Joel. Adding this will give the team a whole lot more to work with. You can hear them crashing around your conscious like the Animaniacs on the Warner Brothers lot. Horny chaos goblin mode activated. 

Now that you have time to study the image, from the luxury of your microfiber sheets and lamplit bedroom, you let it get pervy. It’s your first real, lingering look–earlier today, you were so busy trying to rile him up in his jeans that you didn’t even pull it out.

It had somehow been even more delicious that way. Having him all needy and unable to stop himself from making a mess in your hand. And not just the noises, but the erratic thrusts into your tight fist? The heat of his pulsing length as he forgot himself? Yeah, you’re gonna remember that one. 

But now? Now you need the visual. If the devil is in the details, you have a new neighbor with horns and a tail. 

You zoom in on everything. Holding your phone closer to your face than necessary, like how do we enhance this bitch? 

And holy shit. 

Drool pools in your mouth and between your legs. You have the knee-jerk reaction to lick your phone. 

You can hear Joel’s voice from earlier today. All husky and grumbly, arguing that you really were a slut for him, like, “You are, aren’t you, though? You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt just to see me?”  He might be touch-starved enough to cream his jeans, but you just know he’s got a nasty mouth in bed, and you’ve got to find out firsthand. Soon. There’s no reason not to, right? 

You pause when a flicker of reasoning tickles the back of your neck. 

You’re back to looking in your review mirror in Joel’s driveway. The last-ditch attempt at checking your ego before you marched to his front door like a Halloween hoe bag version of Betty Crocker. 

You had told yourself you weren’t trying to fuck your (almost) friend’s (sort of) dad. Told yourself there was nothing to pursue, and even if there was, you wouldn’t bite. 

You like Ellie. She’s been (mostly) welcoming to you. You told yourself not to fuck anything up with the only person that’s got a single one of your jokes at your new job. 

You were just bringing some food as a friendly gesture. The fresh visuals to add to your spank bank reel were supposed to be a harmless bonus. Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say you had rolled up to Joel’s driveway with pure intentions. 

And it was an even bigger stretch–when he added that third finger while he finger fucked you on the kitchen counter—wait, no. It was an even bigger stretch when you had told yourself you probably weren’t his type anyway. 

Like, that guy? With the fridge full of Coors Banquet? With those ugly Oakley sunglasses that you know are featured in his only picture on social media that isn’t a car or truck? The guy with all the words to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” memorized? 

Nah, deep down, you knew. You knew there was no way that middle-aged bachelor would turn down any action. But you hadn’t planned on actually making a move, especially not a handjob in the middle of the kitchen. 

That’s on Joel for leaving the door open while trying to rub one out to some bimbo on Brazzers. And for barking at you in that sexy, angry voice. And for teasing you with the bulge in his oil-stained jeans. What were you supposed to do? 

Something must be really rotting in the logic department of your brain. 

Hey! The gremlin voice in your head is still shouting at you. Hey!! Why are we not tasting that dick yet?!! You’re back from your daydream and the excuses you crafted for your behavior, back to laying in your bed with Joel’s dick pic emitting a bright glow in your hand. 

You still do want to lick the screen. 

Fortunately for your immune system, you control your tongue. The critical part of you expels a sigh when you zoom out and take in the picture. 

It’s undoubtedly a nice cock, but the image as a whole? Yikes. 

Why do men have to be so fucking thick? And blunt? Wait, now you’re just describing the slightly blurry boner lighting up your face. Thick as in dense. How can men be so dense? 

No imagination or creativity. No patience. 

You shake your head slightly, scoffing. No wonder you caught him hunched over his cracked phone screen. It was probably the first video loaded on the only site he had saved. 

No sweet, sweet, buildup, setting the mood, or getting cozy. Just whippin’ it out midday or snapping a photo in some ratty sweats. 

Like you’ve never been that touch-starved or down bad?

You ignore that voice to continue your art critique. 

The photo you sent is… sexy. 

Sultry. A flirty tease. It says, “Look who has your shirt? Am I wearing it in bed? Do you think I'm wearing anything else?” 

It’s all implied in the look in your eye and the picture's composition. The tease of the soft curves on the underside of your breasts, asking if he remembers what they felt like. Your hand bunching up the shirt, asking if he remembers the slide of that fist around his cock. If he remembers those fingers, the ones you sucked his sticky spend off of. 

Such delicately crafted imagery. Personalized erotic fine art.  

But men are so crude about it. He sees your tasteful, sexy pic, and immediately, the best his caveman brain can come up with is: send her ur dick! STAT!! Hard cock! Now!!

And, of course, he did. Taken in the dark with the flash on, making ominous shadows in the background. His old charcoal gray sweats are pulled down just enough to expose everything he’s offering. 

The color is slightly blown out from the flash, and it’s a touch blurry where his phone didn’t autofocus quickly enough. His hand looks like it’s straight up, just choking the base of his cock. It’s jarring. 

But that’s really the “man” of it all, right? Nothing subtle or demure about a rock-hard erection jutting towards you, reaching like it could get to you on its own if it just could get a little bit harder. No, there’s nothing coy about the raw thoughts of a man with no blood left in his brain who’s just aching to get inside you, either. 

And fuck if that doesn’t start to override your critical analysis. 

The glare from the flash reflects in the beads of precome rolling down his rosy tip. Mouth wateringly delicious. Your blood rushes to your pussy, filling your tender sex with heat and a deep, needy itch. It makes you dopey and silly. Not cock drunk, but like, dick pic buzzed. 

You know it felt sizeable in your hand earlier, but you aren’t an expert at estimating size from a through-the-pants handjob. You try to recreate your own grip around nothing to estimate the size. 

You giggle to yourself when you realize you're just a woman in her bed staring at her hand, jerking an invisible cock. The horny goblins aren’t amused, though. They’re sick of the daydreaming and distractions. They’re picking fights with the rest of your mind. Throwing rocks and sticks, shrieking and hissing. 

The part of your brain that was griping about how men used to write love letters and respect the art of romance is getting quieter and further from your faculty for caring. You can hear its muffled shouts, and you assure that voice that you won’t give it all up this easily. Then, you completely tune it out. 

The last brain cell with a complaint has you rolling your eyes. You have to be ovulating or something because it’s wholly debased the way this guy is doing it for you. 

He’s just shameless with it. 

You sent him tasteful underboob, and he gives you jumpscare dick-in-the-dark! How is this supposed to escalate? He gave it all up immediately! You send another picture, and he sends you his money shot? What’s he gonna do to give you more? Send you an asshole shot? That one makes you snort. You bet he would do it, too, if you asked. 

Oh, that gives you a better idea. He’s not getting another picture from you at all. You tap on his name and tap the call icon. Of course, this horny motherfucker answers immediately. You aren’t sure it even rang before you’re connected to his porny bedroom voice. 

“What are you wearing, dollface?” 

“I already showed you. Call me dollface again, and I’m hanging up.” 

You can hear his breathing like he’s got the mic on his phone in his mouth. That would typically drive you fucking nuts, but right now, you wanna hear his heavy breath against your ear and feel it hot against your skin.

“All right,” he speaks slowly, distracted. You know why. “You wanna be my slut, instead?” 

Fuck. That has you throbbing between your legs, but he doesn’t get to know that yet. 

“I already told you,” you keep your voice low and soft, “you don’t get to call me a slut for you, not with your behavior.” You strain, trying to hear any other noises, but his mic is probably clogged with dust from his shop or lint from the pocket of his sweats. You can just hear his fucking breathing. 

“What behavior, baby?” he rasps.

“You always jump straight to sending a picture of your cock?” 

You hear the soft snort through the phone. Followed by a deeper, throatier noise. A noise that makes you go cross-eyed and has you running a hand down to your naked lower half to tease yourself. 

“You always steal a man’s clothes after you come on his fingers?” 

You don’t really care what he asked. His voice makes your tongue go numb. Your mind goes blank. You start slowly, coating your own fingers in your slick arousal and drawing circles with a light touch. 

You hum a noncommittal response into the phone. 

“You look good in my shirt, baby, fuck,” he trails off breathlessly. The idea of you in his clothes gets him too close. 

You don’t answer, and he’s too far gone to wait and tease. 

He’s been wound up since you took off this afternoon, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that you sent him that pic when he had just gotten into bed.

It had taken ages to get his brother out of the shop this afternoon, and then Joel completely fucked up when he mentioned you and the lasagna. He had to begrudgingly host Tommy for dinner when he couldn’t come up with a better excuse than saying, “I’m gonna need you to fuck off so I can deal with the aching balls I’ve got from your surprise visit scaring away the woman I had my fingers knuckle deep inside.”

But when he was finally alone, it was like fate; your text came through right after he flopped onto his bed. His semi-stiff cock had sprung to full mast at the sight of you. The shirt he knew he didn’t fuckin’ lose, your soft curves, and the expression on your face. Like a vixen. Your PG-13 tease would do more for him than any X-rated video. 

Knowing you were thinking about him and that you wanted him to know? That had him throbbing. He already knew from the desire in your eyes earlier today that you wanted more.

He could swear his fingers still hold the lingering flavor of your wet cunt. The visceral memory of you has him on edge. When he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, he has to pause, holding firmly in place. His body screams and aches for release, but he’s determined to keep it in check. He doesn’t want to blow his load until he gets a response from you. 

He fights his urges, trying not to fuck his own fist in a frantic race to come. 

But, fuck, it’s difficult when he can imagine the sounds you’d make as you sank onto his cock for the first time. The face you’d make. Your tight, wet walls hugging him just right. Like, he’s where he’s meant to be. 

And the way you would look, bouncing on top of him. Your tits, your blissed-out face, the way your soft lips would part when you called out his name and cried for more. 

Those lips. 

The way he’d love to see them swollen and slobbering around the base of his cock. Fuck. His hips buck reflexively, and he hisses out a breath through his clenched teeth. When his phone lights up with your name, he answers before it can make a sound. You’re so bold. He likes that. It plasters a saucy grin on his face. 

And now, with your breathy voice crackling through his janky phone speaker, he’s not gonna last long. You've got him losing his composure for the second time in one day. His whole body is rigid. His toes flex and snap unconsciously, and his jaw tenses. He hears your soft moan, and his thoughts are overflowing. He has no filter left. 

“Yeah, baby? You moaning for me?” His hips punch up into his fist, and he gives in, allowing himself firm, severe strokes. “You’ve got me so hard. You moaning for my cock?” 

You are so not gonna answer that one. If the next words out his mouth are, “Yeah, you like that?” you’re gonna block him for that. But it is undeniably hot to hear him already so worked up. You just know he’s gonna be coming all over himself again for you, and that really does make you moan just for him.

Your noises earn you another growly groan from Joel that you’d kill to hear again. The more uninhibited his noises are, the louder you get in response.

“You using your fingers, or you have a toy?” his question is punctuated with a grunt. 

“Mm, just fingers,” you purr, finally granting him an actual response as you roll your hips. Having Joel on the line gives you a heady sense of satisfaction. Wondering what’s going to come out of his filthy mouth next gives you a shiver of anticipation. 

“I know that sweet pussy is just achin’ to be filled again.” Correct. 

“Yes.” 

“S’right, baby, I know.” 

Joel whimpering on the phone for you is absolutely going to get you off. Your hips chase your own fingers. You switch your phone audio to speakerphone and drop it on your pillow so you can use both hands. Pinching at your own nipples as if it were Joel’s big hand under your smuggled shirt. 

“Tell me,” he pants, “who do you need to fill it for you?” 

“You, Joel.” 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you wanna ride this cock, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm.” Bingo. Right again. You wish you could feel the pressure of him inside of you, massaging and soothing away the agony. The weight of his body atop of yours, so solid and secure. You can just about feel the pressure of his pelvis grinding into you. The friction from the coarse curls at the base of his cock getting you closer and closer. 

“Know you’d do so good,” he cuts himself off with a low noise, “so damn sexy.” 

“What else would you do with me?” You wanna hear it. For your own fantasy and to know what he’s into.  

“I’d have you taking me down your throat til you’re crying on it for me, fuck,” a primal noise erupts from him.

Face fucking. Of course. You can’t deny that when he says it, your body responds instantaneously. Your pussy floods eagerly at the idea, and your cheeks burn hot from the visual he gives you. You swallow down your moans, and you can imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the strain of trying to swallow around his cock. 

“You wanna come down my throat?” As if that isn’t a fucking siren song that would make him steer a fleet of ships into a cliff? Your salacious words are too much. 

“Shit. Yeah, baby, wanna watch you swallow for me.” You let all your moans and gasps flow freely for him to hear. “I’m so fuckin’ close,” he can’t stop the words from spilling out his mouth, “let me hear it, baby,” he can’t stop his pending bliss either. “Please, baby, I can’t, oh f-fuck,” he cuts himself off with another primitive grunt, and that’s precisely what your cavewoman cunt wanted to hear. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The horny goblins chant out loud this time. You can envision sweaty, pleading Joel lurching toward a reckless, full-body climax. 

You’re far from grace when the crude sounds he lets out turn you into an uncivilized beast. You hear him gasping, growling, and whining for you. It plunges you into a staggering orgasm. Rolling waves of ecstasy leave you panting and sweating.  

You lie in bed, chest rising and falling beneath the Creed logo. You’re left stunned at the intensity. A dreamy smile spreads across your face, and warm contentment, like honey, pours slowly over your muscles. Relaxing you as your tension softens and you turn to pick your phone back up.

Why was it so wholly consuming just to listen to him? Imagining the mess he made again,

because of you. 

Maybe you’re just made for each other. 

You and Joel. 

Oh, god. You should start listening to Alanis Morissette and Evanescence and trade your car for a 1990s-era Toyota 4runner and a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Really lean into matching his freak and the divorced alt-rock vibes.

You laugh softly into your phone before a deep sigh possesses you, and you nearly fall asleep. You stretch and smile, letting your heavy eyelids rest. 

He’s muttering something at you, catching his breath from the stress of being that fucking horned up for you all evening. And the overexertion of lasting long enough to hear your sweet cries of release. 

“You’re unreal,” his smoky voice rings with awe. “Got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager.”

You snort at the juxtaposition of his tender voice and crude comment before ending the call with a whispered, “Goodnight.” 

It shouldn’t make you smile. 

But he’s somehow such an enticing disaster. A cliche lonely bachelor, a cocksure idiot who knows he’s got a big dick and a generous guy who was willing to fix a stranger's car. 

You shouldn’t be trying to justify it, but you know he had you figured out earlier. 

You may be sated tonight, but you won’t be able to rest.

Not until you get your hands on that DILF – or rather, your pussy on that dick. 

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[min-imum]

makeup sex w/ hhu😳👉🏻👈🏻

tempted to ask if you meant all of them at once tbh 🫣🫣 here’s coups first, the rest coming (🌚) soon!

nsfw, mdni

content warnings: afab!reader, fingering, car sex, there might be more lmk if i forgot anything

“i told you,” seungcheol seethes. “i fucking told you that skirt was too damn short.”

last week, you’d purchased this miniskirt. it was cute and your boyfriend seemed to love it when you modelled it for him at home after your little shopping spree.

but earlier today, when he found you putting it on for the gathering with his friends, he’d warned you that the skirt was far too short.

“no,” you insisted. “it’s fine! i’ll just have to watch how i sit.”

three hours later, mingyu and wonwoo were holding back a very angry seungcheol from beating the daylights out of the man who’d groped you — “what, it’s out there, might as well be public property,” he’d smirked — and now the two of you are in his car speeding home.

“i’m sorry,” you whimper. “i didn’t mean to. i thought it’d be okay.”

he grunts. “that’s why i warned you. i’m all for you wearing what you want to wear, but this was too much.”

after a few moments of silence, seungcheol speaks up again.

“are you okay?”

you shudder at the memory of that man’s hand on your ass, squeezing shamelessly. “no,” you admit. “i… i hate that he touched me, cheol. you’re the only man who has ever touched me there, but now—”

growling, seungcheol makes a detour into a nearby abandoned parking lot. he leans over the console and pulls you in for a kiss with a hand on your neck.

the kiss is messy and wet, but neither of you pay it any mind. he licks into your mouth and you moan, hand flying up to hold his bicep.

“cheol—”

“you’re mine,” he growls. “i’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

he unbuckles your seatbelt for you, then helps you into the backseat. he peels off his shirt — a simple white button up — and climbs into the back after you.

seungcheol’s body is sculpted by the gods. you whimper as you run your hand over his abs, fingertips catching on each ridge. he smirks as he slides a finger under your miniskirt and feels the wet spot on your panties, and then he slides them off your legs and shoves them into his pocket. he reaches between your legs again and, before you’re able to brace yourself, rubs harshly at your clit.

your eyes roll back, your back arches, and you mewl loudly, hands scrambling to grab onto the edge of the seat. “c-cheollie!” you moan loudly as he slides two fingers into you, your slick easing the way, while his thumb continues mapping tight circles on your clit.

he leans down towards your ear.

“never wear this skirt out again,” he says, eyebrows set in a straight line. “this is for me and me only. you hear me?”

“yes, yes, shit, cheol, i promise—” you gasp. “i’m cumming, don’t stop—”

you scream, hips shaking, as you cum all over his fingers. he continues to thrust them into you for a few moments before pulling them out and licking up your juices.

“one minute break,” he says sternly.

“then i’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

[mcondance]

lights, camera… action — hobie brown

.

.

.

hobie's got a thing for the camera. he can't stop starting his timer and setting his phone up on his dresser against his albums, lens pointed at the end of his messy bed. sat down on the edge, sweats pulled down just enough to free his already-hard cock drooling pre-cum, he gives his camera another show.

he gives you another show.

the first stroke is his favorite, when he finally gets to touch his dick in a video he knows you'll cum to, painted nails toying with your pussy that he knows so well he can see behind his closed eyelids.

leaning back on one hand on his bed, ruffled black comforter framing his brown skin beautifully, he spits into his palm, looking up through his eyelashes with low eyes fixed on himself on the screen. "look a mess, playin' with myself for a camera," he chuckles, bringing his slick hand to wrap around his aching cock.

he looks the opposite of a mess, though, low lights in his room making his skin glow, illuminating his big, pretty cock for his and your eyes. wet hand sliding up and down his cock, his hips jerk up, chasing the pleasure he gives himself.

his toned stomach caves in, the hand that’s holding him up starts to shake as he finds his sweet pace, the one that has him cumming fast and hard. “fuck, feel s’good,” he grits, eyes finding the camera again as another fucked-out laugh rumbles through him.

he shakes his head at the image of himself, slim fingers wrapped around his long cock, eyes low and heavy, mouth open and panting, desperate sounds escaping him. slowing down, he brings his hand to wrap around his thick base, squeezing just a little. he slaps his cock against his stomach, purring, “can’t cum too fast, gotta make it worth it, make it good.”

he wants to make it good for you. he always does.

he leans farther on his other hand, stroking his cock again, slowly, shuddering out a moan with closed eyes. he works his way up, cursing and groaning, until he throws his head back with a pretty little whine, slick thumb swiping slow over his messy tip.

he focuses on his tip, now, hips jerking at the stimulation, eyes fixed on where he works himself. “‘m so desperate, need to feel good, need you t’watch me make myself feel good.” he confesses, whimpered words that you knew to be true already. his talk sends shivers down his own spine, the thought that you’ll enjoy his slurred words bringing him closer to spilling all over his hand.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he whines, far beyond moans and groans, fucked out and pleasure-full. hips jerking into his hand, fingers adorned with rings gripping his sheets.. he’s close. “can’t believe ‘m close already, god ‘m just a slut, jerkin’ myself for a fuckin’ video. but i’m your slut, ‘m yours.”

he’s rambling, perverted thoughts slipping to memories of you jerking him off, skilled hand wrapped around his aching cock, purring praises into his ear, other hand roaming his body while you litter kisses anywhere you can reach in between porn-worthy words. “‘m gonna cum, baby, gonna cum all over myself, jus’ for you. wish you were here to watch, t’make me cum instead.”

now, with thoughts of you flitting through his mind, he cums, gritting out jumbled up letters, from wishing you were here, to knowing you’d make him feel so much better, to plans of letting you jerk him when he sees you again.

regaining his breath, he can’t help but laugh again, eyes fixed on the mess he made of himself. he brings his hand to his chest, swirling his fingers around in his cum, depraved and disgusting. hazy eyes finding the camera, one of the only witnesses to his depravity, with a wicked smile on his face, leaning back on both arms now, he speaks, blissed and nasty.

“see you next time.”

[hoshifighting]

jeonghan + military thoughts a/n: from someone who dated a soldier WARNINGS: smut, fingering, sensitive scalp, fluff, mentions of soldier jeonghan, jeonghan already in the military, bulkier!jeonghan 👀.

every day without jeonghan feels like a lifetime, like someone pressed pause on everything except the longing you feel. when he finally takes his break, it’s like you can breathe again, even though the sight of him at your door in that military uniform always steals that breath right back.

god, the things that uniform does to him—and to you.

the first thing you notice is the knock on your door. it’s not even loud, but your heart leaps anyway. you know it’s him before you even see him. and when you do open the door, there he stands, wearing that damn military uniform, too fitting. your breath catches because, damn, he looks good. his body’s filled out in ways you didn’t think possible, and it’s all you can do not to jump him right there.

“you miss me, baby?” he asks, a grin pulling at his lips, already knowing the answer. his voice, deeper now, makes you bit your bottom lip.

“every fucking day,” you finally say, and you mean it. you lean in, hands finding their way to his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath his sleeves. he chuckles, low and rough, before he sweeps you off your feet like you weigh nothing.

your hands are already on him, feeling the bulk he’s gained since he enlisted, tracing the firm muscles that weren’t there before. he’s different now, stronger, more powerful. when he pulls you to the bed, it’s like you weigh nothing. his biceps flex as he pins you beneath him, and you can’t help but moan when his fingers find their way inside you, curling just right, just like he knows you need.

you’re already gone, lost in the way his biceps flex, the way he commands your body like he’s memorized every inch of you.

“fuck,” he groans, pulling your hair just the way you like it, making you arch into him. “you’re so good, baby.”

you can’t help but love what the military’s done to him. the way he moves, the way he handles you—it’s addictive. and when you dig your nails into his scalp, short hair prickling your fingertips, he shudders, his breath hot against your neck.

“shit, do that again,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, and you do, dragging your nails over his scalp, feeling the way his body tenses against yours. his hair’s so soft now, healthier without the dye, and you smile because it’s a part of him you’ve missed.

then there’s the hickeys. gosh, you used to have to be careful, always mindful of his idol image. but now? now he begs for them, wants you to mark him up so everyone knows he’s yours.

“leave something for the boys to see,” he whispers, and you do, pressing your lips to his skin, sucking just enough to leave a bruise, a memory for him to carry back with him. “want everyone to know,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you, “that i’m yours.”

he sends you nudes, nasty ones that make you blush and bite your lip, but it’s the letters that get to you. the ones he sends when he’s away, words filled with everything he can’t say in person. they’re raw, honest, and so him, and you read them over and over until the paper’s worn and soft.

but nothing compares to having him here, in your arms, on your bed, whispering dirty things in your ear while he makes you feel like the only person in the world. “can’t wait to do this again,” he says, and you know, no matter how long he’s gone, you’ll be waiting. always.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (8/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, fingering, mutual masturbation, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"You are pathetic, like all your kin. Thank the gods you don't make me warm your bed, but your child asks about you and I don't know what to answer. That her father would rather spend time with whores in King's Landing than with his own daughter?" She heard her mother's hiss as if from afar, seeing darkness all around her, recognising in the vague outline of objects that she was standing in the corridor, by the door of her chamber.

How old could she have been then?

Had it really happened, or was it just a dream?

For some reason, her head hurt a lot.

"The Red Keep is no place for a little girl. Should I take her there to watch the lords around my brother fucking kill each other for power, let them marry her off to the first better rich old fool?"

"Would you rather she live without a father? Will you flee from that duty too?"

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued, which after a while was broken by the bitter, disappointed voice of her father.

"She resembles you too much."

She opened her eyes, feeling that the light was blinding her. She muttered, twisting on the soft bed, hearing someone's conversation fall silent a moment later.

"My Lady?"

She glanced sideways at the figure of the Maester leaning over her, his hand touching her head.

"Thank the gods, the fever has subsided. How do you feel?"

She swallowed hard, trying to remember what had happened and where she was, confused and frightened, feeling like her skull was about to explode from the pain.

And then she remembered.

His full lips pressed against hers, his hand between her thighs.

And a dim memory of what followed, the blow and her fall, his voice in the darkness, his hot breath on her face, the outline of his jaw in the candlelight, his sticky, hot kiss.

Sleep, little sister.

Your brother will stay by your side.

She sighed, tired and resigned, recognising that this was surely just a dream, her desire for someone to be there for her, to care and look after her.

She wondered if Lady Floris felt satisfaction now.

She knew she had partially earned it – despite knowing her cousin was betrothed, she did not push him away when his lips pressed against hers and his hand went under the fabric of her robe.

She acknowledged with surprise that she did not resent her.

"My head hurts a lot." She confessed at last, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

The Maester nodded in understanding, handing her some herbal infusion in a cup.

"Drink this, my Lady. It will soothe the pain. You should spend the day resting." He said.

They both shuddered as the door to her chamber opened: her cousin stepped inside dressed in an emerald tunic, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just taken a bath, tied back with a black ribbon.

"Leave us alone." He ordered, looking at her calmly with a gaze from which, for some reason, her heart beat harder.

"Your Highness." Said the Maester and bowed, disappearing after a moment behind the door.

Prince Aemond approached her lazily and surprised her as he sat on the bed beside her, leaning towards her, his hand touching her forehead as if he was checking something.

"Throughout the night, your body burned with fever. Thankfully, it's waned." He murmured, saying it more to himself than to her, sliding his fingers down her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

She felt a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen as she realised that what she felt was not a dream.

He had really stayed with her.

She swallowed quietly, unable to look away from his gaze, her hand involuntarily touching his wrist.

"Will your betrothed forgive you?" She mumbled out, the guilt she felt like a needle stuck in her heart.

She didn't know this girl, but she had taken something from her.

She blinked as her cousin grinned broadly, a glint of madness in his gaze from which her heart pounded harder in her chest, the space between her thighs pulsed greedily around nothing.

"She is no longer my concern." He whispered, forming the letter o out of his mouth as if he were mocking, amused by the situation.

She looked at him for a moment and shook her head, not understanding what he was trying to say.

"What do you mean?"

"I have broken our betrothal. Just moments ago, at a meeting of the Small Council, I introduced to the assembled guard who was assigned to you, and whom Floris dismissed. No one else walked down the corridor, as they would have been spotted by the other guards. Her jealousy was a danger to the Crown. What if she thought she should also attack my sister, Helaena, fearing that I might also cohabit with her? My brother agreed with me that she could not remain in the Red Keep and left it at dawn today." He hummed, clearly pleased with himself, trailing his fingertips along her neck – his words made her eyes widen in disbelief.

He had simply sent her away.

Had this been his plan all along?

Had he kissed her then, in the library, hoping Floris would see it and do something ill-considered?

She didn't know why she felt an unpleasant stab of disappointment and regret, her eyebrows arching in sadness as she lowered her eyes, trying not to cry.

"What's that look? Hm?" He asked, catching her gently by the chin, lifting her face towards him so that she looked at him again.

"I admire how thoughtful everything you do is. Every step, every detail. Every gesture and sound." She whispered, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in her throat, fighting not to show him weakness.

"You think I planned this." He concluded, cocking his head to the side. "I wish I had. But you must believe me, dōna hāedar, that it was merely a matter of coincidence."

Dōna hāedar.

Sweet little sister.

"Lord Baratheon will not leave it like that. He will break the alliance." She whispered, and he snorted, leaning towards her, sinking his hand into her hair.

"So I'll take Vhagar and explain the situation to him. Mmm, I could take you with me – you would present to him the injustice that has befallen you at the hands of his daughter, and then you would warm my bed in one of the chambers in Storm's End." He said lightly, as if he thought that, indeed, this was a great plan with a guarantee of success.

"You would force him to listen to what you are doing to me." She sighed as she felt his thumb run over her lips, parting them, sinking his finger into their fleshy, moist structure.

She shuddered as his hand slid down to the material of her nightgown, untying it, a moan of surprise stuck in her throat as he spread it open, exposing her bare breasts.

"– I am a free man now, hāedar –" He gasped, leaning lower – her hands clenched into fists on either side of her head as the tip of his pink, wet tongue ran lazily over her hard, puffy nipple. "– and as your big brother, I have precedence in your bed –"

She threw her head back with an innocent, girlish moan as his lips clamped around her nipple, sucking on it gently as if he were a baby – her hands in some involuntary reflex entwined in his long white hair, pressing his face against her breast, feeling the shudders and pulsations surging through her cunt each time his tongue rolled around the sensitive spot.

"– ah –" She gasped, involuntarily rocking her hips, feeling this kind of sensation for the first time in her life – she didn't understand what purpose it was supposed to serve and she felt exposed, but on the other hand what he was doing was wonderfully pleasurable and exciting, her body responding to his caresses eagerly.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back her smile of satisfaction when his hand, clenched earlier on her breast, slid down her stomach lower, pulling impatiently at the material of her nightgown, searching blindly for the warmth between her thighs.

They both moaned, and her fingers pressed his face tighter to her body as his fingertips dug into her dripping folds, swollen with desire – her legs bent at the knees spread involuntarily, shamelessly asking for more.

He released her breast from between his lust-swollen lips and looked at her as if he had completely lost his mind, his gaze dark and shining as he lay down next to her on his side, guiding her hand to the twitching bulge in his breeches exactly as he had the evening before.

She didn't know why she was so willing, why when his forehead pressed against hers and their lips found each other in a passionate, loud kiss, filled with their sigh of delight, her fingers undid the buckles of his tunic and untied the material of his breeches, reaching fearlessly for what lay beneath them.

He closed his eyes and sighed, his body shuddering as he felt the gentle touch of her smooth hand on his erection, hot with desire, throbbing all over under her fingers. His free hand in some subconscious, helpless reflex sank into her hair, his lips melting with hers in a sweet caress seemed to seek reassurance that this would remain their secret.

The tips of their tongues licked against each other with their grunts of delight as his hand sunk into her leaking, silky cunt, circling around her small, delicate pearl while hers trailed over his throbbing manhood, teasing it.

He was hard as a rock.

"– squeeze it –" He breathed out into her mouth between one click of their wet lips and the next, taking his hand from between her thighs for a moment, clearly wanting to show her what he meant.

She opened her eyelids with difficulty, dulled by the sensations and his slick tongue sliding between their kisses down her throat, peering curiously at what she was touching. He stopped the caress for a moment, their faces pressed together, their gazes directed downwards.

"– here – right here – just like that, all the way to the top –" He whispered in a voice trembling with desire.

A quiet, helpless groan broke from his lips, enveloping her in the warmth of his breath as she obeyed him, clasping her fingers at the very base of his long, pink cock, squeezing it to the very tip of it, thick and smooth, dripping with his own wetness.

"– how is it possible for something like this to fit inside a woman? –" She mumbled and heard him smile, his hand returned back between her thighs, running warningly over her leaking slit.

"– I'll show it to you myself – one day –" He murmured, his lower lip running over hers in a gesture inviting her to another kiss, which she accepted with unprecedented eagerness, letting his hand sink into her hair to pull her closer, refusing to let her escape his starved mouth.

"– harder –" He demanded in a voice hoarse with desire between their loud, passionate kisses, and she smiled involuntarily under her breath – her hand, in accordance with his desire, clamped tighter on his root, causing him to let out a surprised, boyish moan from his throat.

Her heart fluttered harder in her chest at the thought that she didn't know he was capable of making such sounds.

So innocent.

Now, in this moment, he was helpless, vulnerable to hurt.

He craved.

And she couldn't waste this chance.

The space between her thighs was delighted with her plan, feeling his fingers circling around her swollen bud with cruel precision, their breaths heavy as their tips pushed against her entrance, opening her on their thickness.

"– lēkia –" She breathed out, a startled, sweet moan of euphoria bursting from her lips directly into his throat as his fingers forced their way deep inside her, only to slide out and repeat it all over again.

He sighed as she squeezed his swollen erection tighter in response – their hands found a shared rhythm, their hips rolling back and forth at the same time, their lips melting into hot kisses filled with excitement and impatience.

"– don't stop – mmm –" He purred into her lips, panting hard along with her, shivers of wondrous delight shaking her body again and again each time his fingertips hit the sweet spot deep inside her, from which she felt the tickle in her lips and nipples.

"– I – o-oh, gods –" She whimpered, feeling her inevitable peak approaching, his hand from her hair slid lower to her breasts, clamping down on it as if he himself was trying to hold back the inevitable.

"– go on – come on my fingers –" He exhaled, and those words were enough to make her body shake with a sweet shudder, from which a startled, innocent moan escaped her throat – she felt his fingers stop moving inside her, wanting only to feel her fleshy walls pulsing around their length, sucking them inside her.

"– hāedar –" He whispered and gasped all over with a sigh of relief when, after her next sure squeeze, his pearly, sticky release spilled over the snow-white material of her nightgown.

They lay like this, panting heavily, welted and sweaty with emotion, pressing their foreheads against each other, his hand lingering on her bare breast and deep inside her womanhood while her fingers stroked gently his throbbing, quivering manhood.

Despite what they had done, and that it was certainly a sin, there was also something innocent about it – their desires were pure and sincere, devoid of subtext, seeking only the release of tension, closeness and security.

When she opened her eyes she saw that his gaze was fixed on her chest, his lips slightly parted in a deep, uneven breath.

She thought he longed to do what he had always done with his lover – to sink his face between her plump breasts and allow himself to be embraced by her – but he knew that she knew his secret and that if he did so, he would expose himself to ridicule and confirm his brother's words.

She lifted her free hand and gently placed it on his, inviting him to sink his fingertips deeper into the soft structure of her bosom – he sighed when he looked at her, as if he didn't know what he thought of it himself, and after a moment he leaned down and nestled his face into the crook of her neck.

His hand remained on her breast – encourage by her gesture, he played with it between his fingers as her arms embraced and cuddled him into her, and he didn't push her away or say a word.

Looking down at her fingers sticky with his spend, her other hand combing lazily through his long white hair, she thought she had tamed not one dragon, but two.

They were both silent – there was something safe about that. It seemed to her that they both knew that whoever spoke first would show weakness – not of flesh but of character – and neither of them could afford to do so.

Desire was like thirst or hunger, obvious and needing no explanation, indicative of nothing more in fact it was.

It didn't need feelings.

"Criston Cole is gathering our army. He and my uncle will soon march for Harrenhal." He hummed, enveloping her neck with his warm breath, his hands closed over her breasts and her womanhood moved, stroking both places, making her shiver.

He shared his knowledge with her because he was proud of himself and felt a sense of satisfaction – he sought confirmation of his genius, her praise and understanding, her gaze of admiration that he so desperately desired.

Or was it a test?

Was he telling her this because he wanted to see if she contacted her father?

They both shifted position, lying on their sides, looking straight into each other's eyes – there was something in his gaze and grin that filled her with anxiety.

"Daemon is expecting our answer. What he doesn't know, however, is that Cole will actually head off to a different location."

She blinked, looking at him confused.

"Why?" She asked and sighed as he gently took her hand in his, looking at her in simultaneous concentration and excitement, as if he was delighted that she had asked about it.

She thought in disbelief that he was acting like a little boy.

He confided in her.

"– your smooth hand is Dragonstone –" He said, placing her hand on the bed and pointed with a circular motion of his finger to the sheet around it. "– all around it is the sea –"

"– this –" He murmured, his other hand sinking lazily into the skin of her exposed, bare breast, making her involuntarily clench her thighs. "– is King's Landing – and this –"

He whispered, slowly running his knuckles down her smooth stomach, a quiet sigh escaped her lips as his fingertips sank gently into the fleshy, moist folds of her soft womanhood.

"– this, dōna hāedar, is Harrenhal – everyone desires it, for it is the fortress that opens the way to the North – moreover, it is currently besieged by your father –" He gasped, teasing her throbbing slit with his fingers, causing her lips to part in a ragged breath, feeling the pleasant tingle of pleasure run down her spine.

She felt with shame that her nipples had hardened, pointy and sensitive, her little cunt all swollen from the waves of tickling ecstasy into which his words and touch had brought her.

"– this –" He continued, sliding his fingers, wet with her moisture up her thigh and knee. "– this is Winterfell – and with it the whole of the North –"

"– however, there is another important, inconspicuous place –" He said contentedly, returning his hands to her palm, his fingers running over her wrist. "– here is Rook's Rest – a small fortress that allows my sister-whore to cross to the continent – however, if you cut it off –"

He said and made a movement with the side of his hand across her wrist, as if he were cutting it off with a dagger.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest as she suddenly comprehended.

"– you want to cut her off from the land –" She muttered and he hummed, cocking his head, his lips curved in expression as if her words gave him satisfaction and tickled his ego.

"– does your brother know about this? –" She asked, and his expression changed – his jaw clenched in displeasure, his iris turned black, his brow straightened.

Her question frustrated him and destroyed his pleasant vision, she thought as he took his hands from her warm body.

"– Aegon did not devote his life to the art of war or the complexities of warfare – he preferred to drink and play with his whores –" He said with a wide smile that, if it were not for the look in his eyes, she might have considered joyful.

She knew, however, that he was furious.

She raised herself up on her elbows, letting the material of her nightgown slide even lower, exposing her shoulders and stomach.

"– don't do it – tell him –" She muttered, and he stood up, infuriated, and immediately tied the material of his breeches, displeased with the direction this discussion had taken.

"– I don't recall asking you for your opinion – it was a mistake to introduce a woman into these complicated, masculine matters –" He said coldly in a tone that suggested that one more ill-chosen word on her part and he would lose patience despite everything that had happened between them.

She, however, knew that what he was doing would sooner or later lead to a catastrophe of which she too would become a victim.

She had no intention of dying because of his pride.

"– your brother sees you as a threat – he is disturbed by your behaviour and is tense in your presence –" She said, looking at him pleadingly.

He, to her surprise snorted and laughed, looking down at her, a wide grin on his face.

"– he's afraid of me –" He said in a way as if it was his great achievement for which she should praise and kiss him.

She shook her head feeling that her face expressed terror.

"– yes, he's afraid of you – and that's not good information neither for you nor for me – gods, you can't let him stop trusting you – you're balancing on a thin line and forgetting that it doesn't matter if he fits the role or not, he's the King –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

He stood over her with his lips slightly parted, breathing loudly, as if he was boiling inside, not knowing what to make of her words.

His gaze fled lower for a moment, to her breasts, as if her bared flesh and the memory of the pleasure they had given each other distracted him, and then back to her face.

He was silent.

He hesitated.

This was her chance.

"– I beg you to tell him – in the solitude of the chamber, so that no words are said in public – so that he cannot accuse you of plotting behind his back –" She whispered, shifting towards him on her hands, settling herself finally in front of him on her knees, looking up at him pleadingly.

He swallowed hard and clenched his hands into fists, as if struggling to restrain himself from touching her – her gaze fled down to the material of his breeches, under which his manhood pulsed.

"– this fool will demand Harrenhal – he won't understand – he wants great fortresses and great victories, not realising that war is composed of cunning and guile –" He said quietly, looking her straight in the face, his lips parted as if he was thirsty and she was a fleshy, wet fruit.

"– so let's convince him together – I know how to speak to him – he enjoys me and my honesty – he'll feel he's making important decisions, even though they've long since been made for him –" She said, breathing hard as he did, feeling how much she was risking by conversing with him so directly.

She saw something sinister flash in his eye, his tongue running over his lower lip.

"– do you let him touch you? –"

She blinked and snorted in disbelief, shaking her head as if she wasn't sure if he had really asked about it.

"– no – his tongue doesn't burst in between my lips and his hand doesn't seek the heat between my thighs –" She said and they both fell silent, panting quietly, as if something in her words aroused both her and him.

They shuddered and pulled away from each other as they heard someone's footsteps outside the door – her hands immediately covered her shoulders and breasts with her nightgown, while he quickly buckled his tunic.

When a quiet knock sounded she glanced at him and only spoke up when he looked as if nothing had happened between them.

She thought with amusement that because of their elation, his hair didn't look as perfect as usual.

"Come." She called out, and a servant came in with a tray, saying that she had brought the morning meal for her as prescribed by the Maester.

Her cousin left without a word, letting her eat in peace, and she exhaled heavily, spreading a piece of bread with berry confiture, thinking she was treading on thin ice.

She was neither his lover, nor his sister, nor his servant, but a chaos of his desires and needs.

Gods, have mercy on me, she thought.

To her surprise, as she was being examined by the Maester, who was looking at a large lump on her head, the King walked into her room.

Aegon seemed pleased that she was alive and looked healthy.

"– ah, you're awake, cousin – great news – Baratheon's whore is on her way back to her home – my brother never liked to have his toys destroyed – and I will not allow any of my family to be harmed in this fortress again –" He said lightly, walking over to the table, taking one of the jars that contained the herbs brought by the medics – he shook it, raised his eyebrows in disapproval and set it down.

She did not reply, deciding that silence in such a situation was safer.

"– he was never able to hide his jealousy or his displeasure, you know – he was forever walking around with his mouth curved in disgust, proud and vain, with his nose in his big books, as if they would make his other eye grow back –" He muttered, pacing around her bed, looking around the room.

"– you're a dragon rider and my cousin, and he gave you such a small chamber – it's inappropriate – I'll assign you another, better one, with a view of the sea – Lady Floris slept in it before, but I think she won't haunt you in your dreams – you'll be content –" He said, looking at her, and she nodded and smiled involuntarily.

"– that's it – that's the spirit – I like it – you should see Sunfyre – have you ever been in Dragon's Pit? –" He asked, as if hundreds of thoughts were going through his mind at once, and he was unable to focus on any.

"– no, my King –" She replied softly and hissed as the Maester touched a spot on the back of her head that was all sore and swollen.

"– forgive me, my Lady –" He whispered, and she nodded.

Aegon didn't seem to see this and simply went on.

"– we will travel there this afternoon, by carriage, so as not to strain you –" He said and seeing that the Maester wanted to state with certainty that this was not a good idea he raised his hand in the air, showing him not to interrupt mid-sentence. "– the fresh air will certainly do her good, and we won't spend much time there –"

Whether she wanted to or not, she had to go.

She didn't do so reluctantly, though, for indeed, she wanted to see the other dragons and the great cave they lived in.

However, as soon as the carriage doors closed behind them she realised what the true purpose of this journey was.

"I want Daemon to answer for the death of my son and I need you to help me convince my brother that I should set off to fight with him. He doesn't agree and every time he does it, he humiliates me in the eyes of the Small Council." He said with regret and frustration, from which she swallowed hard.

Oh gods.

She looked down at her hands, feeling the panic rising within her, standing between them as if between two walls that were moving closer and closer, finally colliding with each other and crushing her at the same time.

"The King must remain in King's Landing. Without you there is no point in all this." She said, looking at him expectantly.

She clenched her hands on her knees when she saw that his jaw clamped shut in rage, his eyes red from tears as his fist hit the carriage wall with all its force.

"– he's my son – you don't understand it – you're not a mother – my children are my biggest pride – they are sweet, good and kind, and now – now my son is locked in a cold stone sarcophagus underground and he's probably scared –" He mumbled out, burying his face in his hands, as if he believed that a decapitated child could wake up.

Despite the absurdity of his words, her throat tightened in sympathy, tears of sadness gathered under her eyelids as she looked at his huddled, distraught figure.

"– he's not suffering anymore – he's in a place where no one can hurt him again –" She muttered, and he sobbed loudly, as if he was only now allowing himself to truly grieve.

She swallowed hard when he reached out his arm to her, placing his elbow on his knee.

"– can you hold my hand? –" He gasped, choking on his own tears, and she felt a single, heavy tear run down her cheek.

Her hand grasped his, and his fingers tightened on hers as he cried and cried and cried.

Some part of her felt the need to embrace him and comfort him, she feared, however, that he might take this as an invitation to something else, something she did not want.

She didn't desire him that way, and his brother's fury would be immense.

So she held his hand in hers until they reached Dragon's Pit.

Sunfyre looked like a dragon straight out of fairy tales told to children – slender, long, shining as if he were made of pure gold he looked proud and towering. She smiled when she saw that the beast had pressed its head against its master's chest, and Aegon kissed its scales as if his dragon was also his child.

Something moved her at that sight, at his genuine joy and laughter.

She realised with horror that his younger brother had never smiled.

Not really.

The journey back to the Red Keep passed as she listened to his stories about their father.

"My father, and your uncle mostly forgot about having more than one child. The fucking cunt of Dragonstone was his favourite. His heiress to the throne even though he had a first-born son, for whom, after all, he had opened the womb of his first, beloved wife. Apparently he did so against her pleas, and her cries were heard throughout the fortress. And yet, my mother and my grandfather say that I should follow his example. That he was a wonderful, merciful king." He said, looking at her with a smile full of amusement, however, there was something else in his gaze: pain and fatigue.

He had not slept well for many months and only found comfort in wine.

"And your sister-wife? What is she like?" She asked, though she did not know why.

Aegon fell silent and the amusement disappeared from his face – he stared blankly out of the carriage window for a moment, as if musing.

"Her person is an eternal mystery to me. I don't usually understand what she says. But she is gentle and kind. She does not humiliate me, although she, of all our family, has the most reason to despise me." He said finally.

She swallowed silently, thinking that there was something childlike and innocent in his words, sincere and helpless, a cry of despair and a plea for help that no one answered.

She wondered if he and his brother knew how much alike they were.

She wanted to say it and had it on the tip of her tongue, but after a moment she realised that her cousin would kill her if he found out that she had described his weaknesses to his brother.

She had to balance the two of them so that they both loved her.

In some way.

When they returned to the fortress she immediately headed to her chamber, dreaming only of a warm bath.

As she stepped into her small room she reached into the back of her gown, grabbing the ties of her bodice, and opened her mouth, wanting to call out to a servant to help her.

"Where have you been?"

She looked back, terrified, clutching at the heart that had stopped in her throat hearing his cold voice – she saw his silhouette sitting on one of the chairs like a statue, his face stony and blank, his gaze dark.

Exactly as it had been when she had first seen him.

"With the King." She replied truthfully, reaching her fingers trembling with anxiety into the back of her gown again, pulling at the thin, bright ribbon, causing the whole dress to loosen.

She saw his lips tighten in fury, his nostrils twitching in a deep breath as if he was trying to control himself and not lash out at her.

"For what reason?" He asked further, tilting his head in curiosity, his wide grin indicating that he was on the verge of exploding.

"He wanted to show me Dragon's Pit and Sunfyre." She said without lowering her gaze, knowing that she could not show him fear.

She jumped up and took a step back, terrified when he suddenly burst from his chair with such fury that she only had time to snort for air and he was already at her side, grabbing her aggressively at the waist, slamming her body against the bedpost.

She sighed, resisting him passively as his free hand lifted the material of her skirt with a sharp movement, her hand gripped his wrist as his fingers sank into her womanhood and pushed against her slit, causing her discomfort and pain.

"– no – it hurts when I'm not prepared –" She exhaled, looking him straight in the eye.

They both breathed hard as something like satisfaction flashed across his face, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk full of contentment at the realisation that she wasn't wet.

That she didn't desire his brother.

He took his hand away and let her go, taking a step back and looking at her for a moment in silence.

"Mmm. I have come to you with another matter. From now on, our lessons will be held in my chamber. I wish to ensure that no one will…disturb us." He hummed softly, suddenly completely calm and pleased, the fingers of his hands rubbing against each other as if he was excited by the vision.

She sighed quietly, leaning the back of her head against the wooden column, feeling her cunt pulsate all over at the subtext she heard clearly in his words.

"So that no one disturbs my education, as I understand it?" She asked quietly, his gaze fixed on her hot and filled with something combining lust and madness.

"Indeed. What I wish to teach you requires much concentration and the privacy of the chamber." He said, and she felt her lips part wide in a thirsty sigh.

The corner of her cousin's mouth twitched in a grin, as if he remembered something, and then he moved towards the door, glancing at her over his shoulder with an expression from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Wear the same robe as the last time. And let your hair down."

[maxlarens]

just a really short oscar x driver!reader thing based on this ask!!! as usual the driving/race events are based totally off vibes and i cannot guarantee any kind of accuracy there.

You don't even see it.

It's a blink and you'll miss it crash.

There's a mess of Ferrari, McLaren and inexplicably a Haas in front of you. Someone goes wide, gets squeezed into a corner, then Leclerc is clipping the back of Oscar's MCL38 and he's in a tailspin.

Ka-thunk. His front end into the barrier.

Leclerc and Hulkenberg whiz around him, spared from a crash, but you can see red pieces of livery already on the track. Could be either of them, or both of them maybe. You respond like lightning, rocketing around Oscar's smouldering car— into the next corner, onto the next straight—

Smoke. There was smoke.

Your heart is beating fast as it is, crashes on track are like that, but you're thinking fire smoke Oscar and suddenly your heart is thundering in your chest. Your hands shake slightly as you press the radio button on your steering wheel.

"Is he okay? Is Oscar okay?", your voice is shaky, from the shuddering of the car, from panic.

You already know a snippet of your radio is going to be on Sky News, or F1 TV. You decide you don't care. Knowing Oscar is okay is vastly more important than potentially betraying something private to the world. You force yourself to breathe. In out. In out.

The seconds you wait for Rachel's reply feel like hours.

Crackle, "That's a red flag. Come in."

You know it's a red flag. You'd already passed the Haas in the gravel, bits of car on the track. Oscar's in the wall. Of course it's a red flag.

"Rachel," you bark, panic clawing up your throat as you slow the car down to a crawl, "Is he okay?"

Crackle. Milliseconds tick by at an unbearable pace. You're heading into the pit lane now, you really need an answer before you get out of the car. Otherwise you're prone to grab the first engineer you can find and demand an answer from them. Or to sprint down to McLaren to check. That would be embarrassing on live television. Plus you'd probably get a fucking fine from the FIA.

"He's okay. He's out of the car."

You roll to a stop in the pit lane outside the Mercedes garage, let out a ragged breath to yourself as the car is spun around and pulled in. In out. In out. He's fine. You're fine. Oscar's fine.

There's the phantom smell of smoke in your nostrils, you almost feel the heat of fire at your back. A memory of something past. Your heart thuds rapidly in your chest, despite the lack of real danger.

God, what you would give right now to see him. Touch him. Put your hands on his face to make sure he's real and alive and here.

send me a prompt/req + driver and i'll write something. please check if my requests are open first 💖

[bluetooththereptile]

Crimson bride

(Yandere Damian Wayne x twin sister reader)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Summary: Your life is going to end horribly, your will to live is slipping away, will your only hope come to save you?

Tw: mentions of violence and abuse

The smell of blood and incense had filled the air, your lungs could hardly bear the responsibility of bringing you oxygen under the pressure of your stress, not that they could easily filter the smoke in the air anyway. It felt like the air was on fire, with each breath your body shuddered slightly, your body could hardly bear the burden of keeping you alert. The beads of sweat slithered down your spine, making the already uncomfortable rags even more unbearable. You were just 11, why were you stuck in a room full of adults in dark long robes...you were not sure...or perhaps you knew what was going to happen, but you didn't know why on earth you were there. You eyed the sacred blade in the hand of the leader of the group, the light of the candles shimmering on its uneven blade, and swallowed your saliva down your throat that now had turned extremely dry. You could already feel the pain in your chest. Dear God, if you hear me...please help!

The dark monks' chants echoed in the chambers, and the puddles of red wax candles under the feet of pillars carved with different images of unholy creatures, seemed like oozing puddles of blood to you, already boiling with crimson liquid of life right out of hell, where they hailed their master from. The veil on your head was thin enough for you to recognize people's faces, well, at least the ones who didn't have a mask on, and your terrified eyes spotted the figure of your grandfather standing behind the leader, himself holding a golden bowl at hand. You gritted your teeth at remembering his words. The memory is still fresh for you, it was just two months ago when he was having a drink with the leader himself in his boudoir, with you present by his side.

"She's a fitting lady Ra's...I give you the credit of having good hereditary genes..." the leader spoke in his smooth voice, his eyes scanning you up and down. You knew how the way he looked at you was inappropriate but you still stayed, holding the tray of drinks, standing by your grandfather's side, if you were going to flinch even for an inch, your mother wouldn't be happy. "She is..." your grandfather hummed, rubbing his chin before he chuckled "What is it old friend? You seem too interested in my child..." the words spoken made your shoulders stiffen slightly, your fingers tightening around the edges of the tray. "I am...but not for what you think...she is too young for marriage for a mortal man..." his smirk grew wider as he continued "But she's at the ripe age for being gifted to our dear lord...she'd make a decent bride..." you could see Ra's hold on his glass of drink tighten, what did his friend mean? Did he want to marry you off to someone? You wondered, but your confusion soon turned into horror as the leader continued "Her heart fits the unholy bowl perfectly" Oh no...you had heard from your nanny that this man was bearer of bad news but this...this was unpredictable! Your head turned to your grandfather to see how he'd respond...please say no, please say no, I've been a good granddaughter...please say no! "What price do you offer?" And with that, your whole world shattered, you felt like life was slipping away from your shell of being as he negotiated the price of marriage, did he...did he just agree on making you a sacrificial lamb?!

You snapped out of your thoughts by feeling the extremely warm hold of the leader on your naked arm as he pulled you away from the corner of the damp room, the metallic chains on your weak ankles clinking loudly as you dragged them on the floor, your feet already bruised by the rough edges of the old tiles on the floor, leaving red trails of blood. He walked you to the alter, your heart skipped as you saw the white dressing of the stone bed, flower petals spread on the surface, how hauntingly fitting for a bridal bed... The man stopped you right before the altar and started chanting in a language you didn't know a word of. But whatever it was, it was working...because the tiles under your feet started to turn unbearably hot, the circles and symbols drawn onto the walls and the floor turned bright red, oh dear God...if you hear me...please help! You had lost your hope a long time ago, but still, you wanted to hold onto a sliver of hope, maybe your grandfather would change his decision at the last minute, or perhaps he would come...but no...how could Damian come to the other side of the world that quickly? He was just a child, like you, sure, he was a capable boy but still, he was just a boy. His words circled in your mind as the priest poured a warm liquid on your body that painted it red, its sweet aroma filling the air, unbeknownst to you, it was a poison that through skin pores penetrated the body and ran into your blood, slowly relaxing your muscles until your heart would stop, this way, if the demons preferred to have your body whole, you'd still be dead. As you felt your skin itch and your vision turn slowly blurry, Damian's voice echoed in your mind "I will come...I promise...I promise!" His voice was filled with determination, but you knew he'd be late. It was already too late...

They helped you lay down on the alter, the wet veil sticking to your face, slowly suffocating you, but you were too weak to move on your own, your eyes were closed, as if the liquid had sealed your eyelashes together, and the voices around you were turning into distant murmurs, your hands limp as they crossed it on your chest. It was too late...and he hadn't held up to his promise...your lips formed a pout, unable to cry, hardly latching onto the task of breathing, your breaths became labored. Soon your chest would be cut open and your warm paralyzed heart would be put into that golden bowl, and then thrown into a fire...you had hoped things would be different, but you knew from the very start, that you were unwanted, and one day, your family would give you up if they have the chance to do so.

Your ears couldn't detect the loud sound of the explosion of the tear gas in the room, how the cult members shouted and pulled out their weapons but were disarmed quickly by the man in black and a few younger ones. You didn't notice them until someone yanked the wet veil from your face and wiped the clotted liquid off of your nose and mouth, putting an oxygen mask on your face "Y/N!" The voice seemed familiar, but you were too weak to respond "Y/N!" He cried for your attention, his trembling hands shaking your shoulders, his voice muffled by his mask, his hold was pushed away from you when you felt a sharp pain on your neck, the detoxing liquid surged in your veins forward by copious amounts, yet you were already unconscious to see your father cry silently as he held your body close to his chest. Poor girl...poor poor girl...he wished he was there sooner.

Your nanny had pulled the small phone behind her apron with trembling hands, she knew your actions had consequences, but she wanted you to feel happy, so she'd do anything in her power to ensure it'd happen. You quickly snatched the phone out of her calloused hands and started to take the number you had repeated over and over in your mind since the moment you had snuck into your mother's study and had found it deep in her files, it was the Wayne Manor's, where your Damian lived with your father. You were separated since birth, him getting most of the attention of your mother, well the one who was to be her weapon, you were too weak to fight from the very first moments you had started to walk, but still, you tried to have a connection with your twin, who even if neglected your attention or bullied you, still felt a twinge of sibling love deep down. It was not until when he was sent to live by his father that Damian had found out how much he dearly loved you, and how much you meant to him. You dialed the number, hearing it slowly beep, one...two...three...you could hear your nervous breaths into the phone, and four "Hello?" You stiffened at hearing Damian's voice, moving your lips to speak but you couldn't, the sheer luck of having him pick up the phone himself was too much! "Hello?!" Damian's voice turned sour with annoyance, you knew he'd hung up quickly so you finally spoke "Hi..."

"Y/N?!" Damian's voice had turned from annoyed into one of surprise and concern, you spoke softly, asking how he had been doing, smiling as he quickly stammered to answer you, but then, when he was rambling on about missing you, you smiled sadly "Hey...I wanted to tell you something..." you interrupted him "Hmm? What is it?" He had asked with curiosity "Please, forgive me if I've done you anything wrong...okay?" "W-wait...Y/N..what do you? What is happening?!" "Grandpa wants to marry me off...to death..." and there was silence, a very uncomfortable silence. "I will come..." his voice was now filled with determination "I will come, I promise!...w-when's is the ceremony?" "Within two weeks-" the phone had slipped off of your hand when your mother's stinging slap met your face, you turned to look at her with wide eyes, trembling as you heard her crush the phone under her feet.

Your eyes opened up to a white light, with warmth surrounding your body. Were you in heaven? You naively asked yourself, but when the pain washed over your body, you knew you were still alive. "Hi..." Damian's voice made you turn your head to his direction at your side, your neck strained from being motionless for too long. He was holding your hand tightly, and your blurry vision could find the outlines of his face in what you could recognize as crying. "Welcome back..." his voice trembled as he sniffled, adjusting the oxygen mask on your face. You blind a few times to make your vision better, still, it felt a little blurry, but you could at least recognize you were somewhere dark, which you'd find out was the Batcave in the future, and Damian was sitting on your side. Your lips curled upwards slightly at how he held your hand to his chest, looking at you affectionately "Sorry I was late..." he spoke softly "But I will make things right from now on, I promise" he promised, and he would do anything in his power to ensure that.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! I love your writing

Could you do something like the villain finding out his nemesis hero is member of his nearly extinct (fantasy?) species?

Like the villain thought he was the last of his kin?

"You..." The villain's eyes widened. "You're..."

Between wearing either heavy make-up and coloured contacts in his civilian guise, or his hero mask when he wasn't, the hero could usually pass as human.

Unfortunately, his mask rested utterly useless in the villain's hands and he hadn't had time to do a full face before rushing out the door. The inhumanity of him was thus blatantly visible beneath the villain's devouring gaze.

"A monster?" the hero snapped. "That's rich coming from you, you-"

The villain reached up and, with the careful press of a button, his own mask slid away.

The hero froze.

The hero stared.

The whole world, and all that he was fighting for dropped away as his heart leapt and his mouth went dry and it felt like every atom in his body hummed with recognition.

The villain's eyes were the same purple shade as his own - a dark orchid-esque colour that humans couldn't quite filter properly and had no entirely accurate name for. The line of his cheek had the same glimmer of scales, though the villain's were a shimmering pearl compared to the hero's blue. He hadn't filed his teeth down to blend in like the hero had either. They were carnivore-sharp.

Dragon. In his more humanoid form, certainly, but a dragon nonetheless.

Just like the hero.

Several key facts slid into place.

"Oh," the hero said, breathless. The old language suddenly felt ready and perched on his tongue like a waterfall. He swallowed it down.

"I thought I was the only one left."

The hero's brain churned, as he struggled to compute the astounding evidence in front of him. Because he couldn't - the villain couldn't - except he obviously was.

Had he been stealing for his hoard?

"I thought I was alone," the villain said. "Are there others?!"

Mutely, dumbstruck, the hero shook his head.

He'd thought he was alone too. For so long, so very very long, he'd thought he was the only one left. And now - now. The hero scrambled belatedly to his feet, with a groan of pain. He could feel panic rising. Panic and hope and fury and longing.

The villain closed the gap in an instant, as if scared the hero might run. He curled one hand around the front of the hero's suit to hold him in place, pinning him back against the wall with a matching strength that suddenly made so much more sense. The wall behind them gave an ominous shudder.

His stare raked over the hero's body, like he could slip beneath his clothes and perform a full catalogue or history, before snapping back to the hero's mouth. His teeth.

"What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do anything. I -" There were too many questions, it was too big. The hero had no idea where to start. He reached out to grab his mask back from the villain.

The villain hurled it aside, well out of the way. His freshly-freed hand gripped the hero's wrist. Tight. Possessive.

"Why are you protecting humans?" the villain sounded somewhere between bewildered and livid. "What's wrong with you?"

The hero bristled, the fury clearing his head a little bit too. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You nearly torched half of London, are you insane?"

"They hunted us. I thought I was the only one left. Are you -"

The villain swore in old tongue. Fire-tongue, though the hero had guessed that much.

He could practically feel the heat rising off the villain, sudden and foreboding. His instincts swerved this way and that; torn between the violence of enmity, of every vicious memory they shared, and all the sheer longings of a home he'd thought lost forever.

Before he'd even fully realised it, he'd reached out, palm searching the villain's chest in turn, finding his heartbeat. Slow. Much slower than a human's could ever be.

Dragon, dragon, dragon.

Kin.

The same.

His.

"Oh, god," the hero said.

"You even sound like them," the villain said, tone not quite kind enough to be wonder. "I really thought you were human. What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do anything! Just - shut up. For one second, just shut up. I need to think. Because you - you're - oh god."

There were many arguments the hero could have made, never mind that the whole point of a secret identity was to fit in, but all he could focus on was the enormity of it.

He wasn't alone.

They weren't alone.

He didn't have to be alone.

The villain's hands moved up to his face, clutching his jaw, cradling him. The purple of his eyes began to deepen to flame.

"Come with me," he said, fully switching to the old tongue. "We shouldn't be fighting each other. You're young - you must be young if you're on their side - we'll talk. You'll tell me everything."

The worst person the hero knew was the only one who could possibly begin to understand.

It was all too much.

The hero ripped himself free, and bolted.

[petit-etoile]

in the moonlight (my darling, do not fear)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 4184 content warnings: mentions of injuries, no in-depth descriptions, minor spoilers for astarion's act ii romance other tags: canon-typical violence, canon complaint, hurt/comfort, whump, developing relationship, love confessions, gender neutral tav, elf!tav archiveofourown: here. sentence prompt: "you're like a sickness, a disease, and the only way for me to be cured of you is to let you completely consume me until my body has no fight left." — from here. summary: defeating the orthon is no small task. the hardest part is what comes after.

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‘No!’ he shouts, and it’s so loud it echoes on the edges of your mind. ‘You can’t die.’

I’m not dying, you think but the words never leave your lips. In the depths of your consciousness, you can faintly remember the battle with the Orthon. Karlach had killed the displacer beast, hadn’t she? Shadowheart had blinded the Merregon… You remember violent flashes of light and the shaking of the Gauntlet. Trying to remember takes too much energy, and thinking about opening your eyes makes your stomach roll.

‘Get up, damn you!’ Astarion snaps harshly.

He paws at your desperately, shifting rock and ruin, and when he presses his hands to your side, stars flutter behind your eyelids so violently all you can do is moan. It’s your turn to shove at him. You push at his hands and feel your fingers glide against his skin. But I’m too tired, you want to say. I just want to sleep, to dream. Eventually, you give up your fight and relax into the darkness. Maybe when you awaken, the illithid parasite will be gone and you will be cured. You can only hope that it comes true.

Astarion has other plans for you. He curses your name so sweet it could be a perfectly mulled wine and leans forward. His ear tickles your lips, and whatever he hears come from it is enough to make him heave out a relieved sob. His hands are on your face again. His fingers are sticky, and they smell like powder. He jostles you so violently that you groan against your will, but it doesn’t seem to matter much to him.

Astarion rests his head against your chest right where your broken collarbone has begun to throb. You struggle to open your eyes and stare at the roof above you, but you don’t see the familiar ceiling of Shar’s Temple. The celestial glowing swirls have been blocked from sight by ugly granite floors. If you really put your mind to it, you can recognize Karlach’s desperate cries on the other side.

‘What happened?’ you whisper.

‘You were supposed to jump down!’ Astarion snarls. ‘Gods, why didn’t you jump down!’

The panic in his voice is enough to make you try harder to retrace your memories. You had plunged your blade into Yurgir’s chest but couldn’t manage to pull it out. It hadn’t killed him. Yurgir had laughed at you, had laughed at your friends  —  He had never hated anyone more at that moment.

It had taken the blade you kept on your hip to finally kill Yurgir. He had dropped bombs, you recall. It comes back to you easily now. Astarion had been right behind you and was going to follow you down, but you were so wounded he insisted on helping you jump away from the bombs before they exploded. But you hated heights, you hated the feeling of falling.

‘Scared,’ you admit.

‘Ha! Scared!’ Astarion repeats, tone pitching up in his hysteria. ‘Karlach was going to catch you!’

‘I couldn’t,’ you say. ‘I was scared. I couldn’t jump, I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry, Astarion.’

A shaky sob escapes his lips. ‘Don’t be sorry, my love,’ he whispers. ‘Don’t close your eyes again.’

A shudder of exhaustion runs throughout your body. You want to ask questions. You can feel them on the tip of your tongue, but moving your jaw is more work than you’re currently cut out for. Without craning your neck, you try to assess the damage.

The displacer beast’s claws had torn your sleeve. You remember how its teeth snapped shut close to your face, and how now matter how hard you tried to push it away, its thick neck kept you from escaping. Shadowheart had distracted it with a clone. Desperation had pushed you to follow Karlach up the steps so that you could fight the Orthon. For Raphael’s contract. For Astarion.

You do as you were commanded. You stare at the shaking, makeshift rooftop and blink dust from your eyes as it filters down like mocking snow. Astarion’s head feels particularly heavy at this moment. With a sudden, horrified realization, you fully come to terms with the situation you’ve found yourself in.

You are lying in a puddle of your own blood and too broken to move. Half of the floor you were standing on has fallen beneath you and blocked you from your allies, and the only one at your side is Astarion. It must be like death itself to sit there surrounded by blood while injured. He could heal himself if he drank. You raise your good hand and place it against his white-silver curls.

‘I know I usually offer first,’ you say sheepishly. ‘But if you need a drink  —  ’

‘Have you lost your gods-damned mind?’ Astarion hisses.

Before you can say anything else, he sits up and leans over you. You are easily distracted by his beautiful, marble-like complexion which is marred by the dirt and dust and blood. He’s beautiful.

Astarion’s cerise eyes are frantic. ‘I do not mean to alarm you, but you are dying.’

Like the ceiling’s fate above them, the reality of the situation comes crashing miserably down on top of you. Shadowheart’s spells cannot penetrate the wall that has come between you. You realize it now. You press your hand against the hole in your side delicately and laugh a little, staring at your fingers coated with blood. You close your eyes, but Astarion’s distressed whine has you search frantically for his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, horrified. ‘I’m sorry. I’m  —  Do not hate me.’

‘Please,’ Astarion begs. ‘Just stay awake. Stay with me. Karlach is trying to get through; All you have to do is stay awake, please.’

You search his face for some hint of comfort, but it’s hard to see through the dark spots knotting in your vision. You do your best to push away the panic, to force the tears back into your eyes. You don’t want to die, not yet. Raphael still has to translate the runes on Astarion’s back. Shadowheart wants to finish the gauntlet. You want to save Karlach’s heart, to absolve Wyll’s pact, to save Gale. Selfishly, you want to kiss Astarion again without any of that which comes after. You want to savor the weight of his mouth against yours.

‘I’m sorry,’ you tell him again. You swallow harshly. ‘This must be like torture for you.’

Astarion chuckles hoarsely. ‘While you are very tantalizing, this is…nothing compared to two hundred years.’

You smile faintly. Two hundred years of carrion, and now you are laid out in front of him as delicious and forbidden as the feast Raphael offered you once. He ducks out of your view to lay his head on your chest. Though he tries to hide it, you can feel the little shudders of his sobs.

I’m sorry, you think to the ceiling. The weight of Astarion’s head against your shoulder is agonizing to your broken collarbone, but whatever he is doing, he is doing it with such reverence it reminds you of the religious devout and their steadfast adherence to their god.

He burrows his face into your chest, careful to stay small over you, to be mindful of your condition. He tries to balance his breathing so that it’s quieter and less disruptive, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot quell the frightened way his shoulders jump. You close your eyes for a moment just to memorize the sight of it.

‘No,’ he says suddenly, sitting up. ‘You promised. You cannot die, I forbid it. You said you would protect me, and you cannot do that if you are  —  Speak to me, damn you!’

‘’m awake,’ you say tiredly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘You cannot,’ Astarion insists.

‘Next time,’ you say, ‘I will jump.’

Astarion shakes his head, and little drops of his tears rain down on your skin. ‘It isn’t the smell of you that makes it hard,’ he confesses brokenly. ‘It isn’t even about the damned Infernal runes. It’s you, everything about you. What is left for a disease like me when someone like you goes away?’

‘You will lead them,’ you tell him.

Astarion’s nose wrinkles at the idea. ‘I am not particularly interested in being the face of a revolution,’ he says. ‘No matter how beautiful I am. I am still a sickness, a beast. You are the only one good enough to lead us.’

‘You are like a sickness, then. A horrible disease,’ you say, mindful of the way his eyes narrow. ‘The only way for me to be cured of you  —  to be the cure for you, is to let you consume me until my body has no fight left, Astarion.’

‘How dare you,’ he says with a coquettish shrug.

You can hear Karlach slowly working through the rest of the rubble now. You hate to feel too hopeful, but you can almost hear the sound of the shattered floor breaking free. They were coming to save you, to save him.

‘That was rather poetic, you know,’ Astarion tells you. He watches your face intently as if afraid he’ll miss out on something exceptional. ‘You’ve never been one to use such gorgeous words.’

‘I wanted to,’ you say softly. ‘For you, my love.’

Astarion’s eyes widen as those words fall seamlessly from your lips. You aren’t sure if he meant to say them earlier. After all, he’s only ever been fond of calling you darling or a delectable little treat, treating you recklessly with careful honeyed words. As if getting any closer to you might coax him into accidental oblivion where your name might leave his lips thus solidifying you as something to be treated with care. A pomegranate seed between his teeth.

The shock doesn’t stay for long. Your eyelashes flutter though you fight against it. The decaying darkness around your vision has almost reached the center. You cry faintly and press a hand against your side, horrified that your blood is still pouring from you even if it is slower now. Perhaps you are running out of blood. You want to tell Astarion to drink it all up before it’s mixed with the sulfur and ash, but words are hard to form. Your heart skips a beat.

Don’t let me go to waste, you beg helplessly, reaching out to his mind when yours is all but gone. A heart-wrenching sob erupts from his chest. When you next awake, there is relatively less action than what was happening before. There are no violent tremors of a floor threatening to collapse. The sound of frantic shoving is absent. There’s only a dim hum in your ears, and the sound of a hushed fire burning well into the evening. You slowly open your eyes and blink away your sleepiness.

Shadowheart’s healing spell still hovers over you, but she’s not in your tent so she must be concentrating somewhere else. Your collarbone still smarts and you can definitely feel every single bruise you’ve ever received in your life, but you feel stronger, fuller. You reach a hand as if to inspect the wound at your side again and find the skin there is closed now.

‘You’re awake,’ Astarion says softly. ‘Thank the gods.’

You sit up quickly and feel the world turn sideways for it. Lightning dances along the back of your eyes as you try to steady yourself, and Astarion reaches out to ground you as you sway back and forth. You wonder just how long he’s been sitting there in your tent waiting for you. Your head throbs faintly once you manage to open your eyes.

‘Thank the gods,’ you echo breathlessly. ‘You brought me back?’

Astarion grimaces as though embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t the one who carried you back to camp, no,’ he says almost petulantly. ‘You’ll have to thank Karlach for that. But I have sat here since then, I must admit.’

‘Everyone  —  ’

‘Everyone else is fine,’ Astarion interrupts. ‘Halsin aided Shadowheart in your healing. Gale procured herbs, Wyll kept vigil at camp while you slumbered. It was all very twee. You’ll be sad you missed it.’

Astarion raises his chin much like a cat who desires petting. He would never admit it, but you can see it on his face. He’s relieved. If he were anyone else, he might weep for joy at seeing you awake again. It isn’t who he is, so you settle for knowing that he has not left your side since you escaped the Gauntlet.

You sit up further and wave your hand through Shadowheart’s healing spell. It doesn’t disperse as much as you wish, but you ignore it, crawling across your lumpy bedroll so you can wrap your arms slowly around Astarion’s neck. He freezes beneath your touch and begins sputtering, but then you feel his arms wrap around your waist. He burrows his face in the side of your neck.

‘I’m sorry for scaring you,’ you mumble against his ear.

You hear him swallow. ‘I’m not apologizing for yelling at you, if that’s what you want.’

‘I would never ask you to,’ you insist.

Before, you thought it would be a small hug. Something to show your thanks to him. You loosen your arms around him so that he can pull away, but if anything, Astarion drags you closer to him. He hides his face in the spot beneath your ear and inhales deeply, memorizing your healthy scent intently.

The hug lasts longer than you thought it would. It’s almost as healing as the magic, too. You hold Astarion as close to you as he will allow, rubbing circles and tracing his curls at the nape of his neck as if to promise that you will never leave again. You decide to sniff him tentatively as well, and beneath the dirt and ash from the collapse, he still smells like Astarion.

You startle a little when you feel his hand tuck beneath your shirt, his fingers reaching to touch a hint of your bare skin. Someone was kind enough to drag the heavier armor from you, but you still have your bloodied shirt on. Astarion’s cool touch is welcome against your aching spine.

‘I thought,’ he says slowly, ‘that you had sentenced me to a lifetime of loneliness again when you were felled earlier. At first, I was so angry that I thought I might hate you for your mistake. I wanted to kill you myself once the dust had settled.’

‘Astarion  —  ’ you start to say, hopeless apologies on your tongue.

‘You will let me finish,’ Astarion says harshly, though he nuzzles you. ‘Elves reincarnate, but how long does it take? How many years would I be forced to wait before I caught the scent of you on the wind?’

You’re freed from his grasp, but you aren’t allowed to escape far. You both kneel in your tent, one of his hands on the back of your head, the other at the side of your waist where your skin had been ripped open before. Astarion allows you to see him for who he truly is. His eyes are soft, weak when he stares deep into your eyes like he’s afraid he’ll forget you.

‘You have made this sinner a worshiper, though it’s no gods I am on my knees for,’ Astarion says to you. ‘The only hymn I care to rehearse is your heartbeat. The only prayer is your name. I begged the gods for years that they would save me, but you are the only divine who has answered my call.’

Your breath catches in your throat.

Astarion presses his hip into yours. ‘I wanted to wait to tell you,’ he says with a miserable shake of his head. ‘To think more.’

‘You still can  —  ’

‘I cannot,’ he admits. ‘When I close my eyes, all I see is your body beneath mine with your life’s blood spilling from you. You begged me to devour you.’

‘I wanted you to be strong,’ you admit. ‘Before, you told me you were only allowed to dine on creatures who couldn’t think. Who knows how long your strength would have lasted…’

His eyes seem to contain infinite sadness. You try to be intent with your words, but you’re distracted by the way he releases his head to palm your chest, pushing his fingers so forcefully skin it’s as though he’s determined to dig through your flesh to grip your heart in his hand. You’d allow him if he asked.

‘You are so self-sacrificing it’s insulting,’ Astarion snorts. ‘Do you think I would have continued in this realm without you? Never have I felt so selfishly about someone before.’

Carefully, almost as if he’s never done it before, Astarion leans forward and presses his lips against yours gently. All you can think about is his overwhelming devotion even as you respond to the kiss, melting against the touch. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this.

And you do miss it. You hate being in the Shadow-Cursed Lands more than you hate the lift in the mountains. Everything is dark and dreary and dead, and your companions are prone to being even more distant and distressed than they were before. You feel as though you are of little hope.

But Astarion kisses you now like a man who is breathing air for the first time. His mouth is hungry and insistent, and his hands cling to your skin more than he’s ever clung to you before. It causes you to blush. It’s unlike him to show such desperation. He’s willing, open, honest  —  yet this kiss is so different from the ones you experienced before. It’s almost chaste. He kisses you like a knight would kiss his charge.

‘But I want this,’ he whispers, breath ragged against your cheek. ‘I want you.’

‘Astarion,’ you murmur. That's all you can say.

He presses his nose against your jaw. ‘Whatever my intentions were before, to the hells with them,’ he says harshly. ‘I want us to be something real, something true if you’ll have me. It’s what you deserve.’

‘I do,’ you confess, almost embarrassed. ‘You must’ve known how silly I felt pestering you. You were the first person I sought out when I returned to camp.’

‘You did have a rather obvious air of desperation about you,’ Astarion says with a small laugh.

‘But I wanted you to come to me of your own accord,’ you continue. You touch the edge of his collar. ‘I lacked confidence. I did not want to force you into something knowing your history.’

He kisses you again. This time, it is a little less chaste. Astarion is determined to devour you, mind, body, and soul. His hands wander as though they’ve never felt your body before, and there’s something anguished about the way he returns to cradling the back of your neck. Your mouth is nothing but a scripture he is determined to practice.

You feel drunk with exhaustion. Having been settled between death and undeath for so long has left you feeling as though there is nothing in your sinew, and Astarion is making matters worse. Your head is filled with nothing but him and his unpredictable mercy. You cling to his shirt and struggle.

What have you done to deserve such boundless devotion? You have listened to, and pleaded with, every emotion he has given you. You’ve taken and given and created anew. Now Astarion becomes. Everything you have given him evolves to become this. When he is finally finished memorizing your mouth, he pulls away and confronts you with barely concealed hunger.

‘Say it,’ he begs desperately. ‘Say you want me too.’

‘I want you,’ you say. ‘Gods, you must know this. There’s nothing I want more.’

‘I wanted to manipulate you,’ he says, horrified. He hides in the crook of your jaw. ‘I wanted to use you as a shield, someone to stand behind.’

‘I am not a very big shield,’ you say.

He doesn’t laugh. ‘I was going to do what I had done before,’ he says. ‘Use your emotions for me as a weapon, but  —  I never want to see you near another weapon for as long as we live. Do you understand?’

You press a kiss to his hair. ‘Shall I stand behind you now?’

Astarion does laugh at that. He faces you fully now, hands cupping your cheeks. ‘You may as well be regulated to nothing but camp duty. You find a place for us to rest, you sew our clothes up when they come back with holes in them. I’d say you could make dinner, but…’

You brush a lock of his silver hair away from his eyes and run your thumbs against the swelling. He’s just as exhausted as you are even if he has yet to admit it. The building’s collapse has left him equally as tired. You encourage him to lay down with you, and he does, curling at your side with his head on your chest.

‘Will you be our fearsome party leader?’ you ask. You close your eyes and try to imagine it.

‘Oh yes,’ he swears solemnly for your sake. ‘I will hold the map and point us in the correct direction. Hopefully my leadership will lead us away from Shadow-Cursed things and back to the streets of Baldur’s Gate. I am so ferocious that whoever controls these parasites will give up upon seeing my muscles.’

You try to imagine your life without the tadpole. It seems relatively empty without Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s bickering, and you would miss the way Halsin and Gale are prone to rambling on about whatever is holding their interest at the time. You’d miss Karlach and her boundless enthusiasm for dancing. You’d miss Wyll, too. You’d miss the way he always watches your back.

Would you have met them in Baldur’s Gate? Would Astarion have picked up your scent and chased you down an alleyway intent on drinking your blood? He would be as he was before, angry and cruel and distant. For a moment, you’re almost grateful that the mindflayers had kidnapped you that morning. The circumstances surrounding it were dire, and you hated the gross wiggling the worm was prone to doing when it wanted you to be authoritative, but you would miss them.

‘I don’t regret it, you know,’ you say suddenly.

‘You do not regret what, exactly?’ Astarion asks. ‘Getting blown up and nearly dying? You should.’

You snort despite your best attempts not to. You press your palms against your eyes and try to keep from laughing too hard. For what it’s worth, Astarion does let out a small chuckle. You can hear his frown.

‘Aye,’ you relent. ‘I suppose I do regret nearly dying and. I don’t regret what came before it. If Raphael asked me to strike down all of the gods so that he would translate your back, I would do it without asking a question. You deserve to know.’

‘I cannot overstate how…appreciative I am of that,’ Astarion says finally. ‘But, just so you know, I would do the same for you without question. I have most of the time. I trust at least a third of your decisions.’

‘All of the decisions I make,’ you begin.

But Astarion interrupts, ‘I am sure you make them with everyone’s best interest in mind. Sometimes it works out. Sometimes you end up blown to bits.’

‘I do not regret letting you feed from me,’ you say, pretending he never opened his mouth. ‘I do not regret the silly way I fell into your honeyed words. I do not regret killing the Orthon. I do not regret you.’

‘We’ve barely just begun.’

You swallow. ‘And I will see it through until the end of time,’ you say. You’re fully aware that it’s too soon to make sweeping grand declarations of love, but you can’t stop yourself from saying. ‘You will never be alone again.’

You take Astarion’s silence in stride. You want him to know that he isn’t the only one capable of saying disgustingly romantic things. In the wake of your unconsciousness, you feel a rush of things you haven’t felt in quite some time. Life felt dreary in the mountains and worse in the Underdark. You hate when your world feels as though it’s crushing you. Now, even in the dark, it’s as if the sun shines on your face.

‘I love you,’ you say.

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you,’ you repeat, this time with more meaning. You try to roll onto your side, but your shoulder fusses too much. ‘I want you, and I want this. Forever.’

‘Forever,’ Astarion repeats, a sense of wonder entering his voice as he toys with the taste of it on his tongue. Once again, he sits above you, his head pressed against your chest, shaking as he listens to the sound of your heartbeat beneath your skin. ‘I like the sound of that.’ You smile at the sound of a purr in his voice, and allow yourself to imagine what forever means.

[sp00kymulderr]

closer to light

Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+. pwp, truly no plot. sleepy spooning sex, thigh riding/grinding, dry humping, handjob, cum play, the tiniest hint of a breeding kink, pet names and fem coded language for reader throughout. Unedited.

Words: 1300~

Summary: Javi can't help waking you up in the middle of the night

He’s been awake for hours. Never sleeps even with you there. His mind thrums with the what, the when, the why only worsened by the silence of night and blanket of darkness.

It’s easier when you’re in his bed; Javi can get lost in those soft long breaths you take as you sleep. His body responding to yours; warmth upon warmth, heart upon heart. The presence of you stirs better feelings in him, the kind that make him wide awake for easier reasons. The twitch of him when you push back in your sleep, ass rubbing against his half hard cock which is waking up even more rapidly than him, even when it’s 3 in the morning.

His lips find their path across your back and to your shoulder before he even realises it, it’s a trail he’s committed to memory by now. Large hands grasping the meat of your hip, keeping you pulled back against him. You’ve said it before ‘take me as you want me, Javi’ but still he lets out a held breath when you stir and murmur, eyes fluttering open as his lips make contact with your neck and nip ever so. He likes you asleep, all sighs and softest breaths, but he loves you on the cusp of awake even more - soft and pliant and so sweetly giving.

“Mm…Javi…” You moan a sweet little sound out, pushing back slowly but more purposefully and his cock stiffens more, aching throb of it rutting gently against your backside now.

“Shh. I’ve got you baby” Javier murmurs as his lips skim your warming skin, delving to that precious place where your shoulder meets your neck. Always makes you shudder when his mustache tickles there and this time is no different even with your eyes still closed, barely out of your dreamworld.

Fuck, your scent as he breathes you in is intoxicating. Makes him forget everything except you, every time. It makes his hard-on throb almost painfully so he’s pushing harder against you. 

“Feel what you do to me, angel? Even when you’re sleeping…prettiest little thing in the world for me” He whispers low in your ear, deep rumble of a voice vibrating down to your core. Oh god, you whimper and tremble as you struggle to piece together the real world and your dreams. Is it your Javier, manhandling your thighs open, slotting his own thick one between them? Or is that your dream Javier, pulsing against you as his fingers trace the front of your underwear? Whichever it is you know even in your state of reverie you’re warm and wet and ready for him, as always, cunt fluttering in anticipation.

His hardness grinds desperately against your ass now, as his fingers delve into your underwear and find you slick. The groan he lets out is sinful, hot breath against your ear making you mewl in want

“Fuck” Javi grunts, planting kiss after kiss across the expanse of your shoulders and upper back, thick finger swiping across your clit to feel it twitching.

“Woke her up, didn’t I baby? Woke that pretty pussy right up”

Your body shivers in pleasure at his words, a rush of heat coiling tight in you as his fingers swirl circles over your sensitive clit. Your lids are heavy with sleep, still recovering from the sudden awakening, but he’s right, the rest of you is wide awake and burning for him.

“Y-yeah” You sob needily, arching your back so your ass is pushed further against him now as he continues to rut.

“Please, Javi. Need you. Need it…” Your whine makes his heart thrum with desire, with love, with want beyond anything. He only sees you, only feels you, only cares about you. 

“Shh, shh, pretty girl” He whispers back, lips and teeth against the shell of your ear still. He uses his big hand to tilt your hips, adjust your position just so, and then he’s flexing his thigh and…oh…a spark lights inside you as he holds you by the hip and encourages you to move them.

“Woke me up, just to tease me” You’re all pouts and sighs, tilting your head to look up at him. 

“Oh, poor thing” Javi laughs softly. His hands guide your hips to keep moving, his dark eyes gazing lovingly up into your still-sleepy ones. The roughness of the fabric of your underwear plus the flexing, muscular expanse of his thigh beneath continually catching your clit makes you gasp softly, and then louder and louder.

“Come on angel, get yourself off on me. You can do it, just for me”

Your mouth hangs open, eyes closed as you focus in on the two simultaneous feelings; his erection still pushing hard against your ass every time you move back, and the grind of your pussy against his leg. You’re a vision to him. A beautiful thing, angel come to rid him of his fears and worries. Fallen, just how he likes it.

“That's it, like that. Good girl” He encourages your every move, sinful and rough voice vibrating against your back as he nips at the back of your neck.

You breathe his name in beautiful sighs, he says yours like worship. The quiet of night interrupted by two people falling apart together, pieces to be picked when the sun rises.

You are the first to tumble, Javi makes sure of that. Your body tenses, a muffled wail into your pillow as he keeps you moving, makes sure you feel him all the way through your orgasm. He mutters filthy praise in your ear, as you soak through your panties, slick wet covering his thigh.

“Fuck, there it is. Perfect” He coos, fingers gripping your jaw to turn your head towards him, see those beautiful eyes look back at him, your fucked-out, tired expression is his favourite thing in the world right now. The only thing in the world.

“Mm” You sigh in to his mouth as his kisses you, taking your hand in his at the same time and bringing it down to his cock. So hard for you. Impossible not to want you, every moment you’re in his life. The brightest thing to ever grace him.

He guides your hand on his leaking length, slicking it up and wrapping your fingers around him, his hand around yours. He knows you're tired, he doesn’t mind helping you out. It won’t take long anyone, he’s already brought to the edge by the effects of feeling you fall apart on him.

When he comes, it’s with the rough kind of grunt that flickers new heat within you, lips finding yours as he spills on to your fingers, on to the sheets. Javi rests his forehead against your shoulder and moans, kissing your warm skin again. You feel the weak groan of your name and it makes you tremble.

All goes quiet apart from his heavy breaths for just a moment before you realise he’s taking your hand which is sticky with his warm spend, guiding it between your legs.

“Don’t wanna waste it, angel” He mumbles sleepily, encouraging your cum soaked fingers into your panties and the push of them against your entrance. Your lids are heavy too, but you don’t deny him, fingering his load into yourself with a lewd squelch that makes him moan again.

“Good girl” you hear him say, as he brings a strong arm over you and pulls you flush against his chest once more.

His breathing calms after a moment, a fresh sense of peace washing over him now. He’s always so tranquil in the moments after - the heady satisfaction saturating the air, blanketing you both in comfort. His mind is empty enough now, nothing but thoughts of you running through it, that he’ll sleep for a few hours.

You’re sure to be woken up again by him in the morning. You don’t mind one bit.

[angelicblondie]

high infidelity (pt 2)

enemy!luke x princess!reader (MDNI) warning: cheating (not ok at all), smut note: finaly done! thank you for the patience on this! it took me soooo long for some reason so im so sorry! but with that being said, i really hope you all enjoy 🤍 ⋆⑅ೀpart oneೀ⋆⑅

you hadn't properly spoken to luke in exactly 2 weeks. 2 weeks since you threw your coffee all over him at breakfast, 2 weeks since you spent the whole day cleaning camp with him, 2 weeks since you kissed him, and 2 weeks since you slept with him.

eventful day, huh?

after luke had cleaned the two of you up, you had promptly (and awkwardly) showed yourself out, sliding back on your underwear and running back to the beach for your clothes. you thanked the gods that everyone was at the campfire and no where near you and luke, otherwise they would have caught you in a very compromising position.

after redressing, you rushed to the rest of the campers, taking a seat next to alex. your boyfriend.

wow, what a good girlfriend I am, you thought sarcastically.

alex turned towards you, placing a firm kiss on your cheek. "hey babe, where were you?"

you loosened up your limbs trying to appear casual. "I had to finish off some cleaning with luke." you stated, forcing your voice to sound a bit annoyed at the mention of the raven haired boy.

alex sighs. "i know you don't like him babe, but what happened at breakfast was....a bit much, no?"

you bite your lip. "i know, i know, trust me."

his fingers twirl a bit of your hair, and his eyes narrow. "why is your hair wet?"

you blink, thoughts running wild to formulate an answer.

"i think im done cleaning," luke stated, tossing his shirt to the sand and unbuttoning his shorts. you turned to look away, fearing a blush would coat your cheeks at seeing his near-naked form.

you could hear the smirk in lukes voice as he talked, and you turned back to see him just in boxers, walking backwards towards the water.

"gonna take a dip, if you wanna join."

his words were enticing, and you still couldn't figure out why. despite yourself, you slowly peel of you clothes, curious as to where this was going. with a new found sense of confidence, you walked towards the water, locking eyes with luke, who was eyeing your body, and the thin, lacy garments covering you privates.

you held back a shudder of the memory from before, and forced a annoyed look on your face.

"luke threw water on me at the beach." you lied.

alex scoffed. "what a dick, huh?"

you nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder. "yeah, a huge dick."

you winced at your words, because they were true in all senses. you almost laughed at the irony - you had just slept with him and were now talking to your boyfriend about how he's a huge dick. beautiful.

in truth, you felt beyond guilty. here alex was, so sweet and caring, and you had just cheated on him. it was so out of character, especially given your hatred for luke - it was out of the blue.

you regretted it. bad.

but why did that idea fill you with even more guilt?

not long after you arrived, luke had showed up, going over to sit with his siblings.

he glanced in your direction, noticing that you were next to alex. feeling his gaze on you, a part of you wanted to detach from your boyfriend - a small part, but still a part.

and besides, even if that part of you was bigger - that part that quite enjoyed your time with luke over the past hour - it would never work. odds are, you were just a one and done for him. he messes around with girls all the time, its wasn't worth loosing your relationship with alex over.

so at that moment, especially when you saw luke begin to flirt with a girl from demeter cabin, you decided you would forget you and luke castellan ever happened, and you would devote your time into making your relationship with alex work.

because it was the right thing to do.

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

like stated, it had been 2 weeks since your...encounter, with luke, and safe to say things have gone mostly back to normal.

mostly.

the days were mostly the same. you spent time with your siblings and friends, and of course, your boyfriend. you trained the younger campers, you dueled with your peers, and you lead your cabin in all duties, being the head councilor alongside your sister silena.

you relationship with alex felt as if it had only strengthened in the couple of weeks - you had been pouring so much more energy into the the two of you, and if felt good to be investing into something that was good for you.

and besides, you were filled with immense guilt for what happened with luke - the least you could do was spend a little extra time with alex.

so yeah. the days were mostly back to normal.

the nights, however, had changed.

instead of being plagued by usual demigod nightmares, you had been burdened with far worse - dreams of luke.

you were angry, internally blaming it on him, even though you knew rationally, he couldnt have anything to do with it.

you were the issue.

whether you were trying to or not, you were the one dreaming of him. you were the one that as soon as you closed your eyes, you were back in cabin one, underneath him, writhing in pleasure.

you wished there was some sort of therapy at camp, so someone could tell you what the hell was going on.

you knew you didn't like luke - since the moment you met him, in fact, you hated him. the two of you never got along, always competing to be best, always finding ways to get under the others skin. you didn't like him, and he didn't like you.

so it was attraction - simple as that. just because you hated him with your gut, doesn't mean you couldn't find him hot. because he's objectively hot. it would be suspicious if you said he wasn't hot, because everyone knew he was.

so, you could admit that to yourself - that you found him very attractive, but you could never see anything with him. thats why it didn't matter - because theres nothing of substance. with alex - he genuinely cares about you, and you feel safe with him. luke would only ever disappoint you.

but you couldn't deny that lukes surprising warmth was unforgettable. that his lips and skin were shockingly soft, that his voice when quiet and breathless was enough to send shivers down you spine even now, that when you were with him in that state he was all consuming...

you couldn't deny that his touch was electric, lighting a spark in you that you didn't know was there. that his teases weren't aggravating that one late afternoon when he had you, in fact, they only spurred on your need for him. you couldn't deny that despite yourself, the intimacy of the moment you had wasn't lost on you - the way he demanded you look in his eyes the whole time, the way he joked with you and cleaned you up after, even his dirty teases about what your boyfriend would think if he found out - you remembered it, no matter how much you wish you didn't.

you cringed when you remember your own words from that night.

"bet he could never make you feel this good, could he?" luke had asked, his voice teasing and of course, knowing.

you repeatedly shake your head, your words coming out all jumbled together. "no, never, only you, luke," you cried.

"s'that right, princess? only me?" you almost regretted your words, seeing how much it seemed to have grown his ego, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care all that much when he was making you feel so good.

you nod, whimpering as your cunt clenched around him, biting your lip to hold back any more sounds.

you had essentially told him that it was only luke who could make you feel that good, that he was better than your boyfriend.

yikes. it wasn't a good look, especially since you were still with said boyfriend.

you could excuse it, say it was heat in the moment, but in truth, in that moment you meant it. you rarely say things you don't mean, and even if you tried to lie, you knew the truth - you knew that it wasn't a fabricated statement.

you also couldn't pretend that you hadn't seen him looking at you, very often as of late. you'd be at the volleyball court, messing around with your siblings, when you felt his hot gaze on you. you turn to look, seeing him with his own siblings from afar, staring heatedly at you. you would swallow nervously, you body feeling hot, before returning your attention back into the game.

you werent sure why he was pressed - you had assumed he would've been fine with it - getting it out of your system once and then going back to normal.

but nothing between you two in the past couple of weeks was your normal.

you and luke, as always, taught the younger campers a sword fighting class. you had been teaching this together for years, chirons reasoning that you two were the strongest sword fighters in camp, and it would be a shame not to utilize that. the two of your egos had been too stroked to disagree, despite your dislike for the other.

but now, after what happened between you two, you regretted that design greatly.

things were beyond different between you two now. instead of teases and jabs, from luke you were given intense glares and knowing smirks. when the two of you were demonstrating, it was impossible to focus, having to look luke in the eye after what happened between the two of you felt like hell. your cheeks grew rosier the more his lips tilted up into a simper, and your body felt hotter whenever his fingers grazed on you waist to show "correct stances" to the kids.

you felt so angry with yourslef for letting him have this effect on you - you had promised yourself to forget what happened between the two of you, but it was hard when he made you feel so helpless.

it was even worse when you got caught staring at him instead of the other way around - humiliating, even. he would meet your intense gaze, his eyes filled with a rare sense of seriousness. you would look away, embarrassed to be caught, but you would feel his gaze on you for a long time after.

you remembered one night when his stare was far too compromising.

it was about a week ago, aka, a week after the two of you slept together, and alex was walking you back to your cabin after a long day.

"you tired?" he had asked warmly, hodling both your hands as you stood in front of you cabin.

you nodded, a small smile on your lips. "yeah, long day."

he nodded in agreement, before stepping close to you, his lips tilting up. "can i give you a kiss?" he asked.

you internally winced. why did he ask? he was your boyfriend, he shouldnt have to ask to kiss you!

luke certainly didn't.

you shook that thought away before forcing a smile on your lips, nodding softly before leaning in to meet his lips.

kisses with alex were always slow - not that you didn't like slow kisses, but it was all the time - there had to be some sort of diversity.

with luke, there were moments where your lips moved sensually, before speeding up to be more intense. there was moments where he kissed you passionately and deeply, before pulling his lips away, teasing you, leaving you wanting more. it was electric, addictive, even.

luke-why were you thinking about luke right now? you were kissing your boyfriend, and you should be thinking about him, alex, not luke. you felt a prickle on your arms, goosebumps rising, as you flutters your eyes opened slightly.

from afar, you could see luke, leaned out front of his own cabin, watching you guys.

you wondered if you should've felt disgusted, annoyed even - but you were filled with shock.

alexs' lips trailed down to your neck and you gasped, him smiling into your skin. he thought you were gasping for him, he thought you were pleased with his lips.

when in reality, you were reacting to a whole different man.

staring at luke from across the way, your mind could trick you into thinking it was him doing this to you - him holding your waist tightly, lips sloppily trailing kisses along your neck. even though alexs' lips felt much different, you could pretend.

luke watched, his arms crossed, serious gaze softening into a smug expression. he knew. he knew you were thinking about him, he knew you couldn't stop thinking about him - he knew. somehow, he knew.

so anywayse, to summarize the past 2 weeks:

hell. absolute hell.

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

"alice, make sure to keep your feet planted, its easy for your opponent to knock you down if your balance is unsteady"

you heard lukes instructions from afar as your bent in front of layla, a young athena camper, putting a bandaid on her knee.

"why do you and luke not fight anymore?" layla asks innocently.

you look up to here, surprised by her question. you laugh breathily. "um, i dunno, layls. we just don't."

she huffs, wincing when you place the bandain on her cut. "yeah, but you guys barely talk, as well."

you blow out a breath of air, ignoiring her interrogation. "all done. why dont you go join the others?"

she pouts, but does as you say, running back over to her sparing partner as you stay where you stand, overseeing the practice.

you feel the space fill up next to you and you don't have to look to know its luke.

"ben is getting better," he comments, referring to your younger brother. you hum in agreement. "yeah, he just need to be more confident in his moves and then he'll be on a good path."

he hums, and its silent for a moment as you two watch your students.

"listen, i have some changes i want to make to next classes schedule," luke says, breaking the silence. his voice was casual, yet his lips were tilted up in a faint smirk.

you turn to look at him, furrowing your brows. "ok..." when he doesn't say anything, you huff. "go ahead."

he chuckles. "nah, i mean, its too long of a conversation, and class is almost over."

you purse your lips. "ok, fine, then after class."

he hisses in a breath of air. "i'm busy all afternoon," he excuses, faux apologetic. you narrow your eyes. what is he playing at ?

you let out a scoffed laugh. "ok, so when?"

he shrugs. "does after dinner work?"

you fold your lips inwards. you weren't so sure about that. alone, when its dark, with luke? cant be a good idea. but there was no other time to do it, and you knew he wouln't take no for an answer.

"fine," you say curtly after a moment.

he grins. "perfect. meet at the dock, then."

and thats exactly what you did. after finishing up your dinner, making sure all your sibling got ready for bed, you snuck out to the dock.

you saw luke already seated there, and when he heard your footsteps, he whipped his head around, his lips tilting up. "ah, there you are. almost thought you werent coming."

you walk over to sit next to him, yet far enough away. "so, what did you want to talk about?"

he chuckles, leaning back on his hands. "oh, theres tons i want to talk to you about, princess."

you clench your jaw, your cheeks getting a bit rosy. "i meant about the schedule for next lesson."

"oh, right," he sits up a bit, "i think we should change the demonstration to before they start practicing instead of after."

you blink. seriously? couldnt he have just said that earlier? "is that all?"

lukes eyes grow mischievous. "no, actually. i think you should bring your little boyfriend - think it would be fun for him to watch us spar, no?"

you purse your lips, immidiately filled with anger. "stop that."

he throws his hands up in faux defense. "woah, calm down princess. was just an idea."

you roll you eyes, scoffing. "i knew it was a bad idea to come here."

you begin to stand up, but he grabs your wrist. "no. c'mon, stop that," he snickers a bit. "i was just messin with you."

his voice came across a bit soft, and you couldnt ignore the fluttering in your stomach. you stay seated, looking over at him. "whats the real reason you asked me to come out here?"

lukes jaw clenched, and he looked out into the dark water of the lake. the vibe between you two darkened, as did his expression. "you cant just pretend it didn't happen. thats not how it works."

you face fills with shock, his switch in demeanor catching you off guard. he seemed...frustrated, frustrated that you hadn't acknowledged what happened between the two of you.

you swallow nervously. "it was a mistake," you say, but your voice betrays you, coming out quiet and unsure.

luke scoffs. "nothing you do is a mistake, princess. you always know what your doing."

"yeah, well, i didn't in that moment, obviously," you bite your lip. this didn't feel like you and luke - the two of you were being oddly vulnerable, you weren't necessarily fighting - sure you were frustrated, but it wasn't like you were throwing petty insults at the other.

"i..." you start, but have trouble finding you words. "look, i had a good time with you" you admit, your voice quiet. you don't dare to look at luke. "and it was all...really good. but it cant happen again. i've already done enough to betray alex, when he's been nothing but good to me. and-and im a relationship girl, luke. thats something you could never give me."

lukes jaw clenches. alex? nothing but good to you? so you dont know about how he bragged to a bunch of the guys about your body, about how you had given into him? so you dont know that alex had said disgusting things about you, vulgar things?

instead of saying this, he turns to you. "who says i couldn't give you that?" he asks, his voice quiet and low.

you blink, turning to him. you checked his eyes for the truth, and saw nothing but sincerity in his words. shock ran through you. you had no idea he was actually interested in you - you had just assumed he was purely attracted to you, and that was it.

it was like a gate you had forced yourself so seal shut had been cracked open. you had made yourself not even entertain the idea of more with luke, assuming that he would never even think of it. but knowing that he had - that changed everything.

you allowed yourself to consider it, truly consider it. the idea of being with luke. you didn't push it away.

you were brought back to the soft but firm touches, the intimate eye contact, the way he made you feel so special that night 2 weeks ago. you enjoyed it, you know you did, even if you tried to pretend it didn't happen.

but then you remembered alex - sweet alex, who was waiting at the campfire for you after you had fucked luke. gentle alex, who never rushed you, and was respectful.

alex always felt safe.

but what if you didn't want safe?

the silence had consumed the two of you - the only sound that could be heard was the chirping of crickets and the gentle summer breeze. the eye contact you two held was intense - your eyes were glazed over in thought - you both were thinking hard in that moment.

you don't know what possessed you to do it. the moment felt so intimate and private, and he was right there, in your grasp. your hand went out to delicately cup his face. his brows furrowed a bit, confused and a bit surprised by your touch.

you bite your lip. "do you mean it? that you could give me that?" you asked, you voice the softest it had probably ever been with him.

you words were so vulnerable, it caused his heart to clench. after a moment he nods. "i want to. i want to give that to you."

before you knew it, your lips were crashing into his. luke reacted instantly, one hand holding the back of your head and the other cupping your cheek.

you were brought back to the moment where you two kissed at the beach, but this felt a lot different. there was hint of desperation then - you two weren't sure how long it would last, what it meant, even how you were feeling - now, everything was more sure.

you had him now, and he had you.

he pulls you close, and you swing your legs around him, straddling his waist. his hands slide down your waist, squeezing a bit to pull you closer to his chest. you arch into his touch, pressing your chest against his and your hands slide into his hair.

once you start getting breathless you pull apart, panting against his lips.

luke grinned tiredly, and it was so contagious you smiled back.

"let me sneak you into my cabin," his swollen lips practically whisper.

you bite your lip unsurely. "i dunno...what about your siblings?"

he scoffs a bit, as if you said something funny. "they'll be out by now. besides, we'll be quiet"

that was enough to convince you, and before you knew it, his hand in yours, he dragged you over to his cabin, opening and shutting the door quietly, tiptoeing to his bed.

luke sits down first, opening his legs and looking up at you, signaling you to sit down on them. you straddle his lap, cautiously looking around the cabin as luke began to nip at your neck, forcing quiet, breathy hum out of your lips.

he pulls you down, covering you both in blankets, as his lips attack yours. you fall into a steady rhythm, hands exploring each others bodies, breathing heavily into each others mouths. you pawed at his chest. "more," you whisper pleadingly.

"more?" he asks tauntingly. "y'want more? more of what, princess?"

you whine quetly. "of you, luke, please?"

without another words he pecks you chin with a mischievous smile, disappearing under the covers. your filled with anticipation before you feel him lift your shirt up, placing kisses all along your torso.

you bite you lip, holding back the noises that you desperately wanted to release, as you felt his lips move lower and lower.

you wished you could see him, so you ducked under the covers, the duvet just thin enough that moonlight was able to peak in. you could see the shadows of his face, and he looked devastatingly handsome.

he smiled against the skin of your inner thigh, his lips peppering a few kisses there. he moved up, right against your denim shorts, playing with the button and zipper. after a bit of teasing, he slid the down, collecting them in his hands to climb up over you, sliding them under his pillows. he placed a delicate kiss on your lips, before whispering, "is this ok?" against them. you nod feverishly, and he smiles so soft you wonder why you've yet to see this side of him.

he moves back down, his lips against the cotton of your panties, hands holding you hips. just his breath against you was enough to make you feel light, and pool wetness. he place a sweet kiss directly over you clit and you shivered, hands moving to his hair.

"j'wanna make you feel good, princess." he says so quietly you almost miss it. your heart thunders in your chest as he presses more kisses over your panties, his hands sliding down to toy with fabric on yours hips.

"please, luke." you whisper pleadingly, and he gently shushes. "shhhh, its ok, let me handle it. just lay back and take it, hm?"

you nod, your face twisted in want as you relax you head, letting it rest on the pillow.

luke gently tore your panties off, letting them pool at your ankles as his middle finger slows runs down your center. you shiver, and he places a disciplinary hand on your hips. "stay still," he instructs, his finger still gathering your wetness.

his digit pushes into your tight entrance, causing you to swallow a whimper. you shut your eyes, hands gripping his hair.

he places a soft kiss on you thigh, mumbling incoherent praises against your skin.

he slowly moves in and out of you, before his lips press a kiss on your clit again. you jump, gasping quietly as he begins gently sucking.

with his digit fingering your fluttering walls, and his lips slobbering over you pussy, you swear you've never felt such pleasure. its hard to keep quiet, and your surprised you do (not counting the occasional gasp or quiet hums of pleasure).

luke is having way to much fun. you can feel him smirk against you when you let a little noise slip, and you can feel him silently laughing when his tongue flicks over your bud, knowing you would go crazy.

he adds a second finger, and before you know it, a third. every second your coaxed further into your orgasm, and you know he can tell, by the way your pulling his hair to push him closer to your core, and the way your back arches off the bed.

when he does finally bring you too your peak, you bite your lips so hard your surprised it doesn't bleed. your hips stutter against his hand, and his digits inside you slow down, moving you through your high. once you catch you breath, he gently brings your panties back up, placing a kiss over the fabric, before climbing back up.

he kisses you softly, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. he breaks away, the two of your heads peaking out of the blankets.

"good?" he asks quietly and softly, lips red and swollen.

you giggle a bit. "more than good." your hand runs down his chest. "want me to return the favor?"

he shakes his head. "another time, princess."

you pout. "are you sure? i dont mind."

he shakes his head again. "nah. tonight was about you. we have all the time in the world for that."

and it was true, you did. that night 2 weeks ago was the start to something beautiful, and tonight was the real start of you - you and luke.

[moonstruckme]

Hi, I love everything you write. Tomorrow I have my first job interview and I'm very happy and excited. Could you write a reader who goes to her first job interview and Remus calms and supports her before and after the interview? 🩷

Hope it went well lovely!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 445 words

It goes faster than Remus expected. He’s hardly halfway through his crossword when you open the passenger door to the car, startling him. 

“Hi,” he says, a tad breathlessly. You look a tad breathless yourself, shuddering violently as if to shake all the anxiety you’d worn into the building off of you. “How did it go?” 

“No idea.” You take your hair out of its tight confines, shaking it out at the roots. “I blacked out.” 

A little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue. “Really? What do you remember?” 

“Um.” You take your chapstick out of your bag, applying it and rubbing your lips together. They look terribly bitten; Remus pouts involuntarily. “I think my handshake was alright. I may have told her she reminds me of my aunt? Which,” you blow out a breath, “you know, not my best line, but my aunt is very cool. I think I told her how cool my aunt is. God, I can’t stop shaking.” 

“Aw, dove.” Remus reaches for you. 

It’s a bit of an awkward hug, the center console digging into both of your sides, but you make it work. And you are shaking, his poor love. Remus kisses your temple, rubbing your arm to try and quell the goosebumps there. 

“You did it, sweetheart,” he tells you. “I’m sure you did really well, but no matter what happened you made it. I’m proud of you.” 

“M’probably gonna have to do it more than once,” you say, and you’re trying to whine but he can hear the smile in your voice. “Are you going to be on call to coddle me after each one?” 

“Sure. It’s not like I’ve got anything else going on.” 

You chuckle, squeezing him tight. Remus smiles into your temple. 

“Even if I’m not around every time, we’ll figure something out so that you can relax afterwards.” Your trembling is starting to calm, the adrenaline leaving you heavy and pliant in his arms. He ducks down to press a quick, solid kiss to your lips. You taste like your chapstick. “And you’ll get used to them, too. This one was probably the worst, though it sounds like it didn’t go too poorly either.” 

You hum, smearing your lips across his stubble. 

“I guess we’ll never know,” you sigh, leaning back into your own seat and fastening your seatbelt. Remus takes this as his cue to start the car. “Maybe I utterly humiliated myself, and those memories aren’t meant to be recovered.” You pause for a few moments, pensive. “I probably will try not to compare the interviewer to any elderly relatives next time.”

“Yeah, might be best to keep that one to ourselves.”

[boorines]

caresses from my camera roll | choi seungcheol (M)

warnings/tags: fem reader, established relationship, softdom!cheol, he’s a sweetie, he’s also mean though, fingering, pussy slapping, use of the word slut, multiple times, profanity. smut. MDNI

—

seungcheol is the sweetest boyfriend you could have asked for. he brings you plates of carefully cut up fruit while you work, leaves a light kiss on your cheek or a pat on your head whenever he walks by, and makes the best breakfast in bed.

so, it might come as a surprise that he isn’t half as soft during the night, before you both fall asleep to warm touches.

like tonight.

you lay on your shared bed, scrolling through your camera roll and admiring the photos you took earlier today. it was a beach date, spontaneous and relaxed, and you think those are the best kind. as you scroll, you come across a candid you took of seungcheol. he was laying beside you on a beach towel with his face turned towards you, sunglasses on and hand shielding his face from the sun. he was smiling. cute.

but you couldn’t say the same about his swim shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips or his exposed abs still wet from his swim earlier. and his hands... one in front of his face and the other just off screen, but you know very well it was resting on your bare thigh, a touch too high to be casual. the memory of what he said right before the photo was taken makes heat flood between your legs.

“you look so good, i could take you right here”.

you squirm at the thought. he would have if you’d let him and it drives you crazy. you inch your hand lower, slowly circling your clit. these could be his fingers, you think as you stare at his photographed hand. his longer, thicker ones would feel so much better inside you than yours. you whimper at the image and press harder, wet spot on your panties growing steadily. pushing your underwear to the side, you drag a finger through your wet folds and gasp. you’re about to push it all the way in when the door to the bedroom swings open.

“hey, love, there’s a new episode of—”

he freezes in the doorway and his eyes darken. your pussy floods at the way he looks at your finger halfway inside you. he shuts the door slowly behind him and his voice is low, much lower than usual, when he asks, “and what are we doing here?”. walking over to the edge of the bed, he takes a seat, eyes roaming painfully slowly over your body.

you whimper and reach a hand out for his, silently asking for help.

“no. i’m going to watch you. i’ll help when i think you need it”.

“cheol, please”, you whisper.

“what did i say?”, his tone is one of warning and you don’t push further. you whine softly as you start drawing circles on your wet cunt over your panties, adding pressure when you make eye contact with seungcheol.

“good girl”, he mutters under his breath.

your stomach tightens and you hastily kick your underwear off and push your thighs apart. his sinful gaze on you is enough to make you cum, you think. you sink your middle finger into your entrance with a drawn out mewl, clenching around yourself when you hear your boyfriend hum in approval. you start pumping into yourself only for seungcheol to still you with a firm hand on your thigh. you look up at him in confusion but his eyes are on your unlocked phone laying forgotten beside you. he smirks. oh.

“so, is this what got you like this, pretty?”, he whispers, moving closer to you until he’s positioned beside your legs. “got this wet just looking at pictures of me, hm?”.

you shudder when you feel his hand squeeze your thigh. once, soft. again, harder. you whimper and paw at his hand in request.

“words, baby”.

“y-yes, cheol. was thinking about y-you”.

“yeah? baby got this needy thinking of me? my hands, my cock?”, you mewl softly at his words, “god, you’re such a dirty slut for me, fuck”.

“i am, cheol, please. please, i need you”.

he groans and pulls your hand away from your pussy, swearing under his breath when he sees your dewy entrance. he grazes a finger across your dripping cunt and you push your hips into his hand. he whips his hand away and you let out a desperate whine, hoping he can see how much you need to feel him inside you.

“don’t move”, he warns, “maybe i’ll fuck you on my fingers. or maybe i’ll just watch you try to cum without any help. for playing with yourself without my permission”.

you shake your head in desperation, silently begging him to touch you.

“cheol, please, i need to feel you”.

“my slut needs me that bad?”, he traces a finger around your clit and you make a noise so sinful it goes straight to his hardening cock. “beg for me”.

you can’t think straight as you babble a string of ‘please’s, ‘cheol’s and ‘i need you’s. you hear him chuckle deeply and it only makes you clench around nothing, continuing your pleas for his cock, his fingers, his tongue. anything.

without warning, seungcheol plunges a finger into your entrance, sinking in knuckle-deep. you gasp loudly, followed by a moan the neighbours can probably hear. he begins pumping at an unrelenting pace, drawing whimpers and moans from your throat.

“good girl, you’re doing so good for me, baby”, he adds a second finger and your noises grow louder. the slick squelch of his fingers thrusting into you joins your needy moans and whines, the room sounding like lust and sin.

you feel his other hand come up to your breast, kneading and squeezing the skin torturously. he takes his time with your hard nipple, moving to the other only when he feels satisfied. he leans down and leaves open mouthed kisses on your shoulder, moving up your neck and along your jaw. he places a soft kiss on your lips, a sharp contrast from the filthy moans he’s swallowing from your throat. his lips move back to your neck, roughly sucking at the skin and you mewl in pleasure. he pulls back to admire the red mark blooming where his lips just were, all while his fingers pump sinfully between your folds. you buck your hips, forcing his fingers in deeper. he curls his fingers inside your cunt, hitting the spongy wetness of your walls with purpose.

“you hear those noises, baby? fuck, your pretty little cunt is dripping for me”.

you moan loudly, desperately trying to fuck yourself harder on his fingers.

“hips down, slut, i decide when you cum”, he whispers in your ear and you lose yourself.

“please, cheol, please, please, i’ll be so good for you, i promise. please let me cum, i need it so bad, cheol”.

he laughs and abruptly slides his fingers out of you. you whine at the empty feeling and open your mouth in protest before you feel a sharp slap land on your cunt. “ah, cheol!”

another. the slight sting makes your pussy gush around him and you become a babbling mess.

“you like that? my filthy girl likes that, yeah?”, he mutters.

“s-so much, cheol”.

“you’re my little slut, aren’t you, pretty?”, he delivers another slap to your leaking cunt.

“yes! yes, cheol! your slut, all yours. fuck, i’ll do anything”, you scream.

“slut has such a dirty mouth”, he chuckles as he rubs your pussy soothingly, “let me make my baby cum, yeah?”.

you nod, eyes tearing up and clawing at his forearm when you feel him sink three fingers into your sopping hole. he hisses when he feels you flutter and clench around him, his eyes turning impossibly darker. he sets a torturous pace, splitting you open on his fingers until your back arches off the bed.

you feel your stomach tighten and you scream in pleasure. “i’m close, i’m so close, please cheol”. he doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s curling his fingers and hitting the same spongy spot again. leaning down, he messily sucks on your nipples, licking around the hard mounds and leaving your tits covered in spit. the sound he draws from you makes his dick twitch and he responds by flicking your clit with his thumb.

“good girl, you’re doing so good, my love”.

you clench around his fingers with a wanton moan, holding onto the arm he’s using to prop himself up beside you. you feel his lips on yours and kiss him back sloppily, all tongue and high-pitched mewls. his fingers don’t stop fucking into you even when your legs begin to shake violently.

“fuck, baby. you look so beautiful getting fucked open on my fingers like this”, seungcheol whispers against your mouth. “cum for me, soak my fingers. i want to feel your cum drip down my hand, yeah?”

you scream into his mouth as his fingers hit your sensitive walls over and over. you feel the coil in your stomach snap and your vision goes white as you clench around his fingers, your release leaking out of your cunt as he strokes your walls through your climax. he helps ride out your high with a few more thrusts and a groan that you feel deep in your heat.

“that’s a good girl”, he whispers and slowly pulls his fingers out of you. he watches your cum gush out and soak your folds and swears under his breath. you look at him in bliss as he puts his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean with a pop, subconsciously making you clench your empty hole around nothing.

“you were so amazing, my love. always so perfect”, seungcheol presses a kiss to your lips, smiling softly when he sees your eyelids get heavy. he strokes your hair with care reserved for no one but you and your chest warms. “relax, gorgeous, i’ll get you cleaned up”.

as seungcheol delicately cleans you up, soft touches and gentle ‘i love you’s, you drift off. the last thing you feel is a feather-light kiss on your temple and a stroke of his hand against your arm.

and you can’t help but think once again, seungcheol is the sweetest boyfriend you could have ever asked for.

—

well… this was interesting to write! i have more trouble with smut than fluff and took way longer writing this than i should have. but i hope u enjoy it!! bf!cheol is everyone’s weakness hehe. please let me know what u think!! thank u so much for reading and enjoying my previous work!

hopefully my next drabble/fic should be kwan centred because i can’t ignore my bias for much longer! as always, requests open!!

[georgie-weasley]

Spontaneous G.W. x Reader

Warnings: one swear word

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: You were rich, pretty, smart, and everything George wasn't. According to George, you were untouchable. He admires you from afar until he learns that you are human, just like him

Masterlist

“I think you’ve got enough strawberries George.” Fred laughed, waving his hand in front of George’s face. George blinked, coming out of a trance to finally tear his eyes away from the girl that had him captivated and look at his plate. He had about 15 strawberries dangerously stacked next to his toast and waffles. Ten minutes ago he had been starving, ready to eat Fred if he had to until you walked in, laughing with your friends. He didn’t even see you at first since he was so preoccupied picking out his breakfast but he heard you. Someone must have said something hilarious because your laugh seemed to echo around the Great Hall, bombarding George from all angles. He loved it. Your laugh sounded like the crescendo in a song, taking his breath away. He had been red in the face and sweaty before he even saw you. When he finally did look at you, it was all over. You moved so gracefully, you could have been floating. George watched you talk with your friends and when he saw your smile, he forgot all about his grumbling stomach.

Fred turned to look over his shoulder and when he caught sight of you, he rolled his eyes and turned back to his brother. “Here’s an idea Georgie,” Fred grumbled, “stop staring at her and go talk to her.”

“Yeah mate, it’s weird. I’m uncomfortable for her.” Lee Jordan chimed in, reaching across the table to grab some toast.

“I will have you know I have talked to her.” George huffed, carefully dismantling Strawberry Tower, moving the discarded ones onto Lee’s plate.

“Talking about the weather doesn’t count.” Lee snorted, happily eating the food now added to his plate. George opened his mouth to retort but Lee continued. “Neither does telling her good morning or asking her about the homework.”

“Or apologizing when you ‘accidentally’ bump into her in the halls.”

George glared and threw a strawberry, aiming for Fred’s nose. Much to his disappointment, Fred ducked and the strawberry rolled away. “I have talked to her. Small talk counts as talking if you didn’t know.”

Lee rolled his eyes. “Sure but you’ve been in love with her since third year. Small talk isn’t going to make her fall for you. Just go up to her and tell her you’re in love with her and hope she feels the same. If she doesn’t,” Lee shrugged, “at least you know.”

“That is the stupidest thing you have ever said Lee. And you once asked McGonagall if she licks herself clean when she’s a cat.” The three boys shuddered at the memory. “I’ll talk to her about something normal. Something that will make her want to keep talking to me.”

---

“Do you ever wonder if McGonagall licks herself clean when she’s a cat?” George stood in front of you, hands sweating and his eyes going wide as he realized what just came out of his mouth. Something normal indeed.

“Pardon?” You cocked your head to the side, watching George with those beautiful eyes he could spend forever staring into.

“I just mean that maybe she acts like a cat does and that’s how they bathe. So maybe she…” He trailed off, hearing the giggles coming from your friends behind you. “Sorry, that was… weird.”

You smiled and George could feel his heart stop. He was going into cardiac arrest, he just knew it. “A little but a very good question all the same.”

He died. There was no way he was alive. The real you would have never even entertained his question, let alone call it a good one. He stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. He should say something, something smooth. If he could just lay on the charm like Fred does so well, you’d be putty in his hands. “Do you think that means she goes to the bathroom in a box?” Oh. My. God.

George spun on his heel and took off sprinting down the hall. He was the biggest idiot on the planet.

George lay in his bed, hands covering his face as Fred and Lee practically rolled on the floor with laughter. “So you– I mean you really asked her if McGonagall uses… a box?” Lee burst into another fit of giggles as Fred gasped for air. “George, I think you did it mate. I think she’s in love with you now.”

A scarf came flying from the bed, landing harmlessly on Lee. “I hate both of you!” George grabbed his pillow, burying his face in it. The laughter died down and once the other two felt they could talk without falling into another laughing fit, they climbed onto his bed.

“George, you’ve never had this much trouble talking to a girl before. You’ve always been pretty smooth. Not like me but you have never struggled to talk to anyone. Why is she so different?” Fred grabbed the pillow, making sure his twin was still breathing.

“Why is she different? Have you not seen her, Fred?” George sat up, looking at his hands. “First of all she’s gorgeous. Ethereal. Stunning. All that and more. She’s funny. I’ve heard her make a few jokes and they’re great; some of them are almost as good as ours. She’s smart and talented and nice and just perfect. That’s the problem.” He sighed and glanced at his brother and friend, glad to see they were now taking him seriously. “She’s from this really well off family. Her parents are both ministry workers but not like dad, they have important jobs. Her family has been full of powerful witches and wizards for centuries but they have never acted like others are less than. I heard she’s been ballroom dancing since she was seven. Her family is rich. She's a lady and I’m just…George Weasley. She would never want to talk to me. Or date me for that matter.”

This had not been the first time George or any of the other Weasley boys had felt less than because of what they didn’t have. George had never seen your house but he assumed it was big enough to fit the Burrow inside it at least three times. He knew your family had money. Meanwhile the Weasleys were just scraping by. You were the kind of girl that should have been a princess while George was nothing more than a stable boy. Not even the court jester because a jester would have to be able to speak to you.

“George, you aren’t giving her a chance to give you a chance. You’re making her seem untouchable. She’s human too.” Fred patted him on the back and smiled. “I say, tomorrow you talk to her, like a person. Talk to her like you talk to me.”

“So I should call her a stupid git?” George smirked before getting a pillow to the face.

---

Today was Saturday and just as he had promised, George was going to talk to Y/N. He just had to find her. He checked out the Great Hall and there was no sign of you. Then he checked out any open classrooms he could find and you weren’t there either. He went to the library and had no luck. In fact, he was kicked out for yelling your name while looking for you. By this time, George was exhausted and sure his legs would fall off any minute if he didn’t sit down soon. The lake was close enough that he could kill two birds with one stone; he could look for you and take a break before his lack of legs would make it very easy to tell the difference between him and Fred. As luck would have it, he spotted you sitting under a tree not too far from the edge of the lake. His heart willed him to move toward you but his brain kept his feet firmly planted. This was stupid. He should leave you alone and move on to find some girl that would make more sense. Someone that was not out of his league. At some point, his heart convinced his brain to start walking toward you. The first thing he noticed was the letter in your hand and the next thing he saw were the tears on your cheeks. Yikes. Just back away slowly Georgie, he thought to himself. Take small, quiet steps and you can sneak away before—

“George?”

Shit. He plastered on his best smile and tried to pretend like you weren’t crying right in front of him. “Hey there Y/N. How are you? Probably not great considering the… crying.” George closed his eyes, mentally slamming his head on the nearest tree. It was honestly amazing how great he was at screwing up. He should be given some kind of award. “I’m so sorry. I just walked over and saw you crying and I don’t know what to do with crying people and I’m really nervous to screw up here.” Neither spoke for a minute as you looked up at him. Seeing your usually sparking eyes filled with tears broke his heart, shattered it actually. All he wanted to do was take you in his arms and make it all better. Just talk to her like a person.

Slowly, George approached you, afraid you would take off running or yell at him. When you made no move to sprint away, he sat next to you. “I’m sorry. You make me really nervous but I’m a good listener. Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

You were silent for a long time but he didn’t dare move or talk. Honestly, he didn’t think you would tell him what was wrong because why would you? Fred and Lee were right. He had only ever had small talk with you.

“It’s my parents.” Your voice was so soft George almost didn’t hear you. Oh. George nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way. “You know they’re in the ministry right?” Boy did he know. George had heard from his father about your parents. Your father was part of the Wizengamot, the part of the ministry that makes laws and holds trials. He was a big name in the ministry. Your mother was part of the Department of International Magic Co-Operation. Her whole job involved getting wizards and witches in other countries to work together. She played a big part in getting Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to come to Hogwarts this year for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. George’s father was also in the ministry but his job was practically the least important position there was. He spent his days finding Muggle items that had been tampered with and reporting them, even if he committed the same crime in his free time. He didn’t make much money at all and it left the family of nine struggling.

“Yeah, my dad has mentioned them a few times.” He tried not to sound bitter as he answered you but it was hard not to.

“They want me to join the ministry when I graduate. They made sure my grades were perfect and after taking my O.W.L.s, they hand picked my classes and set me on the path to join the ministry. My mother even signed me up for a summer program at the ministry just so I have a better chance at joining.” You took a deep breath and looked over at George. You had fresh tears in your eyes as you continued. “I don’t want to join the ministry. They have such high expectations of me and I don’t want to let them down but I don’t want to be in the ministry.”

“What do you want to do?” George understood where you were coming from. Him and Fred had plans and dreams to open a joke shop, something their mother did not support. She wanted them to finish school and get some boring job like the rest of the wizarding world. They didn’t want to disappoint her either but their happiness had to come first at least sometimes. George and Fred would never be happy sitting behind a desk all day or chasing down bewitched muggle items. They wanted to bring joy and raise up a new generation of delinquents. That was the dream.

“Well,” you started as you turned to look at the lake, “I think I want to be a healer. I’ve always been good at potions and herbology and basic spells used for healing.”

“And your parents don’t want you to do that?” As you shook your head, George scoffed. “Why? I think being a healer is a perfectly respectable job. You aren’t trying to run off and live in a cave for the rest of your life.”

You let out a small laugh and George felt like he was floating. He made you laugh after you had been crying. He could die happy. “I agree with you but they think that working for the ministry is the only job worth having. They just want me to be successful. They’ve spent my whole life preparing me for the future they want me to have. Dance lessons and internships and anything else that makes me into whatever it is they want me to be.”

“Happiness is more important than success. Who says that being happy doesn’t mean you’re successful?” George ran his fingers through the grass. “My mother sounds a lot like your parents. Fred and I want to open up a joke shop. She thinks that we’ll be throwing away our potential if we go ahead with it.”

You looked back at George and watched him closely as he kept his eyes on the ground. He was pretty. He had the warmest brown eyes you had ever had the pleasure of looking at. “I think a joke shop sounds like a wonderful idea. Personally I can’t imagine you or Fred working at the ministry or any normal job for that matter.” George laughed and nodded. “What will you do?”

He thought for a moment, continuing to look at the ground because he knew as soon as he looked at you, he would forget everything. “Fred and I are opening the joke shop when we have the money. I think our mother will be disappointed for a while but we aren’t made to work in an office. Besides, she’s our mother so our happiness should take priority over anything else.”

“I wish I could be like you George. You sound like you have everything.”

He turned his head to look at you so quickly he thought he snapped his neck at first. You thought he had everything? You were jealous of him? “I thought you had everything. A big house, rich parents, grades, popularity. You have everything.”

You shook your head and smiled at him. “Really? I always wanted a big family that would spend time together. You have always seemed so sure of yourself and confident. You don’t let anyone tell you what to do or who to be. George, you’re spontaneous and perfectly you. I wish I could be like that.”

George smiled as your eyes found his and then time stopped. He was distantly aware of the wind rustling the trees and the sounds of other students talking but all he could see was you. Your eyes, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. “Then let’s do something spontaneous.” With great effort, George tore his gaze away from you and looked around. The lake caught his eye. “Come swimming with me.”

He grabbed your hand and stood, pulling you to the lake until you stood at the edge. Without waiting for you, George ran into the water, dressed in jeans and his t-shirt. Behind him, you stood at the bank. Should you be doing this? Probably not but it would make you happy. George made you happy. It was time to put your happiness first. You took off after him, squealing at the cold water. “You didn’t say it was this cold!”

“I didn’t want it to scare you away.” George laughed, cupping his hand to launch water at you. The water slammed into you and with a harmless glare, you retaliated, sending your own wave of water at him. The two of you continued to splash each other until George held up his hands in defeat.

As you both caught your breath, George moved to sit on the bank, the water lapping at his feet. You took a seat next to him and bumped your shoulder against his. “What do you plan to do now?” He asked, bumping you back.

“I’m going to tell my parents I don’t want to be in the ministry. I’ll talk to my head of house about switching some courses around to get on the right path to becoming a healer.”

George smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

He looked at you and you looked at him. George saw you like no one else. He heard you complain about your parents and instead of siding with them, as most people did, he agreed with you. He thought your happiness mattered more than what your parents wanted. “Thank you George.”

“For what?”

“For listening, making me laugh, making me feel… human.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek before standing. “I should go write that letter to my parents. I wouldn’t want to lose all the nerve you gave me.”

George watched you go, his hand coming up to the spot where your lips had touched his cheek. His face turned red as he replayed the kiss over and over again. Fred and Lee were not going to believe this. They were going to kill him if he just let you walk away after that. He clambered to his feet and sprinted after him. “Y/N! Wait!” He waved his arms, trying to get your attention. You stopped in your tracks and looked back at him, watching him chase after you.

“Yes George?”

“I was… Well I was wondering if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” He held his breath, waiting for the rejection to come.

“I would love to. I’ll see you later Georgie.” With another kiss to his cheek, you walked off. Next Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.