#just some musings…the wives

[justiceforc3po]

I was going to make a proper, elaborate post but just have some ramblings about Vada and Lana instead. Because they start out as a fling without a future - at the end of the day they're on opposing factions, and that'll always separate them. And then Vada is declared dead and Lana refuses to accept it, to believe it. She can't believe the woman she had seen be so relentless in her hope and her pursuit of what is right could just be killed like that. So she looks for her for years, because she knows that Vada will be a beacon of hope again, will turn this war around - but maybe also a little bit because she still loves her, because she realises she will follow her anywhere, will protect her from anything. And when Vada wakes up, Lana is the first thing she sees, and she clings to her in desparation as she's thrust into this position she is not ready for in a world she doesn't recognise. She loved her before, and she loves her all the more now - she becomes a safety net. They struggle as Vada realises the Republic doesn't trust her and that she is surrounded by her old enemies, unable to help her own home the way she wants to. And she looks to Lana and sees the face of the Empire in her too, and doesn't understand that Lana cut ties with the Empire long ago, that she trusts Vada far beyond any other loyalties. It takes a little longer, then, for Vada to realise that fact. For her to realise, in turn, that she is no less devoted to Lana. But when Theron leaves and Lana stays, and when the Eternal Fleet is destroyed and Lana looks to her and tells her to lead the way, she will follow wherever Vada decides to go - she can't deny it anymore. Lana would destroy the galaxy if it meant keeping Vada safe, she would do anything, give her whatever she asks - and Vada replies that all she wants is for Lana to stay by her side. And in return, Vada will give everything that she is. Her life - a life Lana has saved time and time again. She cannot give her the galaxy. But she can promise that Lana has all that is hers. Her love, her trust, her time, her life - Vada will give it all to her. And she would destroy herself, if it meant keeping Lana safe.

They both have other people in their lives, but for both of them, at the end of the line, they just see each other. Because when no one else was there, they stayed. They refused to leave each other’s side. And that won‘t change anytime soon.

[ashesrebirthed-a]

why do all my favorite fandoms have no rpc... abbo.tt el.ementary is so good but the rp tags are SO empty 😭

[specshroom]

*°~There are many benefits to being a mage~°*

Includes: Fem reader x male orc, size kink, "human fetish", friends to more?

In which: Orc with a big problem confides in his mage friend who decides to help him out with a useful spell~🪄

You've been in this town for quite a while now, almost 3 years. That wasn't the original plan but It just so happened that this seaside town was more welcoming than many places you've been to on your travels. It sits at the coast of two major trade routes, connecting people of many different walks of life.

The friendliness and diversity you experienced allowed you to make a few friends you might not have otherwise.

Like the one you're sharing breakfast with right now. His name is Grimmok and he's the self-proclaimed, "Best fisherman in this damn town". He's your typical young, burley orc.

The first time you met him was in the local pub, you were intrigued when a crowd formed infront of the huge orc. He was dramatically telling one of his fisherman's tales and the small crowd hung onto his every word. He was a very good story teller and you happened to be very interested in folklore and myths. You made a habit of just walking up to him, if he didn't look busy and asking him to tell you a story. Soon it wasn't uncommon to see you sitting on the docks listening and writing intently as he waxes on about some old wives tale while repairing his nets.

Now you sit in his home, eating breakfast while he grumbles on about having to train a new fishing boy.

"The boy gets distracted by the smallest things, every time someone even resembling female walks past the docks he's panting like a dog." Grimmok bites into his ridiculously large breakfast sandwich signaling the end of his rant.

He did look more grumpy than usual when he opened the door to let you in for your weekly Sunday breakfast. His shoulder length black hair was tied into a hasty half up half down bun and his stubble looked more scruffy than usual. You can only huff in amusement at his troubles.

"Cmon, don't be too harsh on the kid. You did the same thing with Rosie Cotton, remember?"

The orc stills and huffs indignantly, scratching at his neck. This makes you grin.

"Mhm, you'd be telling me a story and then just stop in the middle of a sentence. I'd look up and sure enough there's Miss Rosie walking on by. Fiery hair flowing in the wind, cleavage spilling out her dress, swaying those hips and-"

Grimmok interrupts your overdramatic musing by flicking your pointy hat off your head.

"Hey!"

"You're acting like you didn't like looking at her too." The big guy grumbles almost like a child. He wipes his hands on his plaid pajama pants and picks up his empty plate, heading towards the sink.

You lean down to pick your hat off the floor, dust it off and mumble,

"Yeah, but I never got to bed her."

The dishes in the sink clatter a little too loudly as he tenses up. You hardly try to stifle your laugh.

"We didn't actually...she was...too small... For me to...." The orc struggles out as he wipes his plate clean.

It's quiet for a minute until you ask.

"But she did try, right? I'm pretty sure that counts, Grim."

The orc just grumbles something unintelligible. You want to sympathise with the poor guy but imagining Rosie Cotton, a "short stack" type of woman, trying to fit his massive green cock in her little pussy was pretty erotic.

"I want to feel bad for you mate but you kind of bring this on yourself. You obviously have a bit of a human fetish."

"It's not a-" The orc goes to defend himself but stops and just sighs when he realises it's no use.

"...and a size kink to boot." You mumble with toast in your mouth.

"I can't help it if I think horny humans trying desperately to take my cock is literally the hottest thing to me!" Grimmok finally lets the dam of sexual frustration burst after you've done a sufficient amount of poking at it. You always were good at getting him to actually talk about his problems.

"But the problem comes in when I actually have to fuck them, they can barely take half! How am I supposed to fuck them!? I'm too big! I'd kill them!"

You can't help but choke on your toast as a cackle forces itself from your throat. "Sorry. I'm sorry!" You struggle between snorts. Your big green friend just stands there with a grimace, arms crossed as he waits for you to finish.

You sigh and wipe your watering eyes. "Well, I'm glad you've confided in me because now I can help you." You wipe your hands clean and stand up from the orc sized table.

"You know that cool thing I can do with my hat?" You take your hat off and reach inside of it, the magic pocket space allowing you to reach your whole arm inside of it when you physically shouldn't be able to.

He nods sceptically still leaning against the sink, a bit concerned about where this is going. He thought by "help" you meant like you were going to pep talk him or something.

"We just have to do this but with...." You gesture down to your crotch.

Grim stands there, mouth slightly agape, blinking at you.

"I mean it's not exactly the same obviously." You pull your trusty spell book out of the hat before placing it back on your head while the pages of the spell book fly open to the page you want. "You basically draw this sigil on someone and then they'll be able to take whatever they can push inside no matter how big. Girth might still be an issue though..."

You explain this to him like you've explained many other spells, like you're reading him a recipe, deliberating what ingredients would work best. He doesn't even know how to react honestly.

"You're serious?"

You clap the book shut and adjust your hat on your head, smugly shrugging,

"This is what I do."

The poor guy just stumbles in disbelief.

"Magic, I mean.... Magic is what I do." You correct yourself a bit awkwardly and clear your throat, regaining your confidence.

"It's a pretty easy spell so we can try this whenever you want really."

"We?"

"Alright! Alright."

"Well yeah, unless you want me to go up to Rosie Cotton and say "Hey love, you mind if I put this sigil on your womb so my friend can finally pound your tight little-"

Grimmok rubs his face with his hands, sighing again and looking unsure. You lean against the sink next to him, barely coming up to his pecs.

"Look, it'll just be a one time thing so you can actually see if human pussy's all that and if you like it, I'm sure we can find plenty of humans who would love to try it out."

"...Alright. That sounds good."

You give a slap to his thick bicep and an encouraging "ata boy."

"and if you don't like this one, I'm sure I could find a spell that'll just make you..." He doesn't miss how you glance down at his crotch. "Smaller."

He huffs and pushes your shoulder playfully, he liked how you could always joke away the tension in any given situation. You walk up to the big wooden chair you were sitting at a second ago and pull it away from the table so that it's facing outward, struggling a bit as it's very much orc sized like most things in his house.

"Cmon. Sit."

You pat the chair, looking at him expectantly.

"Now?"

He's really not used to other people being so forward especially not when it's his mate. You shrug at him.

"Why not? I mean we can wait till you're ready, I don't mind. I have literally all day."

You put your hands behind your back and rock on your feet as you both just stand in his kitchen for about a minute...waiting. He eventually huffs and steels himself, fully committing to the idea and walking over to plop himself in the chair. He's going to put his dick inside one of his best mates.

You place your hat on the table so it doesn't get in the way of your activity and step in front of him. You levitate your spell book In front of you, looking down at the page with the sigil that's way more familiar than you're letting on.

"Okay, I'll face this way so it's less....personal." You turn around so your back is facing him. "You do still need to take off your pants though."

He smacks his teeth, "I figured that." He mumbles, pushing his soft pajama pants down to his mid thighs, immediately freeing his cock as he wasn't wearing underwear. He leaves his white long sleeve on, the sleeves folded to his elbows, giving you a perfect tease of his thick strong arms and multiple tattoos. When he looks back at you and sees that you've already disappeared your pants, he quickly looks away.

Sensing his nervousness you ask with a softer voice than before,

"can I sit?"

He clears his throat before grumbling a "Yeah."

You gently lean down and sit your naked ass onto his lap, legs open wide over his own you can see his half hard cock laying between his legs but try not to stare. Obviously Grimmock is a big guy but he's even big by orc standards so of course his cock is massive even when he isn't fully hard.

Grimmock clears his throat and jolts you out of your thoughts. You adjust a bit on top of him feeling his happy trail against your lower back. Your eyes skim the page levitating in front of you, when you finally find the incantation passage you straighten up and start chanting the ancient words in the text. Your eyes glow and the air feels static, Grim has seen magic before but the novelty never truly wears off.

An intricate shape starts to form right above your pubic bone, where your womb would be. The sigil glows brightly on your skin as Grim peers from above your head to look at it. At first glance he thinks it looks a bit demonic but then remembers he doesn't know anything about magic and decides not to mention it. When the sigil is complete you clap the book shut, immediately cutting off the static energy in the room and startling him in the process.

"That should do it."

You place the book on the table and lean back against his clothed chest, feeling the tension in his body not letting up.

"Damn, I can't believe little Miss Rosie took half of this. What a lass."

Your joke lightens the mood once again as Grimmock scoffs at you. Feeling him relax, you bring your hand down to finally touch the wetness that's been growing for awhile now. "We should still do some prep before you put it in. Is that alright?"

He nods and watches your hand disappear between your thighs. You readjust so that your boot clad feet are on either side of the chair rests. Opening yourself up to the air and to him, he can see you've already got two fingers pushing inside. He hesitates before reaching for his cock and slowly starting to stroke himself under you but it was painfully clear he was holding back.

"I know I'm not as short or.... endowed as Miss Cotton but I could put on a red wig if you'd like."

Grim huffed a laugh at the mental image of that.

"Oh wow~ Grimmie, you're soooo big and strong~"

You say in a high pitched voice (that doesn't sound anything like Rosie Cotton), using her embarrassing pet name while looking up at him and batting your eyelashes dramatically.

Grim scoffs and holds his hand over your mouth "Stop playing around." He tries to sound serious but his smile and the grumble in his chest betrays him. You laugh against his hand holding his wrist. You slowly pull his hand off your mouth and inch it gradually down your body giving him ample time to pull away. He doesn't and you move his hand to rub against your wet pussy ever so gently.

You're both looking into each other's eyes, this was not supposed to be so intimate but it doesn't look like he minds when he takes charge and slowly eases two fingers inside your aching pussy. His thick fingers stretch your pussy so good as you lightly buck into his hand, greedy pussy already hungry for more. The way he's looking down at you with so much need gets you so hot inside. A heat that only increases when he starts pumping his fingers in and out. Grim works you open with one hand and pumps his fat cock with the other.

This entire situation has you pent up and impatient so you pull his hand away and sit up, "I can take it now." He can't help but groan at your words but remains concerned at the perceived lack of prep. Whenever he fools around with humans most of the engagement is spent just doing prep so he's more than a little worried, "Are you sure?"

You don't reply as you gently take his fully hard cock from his hand, holding it up against your stomach to see how far inside you this thing could go. You both groan at the comparison between his ridiculously massive dick and your body, he reaches way past your belly button and into your stomach. Definitely more than a human could safely take. You adjust your legs so that you're almost squatting on his lap, your feet plant on the seat on either side of his hips.

You support yourself with your hand resting on the seat between his legs and lift yourself so you can rub your wetness along the length of his cock. He brings his rough hands to hold your hips gently, not applying pressure but just resting there so he can have something to hold.

You lift yourself up until his tip is in-line with your entrance, slowly rubbing it against your clit. You both groan lightly when the tip pops in and you slowly ease yourself down his cock. He's amazed at how easy your cunt swallows him. You pause half way down to adjust and give a few pumps to the rest of him before your hand leaves his cock to settle next to your other hand on the chair in front of you. He squeezes your hips a little in silent concern and you smile before easing the rest of him in, gently descending until you reach the hilt. Your pubes kiss his and he can't help but let out a weak moan at the sight and feeling of you taking all of him. Finally feeling tight walls grip the entire length of his cock has him reeling. You're overwhelmed as well, It's been a while since you've taken someone this big.

You slowly circle your hips around so that you really feel his cock against your walls deep inside you, you're obviously very pleased with yourself. Grim is seeing stars, eyes shut, head tilted back, trying to regain himself even a little while his literal dreams are coming true.

"Well, we know it works. I guess that's it then." You move to lift yourself off his cock as if your work is done.

"Nononono, Please no. Please."

Comes Grim's hasty but soft displeasure, both his thick arms circle around your waist to keep you in place as he leans against your back, head resting on your shoulder.

"What's the matter big guy?" You lean into his chest, stroke his arm and turn your head to look at him. He huffs, you know exactly what's the matter. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head to look at you.

"I need you."

Your heart jumps in your chest.

"I need you to fuck me...please."

You look up at him, wide eyes, mouth agape as he looks back down at you. The moment is almost sweet until your mouth forms into an evil grin and you snicker softly, a dreadfully familiar mischievous glint in your eyes. Grim closes his eyes and almost regrets all the choices that lead him here.

"Riiight~. I almost forgot, this is probably the first time you've actually been able to fuck someone sooo much smaller than you."

"Poor guy, you must be so pent up, huh?"

You reach down to gently hold his massive ballsack, making him suck in a breath and twitch his thighs.

All he can do is let out a choked moan of your name which only makes you chuckle.

"I can really play the part for you, if you'd like. Y'know the, "Ah, your so deep!" and "You're filling this human pussy up so good!""

You laugh when you feel his dick twitch. Poor Grim can only grip your waist and try to keep his hot face from getting hotter. He looks down at you with pleading eyes and you decide you're not so evil after all. You pat his arms and move them so he's holding your waist. He startles a little when you playfully kiss him on the cheek.

"I've got you big guy."

You lean forward again with your feet under you and start to lift yourself up very slowly until the top of his cock is juuust about to pop out. Your thighs burn as you stay there for a few seconds, teasing Grim and yourself. Grim thinks he might actually cry if you don't move.

Suddenly you grip the edge of the chair and force yourself down hard on his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt in one hard thrust. You both groan very loudly, he downright yelps with the sudden movement. You grip the chair and clench around him so hard he can't help the way he grips your waist tightly. One hand covers his mouth as he tips his head back and tries to not cum immediately. He tries to regain his breathing but you have other plans. You can feel him twitch inside you and a desperate need to be filled engulfs you.

You start thrusting up and down on his dick, moving your whole body up and down his length. It's a good thing he can't see your face because you are enjoying this way too much. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you bite your lip, the sensation of being filled to the literal brim is intoxicating. You work yourself and him so diligently, it's no time before your thrusts become more frantic and you're right at the peak. With one final deliberate thrust you cum hard around him, clenching and unclenching like you're trying to milk him dry.

You both moan freely now, though his are more like growls. Your pulsing walls quickly lead him to his own climax, holding you close to his chest and thrusting up into your cunt, spilling hot seed deep inside your womb. You shake and squirm even more with the blissful feeling of your walls being coated with his spend.

After a few moments of you two spasming and twitching you eventually ease up and fall limply against his chest, adjusting your thighs to rest on top of his again. You breathe out a long sigh and bask in the fullness of your cunt, stroking your stomach up and down.

You're blissfully unaware of the knowing smirk that grows on his face. He cards his fingers through his hair, composing himself a little more. His warm hand joins yours in caressing up and down the expanse of your stomach and chest, loving how small you feel in his hold.

"You've done this before." His voice comes out in a low growl that makes you shiver, not expecting it. You crane your head up to see him smirking down at you and all you can do is sit and stare. He chuckles deeply,

"There ain't no way, this is your first time taking a cock this size."

You stumble for words but none come out. His hands caress your thighs and one hand comes up to gently hold your jaw. He leans down really close to your face.

"You're a size queen."

You suck in a breath and your pussy clenches involuntarily around his cock which you only noticed now hasn't gone down at all. Grim laughs louder this time.

"I should've known the second you pulled out that spellbook."

You sit there, quite embarrassed at being caught. You smack his hand away from your waist.

"Shut up, you're the one with the-"

"Yes, we both know about my kinks, you teased me about it enough which is very hypocritical of you."

Grim is just loving the way you fluster and fumble for words right now.

"Oh, so you don't have a thing for inhumanly huge cock?"

He challenges and uses both his hands to bring your naked thighs to your chest, exposing your pussy, leaking with his seed.

"So you don't like the way I stretch and fill this little human pussy?"

You can't help but whine at his dirty words and the position he's binding you into. His cock adjusting inside of you, hitting a new spot.

"If you don't, I guess I could just pull out and-"

"Nonononono... Grim Cmon."

You frantically babble your disagreement, shaking your head. He chuckles again, very pleased with himself at turning the tables on you but thankfully for you he's not as evil as you are and his dick is still painfully hard.

"Alright Darlin, I'll take care of you."

He lifts himself from the chair, leaving a puddle of both of you when he stands. He comforts your whines when he pulls out to set you ass up on the table and just stands at the edge, one hand on his hip and the other leisurely stroking his cock.

You look back at him with confusion, expecting him to just fuck you over the table already.

"If you ask nicely."

He says looking real smug, you sigh in defeat and turn your body so that you're facing him. You disappear the rest of your clothes, leaving you stark naked on the large kitchen table you were just eating breakfast at. That realisation makes him pump his cock harder.

You press your knees as close to your chest as possible and bring your hands down to your puffy, leaking pussy. You spread your folds for him with your fingers and say, as sexily as you can manage.

"Please fuck me Grim."

Grim is so fucking floored, he's cursing himself for not thinking of doing this sooner. He sighs and pumps his cock harder, lining the leaking tip up to your pussy lips. He eases it inside and the new position makes for a new sensation for both of you as different spots are brushed and tension melts away. Once he's balls deep again he gently worms his arm underneath your back to lift you up with ease. You wrap your arms around his neck for support being mindful not to pull his hair. Suddenly you're face to face, looking into his eyes for the first time since you started.

You look into his dark eyes and they relax you, this is your best friend, you trust him. His eyes leave yours to stare at your parted lips. When he sees that familiar quirk on your lips he looks back to your eyes, catching the mischievous glint. You lean closer so that your noses are just brushing against eachother. You feel his breath hitch when your lips meet his. He spares no time getting into it and moves his lips against yours. You make out while he adjusts your body in his hold, one hand on your ass and the other on your waist.

He then, without warning, lifts you up and brings you down hard thrusting the whole length of his cock into you in one hearty thrust. You break from the sloppy kiss for a moment to groan out in absolute ecstasy, loving the way he takes the lead from you effortlessly. He brings down your whole body to meet his upwards thrusts. The way he's basically using your entire body like a fleshlight makes you embarrassingly horny.

It feels like it's been years since you were fucked like this, the way your body is reacting, so sensitive you're sure you could cum again any minute. This is exasperated greatly when he brings you closer to his chest with one arm locked around you so that he can worm his other hand in-between you two and rub at your engorged clit.

You grab at his wrist as he frantically works you to your climax, you basically scream when you finally reach that high. Clenching and shaking on his cock while he holds you up with his buff arms. You cling into him so tightly, getting drool on his shirt. You even squirt a little, getting your wetness all over his cock and the floor. Your intense climax once again has him reeling. The sight of you clinging onto him, squirting and losing yourself on his cock makes his balls clench painfully as his frantic thrusts turn faster and sloppier. He reaches his climax as he holds you close, groaning into your neck, pumping another thick load deep into you.

You both stay like that for a while, coming down from your respective highs. Your fingers slowly unclench from his shirt moving down to lazily caress his chest, feeling it move with his breaths as you rest your head on his shoulder.

He slowly manoeuvres your legs so he can sit back down on the chair, holding you to his chest. His hand strokes down your back as you both soak in the warm, tranquil after glow. His breathing evens out to a steady rhythm and your eyes flutter closed.

Knock knock knock

You both jolt awake and stare at each other wide eyed and then at the front door, which is very much visible from the kitchen. You both stay quiet and he holds you closer to hide your fully naked body if the rude intruder somehow manages to break the door down.

Knock knock knock

"Uhh Mr Grimmock Sir?"

The tension in Grim's body sags when he hears who's on the other side of the door. A hand goes to massage his impending migraine.

"BOY! What do you want?!"

You can imagine the way the poor fishing boy cringes at the anger in Grim's voice.

"Sorry Sir, I was wondering if you could give me some extra lessons on the boat?"

Grim growls in frustration, you chuckle in amusement and start kissing up his neck which settles him down a little.

"Tomorrow lad, it's Sunday."

"But I was-"

"Tomorrow."

The finality in his tone seems to get through to the young man as he mutters an "Alright Sir, see you then." Before walking off, his steps getting lighter and lighter.

"He doesn't want to work all week but suddenly he wants to work on Sunday?!"

Grim's irritation is clear as he gestures to the door incredulously. You can't help but laugh at the orcs misfortune. You settle your arms around his broad shoulders, one hand playing with his hair as his hand begins to stroke down your back again.

"Thank you for...helping out"

He says, quite genuinely.

"Anytime."

You throw him a thumbs up and he has to laugh and shake his head at the award winning nonchalance. When the amusement fades though he leans forward in the chair and brings his hands lower to cup your ass cheeks.

"Anytime?"

You can feel his soft cock gradually hardening inside your pussy and you look up at him in utter disbelief.

"Unbelievable."

You shake your head and chastise him but the smile that breaks on your face rats you put. He grins and lifts you up, walking out of the kitchen. His mouth marks up your neck and his stubble tickles, dull tusks dig into the sensitive skin.

"Just unbelievable."

You mutter to yourself again as your legs hug around his waist tighter and you feel his cum dripping out of your hole, leaving a trail all the way to his bedroom.

[genderkoolaid]

some musings on transmasc mulan:

i think the reason why Reflection & mulan as a trans man is impactful to me is the fact that mulan appears as a woman and has the social role of a woman. i love rep of transmascs who are fully transitioned/present masc or male! but ive thought a lot about the erasure & invisibility of transmascs throughout history. the bits of our history we do have tend to be people who had the ability to pass as men, but there were undoubtedly so many trans men&mascs who lived as women, who could not pass well enough to live full-time as a man, who were wives and mothers! and idk i find it really impactful to read Reflection as the pain of a trans man in the closet, or who doesn't even realize that being a man is a Thing they can Do. i love how it touches on the pain of failing to be a woman. i think part of it is how often people want to dissociate trans men from misogyny, or at least control how we are "supposed" to relate to it. again, the mainstream (queer) narrative around transmasc history (and present) is trans men who could/can pass as cis men, who live their lives fully stealth. but there are and always have been many transmascs who live as women, most or all of the time, and who have to struggle with the demands of misogyny to be good daughters/wives/mothers, and the knowledge that to be a trans man would make you such a disgrace and disappointment ("if i were truly to be myself, i would break my family's heart"). i think its important to give a voice to the trans men past and present who live as women and their gendered experiences! i desperately want to give a voice to every trans man throughout time who lived and died in a dress, who had children, who thought they were the only one or who didn't even understand what or why they were.

obviously mulan does crossdress and does pass as a cis man, but specifically "Reflection" to me means a lot because i love how it can be read to be an expression of closeted transmasculinity. with transmascs, the bits of history we do get are constantly scrutinized by everyone; there's an unspoken rule of "cis woman until proven otherwise, why do you want to erase women?" and again! thats just when it comes to "women who crossdress" situations! people are so stingy when it comes to who they will "allow" transmascs to claim, seeing a "feminine cis woman" expressing transmasculinity feels transgressive in a very good way to me. also, i think we need more recognition that there are a lot of feminine women who really wish they were men (because they are), and its important to represent that experience and make it clear that being feminine (while presenting as a woman, or in general) does not mean you can't be a man.

[44st4rs]

SORCERER DRIVE!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — synopsis! When there's a new move-in on the block, Gojo can't wait to make himself-before anyone else can!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — pairings! neighbor!fem!reader x pervert!gojo satoru

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — cw! 12.3k words, pwp, dubcon, non-con vouyerism, perverted themes, possessive themes, solo play, exhibitionism, vouyerism, heavy petting, voice kink, phone sėx, oral(both receiving), no protection, cůmeating, that’s the gist!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ — xoxo, chris! yeahhhh this is my second upload…plss don’t let this flop!

Sorcerer Drive.

It’s a quiet neighborhood away from the buzz of the city, casted away by freshly cut grass, swaying trees, and a piece of mind. The suburban street holds twelve pristine homes—no more and no less. Some of these homes hold couples, families, and even singles; all escaping from the hectic life of the city. Its occupants aren’t what many would call typical however, each life sharing in its vibrancy.

Sorcerer Drive is also home to one Gojo Satoru, the twenty-eight-year-old man of unhinged transparency. He’s kind, open with his home, his heart—and his intentions. He’s persistent, a little too persistent to get exactly what he wants. His signature ruse of soft words and sly manners are all cause for harm, stringing along one too many housewives during the days he had off.

He knows it’s wrong to invade but it’s the attention he seeks, longing to fill some hole in his iron-clad heart. Every woman he sets his eyes on can never really commit to Gojo, some wary of his hidden natures. His sought-out success is usually foiled by the first date, ruined by a degrading facet he can’t repress all that well. It’s unfitting for a man like him to act in such a way, unable to subdue his perverse ways.

As far as Gojo’s aware, he’s always been like this, falling apart in the presence of women. He can’t help it, the desire that sits deep within his belly. There’s something about a woman that throws all of Gojo’s coherency out the window and pulls his insatiability to mind. He’s dangerously in love with every quality of those who tease his eye. He can’t go without wondering how his latest muse would look beneath him.

Even in his neighborhood, his perverted tendencies still bled through his new persona. He’d stare at whatever crossed his way—the tops of breasts jiggling during the morning runs of the housewives, snapping pictures of the many panties slips creeping out from the shortest of dresses at cookouts, even shamelessly ogling at how the wives shower their husbands in kisses.

Block parties were his favorite, he’s cocky with the husbands but flirty with the housewives. He knows all the tricks to pull, what to say, where to touch playfully, just to simply chase some fleeting attention for those around him—solely to end with him gaining yet another enemy.

Yet, in the three years he’s lived in the quiet neighborhood, Gojo’s never known what the company of a woman can do for him. None have ever been welcoming of his antics, both bold and suggestive. He only thrives off what surrounds him, gathering his collective moments of joy.

And it’s been that tragic cycle for as long as he’s known…until fate pulled on his tattered string.

There’s a house before his own, a shade of a pretty blue with its complements of white. And for as long as Gojo’s lived on the street, it’s never known the feeling of holding life. However, it wasn’t until just a few days ago that the desperate call for company was answered, the pitted sale sign finally freed from its staked prison.

Upon sight of the sign’s removal, Gojo’s imagination hasn’t found rest. He could begin to think of who his mystery neighbor could be—though, he hoped for a beautiful woman without the strings of a relationship or a family. He hoped for someone who was free for bonds of a family, could take in him for all he was, perfections and flaws alike.

Even now, he’s found himself whisked into the fantasy world of his living room window, watching the gathering clutter of brown boxes on the lawn of the neighboring house. Why, Gojo’s bubbling with an excitement so rich, he’s abandoned the breakfast he’s worked so hard to prepare. The icy hues of his eyes linger along every corner of the opposing house’s window, desperate to gain some insight into his soon-to-be acquaintance.

It’s almost unlike Gojo to express such childish whimsy, his fair skin roused with a cherry bliss. The highs of his cheeks and ears share in the same reality, dusted in its whimsical pink glow. The trilling giggles roll from his tongue, warming the air in its purity. He’s never found himself in such a state as this one, unsure of what really brews in the back of his mind.

He knows it’s something. It could be the joy of having a new face in the neighborhood, one who has yet to learn of his true natures. It could be the mystery clouding around said face, though he prays it’s the woman of his dreams. Needless to say, his reaction is a mindless one, the spill of words riddled with the confusion of intrigue and lust.

“God, I think I’m in love!”

A strained groan cuts through the air, Gojo’s uttering met with his own resistance. He’s reluctant to give into himself but can’t find anything to do except that. There’s a chance that his inspiring thoughts could be for naught, only to be met with the harsh reality awaiting him. The thick digits of his hand strum through the pure white locks of his hair, paired with a fatal sigh breaking the air.

Whether he is right or wrong. Gojo knows he alone stands in the way of discovering the truth. It’s because of that realization that he can swallow down his nerves—and pride—to make the first move in the unofficial game of cat and mouse, peeling away from his kitchen window and slipping out through his back door.

That lone thought fuels him, knowing that has to uncover the mystery before anyone else gets their hands on his muse. Gojo simply had to make the first impression, gathering his abundance of confidence to stroll through his front door, large hands sinking deep into the pockets of his navy slacks.

Dizziness dots his sights with patchy stars and all Gojo can do is bear the grave thumps of his heart clogging his sanities. “So much for that dopey build of confidence, huh Satoru?” the sole muttering to pass through Gojo’s lips as the fog of doubt doubles in its weight.

It’s the possibility that his hopes could be shattered upon the reveal of who now dons the title of his neighbor. He knows his whims can’t manifest into the woman of his dream but maybe the universe can smile down on him just this once…right?

Gojo peels his hands from his pockets, allowing for the pad of his digit to linger over the small button of a doorbell for a moment. He’s already come so far for second thought, being overwhelmed by the sinister blend of intrigue and lust flourishing all too well in his veins. The pearly whites of his teeth sink into the plush of his lips as he takes in a final breath, his finger pressing gently against the doorbell.

In a matter of seconds, the white door rips open from its post, revealing to Gojo a sight for sore eyes. It’s a dream turned into reality as the door rips from its post, all of his whims manifesting before his blown eyes.

Gojo’s breathing it all in, the woman leaning against the door’s frame with an arm braced for balance. He can’t begin to comprehend his thoughts, the composure he’s lost within moments gone to the wind. The heavy thumps of his heart chime at his ears once more the longer Gojo stares at your disinterest, a frigid wash of nerves licking across his skin.

There’s uncaringness riddled in the hues of your eyes—— the annoyance of interruption bleeding through to your spoken words.

“Listen, for the last time, I just moved here. I don’t wanna sign up for the—oh…hello there.”

Gojo’s still stifled in his thoughts, the presence of you rendering him numb. He had yet to speak without removing his eyes from you, scanning down the luscious curves hidden beneath the silk black robe. He clings to a scene quite particular in his favor, the supple mounds of your cleavage spilling from the robe.

“Um…,” your tone soaked in tender concern, eyelids narrowing in sight at the stricken man, “You look a little red in the face, sir. Are you okay, do you need some water or–”

The sinister blend of intrigue and lust flourish all too well in his veins as Gojo’s hand rushes to cut the air, the brash attempt to hold contact with you.

“I’m Gojo Satoru, 28 years old and I live right there, across the street…from…you!” His cherry-tipped ears are met with the delight of a giggle, your soft palm slipping into his own.

“Nice to meet you, Gojo. I’m Y/N! Call me your new neighbor!”

Gojo nods at your words, battling his snowflake-like lashes. He’s managed to pull you into a senseless conversation about the neighborhood, linked hands losing their strength. Your burning questions should matter to him, but Gojo’s too enthralled at serving his palm passing glances, the tingling warmth dancing about his skin.

“Fuck, can’t wait to see if her hand’s this soft ‘round me. S’ soft and warm, just squeezing at every inch of me,” Gojo’s unfiltered thoughts wandering to unreached highs.

It’s lewd in the way Gojo thinks, his mind far more deranged than what he’s led to believe. A switch flicks in his brain, his pervasive tendencies edging to ruin what facade he’s worked so hard to withhold. He’s seconds into a cliché trial of small talk, but can’t ignore how puffy your lips get when his words pull a giggle from your chest, or how your fingers rattled along the frame mindlessly.

It has him pondering—imagining—how puffy your lips could become against his own, smothered in a mess of spit and sparse bites. His cock thumps at the lewd thought, hoping that one day your thumb would work the same mindless pattern along his blushed head as you do to the wooden frame.

And he has yet to address the way your legs cross in your leaned stance, his thoughts hinged on the bundle of warmth residing between the chub of your inner thighs. He, your robe highlighting the little bow of your panties imprinting itself through the thin robe. One wrong move and he’ll see it all, the fat lips of your cunt just barely fitted behind pesky sheets of fabric.

Yet he’s so desperate to maintain the peace that Gojo has no choice but to shed his immoral self, his laggard breaths setting onto a steady pace. A subtle shake of his head is all it takes for what moments he can get, following his way back into the closing conversation.

“Well, I hope to see you around, Gojo.”

Maddening is the only thing fit to describe Gojo’s state, desperately searching to earn a minute more of his presence. He simply couldn’t return home, at least not yet. How could he willingly turn back knowing that you—the woman of his dreams—existed within fifteen feet of his reach? He had to find a way to entrap you, ensure that he’d be the only man to ever enter the temple of your home.

“W-Wait! If you ever—and I mean ever— need me for an extra pair of hands, I’m right here…unless your husband isn’t okay with that?”

“Oh, that’s not gonna be possible…considering that I’ve been divorced for the past two years. But since you’re offering, I’ll call on you!”

Before the moment can end, Gojo digs into his back pocket, pulling his phone out as another conversational segway.

“Can I get your number then? Makes it easier for both you and me.”

Gojo watches as you take the phone from him, thumbs typing away at the ten digits needed. He studies the focus that shrouds your features, imprinting every detail he can take. The gentle coo of your voice breaks his concentration, does eyes of a frigid blue falling in line with you.

“Here you go, hopefully, you’ll get a call soon…Gojo.”

All you do is give Gojo a giddy smile as you place the device back into his palm, before waving goodbye, bringing the door in delayed haste. You don’t know what you’ve done by revealing that detail to Gojo, the man stiff with an impressional glee.

The limited interaction plagues Gojo’s mind for the day’s remainder, the evening rolling around through his feverish daze. It’s been ensnared in his brain longer than he’s anticipated, his lewd thoughts following him into the night’s shower.

Water droplets bloom against his skin, washing away the snowy suds of soap and a sliver of his day’s sins. Gojo believed he had a handle on himself as he showered—until the white noise of silence leads his troubled mind to stray.

He can’t get over how perfect you are, your smile, your voice, down to how the robe just barely protected you from him. He’d be lying if he didn’t want to see more, remembering how his digits twitch with the absurdity to strip your body down to the beauty of bare skin.

It’s such a thought that Gojo couldn’t help himself, his cock strained with a painful urge. Each droplet of the showerhead’s water struck him heavier than the last. The whimpers that rip from his chest are nothing short of chilling disgust. He didn’t want to lace his shaky hand around the thick tip, sealing the spry nerves in an etching fist.

His need for release has him so weak, his body trusting the brace of his forehead against the gray tile. He can’t ignore the ghastly sensitivity his body is forced to endure. From the building steam clouding his tiled chamber, his robust shower gel slicking him a cold sheen, he’s nearly crumbled beneath his own mundane actions.

Did you have to dress so freely, innocently provoking the hellish terror residing deep inside Gojo’s stomach. The pulling gush has yet to suspend, its heat swelling at his balls. He can feel the bloat of cum growing heavier than he’s ever bared.

That’s why Gojo brings his eyes to a close, filthy scenes obscuring his mind with images of you naked on his bed. He can see everything so clearly it’s utterly shameful—those legs of yours parted just for him, dainty fingers working hard at the cute bulb of your clit. Gentle, soft enough to coax shivering pretty moans from your chest. Gojo’s mentally noting how your touch trails between your folds to your glossy slit, two fingers barely fitting inside.

The tips of his digits tease the inflamed head of his cock with whispy swipes, foamy bubbles of pre trickling past his worked knuckles. Yet the crippling sensation isn’t enough for Gojo, bringing the full brute of his strength to strum about his cock. He doesn’t even have time to admire how his veins rise to meet his touch, the overwhelming rush of blood causing his head to spin.

“Just like that, k-keep going,—fuck, you’re so tight!”

He’s hung on the sight of you, weakened hips hoisting into the air with the swift delves of your fingers scarcely stretching your slit. There’s no comparison in his mind, knowing that your digits could never reach as deep as his cock could.

You’re just barely scratching the surface of your body as far as he believes, leaving so much untouched yet so much to be discovered. He can almost hear you too, his mind conjuring the sweetest coos he has but to indulge.

At that alone, Gojo’s body falls into a shuddering hunch, his back folding at the breathless stir in his lungs. His slender hand lays waste to his poor cock, careless strides roaming from base to tip. To Gojo’s demise, it’s all in vain.

He can’t handle the recoils of his strokes, the insufferable drag towards the bed of messy white hair freeing breathless moans from his chest. Even the force he strived to maintain shattered in his hands, bare thighs bearing the rippling waves stinging at his balls.

“You’re gonna keep playing with that pretty pussy fr’ me, right? I—fuck—need you to, Baby…‘m so close!”

His precum’s sticky when it spreads further across the expanse of his cock, the vile squelches echoing in his ear. He only seems to be growing more within his hand, bigger, thicker, and farther from his envied high.

“Fuckfuckfuck, I wanna cum for you, Y/N! S’ bad! Wanna watch it drip everywhere, your tits, cute funny, all over your pussy! I j-just wann—“

The rushing spill of white rinses over Gojo’s hand, the beads of water rising away his sins. Through the huffs of his emptied lungs, he stands in dismay, watching every drop wither into the abyss of nothing. His hand softly smacks the wall of the shower, quivering lips muttering his final thoughts.

“You weren’t supposed to waste it, Princess. All my hard work…gone like that.”

Regret sets in as a sigh empties from Gojo’s chest, his weary hand turning the shiny valve. The water’s suspension seals the last of his misfortune, the man returning to reality when he steps from the glass chamber. Disgust doesn’t resonate with Gojo as he peers into his mirror, imprints of steam drifting across the glass. It’s a passing glance but one he’s dangerously proud of amidst strolling towards his dimmed bedroom.

His digits reach for the towels he’s laid across the mahogany duvets, the contrasting fibers grazing across his skin. Gojo’s inches from it before a sight like no other catches his greedy eye, eyelids parting in pure shock.

To his unfortunate luck, the windows of his bedroom peer straight into yours—one free of any coverage as of now.

It’s a sight he knows he’s too blessed for, your body sheathed in the plush towel of white. It’s clingy, hinged on every curve of your figure. A squint is forced upon Gojo as he focuses on you, watching the faint sheet of fluff unravel at a single tug. Lust consumes him, clouded hues gawking at the plump swells of your chest and the curves of your physique, all set in his untimely direction.

Gojo’s hand settles over his chest, hardened pads drifting down to his flittering abs. He can’t believe it, how dumb you could be to allow a man like him to gaze at the divine physique of your body. A feeble pry claws at Gojo’s fading will, pulling him to fall onto his bed.

He gives you one final glance before whimpering out his distressing plea.

“Look at you, so close but so far…’nd you’re so perfect.”

His hand slips into the top drawer of his bedside, the shameful shell of his beloved pocket pussy falling into his grasp. Was it wrong of Gojo to get off to his explicit thought once more? Even going as far as to use what scene he had of you for entertainment?

Why…of course not.

His digits race to greet his mouth, the makeshift cup pooling with his spit. All it takes is a single rushed stroke to coat his length in the threaded gloss, eagerly nuzzling the slit of the toy over his own.

He’s swift to feed the growing impatience, pulling the toy to loosely hang around the tip of his cock. Sensitivity aided in his hand, the stings of the recent orgasm lingering at the forefront of his brain. Everything’s still clouded to Gojo, the blinding pulls along his girth to bring him to the present.

It soon became a harsh pill to swallow, that pit in his stomach deepening. He’s studying how the toy’s lips spread around his cock, the scene shrouding a haze of disgust over him. It’s nothing as he wishes it to be, no warmth, no gush, no heavenly moans begging for him to slow down. The feeling’s merely sinking deeper in Gojo’s mind, his body falling flat onto the bed at last.

“S-Shit…it’s not tight enough—fuck!”

His grip couldn’t afford to be any more endearing, his throbbing cock engulfed in a numbing squeeze. In truth, Gojo wasn’t sure what he was so desperate for, giving aim to an unsure goal. His hand could squeeze, swivel, and pull at his shaft all they wanted, but nothing can ever compare to the anticipation of having you clamped around him, struggling to take each fattened inch.

He has yet to comprehend what has his hips jolting to meet the toy’s sad excuse for a cervix, or why his lust for you brought along gravitating rivers of sweat to lave across his scorned body.

“I-I can’t even– it’s no good, ‘m not gonna cum when the real thing is right there,” the summoning of Gojo’s desperate call to awaken. He’s aggravated with urgency, anxious to cum, but all the while, can’t commit to chasing the sweet high. The wretched pocket pussy gets paid a mere gaze, only to be ripped off his twitching cock with strings of glimmering precum in tow.

He wants to be the bigger person, to shut his own blinds out of respect…then again, Gojo isn’t that kind in both morals or character. Laying in his own misery, he stole a few gaps at you, grinning at how the night’s attire of a white tank and pink panties suited you best.

Amidst his gaudy oglings, sleep edges at his mind as heavy eyelids follow in the sun’s setting path. Gojo giggles to himself before mouthing off once more, ensuring that his mischievous dreams, and desires would soon manifest in his hands.

“Pray for the day I get my hands on you, Y/N. I swear I’m never letting go.”

Those words loom over Gojo’s head for the duration of the week, serving as a reminder to him. Why, he has to be on his best behavior for you, pitting all his perverted mannerisms to rot. During the day, he catches you on your daily expedition to the mailbox for idle chatter. It’s an ebbing few minutes but Gojo learns more and more about you. Within the days he’s caught your attention, he’s learned about your occupation, your favorite foods, and films.

He’s saving all these trivial exchanges for a certain day—like today— for when Gojo crosses your path again, a day written by the Gods themselves.

Since he had the chance to meet you, Gojo’s thoughts have revolved around you and only you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunches while deep in thought—all of it, Gojo’s been hung up on. His days are spent on you, thoughts and imagination dedicated to you and you alone. He can’t help but reminisce on the minutes he’d spend with you, the mere trade of words igniting a hidden facet in his heart.

He’s unsure of what to call it, the very thing that hinders his day-to-day life as of late. He’s too intrigued to call it a crush but wouldn’t dare tread the lines of obsession. It’s a conflicting matter for one such as him, one that tests every fiber in Gojo’s being.

He’s never been so attentive to someone other than himself before, his interest in you surpassing the field of lust alone. He can spend hours just thinking about you, how you smiled at him the first time with such care, how you made him melt beneath your gaze.

He isn’t one to form connections, attachment never did serve the man well. Though, at the face of your arrival to the neighborhood, Gojo’s once paraded lifestyle now hints at the inevitable downfall. He’s suddenly frantic for your attention, yet shied away from his sprouts of self-doubt. He’s afraid to admit just how much he wants you, to have you around him at every waking moment.

For now, he resorts to the method he knows best, taking to his living room window to catch every rare appearance you’d make. Whether it be you walking down to the mailbox, discarding the next round of moving boxes, or simply stepping out to watch the sunset, Gojo sought to capture it all.

But today brings its own fruits of bliss, providing Gojo with the hand-delivered game of chance. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, you hoisting the next batch of trash out to the front lawn.

Yet, there’s something different in him, Gojo pinned to his favorite place amongst his living room window. Sure, he’s observing as you drag the next ensemble of boxes behind your heels, but that’s not what has his attention piqued.

He should be used to it by now, all the short outfits you’ve flaunted to the outside world. But nothing could compare to the pure lamb white tank and matching skirt adorning your curves. He can’t seem to take his eyes away from the cute pout breaks across your visage.

A furrowed brow, lips fostering a glossy pout and puffy cheeks limp with fatigue all entice Gojo to lengths even he can’t comprehend. He can tell you need some guidance, someone to tell you where to go from there.

Gojo’s more inclined to stand to his feet now, strolling to his front door once again. The sweep of deja vu settles onto him is chilling, the same cycle of steps repeating themselves. Just like the day he’d recognized your presence, Gojo can’t do anything but approach you with careful steps.

He’s brought to the scene in the lewdest of ways—you bent over the growing batch of folded cardboard. It doesn’t help that his ear picks up on every feeble whimper that escapes from your mouth, the clear frustration written in your voice. He is undoubtedly without shame as his gaze graces your body, grinning at how your panties tease past the edge of your skirt.

You’re so cute like this, too caught up in your own little world to notice Gojo’s staggering build towering behind you. He could stay like this forever, watching as you continuously shift through the clutter.

As pure as it’s intended, sin never lurks too far when it comes to Gojo. His hands slip into his pockets without delay, stretching the fabric of his navy slacks to conceal the growing bulge. It’s not his fault your skirt falls so short of you, but he isn’t one to complain either. The sight only triggers that devious side of him, firing all sorts of thoughts to cloud his tainted brain.

Gojo knows he can’t get ahead of himself, not when he still has to maintain his fragile impression around you. All it takes for a single huff of air to crowd Gojo’s lungs for him to speak at last, the spiteful smirk embedded behind his words.

“Quite the mess you’ve got here. The recycling truck only comes once every other week, y’know.”

The bit of insight he offers is enough to pull your attention elsewhere, your head whipping around to meet his lidded regards.

“Oh, hi Gojo! I know, right?! It’s even more of a mess inside too!

Gojo takes the chance to close the distance, leaning over your hunched form gradually. His head falls into a timely tilt, allowing him to breathe in the shift in nature befalling you. Suddenly, ripples of blinks overtake your eyelids, lips faltering to hold fast to the pretty pout. He seals your brash flusters with the soft hum of his voice, the warmth of his breath fanning across the tip of your nose.

“Well…aren’t you gonna ask me for help? I do remember saying I’d be here to give you an extra pair of hands for all your…problems.”

There’s a silence falling amongst you both, the eyes of you two falling into a blurred line. Gojo’d be lying if he said he didn’t succumb to you too, the exterior of smug pride crumbling with each second. Sure,

Gojo has you stifled in your steps, forced to endure the sweltering heat of his stare—but he’s the one that suffers in the end. Waves of heat strum throughout his body, laying claim to the highs of his cheeks and ears alike. His chest lags in the slightest of breaths, the uneven pace coming to light.

His ears perk at the aimless whimpers spilling from your mouth, ensuring that your body shares in the same symptoms—uneased breaths, flares of heat, and uncertainty pitted deep within your belly. He wants to reach out, hoping his hand could bring you down from the fluttering gates of nirvana. It takes for the tiny squeak of your voice’s inquiry to break the fallen silence.

“Can you…help me fix the inside…please? I’d appreciate it so much!”

“ ‘Course I will! Just lead the way, beautiful!”

You offer Gojo a pleasant nod before turning from him, dainty hands clutching at your chest. Within a matter of moments, he’d so easily brought you to your knees. From his sly grin, his overwhelming allure, down to the very way he seems to keep a specific look for you, Gojo could just as easily have you wrapped around his finger should he say the words.

“Over there, I need the most help in the kitchen,” your hand pointing in the appropriate direction as you close the door behind him.

Gojo encounters your sights for a brief moment more, a toothy grin spreading itself thin as he explores your home. Finally, he has you to himself, free from any wandering eyes to be found along the block.

“It’s nice in here, Y/N. I see you like the finer things, just something else we have in common.”

“Thanks, but wait till everything’s in place, finish cleaning and arranging…it’s gonna be great!”

You pay Gojo one final glare of amusement, the teasing stares pulling you both towards the unkempt vast of the kitchen. There’s a certain set of cabinets that call your attention, the blanched wood doors wide in welcomes your gaze. Your finger points to the plates before you, recalling the details of Gojo’s task.

“Since you’re tall, can you put the plates up in the cabinet? I’ll put the pots and pans in the lower cabinets.”

A cheeky smile is all it takes for Gojo to oblige, breaking his looming stare to tend to his assignments. Though, as much as Gojo wants to help you out, he truly can’t. Within the placement of one plate, his focus finds means elsewhere, those blue eyes hinged on you beside him.

How could he carry on such a leisure task when he has you so close to him, the curve of your ass just hugging at the thighs of his pants. There’s so much to unfold and too much for him to ignore.

You’re soft against him, brushing up like silky plush along his skin. He just doesn’t get it, why must your skirt be so short teasing the whims of a man like himself? He wants to look away, savor the time he’s been given with you thoughtfully…

But damn it all when you dip forward to better your reach, the silhouette of your cunt sucking through the thin inseam of your black lace panties. For a moment—just a brief moment—Gojo’s blessed with the delicate curves of your clothed pussy.

It’s tantalizing to him, pulling his mind to an unmatched euphoria. His mind is swift to flood with his lewd thoughts, hoping that one day he hopes to endure the forbidden sight of your cunt’s lips splitting around his cock.

“Oh fuck!” his inner thoughts coming to light. He’s swift to conceal the slip of his words with a cough, the deep draw straining his throat. It’s enough for you to jolt, bouncing back onto your feet to tend to Gojo.

“Gojo! Wait, I’ll get you a cup of wat—”

Before you can even think, the brash pads of Gojo’s hand lace your dainty fingers into his own. He pulls your hand to the plush pink curves of his lips, placing a lingering peck along your laxed knuckles. His free hand slips to fill the small of your back, pulling you to crash against the chest of his black sweater.

“Well, well well, look at you, racing around to help little ole’ me…just knew you were perfect fr’ me.”

His eyes flicker over you once more, a rush of thrill licking at his skin. The question he has is heavy, sits a little too heavy on his chest. That’s why he has to say it—to free himself of his one true desire.

“Let me take you out…tonight. I can show you around town, show you all my favorite spots and more.”

“A date? Already? We just met, Gojo…I don’t…”

A cast of hesitation settles onto you both, a tension so thick that neither of you could withdraw. Gravity condemns you to his side, body falling prey to Gojo’s allure. There’s something about the man that compels you, the saccharine tone of persuasion dripping from his voice. He could put you in a trance and you’d be at his every whim, that alone serving as your conclusion.

“Okay, pick me up around seven. I’m kinda tired of being surrounded by so many boxes and dust.”

Gojo presses a final kiss onto your knuckles before breaking away from you, an indescribable elation written across his features.

“I promise you won’t regret it. I’ll make the night worth your while.”

With that, Gojo left from your side, unable to wipe the stupid grin from his face. A date with the woman of his dreams, the thought alone pulling nervous flutters from his heart.

Through a passing glance, he manages to catch a glimpse of the digital clock embedded in the stovetop: 4:30 pm.

From the moment he left your home and entered his own, ensuring your good favor was all that weighed heavy on Gojo’s mind. He simply had to win you over, knowing that you too shared some interest in him.

It’s the first time in a long time that Gojo’s felt this way, endowed to someone other than himself. In Gojo’s eyes, to have you is to have all the riches in the world. He knows there’s something so different about you, something that sets his body aflame.

That’s why in the hours he has left to prepare for the impromptu date, he puts in all the effort to become the best version of himself.

From grooming his closet for the finest outfit—stone gray slacks, a mauve silk button, and his favorite set of leather black loafers— picking up a bouquet of white roses for good measure, and rushing to arrange reservations at the nearest restaurant a few block away, Gojo knew he’d have to use all the tricks in his arsenal to eventually call you his one day.

By the time seven did set in, Gojo brought himself to stand right outside your door, wearing that stupid smile once more. The nerves have yet to settle beneath his fair skin, flairs of red ripping across his cheeks and ears alike. Before he can bring his finger to press the small button, deja vu befalls Gojo again.

He’s welcomed by the sight of you, dressed in an orange satin mini dress. His eyes hang upon every inch of you, the dress’ low cut neckline especially appealing to Gojo’s taste, coaxing the corners of his lips to tease with a smirk.

He hands you the bundle of florals carefully, allowing his fingers to graze along your own for a moment. Gojo lets his head fall into a tilt, plush lips of pink curving as he watches your expression bloom into a whimsical grim.

“Don’t you look perfect? The color suits you, Gorgeous.”

“Aw, why thank you! But first…tell me where we’re going…please?”

“Like I said, I wanna show you around. There’s a nice restaurant a few blocks from where we’re walking to, I think you’ll like it.” He lets his hand fall from the bouquet to brush along your waist, the mere weight of his touch drawing you to rest against his chest. The pinning force melds within his heart as he’s finally introduced to your body’s warmth, a subtle sigh escaping from his lungs.

“Let’s get goin’ I wanna spend as much time with you as I can…y’know, being a gentleman and all.”

The words Gojo utters aren’t so much spoken for your liking, as they are to him—a reminder of the persona he wears tonight. And for the night, he swore to maintain his composure, to keep his dangerous thoughts away in order to hit every mark with you.

A final glance of exchanges takes its place between you both before the journey begins, Gojo leading with you by his side.

“Gojo…who lives in that house?” you hand motioning towards the passing house. Gojo’s eyes fall into a squint, a scoff trailing from out his lips at the realization.

“Oh…that’s Toji Fushiguro. I heard he’s in his forties and lives alone in the house. But, he’s someone you should stay away from, especially when you’ve got me,” he teases, using all his efforts to distract you from Toji’s burning stare.

Your eyes linger on him for a moment longer, such imbues of green searing into your memory. He’s not one to forget, the man lounging upon his porch with a smoke in hand. His eyes are murky with an unseen objective, the lingering leer fading away with a salacious wink doused in trouble. A gasp escapes from your lips at his notion, intrigue bubbling high among your sentiments.

“He seems interesting, though…” the last review you give Toji before he’s out of sight.

It isn’t long before you reach the restaurant, the soft twinkle of lights meeting your eye. The quaint establishment holds no more than a few, the other patrons spread thin across the restaurant floor. You and Gojo found yourselves towards the back, a table free from the immediate presence of others.

The tension between you both is one of a thickened atmosphere, both of you itching to solve the mystery of each other. Rather than ask Gojo your burning question, you wait an assured time without interruption, the opportunity presenting itself minutes after the waiter receives the orders of dinner.

You find yourself pulled towards Gojo, his speechlessness creating an aura of enticement for your favor. Your eyes suffer the weight of intrigue, eyelids heavy with an underlying taunt of lust. Your hands fold beneath your chin for support, the gradual silence coming to an end.

“Tell me Gojo, why are you single? You’re such a handsome man with a really smooth personality, it honestly shocks me that you are.”

Gojo’s hand rises from the white tablecloth, slender rubbing at the point of his chin. It’s a question he’s addressed but has yet to confront the clauses of such an inquiry. He knows the answer through and through but knows he’ll scare you—the woman he’s been waiting for— away.

He prays you’ll understand him, understand why he is the way he is and accept all that came with him. He gives you one wavering glance before replying, a hefty sigh guiding the spill of words.

“Why am I single?…it’s more than what you’d believe, Princess. I’m not all that…accepted, to put it shortly. And I can’t be with someone who doesn’t accept all of me, right?”

Eager to close the distance, Gojo pits himself inches from you, a lazy stare lurking across your placid visage. You’re eager for an answer, that much is enlightened to Gojo through the thick shroud of silence. He grants your burning question with another facer to be uncovered, the question rolling off his tongue with sinful ease.

“Can you accept all of me? All it takes is a date to know if you wanna put up with someone…so does that same ideal—Oh, look at that, I dropped my fork.”

You watch as Gojo sinks beneath his seat towards the burgundy carpet. All’s quiet for the seconds your date spends hidden underneath the table…all until the vibrations of your phone earn your distant attention. Bringing the call to your ear, your voice leads the conservation with a shushed giggle, your head tilting in a blissful delight.

“Is there a reason you’re calling me from under the table, Gojo?”

“Of course there’s a reason, I want you to hear everything I have to say…”

The tips of Gojo’s digits brush along the prominent curve of your thigh. A heft of warmth follows his breath as he inches towards you, brimming your skin with a chilling lick of desire. It’s almost embarrassing for you to admit, the swirling flame crowding at the dormant bulb of your clit. There’s a prowling heat that consumes your cunt, the plunging weight wedged between your poor walls. A bare squeak rips from your lungs, only to fade beneath the barrage of Gojo’s speech.

“You asked why I’m single, it’s true that no woman has really accepted me…but there’s more to it. I’m a mess when it comes to love, I let lust run as high as my heart and no one has really kept up with me because of that.

As for you, my pretty girl…you’re so cute, so perfect for me to ruin. From the moment we met, I just knew you were the woman of my dreams. There’s something hidden deep within you—and I wanna be the one to bring it out.”

“So then, you wanna–”

“I wanna lose myself in you. Touch you, kiss you, call you mine, I want you so bad it hurts.”

You can’t comprehend how fast Gojo’s fingers sneak beneath your dress to tug at your panties. Then again, you can’t begin to comprehend how fast you’ve fallen at his pleas, your thighs breaking from the harsh clasp for his head to fill the space.

It’s the anticipation that has you this wet, what has your skin inflamed with spry nerves, the thrill of Gojo indulging in your pussy within the company just surrounding the promiscuous atmosphere.

The plea laced behind his pants brought along a course of thirst throughout your body. You can’t wait for it, the soft heat of his tongue dragging through your folds, strides of spit melting with your nectar, the moans pried from the depths of his chest. The thin cloth suddenly grows to be an annoyance, your hips bucking to wedge the cinched waistband from its post.

“Please…please, let me do it. I just wanna make you feel good, just me and me only.

“Fuck, Gojo, I–”

At the sound of your voice, Gojo finally allows himself to falter in your stead, shedding the kind persona he’d donned for the night. His fingers tug the pesky panties of yours down your legs, the limp white cotton bunched at your ankles. His touch drifts further across your body, a gentle rattle against your skin forcing your thighs apart.

Gojo can’t resist it any longer, the vast of his palm breaking from your thigh. The tips of fingers trace the curves of your cunt’s lip in tease, parting the plushy mounds to reveal the ness awaiting him. The sticky unclasp echoes in his ears, a hiss of resistance cutting through the air.

He’s met by the salacious mess of your pussy, the puffy lips breaking from the sticky hold. It’s more than he expected, the glossy strands of your essence dripping from the hood of your clit. The patterns dresses your pussy in a delicate manner, fragile strands illuminating your folds.

What teases at that ache deep within his stomach was your slit, soapy flutterings gasping to be filled. The threads string across the silky sheets are diamondlike, glimmering even in the dimmest of light.

“Look at how much of a mess you made fr’ me, Baby—fuck!— clit’s so damn cute under my fingers. Bet you wanna cum real bad…but not yet. Not until I play with you, alright?”

All you can do is whimper out your transgressions to Gojo, the cry of urgency muted by your cupping hand. He’s so gentle with his touch, the calloused pads of his fingers drifting along the glistening folds to reach your clit. He’s so gentle that it’s teasing, laying a fluttering trail to swirl about the pearl. Why, he’s so gentle that it’s taunting, your hips reeling from his touch. Yet, all you earn is a huff from Gojo through the phone, his sloppy grip bracing your hip.

“Don’t do that, just gonna make you cum harder now, y’know.”

You don’t know it just yet, that side of Gojo that can alone uphold his honor. The side that keeps his word, ensuring that he’ll follow through on his part. The same principle applies to you all the same. It’s why he can bring his tongue to your frail slit, dragging that slippery ingraining stride through your folds—just to strike the raw bulb of your clit. The whimpers, gasps, and moans all fill Gojo’s ear, spitefully pawing at his ego. It fuels him to pursue further endeavors to test you.

“So pretty, Baby. Gonna let me kiss that pretty clit too, aren’t you?” his voice tapering across your roused skin. “Now relax, let me suck your clit, ‘kay?”

His words pull at your body’s temperament, releasing a wave of frigid heat to shroud your pussy. The plush mounds of his lips lay soft kisses against your clit, teasingly sealing the hood between each peck. At first, it isn’t noticeable, just the puffy seal of his lips enveloping the perked bud.

The gradual pull of your clit that alerts you, the streamlined squelching suckles pinned on the raw nerves. He’s even managed to make a mess of you, returning spools of spit dripping from his pursed hold over your clit.

The slobbering unclasp of his lips chime through the call, the lewd symphony strumming through your lips. His fingers cup at your cunt, parted digits placing gentle pulsing squeezes along your clit. Gojo pulls back for a moment, hungered eyes taking in the beautiful fixture he’d made out of your pussy.

“Mhm, that’s it, good girl, relax fr’ me. I think I’m falling in love with your pussy—tastes so good.”

“Oh m-my God!! Fuck Gojo, y-you can’t say it like that!”!

“Aww, but it’s the truth. Your pussy s’ good and fuck… twitching against my tongue like that. You’re so needy, Angel…gonna make you cum real soon.”

Just as he promised, the final clasp of his swollen lips brings about your downfall, the mind-shattering orgasm milking at your worth. A chain reaction breaks across your body, claiming your lungs in a breathless gasp.

It’s heavy, the insufferable burden pulling the hull of your chest to the surface. Your legs know no bounds either, the innermost plush threatening to smother Gojo.

He repels himself from you before harm could arise, dragging the flat of his tongue along his plump lips. Pride boils at the forefront of Gojo’s mind as he returns to his seat, wearing a nonchalant smile in your presence.

He knows what’s passing through that fuzzy mind of yours, the hues of lust and curiosity melding into one. The look of widened eyes, high eyebrows, and an agape mouth tell Gojo all he needs to know as he sets his phone down onto the white tablecloth: you’re curious.

The questions of what he can do to you fill up your mind, latent desires grooming at the surface of your skin. Gojo’s awakened something inside you, something that can’t quite be transcribed into words. It’s heat, a warmth so fierce that it grows with impatience.

The longer you return his gaze, the heavier the flames weigh on your mind. It entraps your entire body in a trap of heat, the inescapable urge swirling deep within your shuddering tummy. Suddenly, a single demand falls from your lips without regret in sight.

“Gojo, I really…um…I really wanna go now.”

“Aww, but we haven’t even eaten yet. I guess we can—

“Take it to go? We can do all that at the reception table. So can we…go…now?”

Oh, Gojo's got you. Exactly where he wants you, a hot and rowdy mess falling before his very eyes.

In response to his goal being met, Gojo stands up straight from his spot on the chair. His hand falls from its hold as a makeshift shield, presenting both his beckoning call and grin to you.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. I’d hate to keep you waiting.”

Leading you back home was nothing short of thrilling to Gojo. He studies you with a watchful eye, how you dropped your walls for the likes of him. It’s not vulnerability in the slightest but a taste of a life he’s always sought for. And here you come, providing him an earnest peek at that softer, susceptible side of you.

Your touch welcomes him, warms his heart to a point as he bears your dainty hands clinging to his sleeve. He’s exposed to this soft side of you by the soft nudge of your kisses, his cheek covered in trailing pecks as he struggles to pay for the night’s incomplete outing.

Gojo can’t help but fall prey to you, his heart set aflutter with skipping pangs. He finds himself returning your endearing favors, catching your lips in a kiss every so often. His touch vacates anything formal, fitted perfectly along your lower back to squeeze at the swell of your ass.

All the formalities Gojo should have maintained fell from his arsenal with every passing minute it takes to reach your home, the quaint house welcoming both your heavy hearts. He’s clinging to you, a hand pulsing at the plush of your waist and the other occupied with the bag of forgotten dinner.

“Do you…” Gojo begins, his smirked lips curling at the shell of your ear. “Need help with the keys?

His digits drift along the flushed skin of your forearm, lacing around your palm to aid in the envied endeavor.

“Just one last turn and…that’s the click. Now…push open that door if you don’t want the neighbors to see.”

Your body’s compelled to fall to Gojo’s words, entering through to the door with crazed haste. As the door falls shut, there’s a break in the tension, a moment for your mind to return to some state of coherency. Your first instinct is to walk, to separate for just a step. But it’s his swiftness you overlook, how quick he comes over to tower over you.

The hull of Gojo’s chest harbors a heavy tune, scattered breaths melding through you. His arm travels across your hips, laxed fingers creating lazy pleats along the hem of your dress.

“No, no, no…I finally have you to myself, Pretty girl. Where do you think you’re goin’ ?”

Your eyes cower with obligation dotting the blurred hues of your eyes. You can’t refuse Gojo, not with the pulling attraction guiding your heart thus far. Especially when he towers above you like this, the heat of his encasing you whole. There’s almost a compelling force, something bringing you onto your toes to close the distance. Your lips just barely brush past his own, the puffy heat teasing you with an invite.

“I’m…—!”

Gojo’s lips meet your own, the intoxicating smother of heat exhausting remnants of your energy. It’s intoxicating, how fixed you’ve become to his touch. There isn’t a moment to falter. Your lips cling to his own, such supple curves desperate to match the careful weaves he guides you through.

Languid trudges usher you and Gojo to the living room, smothered bodies collapsing onto the black leather cushions. He pulls you to warm his lap, hands steady along your hips. He’s so insistent to close any distance that keeps you both apart. It’s why his hands are sent clutch at your dress, tugging at the silk to pull right over your head.

Clothes continue to sprinkle across the room, piles upon piles falling to the abyss surrounding the lucid scene. His lips return to adorn your body, mindless pecks falling into the crook of your neck. His kisses bring about a rouse beneath your skin, each press of his lips earning a rush of blood to greet him. The trails of his affections fall prey to the valley of your chest.

Truth be told, he’s been dying for this, to touch you in ways only he could. His digits cup at the delicate swells of your tits, entrapping the hardened peaks in between.

“You’re so beautiful, Baby. So fucking beautiful.”

His eyes refuse to falter from yours, clinging to the sight of ecstasy as his lips seals your nipple away with the expanse of his mouth. A moan rips from Gojo’s chest, deeming him to have a senseless sense of self. Control isn’t something attainable in his current state, the man drunk off you.

Everything about you is heavenly, your warmth, your company, the pretty whimpers you make as Gojo’s tongue whisks around the puffy peaks lazily. He’s squeezing your tits softly, serving as his reminder of just how explicit everything’s become.

It’s not until you find yourself relaxing in his hold that you realize just how much you do to Gojo, bare lips of your cunt splitting around something hard.

“You’re so hard, ‘Toru. Does it hurt?”

“Mhm,” he hums, breaking away from the slobbering mess he’s made of your tits. “I really wanna feel those lips ‘round me, can you do that for me? Please?”

You offer him an enthusiastic nod, sinking onto your knees before his trembling thighs. The plush espresso carpet cradles the curve of your knees as you adjust, placing your lithe fingers along his abre thigh. But it’s the sight before you that stirs the brew of butterflies deep within your belly, coaxing a piercing shock to widen your hazy eyes.

Gojo’s big. Not just in his towering stature but right between his legs all the same. Your eyes are welcomed by the pretty plush of his cock, the tanned fat sitting pretty against his thigh with miserable want. The girthy shaft blooms with inflamed hues of green and blue. The thickest of veins are free from such imbues, too roused to don any single tint.

Your eyes trail to the head of his cock, greeted by the bullying fury of reds. The tip weeps an uncontrolled sob of greed, the blushed adorning a smear ring of his precum.

Your lips falter at the scene, a pool of spit budding just beyond sight. Gojo’s hand cups the back of your neck, rattling a gentle pace of encouragement to soothe your nerves. It’s kind encouragement, his efforts allowing for your lips to part for his girth. A gentle kiss lays upon his slit, staining the pout in his essence. The throbbing pulse of his cock is hot against your lips, beckoning you to place yet another peck.

Your mouths with every bit to be covered, gradually slipping the fat head to sit snug between your suckling lips. It’s soft, pulling at the mere surface of the swelled tip. Your tongue even peeks for a moment, wavering along the underside all too teasingly in faint swipes. Gojo winces at the sensation, tingling with a striking thrill. His fingers find work at the nape of your neck once more, playing an uncoordinated tune upon your skin.

“You…You know what to do, take it all in your mouth fr’ me, Baby.”

Mindlessly, you lose to his imminent demand, your eyes suffering under the influencing weight. Your head strums along Gojo’s length without care, the throbbing head pecking at the back of your throat.

The sensation’s nothing short of brutal, brash strikes threatening to pursue deeper lengths. Your ears help ease what coherency remains, hinged on the pretty crumbling moans ripping from his chest.

Gojo’s hot-blooded spree of lust carried you through the consistent hollows of your lungs, begging for just a lick of air. He’s desperate for it, to use your poor mouth like his favorite toy— so warm, wet and even tighter than his fist could ever begin to achieve.

But little does Gojo know, it’s more of a strain on you than him.

It’s a struggle, a harsh journey to endure to please Gojo. He’s far from the concept of silence, but there’s more dying to fly off his chest. He’s feeling it, courtesy of his jutting hips reckoning to reach the plump cling of your lips. The pitiful whimpers tell you all that’s known about his crumbling state. You want to deliver that taste of irresistible heaven to him.

Your hands migrate from the loose casing formed around his cock to his thighs, the pads of your digits settling into place. The thoughts swirl at the forefront of your mind. It had to be thoughtless, free of any worry, care, or restraint. If you faltered for even a moment, the teasing would be ripped right from the hands of Gojo.

You pull your lips to rest at the fat head of his cock, head tilting to greet his drowsy eyes. He’s high off his anticipation. Sweat works across his body, bringing the white locks of his hair to stick to his forehead.

His hands cup at the chub of your cheeks as an unknown comfort, his thumbs swiping at the polished highs with a look of intrigue. His tongue curls with a lax pull, putting the ramble of words to flood the air.

“W-why are you so…fucking pretty?… Hm? Can’t even look at me straight b-but you look s’ perfect just like this.”

A muffled moan vibrates about the inflamed crown from your throat, barely processing the praise to rattle off Gojo’s tongue. Your mind’s numb to it, the brisk descent of your lips down Gojo’s cock. Bubbly foams of spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth, only to be brushed away by the lewd gurgle brewing in your throat.

It’s sloppy and messy, taking all of him in one swift notion. And you know it’s working, your eyes peering up at Gojo Through the thick gather of your lashes. He’s singing a song so passionate it simply can’t be hidden, head nicked between his shoulder blades with the ball of his adam’s apple sent awry.

Gojo doesn’t mean to be mean, ripping his cock from your jaw destructively. He’s sure you aren’t aware of all you’ve done to him in a matter of seconds, your tongue nipping at the heavy bloat of his balls. A few moments longer and he’s sure you would’ve milked him of all he’s had. He hopes you’ll appreciate it as an apology, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

He pulls you onto his lap, digits latching onto your chin once more. He doesn’t take a second to acknowledge your ruined state, crashing his lips against your own. It’s heavy, the press so rich it’s almost dizzying. His tongue curls along with yours, draping the flat laggardly. That’s all he does before breaking from your lips, falling back onto the couch’s plush backing.

“S-Shit…did such a good job…I want you—really fucking want you— to use me, ride me, fuck that pretty lil’ pussy on me!”

“O-Okay…just let me do it.”

A small hand disappears between the clash of bodies, in your palm holds the head of Gojo’s cock. He’s wet, slick with the fruit of your labor. It’s just enough to press the slit at your own, your hips lifting to a degree. Timing is all you need, the time to raise your hips just enough to prepare, fueling the frantic sink onto his cock.

Yet, you couldn’t have really prepared for Gojo, not with how much harder he’s become with you in his grasp. His cock’s brimmed with spry nerves, prickling with a fiery heat. It’s that same heat that keeps your walls from fluttering, sending the rich burn to nip at your poor entrance.

“Ohmygod, you’re so—”

“B-Big? I know, it’s all for you, baby…”

Your hips are caught in a bind, stubborn to move from their cocooning state. It takes for gentle rocks of Gojo’s hips to relax you, your hips rising voluntarily. He’s easing those walls of yours to a point, pushing past your sweet spot dumbly. You almost give him the full right to control in those moments, your body growing limp in his hold.

Right until you start to question it, the privilege to ruin your date by your means. He’s right there for the taking. It’s because of those very ponderings that you can sit high, swiveling about the head of Gojo’s cock before delivering a shattering pry at his building high.

You're can handle yourself this time, smothering your clit in the hairs surrounding his base. Your strides hold fast along his length, your pussy enveloping the entirety of his cock. Whiffs of insecurity whisk through your mind, unsure if Gojo would succumb to the lust as quickly as you did—only for you to discover the sweetest sight known to man.

Gojo’s brought himself to a whimpering shell of himself, mind numb off the slobbery squeeze of your walls. It’s so good to his poor, ruined mind, drunk off the bliss of your pussy.

Spit spills from his mouth and glosses his lips, eyes glassy by the burning onslaught of tears—he’s a wreck underneath you. He’s finally got you, putting the effort to be used as some boy toy. He can’t take it, Gojo’s mind being beyond comprehension.

You take him so well, granting his sullied tip to nudge at your precious cervix. He deems himself blessed in the moment too, studying the pleasure trap itself beneath your features. Your lips fall from their pursed build, eyes rolled back into your skull, and hips set at a senseless pace. Why it’s so good, Gojo can’t believe it, freeing himself from the binds of his carnal lust.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum like that, Angel—and I don’t want that yet.”

Gojo’s brute strength comes to play as he takes hold of the reins, using her sheer force to pin you beneath his body. He settles onto his haunches, pulling you that much closer to close the distance. He doesn’t, guiding your legs to fold against your chest. He’s focused on your behalf, eyes queued on his bucking hips.

“B-But I’m gonna fuck you now, kay? Wanna make you feel good too, cover my cock with your pretty cum.”

The head of his cock pushes into you, splitting the lips of your cunt in an open kiss. He’s fitting inside you with such vivid ease, his cock almost sitting homely in your heat. The thick head kisses your leaving his shaft to curve at your sweet spot explicitly. He stretches you just right, fills you to the hilt, and the pulsing throbs that twitch inside you are nothing short of lewd.

With a few dips of his cock, Gojo could’ve made you cum just like that…but you’ve come to know that he won’t.

Gojo’s hips snap with no prevail, sending his cock to plunge so deep inside you. He’s hitting your cervix on every drive of his hips, smothering the perked nerves in a mess of fluttering pecks. He prefers it this way, pitting himself to the brim of your pussy that you have no choice but to cry out, his name falling from your lips.

He’s unforgiving when he’s like this, bringing forth the clash of skin echoing around the room. Gojo’s feverish in such nature, desperate to savory your pussy and desperate to cum.

It’s more or less a reward for him, witnessing you handle all he’s giving. He can bury himself as much as you would allow, your walls sending his cock to. Each reel of his hips pulls the glossy sheens of your essence to paint his shaft

There’s much to take in but not a coherent thought in sight to do such bidding. From his chest smothered against your own, breath fanning—it’s simply too much for you to endure. The friction doesn’t offer you much either, the melds of heat running your body hot and throwing your mind into a flushed haze.

Gojo’s the one to blame, the thick of his fat cock rummaging tempered drags along your walls. It’s the hot and gummy fat bullying your walls that trap you in a trance, his cock rendering you a dumb mess of drool and spilled tears.

“G-Gojo…wait! It’s so–no, it’s too much! Jus’ slow down—”

Gojo’s hand peels from your thigh, his palm curved to the plush of your tummy. The tips of his fingers sit deep upon you, his soothing touch massaging your skin.

“It’s going too deep? Oh pretty girl, I can go, so, so much deeper than this. So deep that all you’ll know is me, baby.”

But it’s unbeknownst to Gojo how much he’s ruined you. He’s caught up in the sight of you so distraught and needy that he doesn’t know how close you are to your high. It’s hinged on so close that all it does take for you to reach that high is the pretty head of his cock to kiss at your cervix, the kiss of reassurance allowing for you to crumble.

Your spine arches from the dented cushions, hands fighting for solid grounding. Patches of stars coat your vision, courtesy of. Violent waves of exhaustion all strike your body at once, pulling what energy was left behind. You’re caught in a bind, the firm hold looming over your limp physique until it breaks at the sound of Gojo’s voice.

“That’s it, let everyone know that you’re all mine, Angel. You’re all mine, and I swear to fuck I’m not letting you go,” the oath rolling off his tongue. Gojo can’t help himself, refusing to quit amidst your high. His hips tilt to better his reach against your sweet spot, riding through the course of your orgasm.

A sharp seethe of air cuts through Gojo’s lips, pity boiling at the forefront of his mind. He knows it’s too much for you, watching your body attempt to flee. His eyes settle on your tits, bouncing with each consuming flinch. He wants to say it, ask for your fleeting patience as his own orgasm hints at its arrival. But bless his foolish heart, he’s so drunk off your drooling pussy that words come out harsher than he means.

“Ah, don’t run from me, just take it…take every inch of me.”

A longing whimper of defeat wails off your chest. He’s fucking you to undiscovered lengths in your body, so far gone that babbles serve as your conversings. That same crowding influence seeps into your limp tongue.

There’s no control in what you can say or do, your hands resting along the ridges of his flexed abs. Even your legs lose the urge to resist, lacing around Gojo’s waist to push him deeper than he’s even been.

“Please, c-cum inside me, Gojo. Please cum inside my pretty pussy, ‘Toru, please!”

“Oh Y/N, that’s so dirty of y-you…wait—fuck!—”

The threads of reality snap in Gojo’s mind at the sound of your pleading voice, a violent reckoning crashing over him. The spill of tension that sits in the fat bloat of his balls ruins you, thick ropes of a creamy white flushing your walls white.

Gojo’s lost all strength to carry on, his impoverished body collapsing onto yours. A dizzy head and heaving chest is a combination he’s used to but tonight holds a different story.

Words can’t be found to describe the state he’s entered. He’s astute, taking everything in as his hands cling to your waist. His thumbs draw mindless circles into your skin, Gojo’s silent form of apology.

It’s a strange instinct for him, the sudden urge to shower you in his care. His mind’s racing with thoughts, how to show his intentions for you. It’s not in his character but god did he was To soothe you with kisses, rub all the sores and knicks he’d inflict, just to lay next to you in idle conversation was all he wanted at the moment. The effort’s worth it in his eyes.

So he decides to try his hand at it, pulling his chest from yours. His hands lay flat beside your head, closing the distance between you both with a smirk.

“Lemme clean you up.”

With a quick peck of his lips, Gojo turns his attention between his legs. His eyes fall shut as he pulls out from your cunt with a hitching breath. But it’s the sight that has him whimpering, his cock glistening with slick and spattered patterns of white.

Slotting himself between your legs, Gojo presses his cheek along your inner thigh, hands keeping your limbs apart.

His eyes return to the timeless sight of your slit, dribbling with his cum. He’s apprehensive about it for the moment, admiring the rare scene with doting hues. Yet as his tongue finally curls up against your folds, all thought suspends from him.

He can’t help but to be lazy, the flat of his tongue lapping at the puffy sheets of flesh. Each drop of your essence is caught by Gojo’s ministrations, relishing in your taste.

He’s guided to the hood of your clit, the bud perked twitching in regards. The tip of his slicked muscles tightens upon the sticky contact, swirling around the pearl gently.

Gojo’s digits gravitate to your pussy, catching the hood of your clit in a flurry of strokes. He couldn’t care less about his cum pooling from your entrance, too enthralled with the unsteady gasps trapping your lungs.

“G-Gojo, wait! It’s t-too much!”

“Told you I love this cute clit of yours. Just give me one more, please?”

Feverish nods spill from you, the heft of the impending orgasm reaching like no other. It’s passing you in waves, the tingling numbness claiming the soles of your feet. Your legs fold to meet your chest rapidly, the knot in your lower back unraveling at godforsaken heights.

Gojo’s humming a giddy tune as he presses his lips to your quivering clit. He watches as your body thrashes about the sunken cushions, a prideful glint illuminating his eyes.

“Mhm, that’s my girl. ‘M so proud of you!”

Gojo pulls from your side for the moment, leaving the couch to sort through the vast piles of discarded clothes. He returns with his briefs and wrinkled button-down in tow. The dress shirt drapes across your body as he pulls you to your feet, his arms laced around your waist.

“C’mon, let’s go get comfortable,” he coos, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. The two of you stroll up the stairs, passing through the first right door to enter the moonlit bedroom. The duvet’s tint of blue beckons you and Gojo to grow closer. He leads you to the bed, collapsing beside you with sleep itching on the brain.

As he settles at your side, Gojo’s eyes scan about your room. He’s greeted by the blanched white walls, a few paintings that hang—the bare coverings over your windows. A streak of blush surfaces at the highs of his cheeks, turning to meet your languid sights.

“Y’know, you have to buy some blinds, Princess. It’s especially dangerous at night, people can be so nosy.”

“Is that right?” you giggle, staring at Gojo through your lashes. You can’t help but admire his beauty, how the faint light of the moon kisses his fair skin and white hair. Even the way he looks at you holds radiance, his eyes of blue holding the purest glow you’ve ever seen.

Gojo doesn’t bother to keep his distance, bringing his body to cocoon your own. His hand catches yours in a hold, paired with the gentle pecks riddled across your cheeks.

“Promise to take you out on a real date tomorrow. We can do everything, walk around town, go to a different restaurant–”

“What’re you doing, Gojo?” the question calling about reflective silence.

He lets your inquiry bake on his mind for a while, keeping his fingers intertwined with your own. Gojo knows exactly what you mean. Promising another date, even just being in the same bed as you for this long was foreign. But with you—for you— he’s inclined to do anything that’ll keep you around.

He pays you one final glance before replying, a small grin teasing the corners of his lips.

“Trying something new.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Green Prince | Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!Reader

-Based on the Fairytale 'Bluebeard'- Halloween Special!

Summary: Six wives before her mysteriously disappeared, and someone in Dragonstone calls for her once her new husband entrusts her with his master key | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: dub-con, arranged marriage, victorian england setting, era-typical sexism, murder, uxoricide, blood, toxic behaviour, apparitions/ghosts, manipulation, threats of violence

She's heard only tales of Aemond Targaryen.

The Green Prince of Dragonstone. A wealthy gentleman who often stayed within the confines of his estate.

When she abandoned the frills and wide smiles of girlhood, thrust into the pomp and practice of womanhood, that is when the stories began.

She had never seen him. And she began to believe, that the people around her who spoke of him never had either.

They were of a decent background, her and her family. Not overwhelmingly rich. But well-off is what her father always said.

Enough to employ a small army of servants.

Enough to never have to worry about the troubles of daily life that so often would hinder an everyday individual.

She doubted Aemond Targaryen ever had to worry about that either.

One fact that simply could not be frayed, was that he was royalty.

Only in the sense that he was utterly untouchable.

He had this elegance about him, they would say, a sort of curious exoticisim from the way his long, silver hair would drift down his back, to the way his inhuman purple eyes would glimmer, half lidded and looking straight ahead, as if he were piercing a knife through the individual with his gaze alone.

Though they were technically neighbours, she saw very little life pass through the iron gates of Dragonstone. His estate so vast, that by foot, she would have to commit a whole hour to simply brush by the border of what she deemed was a forbidden land.

There seemed an aura of darkness over it, that she could not quite comprehend. But one that intrigued her all the same.

Last year, at the same time as now, she had been considered a child. No better for company than being banished upstairs to dwindle about her books and writings, out of the way of adults and their serious business affairs.

What had really changed in 12 months, that they now considered her a woman?

She felt age had little to do with it.

She felt that she had been grown in her mind for some time, and had actually changed very little from the age of three and ten.

But now, at the tender age of nine and ten, there was still a girlish nature about her face. A brightness to her eyes, and a plumpness about her cheeks. One that her mother had once commented that men would find appealing in a wife.

And so here she was.

Dressed in her finery, a glass of wine in a crystal glass delicately placed in one hand, she stood beside her eldest brother, who had torn himself rather blatantly from a woman he himself was courting in favour of supporting his sweet, youngest sister.

"Do not, for the love of our mother, allow yourself to be approached by Mr Gardner. He has had five servants in as many months. I am sure you can understand why", her brother mused with a contented chuckle.

She did not know why. Nobody had told her plainly.

Sometimes she wished people would just be honest with her. And not assumed she knew the inner workings of people's minds, after years of being shut away upstairs by her parents and brother alike.

The foyer and adjoining rooms alike were filled with people, all pretending to make pleasantries with each other. And as the night dragged on, several well known bachelor's having tried their hand at impressing her, she found her glass of wine was not as endless as she thought.

When a servant had spotted her, appearing at her side to refill her glass, she had turned her body sideways and locked eyes, finally, with him.

The one people affectionately named, The Green Prince.

Like most of the men tonight, he was dressed in a suit with a long overcoat that covered his dark green waistcoat. So dark were the colours of his outfit, that they almost appeared black, like the rest of it.

His hair was loose, with a few strands falling to the front over his shoulders, and as her eyes trailed up to his pale collar, where a tie was loosely wrapped about his neck, she saw that when she met his gaze, he was already looking at her.

He held his glass in a manner most unbecoming. Hanging at his side, his long fingers grasping the edges so delicately, she was sure for a moment it was floating in his hold.

His finger, she noticed, tapped idly at the side of the room, as if deep in thought as he looked upon her.

She saw his gaze drop to her outfit, one that her mother had chosen for her. A red, almost burnt tea coloured dress, with very little flounce and fancy to it. The collar hung delicately at her shoulders, the bodice tight and the only detail of any colour was in the stitching of her skirt, which he noted was a shimmering gold.

When he lifted his eyes, he took a sip from his glass, still almost filled to the top, his burning lilac gaze hovering over the brim. She sucked in a breath, her own eyes flitting over his face. And to the patch that covered the left eye.

She didn't know why her chest felt tight, and why she hoped suddenly for the appearance of her brother. Or her father perhaps. He was staring at her so unabashedly, that for an unmarried woman such as herself, she would be looked upon with immense judgement if she were found to be staring back at him in the same manner.

Knowing his gaze was burning at the back of her head, perhaps tracing the intricate pattern of braids her hair had been styled in, she decided to ignore him, until he had the decency to approach and introduce himself to her properly.

As any good gentleman would.

She meandered through the menagerie of figures, careful to keep her wine close to her so that she wouldn't repeat the same embarrassment as last year when she spilled the entire glass down Mr Bray, whose wife near lost her voice with incessant shouting.

Her father, ever cheerful, as rich men so often are, materialised at her side, grasping her elbow and tugged his daughter close to him. His breath smelled like red wine as he whispered to her.

"It appears you have captured the special attention of Mr Targaryen, daughter"

Her father chuckled when her wide, terrified and yet curious eyes met his.

How could she have captured his attention, when she had done nothing at all? She thought.

She did not yet know, the charms that the appearance of a female body could offer. And how it could transform a respectable man from a pillar of society, to a hungry, lustful beast at a moment's notice.

"I shall introduce you to him" her father insisted, leading her along at his side, despite her quiet protests.

"But father-"

"Hush now. Remember your manners".

His tone of voice was enough.

She had not experienced it as a mere female. But she had seen first hand what her father did to her brother when he disobeyed. Finding a sort of punishment worthy at the end of his cane as it cracked against her brother's palm.

Her brother still wore gloves often. That was his shield.

She had yet to find her own.

Perhaps hers was in her mind, she thought. That she might be able to protect herself with her ideas and opinions, twisting the minds of men, as her elder sister had said once, to suit the needs of the women they owned.

She often had to remind herself, she was property. And could easily be bought and sold, and kicked to the roadside if she had done something to mar her family name.

She was thrust into a sort of social assassination once again once stood before the famed Mr Targaryen, who nodded his head in greeting but said nothing.

"My Targaryen. What an honour it is to have you here. Please might introduce my daughter"

He bent somewhat at the hip, his hand moving to grasp hers, the skin soft and feminine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss"

His voice was like the purr of a cat. And though terrifyingly intriguing, she couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"And to you, Sir. Many thanks for the invitation" Aemond turned towards her father, giving another barely existent nod of his head, his expression flat and almost bored.

"It is no problem at all, Mr Targaryen. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your wife"

Late wife?

She felt rude to ask, so said nothing.

Aemond seemed to understand her curiosity, and gave a light smirk in her direction, though she was on his blind side.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a great tragedy indeed"

"Indeed" her father repeated, leaning forward as if to emphasise the size of his empathy for him, "I understand she was quite distressed for some time, was she not?"

She almost passed her father a warning glance. Thinking it rather rude for him to say such things about his late wife. Whether she may have been mad or not.

But Aemond merely nodded.

"Indeed. I am afraid, however, it was an inevitable accident"

Accident.

She of course, remembered hearing the gossip, and hearing her father read the newspaper every morning. An update about the mad Alys Rivers at the top of the page every time.

Alys Rivers, the Lady of Dragonstone, found dead in God's Eye Lake. A wound to the neck spells suicide.

A wound to the neck was a kind description.

Her pale skin was said to be slashed open on one side, everything visible within. And once the water had got to her, she was swollen, pale and blue, completely drained of blood. Almost entirely unrecognisable.

It was just as well she had no family. They would not have wished to see how she met her end.

The article found it necessary to articulate, that her body had been returned to her husband.

Across the room, another gentleman called for her father, and she felt the hot whips of panic at the back of her neck at the thought of being left alone with Aemond.

"Do excuse me" her father said quickly, disappearing into the sea of black and grey.

She herself turned back to Aemond, not wanting to be rude, and tapped her fingernails on the crystal glass nervously.

"I am very sorry to hear about your wife"

Aemond hummed, one of his hands behind his back like he had a secret.

"Thank you, Miss"

There was a long period of silence between them. And for a while, she wondered if she should be the one to break it.

Aemond laughed lowly, leaning down to her face as he caught something interesting in his sights.

"See your brother?" He murmured. And her face turned as well, not realising at first how close their faces were, but she could not very well pull away without offending him.

All the same, he smelled of sandalwood.

Her eyes followed his, to her brother on the other side of the room, where he was thoroughly embarrassing himself by laughing too widely with the woman he had been courting for several months.

"He is awfully close to that woman, is he not?"

She swallowed, raising her chin to appear more confident as she spoke, "She is to be his intended. It is only natural they speak freely with one another" she reasoned.

Aemond did not move away, his shoulder brushing against her side. It made her shudder.

"He is certainly doing something freely" Aemond hummed deep in his chest, a tone which sent a dull ache through her body.

Her brother leaned in close to the woman. And she watched her blush and throw her head back with a demure laugh, her brother leaning close to run his nose along her neck, grinning against her skin.

It felt forbidden to watch them be so close.

And yet he was so brazen about it.

"She seems to be enjoying herself, at least"

She couldn't find it in herself to reply.

For the woman did appear as if she was enjoying herself. And briefly, stood beside Aemond, his breath softly batting against her neck, she wondered herself, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her. Sneaking into her mind like a whisper, as if he were being a locked door, and was peering through the keyhole to uncover her darkest thoughts and desires.

Her brother leaned towards his intended, planting a kiss to the column of her neck. And she felt herself parting her lips as the other woman had, not only at the shameless behaviour of her brother, so consumed in wine that he felt no need to appear reasonable in front of other people, but also because she felt Aemond’s slender fingers at her forearm.

It was not at all like the way her father had pulled her to him, in ownership.

Aemond tugged her towards him in a sort of longing, his nose pressing into the plaits of her hair.

“I am going to ask your father for your hand” he whispered, “and he will say yes. And you shall be mine”.

She listened with her fingers wrapped around the wooden pillars of the staircase as her brother shouted obscenity after obscenity at her father. Every now and then her mother would insert her little, sweet voice that was inevitably crushed by the low boom of the two males in the room.

With her gaze planted firmly in her lap, tracing the patterns of the lace of her nightgown as she listened, she thought with a sort of sadness that the offer of marriage should be a joyous and happy occasion. And now in her household, the prospect of her being tied to the Green Prince himself was so offensive to her brother, that he felt the need to fight on her behalf.

Perhaps knowing his sweet sister had no choice in the matter.

“He is barely half a decade older than her and has had six wives in as many years, father!” he boomed, and she could tell by the way his voice bounced off the furniture that he was pacing and throwing his arms around.

“To give her away to that brute. It is unthinkable!”

“Be quiet!” her father roared back, “the wedding will go ahead as planned. We will not get a better offer than this!”

While she was happy, that her brother was trying to stick up for her, it was no use. He nor her had a choice in the matter.

Her father had said it himself.

We will not get a better offer.

Not she.

She was property. Something to be sold and given in exchange for goods or reputation. What she wanted, was of no consequence.

And she couldn’t help but think of her mother, several decades younger than her father, and how she must have felt at her tender age when confronted with the prospect of marrying a man much older than she.

In a way, she felt connected to her mother in that way. But also in a way that she resented her, for dressing her up, plaiting her hair and pushing her out into the rich man’s world, ripe and ready for the taking.

Passing her the torch of a woman’s anguish.

The wedding felt clinical. More akin to a funeral than a union of two people. 

Her brother stares dagger into the back of her intended for the entire ceremony. All while her mother cried softly into her handkerchief and her father sat, stoic and silent, his chubby fingers caressing the sculpted ornament on the top of his cane.

She remembered his hands as they were bought together and the officiator had placed a sort of sacred cloth over them as he muttered his prayers. Binding them lawfully and before the eyes of God, for their whole lives.

His hands were large, his palms completely dwarfing hers and his long fingers wrapping around hers like tight vines. And at that moment, she had never felt so small in her life.

And noticed that his side of the wedding chapel, where his family members were supposed to sit and witness their union, was completely empty.

Six wives in as many years.

That is what her brother had said.

She knew Aemond had been married multiple times prior to her, but was her brother merely exaggerating?

In contrast to his hands, where the blood swam warmly through his limbs, his lips where the officiant asked them to seal their union with a kiss, were cold, and not forthcoming. As if he had not asked her father for her hand in marriage, but that this entire affair was so useless and merely for looks, that he’d rather be somewhere else.

That said. She could not escape the intensity of his gaze.

He seemed to focus solely on her, much to her discomfort, to the point where it seemed like he was not listening to a single prayer or hymn that was uttered in the chapel all afternoon. And though her eyes were elsewhere, to try and place the feeling that bubbled in her chest somewhere else, she often found his lilac eye drifting to the details of her necklace, to face, and pausing where she wet her lips nervously.

If he hadn’t possessed such a domineering, strong presence, she thought he would be devilishly handsome.

Perhaps a fact he already knew.

It was unlike her family to have celebrations, so they didn’t.

She gave each of the servants, some who she knew for most of her life a final embrace, thanking them for their hospitality and care where she did not receive it from her parents. And as her luggage was packed meaningfully in the back of Mr Targaryen’s carriage, with two large horses at the front, she gave her brother a tight embrace as well. Inhaling and savouring the musty smell of tobacco on his coat.

He looked saddened, but for the sake of appearances, forced a smile onto his face.

“Good luck, dear sister. Remember you may write to me, even though you are a married woman” he smiled, teasing her softly with a nudge to her shoulder.

She gave a softer hug to her mother, who usually was not keen to shower her with affection. But she supposed, she was the youngest daughter, so it was only natural.

Her father, after having busied himself in an idle chattering session with Aemond, merely tipped his hat, and did not shed one bit of emotion as she climbed into the carriage before her husband. Aemond's hand helped her up the step, watching as she disappeared inside.

The smell of his sandalwood perfumes on his coat was stronger as he sat beside her on the cushion, instructing the handsome, olive-skinned driver to move forward and away from her home.

She only waved to her brother. And watched as he had wet eyes, stepping forward a few paces like he was about to break into a run after her.

The carriage was much nicer than anything she'd seen in her young life, and though they were for all intents and purposes, considered neighbours, it was still a half hour ride to his estate.

Dragonstone.

Her skin prickled at the mere thought of it.

She'd never seen it before. Nor had any of her family.

All she knew was that it was often clouded in fog, that when you stood at the front gates you could barely see the arching towards and dark brick in the distance anyway.

All she had heard was what people said.

That it was a frightful, maze of a place. With winding corridors and crooked doorways, and barely any servants.

He was a rich man, why not employ more?

He did not say a word the entire way home. He only sat, cross legged, and fiddle with his fingers like he was nervous. Turning them over in micro-movements.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

As Dragonstone came into view once they crossed the boundary of the iron gates, she felt her breath taken away.

And it was only when Aemond assisted her with a hand as she stepped down from the carriage that she could really appreciate the sheer size of his estate.

It was so big it was beyond comprehension.

She briefly wondered if she would get lost in such a place.

"Cole will bring your things to our room"

Her heart started to flutter, and pitter patter all at the same time.

Our room.

She had almost forgotten her one wifely duty she was to fulfil this evening.

To appease him.

The thought made a sort of tightness in her belly, though she was unsure why. Of course, her elder sister had divulged her own horror story of her wedding night. Though her sister was twenty and she herself only five and ten at the time, the nitty gritty was of great curiosity to her.

"For several hours the poor thing just cried and it rather spoiled the mood. Turned out that he had…pleased himself the morning of the wedding so as not to become too excited when the evening rolled around.

Oh well, no matter. Instead, when he had a rather excited visitor the next morning he crawled atop me and breathed heavily into my neck while he tried to get it inside me. 'Twas over in an instant dear sister and I did not feel a thing".

Though the anecdote was funny, although awkward seeing as she sat next to her brother-in-law the next morning and tried not to giggle, right now, it did little to quell the gnawing inside her.

Aemond did not seem as quiet and unsure of himself as her brother-in-law was. She doubted a man of his standing would have any issue fulfilling his role as a husband.

As he had done, six times before.

Which triggered yet another question.

Why no children? Surely all six of his previous wives could not have been barren?

Did they commit suicide? Ashamed of themselves for failing to fulfil this task? Were they all mere accidents? Or did someone break in at night to steal his plethora of fine jewels and artefacts and run into one of his unfortunate wives along the way?

It seemed entirely impossible.

She watched Aemond walk confidently to the front doors, where a couple of servants stood to greet the new Lady of Dragonstone. His coat fluttered around his thighs as he turned, the ends of his silver hair hung like they were floating.

"Wife. May I introduce you to the staff. Anything you so wish, please do not hesitate to ask them"

The two servants stood, hands clasped, looking entirely scared stiff. One was a middle aged man with an apron dirtied at the edges, and the other a maid, barely five and twenty, who offered her a polite curtsy.

She simply smiled at them, "a pleasure".

They said nothing.

There was something melancholic. Ancient. And crushing about Dragonstone.

She felt the weight on her shoulders the moment she passed those gates. Did they feel it too?

Did Aemond?

This was the only moment he seemed to smile, as miniscule as it was with a darkened gaze, was when he turned to look at his new wife and nodded.

"If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I will see you tonight for supper"

His expression never wavered, even as he bent at the middle to press his lips to her hand, above the ring he had placed on her finger not a few hours before.

The servants quickly scuttled out of her sight and so she thought to amuse herself by exploring her new home. Out of habit, she started upstairs, going straight to her bedroom to inspect.

There was a large four poster bed made of what appeared to be walnut in the middle of the room, with various ornaments strewn about, but very little to suggest that he actually relaxed in here.

There were no mementos, keepsakes, and she thought briefly she couldn't get a grasp on his personality this way either.

She blushed and felt that tightness again at the thought of sharing a bed with him, of what they might have to do.

The rest of the house was indicative of the first room she ventured to. Lacking a certain personality she was sure existed in her new husband but one he refused to show.

The estate was cold and empty, with flagstone floors stretching along the long dark hallways.

There were so many doors it was difficult to know what on earth could be behind all of them. She'd so far discovered the Library, the Dining Room and even happened upon the scullery rather by accident.

And then, one room…

It had a oxblood red door, worn around the edges and the colour faded somewhat. She noted the scuff marks around the handle and the hinges, as well as the stone beneath the door where overtime, footsteps had worn it down.

So she was doubly surprised to find the door locked.

Curious.

Her skin prickled, and she was sure for a moment that she saw her own misty breath. Like that feeling that someone is watching you but you are too afraid to move an inch. The tips of her fingers suddenly felt numb.

She felt it on her neck, an iciness.

But when she turned, her breath stuck in her chest from panic, she could only see nothing but the empty corridor.

And all was silent.

There was a heaviness in her chest which seemed to pass through her like trying to walk through honey, trying to pull your feet up just an inch to step forward.

And as quickly as that feeling came, it was gone and she turned back in panic once she heard soft, careful footsteps behind the oxblood door.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in fear, trying to reason with herself.

Undeniable footsteps, ones that had started at the threshold and we're now walking slowly away from her.

The blood rushed warmly back into her fingertips, and she rubbed them painfully against her navy dress, trying to will a feeling back into them.

Footsteps…

She only heard her own as she hurried down the corridor again, her shoes clocking against the flagstone.

So desperate to get away from that heavy, morbid feeling that she nearly hurtled right into the young maid.

"My Lady!"

"I do apologise" she uttered immediately, her chest pushing against her bodice with her hurried breath, "I was not looking where I was going".

The maid curtsied, as if she'd forgotten to and straightened, "Supper is to be served, my Lady. May I-"

"What is that room? Down the hall?" She asked.

The maid raised her eyebrows, "Which one, my Lady?"

She turned her head down the hallway once again to point to the one she meant, and her words died on her lips.

The door moved.

It was unmistakable.

The shadow where the door was leant ajar quickly disappeared, and the frame was filled once more by the large wooden slat against it.

There was no click of a lock to be heard.

She was so afraid she lost herself for a moment. Going all pale. So much so the maid had to prompt her.

"My Lady?"

She shook her head, looking back to see if the door would move again, and drift open as it had before.

But it never did.

And the thought that as she was running away before, the door was slowly inching open, scared her beyond belief.

"It's nothing, I apologise" she said quickly, "Supper, thank you".

There was nothing of note for the rest of the evening.

Supper was quiet. And the table was so long with husband and wife sat at either end, that they may as well have been in separate rooms while they ate.

It was nice enough food she was grateful for that. A selection of soups and meats, and breads to fill her belly between courses.

He did not speak.

He barely moved any other muscle than his arm to fork the meat into his mouth. She watched him every now and then, over the barely dancing flame of the candelabra, otherwise the room would be completely dark.

So she drank her wine, and stayed silent. Waiting to be spoken to.

The only thing he said was right at the end.

"Shall we retire for bed, wife?"

And she could not very well say no.

She made brief eye contact with the maid as she followed her husband to the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier and more nerve-wracking than the last.

Her husband was tall, broad and she had no doubt be enjoyed the domineering aura he gave off. Judging by the dark colours of his waistcoat and trousers, as well as the leather eyepatch over one eye, he enjoyed inhabiting darkness.

She thought with some amusement that the only bright things about him were his hair and eyes.

Things he could not change.

He was certainly a marvel of a man. And truthfully, she should count herself lucky that he is at least somewhat close to her in age.

Aemond closed the door softly once they were both inside. The curtains were now drawn, and the room was filled with an amber glow from the candles the maid had lit for them.

She needn't ask him for help, for her new husband immediately stood behind her, and began to unlace her dress as if they had been married an age.

His movements were so sure. And she felt with jealousy of some kind that he had done this with six other women before her.

No wonder he was practiced.

There was no room for romance when to him, it was all just a matter of duty.

She stood only in her chemise, having pulled her hair free of her braids, feeling his gaze the entire time.

"Are you intent on remaining silent, wife?" He asked, and she heard him pull off his waistcoat with every pop of his buttons.

"Or might you become more vocal in the marriage bed?"

She felt her cheeks flush and thickness in her throat. Inadvertently pressing her legs together where a sort of excitement was blooming.

"I could not say…" she answered.

And chuckled lowly, pressing his front to her back, dragging his nose up the side of her neck, just as she had seen before.

She felt something hard press against her backside, his hips pushing it against her and moving softly, creating just a tiny bit of friction.

"Tell me" he muttered, his lips tickling her ear, "tell me what a good wife does"

She was suddenly nervous, thinking about what other people had told her.

And it was increasingly difficult to think, with his large hands pulling her chemise off her body.

"A good wife…is loyal to her husband" she recited, her breath coming in short pants, "she is…loving"

He blew air from his nose, like he was amused.

"..and she is obedient"

"That's it"

Aemond peeled the chemise off her, letting it drift to the floor.

"A good wife makes herself available to her husband"

She gasped and he revelled in it, as he pushed her newly naked body onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress and watching as her husband bared himself one button at a time.

"Of course. There a many other wifely duties" he grinned.

His fingers moved to his trousers.

"But for now, I only care about this one".

Being touched all over was strange. There was a dull ache in her core when her husband touched certain areas, a feeling that she didn't recognise.

Her confused and somewhat distressed face at the whole ordeal was endearing to him.

Her young, plump face looked up at him with gleaming eyes and shame arched in her eyebrows.

It hurt. Not as greatly as she thought. But it still did.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon"

She did as he said, turning her face away. But it was not over soon.

His member throbbed inside her, and she thought she'd never felt more full in her life. Since closing her eyes, she could not see the way his hair began to tangle around him, as his hips chased hers and came against hers with a soft smack.

The pain gave way to another feeling still.

That same ache she felt when he'd touched her.

Aemond smirked when he saw the confused, ashamed expression on her face. At the way she pressed her lips together.

"I think you are enjoying this" he murmured lowly, pushing harder into her like he was intent in piercing her stomach, "if I did not know any better, you would almost be moaning".

She didn't want it to feel good.

Or did she.

It felt wrong.

And yet she couldn't deny when he raised her thighs, his fingers wrapped into her flesh, it did feel good.

"Look at me" he whispered, never stopping, "Look at your husband, who is giving you pleasure"

Some excitement sparked inside him, when she didn't do as he asked, her warm embarrassed face pressed into the sheets as much as she could. Her eyes closed.

He laughed when she refused.

"Yes - you feel it, do you not? No need to act all coy. I can feel your body's response"

Shame crept into her body, her limbs going all tight just as he'd said. Feeling herself hit that irreplaceable point, she simply whimpered and felt his length throb once more before he spilled inside of her, releasing all he had to give.

She thought with lewdness, that his spend was warm inside her.

Aemond seemed to take great pleasure in making his wife shrink into herself with embarrassment and shame every time they coupled. He loved that doe eyed look she gave him, as if he did not have his cock buried between her legs every night he could since the wedding.

He would have her any way. Fully clothed if the moment presented itself.

There was something erotic about taking something that looked so innocent and filling her with his spend. How she would act all coy, with it dripping down her thighs.

He delighted in the fact that he had managed to kidnap this sweet young thing, and use her for himself and his pleasure any moment he was able. And the month that passed since the wedding, he could not think of a time that was sweeter.

So it was with great irritation that he was called to King's Landing. Some business with his brother that apparently couldn't wait.

He did not want to leave her.

He spoke firmly, stood before the oxblood door in his travel wear.

"While I am away, you must not enter this room. Do you understand?"

When she nodded without asking why, he smiled in pride and placed the master key in her small palm. Entrusting that she would do as she had promised in his absence.

He thought he'd reward her when he returned, by fucking her in the comfort of their bed sheets, until she was pink in the faxe and begging him to stop. Just as he liked her to be.

As soon as her husband left, she felt even more that she was being watched. All the little hairs on the back of her neck pointed upwards.

The maid kept clear of her, which was nothing unusual. But it was almost as if she was escaping rooms before she herself knew why. As if she knew what invaded the invisible space within them as soon as her back was turned.

Did she hear the voices too? See the dark figures and closing doors?

Anytime she passed the long dark hallway to the oxblood door, she felt her curiosity grow tenfold. But also a sense of dread, heavy in her gut, tugging her back to this wretched place.

What could be behind the door, that her husband wished not for her to see?

In the Library, the fire crackled comfortably as she turned the faded pages of her book. The maid busied herself collecting the dirtied saucers and teacups beside her, humming to herself gently.

The air suddenly went cold around her neck, and a breeze passed, evident by the dangling of her earrings. It was not only her imagination.

"A golden key. Oxblood door. Give the six souls rest, sweet child"

She looked up at the maid, "I am sorry, did you say something?"

The maid straightened and shook her head quickly, eyebrows arched in confusion, "No, my Lady"

Why did the maid always flee like that? Like someone was chasing her? With their claws at her back like an animal in the forest?

The key was ornate, with winding patterns and several notches at the top. And when she held it in her small palm, it felt hot to the touch like an iron rod.

Aemond would punish her.

How? She did not know.

She slotted the key into the door, without the energy to turn it. And her limbs felt heavy, and her knuckles cold, like someone was pushing on it. Forcing her will.

"That's right. Insert the key into the keyhole, and turn…"

A voice echoed off the stone.

A low, sweet, mature voice.

Click.

The oxblood door gave way to light, torches lit at every corner, illuminating the oxblood colour of the floor before her.

A step down.

The floor rippled like liquid.

"Our souls…"

Her shoe was slick with something oily that clung to the suede. Irreparably staining them.

Her skin prickled. Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat.

Six torch-lit figures reflected in the blood on the flagstone floor.

Hung, wrists bound over their head. White skulls in various stages of deterioration, with strings of what was once luscious hair drifting past their bony shoulders.

She saw with dread, they were still wearing dresses that hung off their ivory skeletons.

She was sure she collapsed with grief, a scream echoing around her that did not feel like her own. The only sound she registered was the clanging of the key as she dropped it in shock, blood of Aemond's ex-wives enveloping the brass.

Her throat felt sore.

She watched their empty eye sockets. The dust over their bound hands and their feet as they dangled inches off the floor.

Breath hot in her lungs like she was clinging to life as she knew it, she scrambled for the key and pulled the door shut behind her with a mighty boom.

Darkness crawled up her skin, now that she knew what was behind it.

Was this her fate?

If she displeased him, would she be their successor?

She was sat, with head in hand, in a state of complete distress with sweat on her brow and neck as Aemond returned.

She had paced the room for hours she felt, wringing her hands, as if to find what she might say to him on his arrival. He'd see it on her face.

He would know she had seen the corpses of his precious wives on her soft, innocent features. Scarred forever by death.

His tall, broad form filled the doorframe. And he dropped his coat onto the bed with a tired huff, but said nothing.

She almost wished he would say something. To spare her this horrible anticipation.

But she watched as he took two careful steps in. His one eye flitting over to the key he'd left her on the bureau.

The blood had not lifted from the brass. She could not wash it. No matter how much time she committed to it, it would not become clean.

Her husband looked back at her like she was something to eat, his eye half open with only half his iris visible.

She sobbed and cried when he advanced and held her to the wall by her neck with ease, slamming her small body against it.

"You thought you would get away without punishment, hm?"

She sobbed like a child, her tears wetting her cheeks and neck, to his fingers. Her own tried to pry his away, feeling that he was hurting her effortlessly with his grip around her throat.

"Please…husband…"

He could have laughed.

"Now is no time for begging. Tell me, how should I punish you, wife?, he grinned widely, his tone low and condescending as he spoke to the small woman before him.

"Please…you may do as you like with me - just first, let me pray-" she begged with a hoarse, tired voice. Never feeling that she could be scared of him in this way.

He pulled his head away, looking down at her past his nose, his lips tight.

She felt his grip loosen, but the places where his fingers had been were sore and red.

"I shall do as I please. But since you asked so nicely to pray. I shall let you"

She felt herself breathing like she was swallowing fire a she stepped out the door, allowing her privacy to pray before he inevitably drove a dagger through her, or something of the like.

She rushed to the master key and locked the door with a quick slam and click, locking her husband out and flinching when his palms pushed with urgency on the other side. Rapping on the wood like an animal who couldn't see their prey.

She had no intention of praying.

"Open this door! Now!"

Her eyes scanned the room anxiously and with urgency. She felt her fingers shaking as he pushed the window open, looking down at the great height she would have to jump to escape him.

A sure death.

She clambered over the bureau, her knees knocking painfully on the wood as she advanced in a panicked state towards the ledge.

Her brother.

If she could just escape to him.

He would save her.

A clang of metal rattled against the floor as her husband, as strong as she was, sent the door flinging off the hinges. His large arms wrapped around her waist as she writhed, fearing her life. Expecting a blade to her neck. Or perhaps to be dragged to the oxblood door, to never return.

"Husband - please - have mercy-"

"It is too late for 'please'. It is time for you to feel the consequence of your actions"

She struggled so much, he tackled her to the floor, holding both her forearms behind her back in one hand, pushing her front to the cold stone floor, her warm cheek moulding to the pattern of it.

"I beg you - have mercy and kill me quickly-"

Her tears wet her face entirely, feeling his body over her back, pressing his hips into her backside, letting her feel his wrath.

"Mercy?" He chuckled darkly, "why would I show the likes of you mercy?"

"You who I have treated with care and respect. You who has disobeyed me"

"My Lady shall learn this lesson now"

His voice was dark and low, and it scared her more than the whisperings of the paranormal and the sight of what was behind the oxblood door.

She panicked with a warm face as he rucked up her skirts to her waist, flinching when she felt two of his thick fingers swipe across her hot centre while he continued to hold her down.

"I do not often take pleasure in teaching my wife a lesson. But, for you, I shall make an exception"

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to anger him with her whimpers and whines as she felt him slide his trousers down and rub his hot, throbbing member, ready and waiting for her, against her cunt, collecting her wetness on his length for ease of entry.

He sighed longingly, his breath tickling her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her jaw.

She choked on her breath as he slid into her, his fingers holding her hips desperately to widen her legs to accommodate him deeper inside her.

"None of them were worthy - fucking none of them -" he breathed, his breath hitching with each soft smack of his hips against her, stretching her walls to the shape and size of him and groaning at the way her hot insides parted.

"Do you wish me to give you a child, hm? None of them - fuck - none of them could give me what you do-"

She whimpered, feeling his length fill her repeatedly and bully the end of her, each blow against that rough spot inside increasingly making her shame and despair at his use of her body ebb away into a forbidden and unknown feeling.

"If you do not behave, you will not be allowed that pleasure" he muttered, his breath coming in short bursts, his thrusts as well becoming sloppy and unconfident.

Her gut warmed with his length piercing her insides. And she felt as though she was missing something he was telling her in his own way. Eyebrows arched in confusion.

Even now, while he fucked her on the floor, she felt afraid for her life.

"Oh, little one, I am almost disappointed that it took so long for you to realise that I do not intend to kill you.”

Her wet eyes cracked open to turn her head in discomfort to him. Her cheek rubbing against the stone floor as he pulled her hips up to fuck her deeper.

"No. You shall give me children. Many of them if you wish to please me"

She tightened around him completely out of instinct, and Aemond groaned loudly above her, pushing his chest so hard against her back she felt she might break.

And her hands clenched into fists, absentmindedly pushing her hips back to him to chase the remnants of that sweet rapture she was sometimes awarded when coupling with him.

A sweet escape from this prison.

He laughed, when he realised that she was quite resigned to her fate.

That she, compared to his other wives, was finally worthy of giving him children. Of satiating his desire to dominate a woman so easily. How he enjoyed watching the look of shame and pleasure on her face, as she battled with herself to submit to him or not.

He slammed with a wet squelch back into her again, filling her with his warmth with a long, shuddered groan. His grip so hard around her forearm, she was sure blood did not reach her hands.

He continued to move shallowly into her, pushing his spend as deep inside her as it would go. As if, whether she wanted to or not, he would fuck his child into her and watch her grow fat and round.

And then, once she had one, would fuck yet another into her.

Her breath came fast and hot from her swollen lips as she trembled around him, unknowingly prolonging his pleasure inside her.

His lips brushed against her ear.

"No other words before I begin?"

It was difficult with her head pushed against the floor, but she nodded softly in confirmation. Relief flooding her as she saw her husband's smirk rise to his lips, both his hands dropping to her hips to tug her back onto his length.

"Then let us begin"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301  | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires  | @risefallrise  | @theoneeyedprince  | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya  | @urmomsgirlfriend1  | @valeskafics  | @watercolorskyy

[spaceagebachelormann]

Hello! If you’re taking headcanon requests, may I please request headcanons for what Count Dracula & Erik the Phantom would be like as husbands?

dracula and erik as husbands !

✧ warnings — some mentions of death and possible spoilers for dracula and phantom of the opera. also like 2 sexual jokes i think

✧ additional info — i got so so excited by this request omg <3 if u wanna id rlly appreciate it if u sent me more requests for phantom of the opera and classic monsters!! also not really specific versions of them but i mainly had the book versions in mind

✧ m.list — nav.

ೃ༄ erik destler

he wouldn’t wait to marry you

like at all

the second you show him you’re willing to be in a relationship with him and he’s sure you won’t leave him he’s already planning your wedding

of course if you wanted to take it more slowly he might be a little impatient but he’d try his best for you :)

but he’d be so happy if u were ready to get married as soon as possible

the sad thing is he’d get so stressed while trying to plan it because he’d want it to be absolutely perfect because that’s what he didn’t get with christine

and he’d try to convince you not to worry about it or help plan the wedding becaus he wants it to be a surprise for you

however he’d talk to you about what you want <3

so unfortunately he doesn’t know a lot of people 😭 so your wedding audience consists of daroga, mme giry, and maybe christine and raoul if ur lucky and manage to convince them (but they’ll be a little on edge)

and u can invite ur family if they’d be accepting of erik!

once y’all are married it’s so sweet and romantic ohmygod

he’d make u breakfast and dinner every single day, even if he’s had a particularly bad day

he just loves doing things for you

he’d also love writing even more songs and sometimes even entire operas for you or about you, you’re his muse

before he was able to take breaks from bis work to focus on you for awhile

but now you’re married he just can’t be away from you for two minutes

will sit on the floor and talk to u while u shower

or he showers with u

his love language is spontaneously twirling u around and redoing ur wedding dance in the most random places

also carrying u to ur bed if u fall asleep on him or somewhere else, before marriage he’d just let u sleep there and make sure he doesn’t wake u up

such a sweetheart <3

ೃ༄ count dracula

takes his time to marry you

but that’s only because he takes a lot of time working out when and where to propose and shit

and then probably has the wedding planned before you even say yes

which obviously you do

he’d be a little cocky abt u saying yes ngl cause he already knew u would

but the wedding itself obviously takes place at night and mainly other vampires will show up, but he won’t let them remotely near you assuming he hasn’t turned you yet

if he has then go talk to them!! there’s no risk of u dying or getting turned by someone else!!

he’d also rlly like cooking for u and shit since he canonically had to sprint around his castle to make it seem like he had butlers or whatever 😭😭

how good is fucking amazing btw

like god damn

and obviously he has a comfortable ass vampire bed that he’d let u put 60 pillows on if u want

he’d also like have a thing for ur hair no matter how short or long it is

he likes standing behind u and running his hands through it when u do literally anything for funsies

and his fingers are really pretty and long and cold so they feel nice

he also brushes it a lot esp in the mornings

he also doesn’t even look another persons way when he’s with u

ever.

and his brides are now just. draculas sisters or wtv 😭

unless u want them to be ur wives too he won’t complain

as much as he loves you there’s time where he js like. wants personal time to go kill people think

id also imagine ur very close with renfield

like draculas kinda mean to him but ur rlly nice to him <3

like for example waving at him when u see him or just going “hi renfield!!”

renfields probably the one who found u ngl

i can’t think of anything else for him mb pookie 😔 i’ll add to this later

[adore-laur]

MILESTONES

— a series of firsts from the dadrry universe 🩵

——

The First Hunch

Intuition seemed to follow Harry around the house like a ghostly shadow.

The irregular morning sickness could have been entirely coincidental. Still, the moment you lost the hopeless battle of keeping your eyes open and eventually drifted off beside him was the indisputable sign he had been seeking. You, the person he knew like the back of his hand, were succumbing to a nap before dinner. The notably rare occurrence was a spectacle to behold, and he didn't move a single muscle except for his heart, which wildly thumped in his chest at the mere thought of it being true.

You had to be pregnant. No other conclusion could be drawn.

When you awoke an hour later in an evening daze with mellow light from the sunset casting a silhouette of the open shutters on your face, Harry found it amusing how disoriented your expression was. It was almost as if you were astonished at how your body managed to do a simple human function, such as letting yourself fall asleep. He gazed down at you and raised his eyebrows with an unspoken assumption of what you had been so futilely denying.

"Don't say anything," you said through a yawn before he could make a witty comment.

Harry kissed your forehead and knowingly smiled against it. "Just take a test, love. There's no use in putting it off any longer."

"I'm scared,” you mumbled.

"Why?" he asked softly, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. You rubbed your tired eyes while sinking into his embrace. "We've talked about how much we want this."

"It's still scary.”

Harry swallowed thickly. Hell, he was scared too. Priorities shift monumentally once a baby is born and brought home to be raised for eighteen years. How did a person even go about preparing for that enormous responsibility? It was always nice to fantasize about until the harsh realities of parenthood caused him to spiral mentally.

"Well," he said with a loving pinch to your cheek, "I think it's a girl."

You grinned into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Have you been reading up on things already?"

"Maybe," he mused. Setting his feet on the ottoman, he continued, "Look at me for a second." You did, and he absentmindedly stroked his thumb across your stomach. "Tell me that you don't think you're pregnant."

A wary pause ensued. Your unintentional signals were as clear as day.

"I think I am," you whispered.

"For real?"

"Harry, you're the one who's so confident that I am."

"I know, but... do you actually feel like there's a baby?" His palms turned clammy when he said it out loud. "It's your body. I'm just guessing based on mom blogs I read online."

You pursed your lips, then replied, "What else could it be? My period was supposed to start two weeks ago. And I've been nauseated recently."

"Do you want to take a test soon?" he asked, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

You nodded briskly. "Sure. I'll buy some after work tomorrow."

"Promise me," he pleaded, a slight impatience taking over him of wanting—no, needing—to confirm it once and for all.

"I promise. We'll find out this week." You were deliberately quiet for a moment before you asked, "Why do you think it's a girl?"

Harry immediately perked up and held his pointer finger in the air. "An old wives' tale claims that—"

"Stop right there," you interrupted with a hand to his chest.

"No, hear me out." He laughed contagiously and cradled your cheeks. "They say if you crave sweets, then it's a girl. Remember when you begged me to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast a couple of days ago? I had to go to the store for more milk because you were on the verge of tears."

You narrowed your eyes. "Everyone gets cravings, though. It doesn't mean they're pregnant. Or that it's a girl."

He frowned and said, "You're starting to sound like you don't want to be pregnant."

"I do," you replied frantically, kissing his precious pout. "I do, Harry. I want a baby with you more than anything."

"Then let's find out. There's nothing to be afraid of."

——

The First Heartbeat 

Boundless possibilities could either leave you in a state of serenity or in absolute shambles. The thin paper on the exam table crunched under you when you shifted restlessly for the umpteenth time, your jittery limbs bouncing with each second that noisily ticked by on the clock. With your shirt bunched up to your ribcage, you awaited the gel that would be spread on your stomach. The skin there had become a little firmer during the previous week, yet somehow pudgier.

Harry stood next to you, his face visibly flushed with an equal amount of anxiousness. He looked around the room with observant eyes, scanning the daunting equipment and colorful pamphlets that presented themselves to eager parents-to-be.

He got off work early and rushed to the hospital to meet you, still in the grubby clothes he wore in the restaurant kitchen. You noticed his fingernails were bitten raw when he grabbed your elbow and leaned in for a kiss. Gentle and nervous smiles had been exchanged before the two of you walked down the hallway toward the elevators, your arms looped around his waist.

As the ultrasound gel was applied with an icy sensation that made you jolt, you held your breath and locked eyes with your husband.

"Is it cold?" he whispered, wringing his hands together.

"Yeah," you answered just as quietly.

The room was so still, you could probably hear a pin drop. You inhaled deeply when the doctor moved the transducer wand around your lower stomach. Harry cleared his throat and broke eye contact with you to watch the computer screen that displayed a blurry black-and-white view of your womb. It was strange to see the inside of your body, and even more strange to know a baby was growing in there.

After a painstaking moment, the device finally picked up on the most beautiful, muffled heartbeat. It wasn't your own, and it wasn't Harry's—it was your baby's. A lub-dub rhythm that was your responsibility to bring into the world.

Harry whistled in amazement and pressed two shaky fingers against his lips. He glanced between you and the screen several times before touching his heart and rubbing the spot. A reaction took over him that you had never seen before. Tears welled in his eyes, and a transfixed smile dimpled his cheeks. A sentimental ache bloomed in your chest, caused by love for him and his vulnerability.

"They've got a very strong and healthy heartbeat," said the doctor while adjusting the screen monitor.

You stared at the ultrasound that showed a blob with no distinguishable features or anatomy, yet it was somehow part of you and part of the man you lived and breathed for.

"Harry, look," you said through an emotionally tightened throat.

He crouched beside you and sniffled. "I see, sweetheart."

"How far along am I?" you asked the doctor, blindly reaching for Harry's hand.

"Around eight weeks," they told you, clicking their pocket pen and writing down information. "As for your due date, you guys will be looking forward to early November!"

Harry clutched your hand, leaving a prolonged kiss on your knuckles. "An autumn baby," he murmured against your skin. He then turned his attention to the doctor and asked, "Can we please have copies of the ultrasound pictures to hang on the fridge at home?"

The timing was perfect. The color of the leaves would change the same way your lives would change together. It would be a season filled with pure bliss and a turning of the tide. The end of the year would give you a love you could cherish forever.

——

The First Cry 

"Is she breathing?"

It was the first string of words that tumbled from Harry's mouth after you gave birth. Babies were supposed to cry once they came into the world. Why wasn't she crying? Where were the shrieks he had prepared for months to hear?

Nurses crowded around you as she was pulled out all the way and set on your chest, her squirming body sensitive to the air. It was beautiful chaos happening in slow motion. Harry felt like he was floating outside of his body, feeling a surreal concoction of confusion, euphoria, and hysteria.

"W-what... why isn't she crying?" you asked breathlessly. Your body was shaking due to the immediate shift in hormones.

Two nurses roughly rubbed your daughter with towels until she gurgled a high-pitched wail. Relief, relief, relief. Nothing could quite encapsulate Harry's raw emotion when he heard that sound come from a fresh pair of baby lungs. It was piercingly loud and overwhelming, yet heavenly to his ears.

Harry stepped forward with a wide smile. "There she is," he said, his voice scratchy. "She's here, love. She's breathing."

Your hands, wavering and sweaty, cautiously cupped your daughter's fragile figure. With that first maternal touch, you broke down with a cascading waterfall of tears.

"Hi, baby girl," you cried happily. "Shh, it's okay. You scared us for a second."

Eyes glossy, lips trembling, and heart growing tenfold, Harry was lost in admiration. The scene surrounding him was a mess, and it was merely an afterthought in his mind. He had never been so mesmerized by someone except for the day he married you. Even so, this was a different type of love—one that had flourished over nine months and was now a tangible fondness lasting for eternity.

Absent nods and weak affirmations were given to the nurse's questions thrown his way. The bubble he was in simply couldn't be popped. You scooted over on the hospital bed so he could sit next to you while they suctioned his daughter's tiny mouth, nose, and ears. Her cries were still going strong, and Harry soaked them in as he smoothed over the back of her small head with his hand. She had a decent amount of hair, courtesy of his genes, and something about that realization broke the dam behind his eyes.

When he blearily looked at your awestruck face, he knew he had made the right choice. The mother of his baby girl. And, if he got lucky, a couple other bundles of joy as well. It had to be you. No one else made him feel as complete as you did.

"We had a baby," you whispered in disbelief, staring at him with eyes rapt in wonder.

Through his tears, Harry laughed with astonishment. "It was all you. Do you hear me? All you." He kissed your dewy cheekbone. "I'm so grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

You exhaled heavily and murmured, "I'm starving."

"When we get home, I'm going to cook you the best damn meal you've ever had in your life."

——

The First Smile 

Harry entered the sunlit nursery with dragging movements similar to those of a zombie. He had only one sock on, and the staticky-sounding baby monitor was tucked under his armpit.

That morning, a whopping four hours of interrupted sleep was the new record. The days and nights blended together like watercolor on wet paper, and no amount of espresso shots or afternoon naps could cure his poor, sleep-deprived soul. His circadian rhythm had now changed to a cadence of chaos, and there was nothing he could do about it. The millisecond he became a dad, a certain little someone shifted to the number one spot on his list of priorities.

After turning on the lamp in the corner of the room and setting the baby monitor down, Harry leaned against the bassinet and let his baby girl's subsiding cries wake him up just like a freshly brewed pot of coffee would. They made him feel sad, but if getting up at the same time as the sun meant they could be soothed somehow (and that you could get more shut-eye), then he would do it over and over again.

Harry eventually reached down to pull his daughter's tiny body against his bare chest. It made his heart swell to see how she always calmed in his arms. "Already up and at 'em, huh?" he rasped, giving her his knuckle to suckle on since the whereabouts of her pacifier were unknown. She cooed and looked at him with curious eyes that resembled yours. "Why are you so precious all the time? Got me so wrapped around your finger that I couldn't possibly be mad at you for waking me up this early."

She kicked her legs outward, apparently a happy camper now that she had some love from her dad. Harry shook his head in amusement. "Were those fake cries?" he accused lightheartedly.

Once he changed her diaper and stole a few minutes of snuggles before she started becoming fussy again, his next destination was the kitchen, where most mornings began as a new family of three. Opening the fridge decorated with baby pictures galore and a calendar scribbled full of upcoming postpartum appointments, he grabbed the first bag of breast milk he saw and then took an empty baby bottle out of the dishwasher so he could make her breakfast. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had the energy to cook himself a nourishing meal before noon.

Harry attempted to screw on the cap of the bottle using only one hand since his other was being occupied by a hungry, babbling baby. His face grew hot with frustration when the cap kept resisting being twisted, and it definitely didn't help when the bottle tipped straight over, causing valuable milk to spill onto the counter. Nice going, idiot. That wasn't good at all. He dreaded delivering the news to you, especially considering you recently told him how pumping felt like an extreme sport.

"Well, that's just wonderful," he muttered while looking down at his daughter, wholly prepared for her to literally cry over spilled milk.

But no, she didn't cry. Instead, she smiled at him for the first time. A gummy, wonky baby smile that woke him right up.

Harry gasped in surprise and completely forgot about the milk mishap, his heart pounding. "Are you smiling at me? Holy sh- I mean, shoot. We have to show your mom. Wait, she's sleeping. Um, okay, hold on." He aimlessly scanned the kitchen for his phone. "Keep smiling, okay? I need to take a picture of this."

He abandoned the 'no phone around the baby' rule and rounded the corner of the island. In the process, he accidentally hit his side on the corner, causing him to stifle a groan. His clumsiness made his daughter smile even wider, along with a noise that could be interpreted as a giggle if he believed hard enough. And if he looked close enough, he could make out two miniature dimples indenting her cheeks.

He picked up his phone, and with the rays of the golden sunrise dancing over her happy face, he snapped a picture while his face beamed behind the camera. "Look at you," he cooed, pressing the capture button repeatedly. "Is my struggling funny to you? Hmm? Just wait until mommy sees this. She'll freak out."

After he put his phone away, which now had nineteen new keepsakes in its photo album, he observed her a little longer. At that moment, a sudden realization dawned on him.

His daughter's smile looked a lot like his own.

——

The First Year 

Hot wax dripped from the candle in the shape of the number one, making a black mark on the cake's blue fondant. It took the combined respiratory strength of three people to blow the puny flame out. Afterward, there was a brief pause in the festivities to settle a crying baby because it escaped Harry's adult mind that babies don't know how candles—or birthdays in general—work.

The cake was made with admirable precision, which he somehow pulled off using his amateur cake-decorating skills from ages ago. Piped seashells made from buttercream frosting sat atop the circular cake, and a message of Happy Birthday was spelled out in dainty cursive icing. A graham cracker and sugar concoction caressed the bottom edges to resemble sand, and an impressive starfish cookie rested against the side. She wouldn't remember the cake, or the day, for that matter, but Harry definitely would.

Once the slices were eaten, it was time to clean up for the night. The cheap chandelier hanging over the kitchen table shined upon a dirty mess of paper plates and plastic utensils and opened presents containing toys aplenty.

"I need a shower," you told him, an exhausted sputter leaving your lips after you threw all the crumpled napkins away. "Do you mind cleaning the rest?"

"Not at all. C'mere." Harry loosely grabbed your elbow and pulled you toward him, smacking a vanilla-flavored kiss onto your mouth. "Love you. Go relax."

You thumbed away some frosting on his chin. "Don't put her to bed without me, okay?"

He smiled softly and stole another kiss, slower this time. "I won't. We're actually planning on partying all night."

You just laughed and made your way upstairs. Harry took it upon himself to clean the kitchen until it was spotless for you. He had been genuinely trying to help more around the house since motherhood is not easy on the body and mind. Taking an extra load off your shoulders was the least he could do as part of his lifelong repayment for giving him the most extraordinary experience imaginable.

After every surface was scoured clean, he walked over to his daughter and kneeled, observing her childlike wonder as she smeared frosting on the tray of her highchair. Curious eyes distracted, he felt a crashing wave of emotion wash over him. It just didn't seem possible that an entire year had already passed by. Wasn't it just yesterday that he unbuckled her from her car seat and showed her around her forever home? Didn't her newborn fingers curl instinctively around his thumb whenever he pressed it to her palm? Hadn't she only been something he dreamed about with you?

If he thought about it too much, he'd start weeping.

"Stop growing, please," Harry said while scrubbing her sticky fingers with a baby wipe. "I know you need to, but it's killing me inside."

She looked up at the sound of his voice. "Da da da da," she babbled, her fists excitedly hitting the tray and becoming dirty again.

He sighed and decided to give her a sink bath before bedtime. "Yes, I'm your dad. And you need to listen to him when he tells you to stop growing, yeah?"

"No!" Her new favorite word was spoken shamelessly, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

"All right, little lady. Keep breaking my heart, then."

She raised her arms. "Up."

After standing with a huff, Harry lifted her in the air and shook her body playfully until she let out an infectious burst of giggles. Tickles came next, an innocent attack on her belly as she squirmed over his shoulder. He held onto her kicking legs and stomped up the stairs dramatically, making a right turn into the master bedroom. A gentle toss on the bed had her giggling even louder.

"An entire year of loving you," he said, kissing her cheeks repeatedly. "Happy birthday, lovebug."

——

The Last Night 

There used to be a time when her legs couldn't wrap all the way around Harry's waist because they were simply too short. What were once chunky baby legs that happily kicked against his rib cage turned into toddler ones that kicked because they wanted to run free.

No more holding her sideways while she fit like a puzzle piece in the crook of his elbow. No more swaddling her tightly in a blanket after a midnight meltdown. No more tummy time, carrying her in a sling, or being there to catch her whenever she tried to walk on her own. Her dependence was slipping away.

Time was slipping away even faster.

Often, he looked back on all the moments he had taken for granted with his firstborn. Those screeching cries that wouldn't stop no matter what left him with a daylong migraine and maybe a side of tears. Those tantrums left him feeling defeated and on edge, only to end with her just wanting to be held by him. Those summer evenings on the beach, only him and her lying on a blanket and watching the sun go down while he answered all her nonsensical questions about the world around her.

Tomorrow, the date circled on the calendar's December page would allow Harry to relive those moments. However, it would be with an entirely new person he's never met. It'd be undeniably different—an accustomed bond to be formed and a shift in dynamics to adjust to. The challenge of keeping two humans safe instead of one.

Was he ready for that?

"Are you ready to be a big sister?" Harry asked the tiresome, limp child in his arms. He might as well pass off the question to someone unaware of it all.

"No."

He laughed at the confidence with which she answered. "I understand. It's a huge responsibility, but you'll be a natural. That's what your mom told me before you were born."

She nodded slowly against his shoulder, most likely oblivious to what he said. "Wanna go night-night."

"I know." The weight of his soul sank, realizing time was ticking by faster than he'd like it to. "Let me hold you for a while longer. Is that okay?" Another nod. "You can fall asleep, darling. I promise I'll carry you to bed and tuck you in."

"Where's Mama?" she asked with her sweet, soft voice.

Harry rubbed soothing circles on her back, and tears stung behind his eyes for some reason. "She needs rest just like you do," he explained vaguely, not wanting to talk about the pre-labor pain you had been so gracefully pushing through the entire day. "Grandma's taking you to the park tomorrow, so you can't be cranky."

"Okay," she mumbled, approximately thirty seconds from a dream-filled sleep.

After swiping a finger down her button nose to get her eyes to flutter shut, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and steadily hiked up the staircase toward her room. He checked on you when he passed the master bedroom, finding you hunched over the bed and swaying through a contraction. It hurt to see you in such discomfort.

Harry opened the door to his daughter's bedroom, laid her in her toddler bed, and tucked the blanket around her body like he did every night. "Sleep well, sweetheart. Don't grow up overnight."

Her eyes popped open, and she was suddenly wide awake due to not being in his arms anymore. "'I'm not tired."

"You just said you wanted to go night-night!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Go to sleep, crazy girl," he told her, ruffling her hair. Your mom needs me right now. Can you tell your angels and fairies to make her feel better?"

She hummed an affirmation and settled down. Harry's lips twitched into a smile, and he spread his arms out in his unvoiced gesture of love. She immediately spread her arms out too.

"Love you this big," she said cutely.

"I love you even bigger," he replied, gently pinching her cheek.

Doubt, incompetence, and fear swirled in his stomach when he realized that, come tomorrow, he would no longer have his paternal attention solely focused on the little girl in front of him. His chest ached for her, knowing how hard it'd be to adjust to someone who required more nurture and care under the same roof. He'd just have to share his love, and his heart was more than capacious enough to manage that.

Before Harry turned off the lights, he confessed a secret that had only been shared between them. "You'll always be my biggest love."

——

[mcverse]

ꨄ︎ Paring: AVATAR/ATWOW x CRUSH!! Fem! Reader

ꨄ︎ Requested: Yes/No

ꨄ︎ Type: Headcanon with scenarios

ꨄ︎ Warnings: Nudity, swears, slight mentions of sexual activity, fluff

ꨄ︎ Side note: Jake & Tonowari are before wives/ex lovers, not after. Tsu’tey is after his ex lover. They are all still of appropriate age. Y’all I forgot spider, I should probably add him at some point now that he grew on me. Inspired skinny dip scenarios from here.

please keep in mind that all characters in my stories are always 18+

— JAKE

Sure Jake was being trained by Neytiri the way of Navi but after the end of every session he would come find you.

You knew Jake before he got his Avatar body, and you assumed him being so comfortable around you was the reason he always sought you out—and not because he returned your affection.

So imagine your surprise when your standing by the edge of the water, in the middle of taking off your shirt but pause because Jake’s back flexing with water droplets were far too distracting.

“Are you feeling shy now?” Jake muses, turning around to look at you with his big yellow eyes. They squint slight as he smiles, showing on his shape teeth.

You scoff with a roll of your eyes, continuing to take off your top to hide your flushed cheeks, “Why should I be? It’s you.”

Jake laughs, the sound of ripples in the water draws your attention back to him, only to quickly dart them away when he walks out the water, bare naked.

Jake has always been a confident, cocky guy. Just because he had a new body didn’t change that. If anything, it made it worst when it came to you.

You look so small standing there like a deer caught in headlights. How could he not tease you? You made it too easy. It was cute—you are so freaking cute.

“Exactly, it’s just me.” Jake squats down, covering his junk as he playfully coos, “The water will be cold by nightfall if you don’t hurry.”

You purse your lips, dropping your shirt and pull both your bottoms down in one fluid motion, ignoring the thumping of Jake’s tail hitting the ground repeatedly.

Inhaling sharply, you finally turn to look him in his eyes, surprised to see him already looking at your face. His lips curl more now that your attentions on him, “Loser last in the water has to break it to Grace that she’s worst than a helicopter parent.”

Your breath hitch when you see him stand up quickly, ass on display as he runs back to the river. Getting over it, you shout after him, “HEY! You’re cheating.”

— TONOWARI

It was not a complete accident that he stumbled on you in the water on night, far from seeing eyes. He definitely wasn’t already looking for you, no no.

He was going to make his presence known, maybe ask why you were so far away, when he glimpse of your bare chest and he finally understood.

This was clearly a private moment, he conducted, as he turns to leave despite his mind tell him to invade it anyway.

“Tonowari?” your faint voice calls his name, most likely caught him as he pauses, thinking of ways to prove his innocence if need be, “It is you!” you laugh, drawing a blue blush to his face.

You sounded so adorable.

He stands still with his back turned to you, deciding to remain respectful, “I didn’t mean to interrupting your alone time. I was just walking by.” It was obviously a lie because there was no just walking by this far from the village.

You hum, smiling with a tilt of your head, “Do you want to join? I don’t mind your company.”

Your company. Your. You said your, not any company or just company. You singled him out.

Now Tonowari was a patient man, he was going to be chief soon so he had to be. But with you, patience didn’t fly completely ti the wind, it was just sat aside.

He’s turning around against his better judgement, about to join you in the water but you stop him.

“I’m naked.” you blurt out frankly.

Tonowari’s eyes zone in on your form. He already knows that. But hearing you say it makes his chest hurt and his ears hot, “Oh..”

Be respectful Tonowari, look away, be calm.

“There’s a fee to join me,” you muse, “You have to be too.”

You’re the death of him. He swears it as he tensely removes his gear, the lioncloth being the last piece he drops aside.

His eyes are back on you as yours is on him as he walks into the water and swim to you. He didn’t mean to get so close, your skin brushing against his, but he’s not complaining when you complete close the space.

— TSU’TEY

Tsu’tey is a respectable, responsible man. He doesn’t do foolish things. He had a reputation to uphold.

Yet somehow you convince him time and time again to let loose, have some fun moments and risky decisions.

Somehow, someway, your reason have reached the ears of him and he’s agreeing again to one of your ridiculous ideas.

Skinny dipping? What even if that? Must be something JakeSully told you.

“You hang around JakeSully too much.” he’ll tell you in between listening to you explain how you came to know it. You roll your eyes, getting to the good part on what it actually was.

His mouth is agape, ears perked up in attention. That’s what Skinny dipping was? And you wanted to try it with him out of any other man in the village? Perhaps he should be thanking JakeSully for giving you this information. He doesn’t.

Instead, he follows you to a deep river, watch as you peel back all your clothing and step into the water.

You look so stunning, literally take his breath away. And when you look back at him so mischievously, telling him to hurry up and join—there was no hesitation found as he removed his clothing and met you in the middle of the river.

— NETEYAM

What started out just fishing in silence beside one another, as one does around their secret crushes, turns into a little challenge of who can catch fish the best using their technique. The loser gets to do whatever the winner wants.

Neteyam was confident, thinking this might be his chance to prove himself a worthy mate and confess all at the same time.

He loses though. He wasn’t focused. He couldn’t focus, not with all your teasing jabs, infectious laughter and star stealing smile.

He’s not mad, though, at least it was to you. There was no way you’d ask him to do something terrible—spoke to soon. Did you just dare him to skinny dip? Did he hear that right?

“Are you scared, ‘yam?” you taunt him over your shoulder as you walk future away, somewhere secluded in case he does decide to do it.

Unsurprisingly, he’s following you like a moth to flame, eyes trained on your figure when you disappear behind some foliage. With his heart beating loudly against his chest in both nerves and curiosity, he hurries after you and sigh in relief when your still there, but close to a body of water he’s never seen before.

You know you dared him. But only because it’s something you’ve been wanting to do for a while. The water looked so tempting, if he didn’t go through with it, you just might.

Looking over your shoulder at him, you lock eyes, “I know I dared you but I kinda feel like going for a dip too.” you admit, turning back around to slowly strip out of your clothing.

You assume Neteyam is just standing there like a lost boy when your final article of clothing falls but is surprised to see an outstretched hand in your peripheral view.

“You’re gorgeous.” he admits bashfully when you touch his hand, face hidden behind a few strands of falling braids, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you ask, confused as you stare at him, only to be the flustered one now.

“For trusting me.”

How does he always make something so wholesome???

— LO’AK

Lo’ak wasn’t sneaky. He couldn’t get away with anything if he tried. So you immediately knew he had a crush on you, it was so painfully obvious. And it was painfully cute.

You were just hanging out one day, a little time after the eclipse has started. Simply talking about anything under the pandora sky when a specific topic was brought up: dares you did or declined.

One dare was how you declined to skinny dip because you were way too nervous at the time but regret it because it sounded so thrilling now that your older.

Bro doesn’t miss a beat. Lo’ak is asking if you wanted to Skinny dip right now. There was no one around—he knew a place, you trust him enough. Why not?

He’s right. What’s stopping you at this point? Not a damn thing.

At first, his intentions were entirely pure. It sounded fun. He’s never done it before, it’ll be cool to do it together. One of the many first with you if he actually confesses.

Then your clothes start to come off, leaving you more exposed than he dared to dream. The water glistening your skin, white freckles glowing in the dark. Damn you were beautiful—

“Thank you.” you smile, watching him as he watches you. He hasn’t even taken off his clothes yet, so lost in everything that is you. The shock on his face was hilarious when he realizes his mistake.

With his face flushed purple, he quickly averts his eyes, “I said that out loud?” He murmurs, mainly to himself in confusion but you heard him loud and clear. It was just you two, after all.

“You did,” you turn away, walking deeper into water, “I think you’re beautiful too. Even with all your clothes still on.” you tell him teasingly, laughing to yourself when you hear splashing water behind you.

He will not fumble this!

— KIRI

Your brother called her a freak but you thought of being the most interesting person to come to this village.

She was different in every way—she looks different from the rest of her family just by little, she acts different when nature is involved, and she sounds different every time you hear her speak.

She changed the way you think, the way you see your world. Does she know that you want her in it?

You weren’t sure and it was all you could think about when you walk with her through the trees, just enjoying what Eywa has blessed you with when you come across a body of water.

Watching as she goes near it, you were going to suggest going back, but then she accident fell in. When she resurface, your shocked to find her chest bare, her too somewhere in the water.

Kiri quickly covers herself, cheeks turning blue out of embarrassment, and though it was cute and she looks attractive right now, you felt bad.

Before you mind can tell you how bad an idea this was, you removed your top, smiling at her, “There’s no reason to feel embarrassed,” you tell her, slipping into the water beside her, “We’re both woman.”

She hesitates, eventually dropping her arms and look away, trying to distract herself with something else.

You shouldn’t watch her as intensely as you did but she was beautiful, you wonder if she knew that, “I think you’re very beautiful…Kiri.”

She looks back at you, smiling shyly as she lowers her eyes too, “I think you’re beautiful too…” she returns softly.

Nope. She was too cute. Before she saw it coming, your tackling her in the water, screeching how adorable she is.

— AO’NONG

Both of you were still young adults, and not looking to court anyone yet but at the same time—there was this interesting dynamic of teasing, heartfelt moments and occasionally sexual tension.

You not being one to talk about your feelings, are quite a trouble maker. Anything under the watchful eyes of Ewya was fair game to help you avoid it.

Ao’nong just happened to be around after one stressful day; just lucky enough to tag along when you venture further from the village.

“Where are we going?” he ask, watching your back flex as you move, occasionally shifting to the surrounding area to keep watch.

“You didn’t have to come.” you snap, peeking over your shoulder with a glare. Ao’nung simply shrug his shoulders, a small smile etching his face and remains silent.

He was confused why you’d stop at a body of water so far from the village when it was surrounded by it. He was going to question your motive again, but then you start taking your clothes off and his breath away.

It was too late to look away. He saw everything before you walk into the water, leaving him standing there unsure of what to do for once in his life.

You notice this, of course, smirking at him from the water. It’s a rare sight to see Ao’nung flushed. What kind of idiot would you be not to exploit it.

“Ma Ao’nung. What’s the matter? Something caught your tongue?” you’ll tease him, leaning back in the water to swim backwards, giving him an eyeful of your chest.

Ao’nung’s brows are furrowed at your teasing, trying to come up with something—anything—to say but finds nothing but a dry mouth.

You’re giggling, swimming back over to him because you felt bad. With a beaming smile, you reach out to him, full body on display, “Sorry. Come swim with me.”

He did a lot more than just swim with you after he got over the shock. You don’t get to just tease him so causally.

— TSIREYA

Two friends skinny dipping, nothing wrong with that.

Expect there was cause you were totally crushing hard on Tsireya. And maybe she felt the same, it was kinda hard to tell with her.

You don’t know why you brought it up—maybe because you knew her tail would cutely flicker in excitement yet her words the polar opposite.

For someone who was afraid of what ifs, she sure crumbled pretty easy after a little persuasion.

When you get to a secluded area you came across one day, she’s having doubt again. You don’t try to change her mind this time, already filled with adrenaline at the thought and just strip your clothes.

Now she can’t exactly leave you by yourself, or so she claims, and that it might be more comfortable for you, not her, to be naked too.

“You are trouble, (Name).” Tsireya giggles, wading through the water to reach you. The depth gets deeper as she does, that now the only way was to swim.

Smirking, you reach out to her, holding her arm close to your chest, “It’s so exciting right?” you ask curtly before adding, “but there is absolutely no chance of getting caught!” when you catch her pointed look.

“So we’re here alone, by ourselves?” Tsireya ask the fifth time that night, surveying for good measures.

Rolling your eyes, “For the last time. No one is coming!” Honestly she’s lucky she’s cute with her doubtful ass.

She’s looking back at you with a cheeky grin, “Good.” and tackles you into the water.

Safe to say, you now knew she really liked you by the end of the night.

— ROTXO

You woke baby out of his sleep.

It was a stir of the moment type of adventure and if you didn’t do it now, who knows when you will.

He was confused at first, not understanding what you were coming off about when you lead him further from the mauri’s.

Given if this was anyone else, he’d be agitated, rejecting whatever it was at first sight. But it was you, he’ll follow you through storms if the choice was an option.

It’s only when you let go of his hand, running to a body of water and stripping out of your clothes did everything start become clearer.

Man was alert, standing stiff where you left him. Glancing around to make sure no one was around for your sake and his, if you know what I mean.

“Rotxo, what are you doing just standing there,” your laughing at him from the sea, “Did you forget already!?”

No, he doesn’t even remember you getting naked in front of him being a possibility outside of his thoughts. He would remember if something said lead to this. Yet it has as you continue to claim.

“Don’t leave me by myself!” you whine, splashing water in his direction.

Like he would ever dare. The guy was crushing hard, spending any second with you—near you is what he dreams. Literally anytime with you was a blissful moment.

Saying those words cause him to pause. It was clear that you want him, well, want him there next to you. And he could never say no to you.

He’s awkward as he strips out his gear and loincloth, definitely the most embarrassed out of all of them.

He’s quick to enter the water, hoping it would cool him down but his temperature only rises when you swim closer, practically chest to chest with him.

“I feel much better now that your here. Don’t you?” you tease, peering up at him as you place a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“Yeah.” he replies breathlessly, unable to look away from your face, in fear that he might drown himself.

You drag your arm down his arm sensually, “It’s okay to look, Ro…”

It was embarrassing having you have to hold him up, for more reason than one but the main being because he really did almost drown that night.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 9,001 (yeah, she's a beast!) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria S9, post-Negan war, before the bridge Warnings: language (duh, it’s me), violence (no sexual violence), injuries to main character, blood, some kind of dark Saviors shit (not like line-up level dark but kinda fucked), mild angst, Protective!Daryl, hurt/comfort Summary: The war is over, but it isn't all peaches and cream. The Sanctuary struggles to function and Daryl and Y/N struggle with ghosts of their pasts after Rick asks them to take things over there. Deciding they've had enough, they decide to depart for Hilltop but Y/N stays behind for a couple days to help Carol get started taking over. The past comes back to rear its ugly head... A/N: This is an epilogue to the Sacrifice series, but you don't necessarily have to have read all 29 previous parts to appreciate it (though you def should!) [Spoilers (or reminders) for context start here -> -> -> The war is over, Y/N was once one of Negan's wives in order to protect her brother, she went back to Negan to break Daryl out of the Sanctuary, Daryl ends up shooting Negan to protect Y/N when a plan of theirs goes awry and the war ends, Y/N was also shot in the process but survived]

_ _ _ _ _ _

You and Daryl stood off to the side, watching the group of people gather around Rick, flooding the open space on the Sanctuary’s factory floor. You gently touched him on the arm and his blue eyes landed on your face. “Are you going to talk to him tonight?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I gotta. I can’t—we can’t stay here any longer. I dun want you here either. Bein’ in here, in these walls again, it feels like it’s slowly poisonin’ us…” He glanced at the fresh graffiti someone had sprayed on the wall. We’re still Negan. Saviors Save Us

Your hand slipped down his forearm and you laced your fingers with his. “I know. It’s the right decision.”

“Yeah,” he mused. “Ain’t sure Rick’s gonna agree though…”

“Rick isn’t the one here dealing with all these people, reliving everything every day. It’s too much,” you said. Daryl nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” Just then, Rick finished talking to the gathered group and there was a smattering of applause and murmuring. You gave Daryl’s hand a gentle squeeze as Rick wandered over. “Good luck,” you murmured.

Soon, various business that needed to be discussed was concluded and the already dim torch and lantern lights on the Sanctuary factory floor were all but put out. Daryl and Rick retreated up to the catwalk.

As they stood side-by-side, looking down at the shadowy, rundown building below them, Daryl sighed heavily and Rick could feel the tension between them. Rick broke the silence first. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

Daryl gulped and straightened up, looking his friend in the eye. “I don't wanna be the one leadin’ these people anymore.”

Rick’s expression was impassive. “Okay... Why?”

“Bein' here, behind these walls again... It just don't feel right, man. I'm better out there. I always have been. And I’ve got Y/N to think about. After what happened to her in here—with him—”

Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Things happened to you in here too,” Rick said, perhaps realizing for the first time what he’d really asked of his friend, his brother…

“Yeah, well I care more about her than I care about myself. This is where her life was a livin’ fuckin’ nightmare. His wife…” he murmured under his breath. “She wasn’t his wife. She was his damn property. Her brother died here. He destroyed her group just like he destroyed ours. What d’ya think this place reminds both of us of?” He asked, turning sharp eyes to Rick. “Hmm? Did ya even think ‘bout that when ya asked me to come back here? Didya stop to think that ya might be askin’ us to relive some of the worst shit we’ve ever gone through?”

Rick hung his head for a moment, clasping his hands together. A wash of guilt and shame came over him. He hadn’t considered the full extent of it, no. But there was no one else to do the job and so he’d asked too much of Daryl, too much of you. “But you and Y/N have kept this place together. You’ve kept people in line here. We can't just let the Sanctuary fail after everything that's happened,” he said.

Daryl shook his head and paced a small, agitated circle. “Man, s’gonna fail anyway. Nothin’ grows here. It's a damn factory, man. Look, when Negan was around, he needed people to provide for him. It's still the same. Nothin's changed,” Daryl argued.

“It's different now. We give what we give willingly,” Rick retorted.

“And how long's that gonna last? Most of the bridges are out after the big storm. The highway's done. We've scavenged every drop of gas for miles. And we can't make enough corn fuel to run the cars or the trucks. Pretty soon, it's gonna be more than a day's ride from one spot to another.”

“Well, it's on us to figure out how to make it work,” Rick said, leaning forward on the rail again.

“Man, there ain't no ‘us’ anymore. Everyone's everywhere,” he pointed out. “I feel lucky that Y/N and I are even in the same damn place.” He let out another weighty sigh. “That small group we had back in the beginning... plus a few more of the people we picked up along the way, we could do anythin’. That was right. That’s what I know.” Daryl leaned forward beside Rick, chewing on his bottom lip in that signature way.

“Well, you wanna come home to Alexandria, then?” Rick asked. “You and Y/N?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. We'll go back to Hilltop, check on Maggie and the baby.”

“Well, you go, someone's got to take your place here. Rosita and Eugene are headed to Oceanside next. Maggie's sending food, but not people, and Kingdom's got its own problems rebuilding after losing its fighters. If Alexandria sends another person out, I could use the help back home.”

Daryl only let out a small huff.

“We're not together because things have changed,” Rick said again.

Daryl stiffened. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed. His blue eyes turned to Rick again and they were intense. “The thing is, you changed ‘em, Rick.” The tension felt hot and pulsating in the air like liquid mercury. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “But I get it.” And then Daryl took his leave.

On the staircase, Carol backed away as quietly as she could, only to be startled by your voice softly behind her. “Well, that didn’t go great,” you whispered.

Carol turned to face you, her face drawn. “Daryl is right though. Rick shouldn’t have asked that of the two of you after—after everything you went through here. And he should have known Daryl would have a hard time saying no to him.”

You nodded and straightened up, stepping toward her. “Rick’s his brother,” you agreed. “And there really was no one else. But Daryl’s right. We can’t stay here anymore. It’s—it’s wearing him thin.”

“And you?” Carol asked, worried.

You gave her a tight smile and shrugged. But when you spoke again your voice broke. “I’d almost rather be anywhere else…”

Carol nodded knowingly and then grabbed you into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. her mind drifted back to her own abuse at the hands of Ed and she felt a swell of affection for you and for Daryl, for both of you taking this on at all after everything… When she pulled back, she cleared her throat, pushing her emotion away. “I’ll—I’ll take over here a while. You and Daryl need to get out. I want to help.”

“Carol—”

“Don’t argue with me. My mind’s made up,” she said firmly.

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” you said. “I’m—I’m gonna go talk to Rick,” you said. “Make him understand.”

Carol nodded. “I’ll check on Daryl. Let him know what I’m thinking.”

“Okay. Good idea… Hey—Carol. This is—what you’re doing to help, it’s huge for us. So, thank you.”

She gave you a warm smile and you passed her on your way up the stairs to find Rick. He was still leaning heavily on the railing, clearly in deep thought over his discussion with Daryl. But he turned at the sound of your steps on the metal catwalk and straightened up when he saw you.

“Hey,” you greeted him stopping beside him and also looking down over the factory floor. No one was milling around anymore. Most people had drifted away to bed. “You okay?” you asked, giving him a knowing, sideways glance.

Rick laughed a little wryly and nodded. “Yeah… Just—tryin’ to figure out if and where I went wrong,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Things I’d do differently now…”

You nodded. “You have a lot of weight on your shoulders. Daryl knows that.”

Rick met your eyes again, clearly realizing you’d overhead their conversation somehow.

You straightened up and tilted your head toward the hallway down the catwalk. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Rick followed you as you stopped to grab a lantern and then led him down the hallway. This part of the building was mostly empty these days, except for a few people who had carved out some private spaces for themselves. The warm orange glow flickered past many doors and other halls before you turned right and came partially down the next corridor. The nauseous feeling and the heavy pit in your stomach grew as you walked, and before you knew it, your hand was trembling slightly holding the lantern. This place was full of ghosts.

Rick looked at you with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. The tremble in your hand translated to a shakiness in the shadows cast by the light on the walls and it was easy to see.

“We’re almost there,” you said softly.

You walked in further silence for only another half a minute before you stopped in front of a gaping dark space in the wall, barely bigger than a closet. Rick gave you a questioning look and you lifted the lantern to illuminate it. The floor was filthy with layers of smeared dirt and who-knows what else. “This is where they held us. Me, when my brother and I were captured, and Negan singled me out from my group. And Daryl after the line-up with Alexandria.”

Rick stared at the dirty, dingy space and he could almost see Daryl huddled there in his mind’s eye, wearing that filthy sweatshirt. His brow furrowed and his face contorted.

You pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your head felt a bit light and foggy. “I—I had the doors that used to be on the cells removed, because—I just couldn’t stand the sight of them closed up like that. I kept—kept imagining Daryl was still in there every time I had to walk past. Or that somehow, I was going to end up back in there.” You glanced over at Rick who was staring straight into the darkness. He watched as you raised your free hand to rub at your bad shoulder, the one Negan’s bullet had pierced. “They took all his clothes at first. Left him in there naked. Cold. Shot. Hungry. Wondering what happened to the rest of you. And the thirst… Then, Dwight humiliated him and they fed him dog food and blasted music to keep him awake. The same song, over and over. Then, they made him work outside in the heat and humidity in that filthy sweatsuit, chaining walkers to the fence for Negan or doing whatever awful chores they could invent. He had to clean up after Negan punished someone, mopping up shit or piss or worse… Dwight made him look at pictures of—of what happened to Glenn and Abraham.” Tears burned in your eyes and Rick’s shut and he dropped his head.

He lifted a hand to wave you off. “I—I understand,” he said in a low voice, his heart breaking. He’d been careless to ask Daryl to come here, too focused on his beautiful dream in the memory of Carl to realize what this would do to you and to Daryl.

“He didn’t want to say no to you when you asked him to come back here. You’re like a brother to him. He didn’t want to let you down even though—it’s literally the last place either of us wants to be.”

Rick sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “I don’t have an excuse… I—I shouldn’t have asked it. Of either of you… I just—I was tryin’ to make this all work.”

You nodded. “I know. So does Daryl. But that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been… We’ve both been reliving our trauma having to be back here. And we’ve hit our limit. That’s all.”

Rick met your eyes again. You hadn’t even talked about yourself, about what you’d been through here in the cell and with Negan after, not really. You’d mainly focused on Daryl. But Rick could guess well enough what it would have been like for you being one of Negan’s wives and living in that constant fear for your brother and yourself, what you’d had to subject yourself to.

He glanced again at that dark space in the wall. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Carol said she’ll take over here for a while,” you said, turning away from the cell and starting back the way you came.

Rick looked surprised but nodded, walking along beside you.

“I’ll—I’ll stay a couple days to get her going here and up to speed. And then I’ll go meet Daryl in Hilltop.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded. “It’ll have to work for now. But I can’t help thinking it’s a patch on the issue and not a fix.”

You laughed wryly again. “Aren’t most things these days? Rick, Daryl wasn’t wrong about The Sanctuary. It’s a resource sink. It doesn’t produce anything. You’re still going to have to square with that one day. I get what you have been trying to do, making peace with the rest of The Saviors, and not all of them are guilty of the awful things that happened during the war. But things are still festering here under the surface.”

Rick looked over at you, concerned. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, about ready to part ways with him on the catwalk again. “You saw the graffiti. Negan might be dead but for some of them, it’s not over.” You gave him one last look. “Daryl and I know you have a lot on your plate, but it’s time for us to get the hell outta here. If we don’t… this place will consume us. We can’t move away from what happened while we’re here. It’s like—it’s like having it shoved down our throats every day.”

You took your leave from Rick then, leaving him again in deep thought. You knew where you could find Daryl, at a spot outside he liked to go where most people wouldn’t be able to disturb him. It happened to be someplace the two of you sometimes went to watch the stars. When you got there, stepping just one foot outside the building, you had to smile to yourself. Daryl and Carol were just sitting together, side-by-side, enjoying a moment after being apart for so long. You decided to leave them to it.

You made your way back to the room you and Daryl had claimed together in a different part of The Sanctuary. You hastily changed your clothes and got ready for bed, knowing he’d come find you there when he was ready. And it wasn’t long before he did, coming in to see you already cozied up in the bed you shared, reading a worn paperback.

You smiled as he came in. “Hi,” you said.

He stopped in the doorway and took you in, giving you a small smile back. “Hey. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Daryl drawled, sinking down beside you on the mattress. “I was out sittin’ with Carol.”

“It’s alright. I know you were. I didn’t want to interrupt,” you said, reaching for a strand of his wavy hair and running your fingers down it gently. “You haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off his boots. “Get this. Ezekiel asked her to marry him,” he said, giving you a conspiratorial look.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand. “Oh my God!” you burst out.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“Well? What did she say?!”

“Ah… She ain’t ready yet,” Daryl explained.

“Wow.” You thought of Carol and Ezekiel together after the close call at the museum. They were good for each other. “Maybe someday?” you asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm.” His hand came to rest on the graceful curve of your neck. It was cool from the nighttime air. He leaned in and kissed you softly, pulling back just slightly to study the colors in your irises. “Listen—I told Rick—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted him gently. “I could hear the two of you. And Carol talked to me too. She’s gonna take over here for a while.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. So, we can go. We dun have to be here anymore. Figured we can head to Hilltop tomorrow. Check on Maggie and Hershel.”

You nodded and then ducked your eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna stay here with Carol for just a couple more days. Help her get started and settled. Then I can meet you. I’ll take one of the horses.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. You could see that he was getting ready to argue.

“It’s just a few more days,” you whispered, gently grabbing onto the front of his vest. “It’s the least I can do since she’s doing this for us, leaving her family and world in The Kingdom.”

Daryl’s stomach churned a little, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous. “She’ll have Eugene,” he pointed out.

“Barely. He and Rosita are heading to Oceanside next to get the fishery going.”

Daryl sighed heavily and moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly slumped. He was chewing on his bottom lip. You knelt behind him and draped yourself against his back, looping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the curtain of his wavy hair, breathing him in and leaving a kiss on his neck. “It’s just a couple days,” you said again.

He gulped. He didn’t know why, but there was a pit in his stomach. “I dunno…” he mused aloud. “I dun like ya bein’ here without me. Here of all damn places.” His mind went back to that graffiti sprayed on the wall.

“I know. I don’t either. But I want to help Carol as a thank you. And then I’ll come straight to Hilltop.” You moved around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “Hey—Look at me,” you urged him. “I can handle myself. Or did you forget?” you teased him, bumping into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know ya can handle yerself. It ain’t that… Somethin’ just—I dunno. Somethin’ dun feel righ’.”

You sighed and nodded knowingly. “It’s never felt right being here.”

“Yeah… maybe tha’s just it. I dunno,” he said finally, but you noted that he still looked slightly troubled. It had been a long day, and his talk with Rick was intense. He stood up and started getting ready to climb in bed with you. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, crisscrossed by his scars, as he pulled off his shirt. You crawled back beneath the sheets and waited until he slipped in beside you.

“C’mere,” he murmured softly to you as he settled into his pillow. You moved into him immediately and he pulled you against him. You tangled your legs with his and gazed into his bright blue eyes. He draped an arm over you and his hand moved to find the hem of your t-shirt before slipping underneath it and pressing against your bare skin, tracing absent patterns on your side, your hip, your back. Daryl leaned in and kissed you, one that was deep and full of wanting.

You felt a pooling of heat expanding in your chest as his lips moved to your neck. Daryl listened to your breathing hitch as he kissed your pulse point and grazed the shell of your ear. His hands wandered over the shape of you beneath the draping of your shirt. In no time, the two of you were completely lost in each other, melting into sensations and quiet gasps of pleasure, bounding hearts and heaving chests, skin on skin. Daryl’s fingers laced between yours, his other hand firm on your hip. Then, after you both reached your blissful highs, you fell asleep in his arms and neither of you woke until the sun was coming up.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You walked with Daryl to his bike and stood beside him as he strapped down his gear, giving him a smile when he looked up at you again.

“Are ya sure ‘bout this? Ya dun have to stay. Carol will be fine,” he said in a low voice. That pit in his stomach had returned almost immediately when he awoke and thought about separating from you.

You gently rested your hands on his sides, stepping in close. “Everything is going to be fine. Go help Maggie. Check on her and Hershel. I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

He looked worried, but nodded. “S’yer call. Two days,” he drawled.

You nodded. “Two days. I promise.”

“Alrigh’…” He leaned in and kissed you deeply, clasping your face and pressing his other hand into the small of your back to pull your body flush against his. You kissed him back heatedly and hungrily and sighed when you broke apart.

“Miss ya already,” he said, breaking contact with you and getting ready to climb onto his bike.

“Same,” you agreed, giving him a tight smile. “Love you,” you added, waiting until the last moment of separating to unlace your fingers from his.

He nodded and studied you, drinking in the view. “You too.”

Then, in a spray of gravel and a cloud of dust he was on his way. You didn’t see him glance back at you over his shoulder before he completely lost sight of The Sanctuary.

You found Carol already on the factory floor standing with Eugene, looking over whatever list of action items were on his clipboard that day. You were absently rubbing your bad shoulder as you came up. It had been aching since the day before. Had revisiting the cell stirred things up? Probably. Carol noticed immediately.

“You okay? Shoulder bothering you?” she asked.

You nodded. “Just a little. The old war wound acting up a bit,” you said with a wry laugh.

Eugene looked up from his clipboard. “I could potentially formulate a topical balm that may relieve some of your chronic pain symptoms, though most ingredients would not sufficiently penetrate the muscle in order to reach the origin of—”

You cut him off with a smile and a laugh. “It’s okay, Eugene. I’m fine. It’s not too bad. What do we need to tackle today?”

The three of you chatted briefly about what needed to be done urgently and then each picked your tasks to start with. Several hours later, you were nearly done trying to treat the small number of plants that were still surviving in the raised garden beds for some kind of insect pest when you were interrupted.

You turned at the sound of footsteps to see one of the Sanctuary residents approaching. You stood and dusted the soil from your gloves. “Hi. What’s up?”

“The guys getting that scrap metal from the upper floors found a water leak. Can you come take a look at it? We might be able to fix it, but we’d probably have to shut the water off completely for a while.”

You sighed heavily and pulled off your gloves. “Always something new, isn’t it?” you said dryly. “Yeah, I’ll come take a look now. Lead the way.”

You passed through the factory floor, noting that the graffiti discovered the day before had been freshly painted over as Daryl had demanded. Carol and Eugene were bent over a table in deep discussion over some new plan. Your stomach flipped as it always did as you passed the oven where Negan used to heat his iron or branding rods. You turned your eyes away.

Soon you were on the upper floors, walking through the dim hallways. It always felt eerily quiet up there. The resident you were following pointed ahead to the next doorway and then stopped to grab some work gloves from a pile of gear set in the hallway. You passed him and stopped in the doorway, expecting to see the group of other people working, but the room was empty. And there was no sign of a water leak. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “Hey, are you sure this is—”

And then everything went black.

Carol was walking somewhat aimlessly back and forth across the factory floor, weaving through the supplies and little bunched groups of people. She craned her neck trying to see if she could spot you anywhere. The two of you had planned to meet for the evening meal after everyone was done for the day but Carol was suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen you since that morning.

Her stomach began to churn. She bolted toward outside where evening was beginning to fall. The garden beds cast long, deep shadows between them, but she didn’t find you crouched among them. The final place she checked was the room you shared with Daryl, now mainly bare of your items since the two of you had begun packing your belongings to leave. Daryl had already taken his few things away on his bike.

There was no sign of you.

Her heart started to pound. She’d questioned everyone she could think of as to your whereabouts. Where could you possibly be? An anxious thought flitted into her mind. Her stomach tightened into a fist. It wasn’t like you not to arrive somewhere you said you would…

The last thing to do was to search the rarely used upper floors. She knew a crew had been working up there earlier in the day, collecting and hauling scrap metal to be reused to patch the roof and fences. Perhaps something had come up and you were still up there assisting with a problem.

Her boots made a lonely, echoing sound as she rushed around corner after corner. There was a weighty silence and the farther up she wandered, the sicker she felt. Something was seriously wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She called your name out but it strangely didn’t seem to pierce the thick vapor of silence in front of her. Every step increased her heart rate and poured adrenaline into her bloodstream. She felt almost shaky as she loosened her knife in its sheath. Just in case, she thought. In case of what?

Another minute or two passed as she searched. Each moment felt excruciatingly long. And then all of a sudden, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my God. Y/N!” Carol bolted toward the crumpled form halfway down the hall in front of her. “Oh, God…” The front of your shirt was soaked with blood and you were lying on the cold floor unconscious. Your face was bruised and swollen. There were cuts and smears of blood on your skin. But what held her attention horrifically was that whoever had done this to you had taken a knife and began to carve a word into your chest, just below your collar bone. SA and part of a V. Carol didn’t need to guess what they’d intended to spell. They were making a gruesome point. Her hands shook as they hovered over you for a moment. She said your name again and then gently clasped your face and gripped your arm. She jostled you a little. “Wake up. It’s Carol! Please, wake up!”

You began to stir a little and a grimace contorted your features.

“Oh, thank God,” Carol sighed, hanging her head in relief for a very brief moment before the nausea seemed to rise into her throat again at your condition. “Y/N? Open your eyes, hun!”

You let out a small pained noise and then your eyes did open blearily. You were immediately trying to sit up, pushing yourself up on the palms of your hands but your head felt split in two and your muscles felt rubbery and weak. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“Whoa—okay. Easy! Take it easy!”

You reached up and touched the back of your head. It was swollen with a lump and tender and your fingers came away slightly sticky. You looked down at them and registered the deep color of drying blood. Your chest burned. You looked down to see that the whole front of your shirt was stained crimson. Your body ached and panged with sharp pains. You could feel your heartbeat in your face.

“Is anything broken? Can you stand up?” Carol asked, her brow heavy over her eyes, but the light inside frantic and quickly turning furious.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” you said softly. Your jaw ached. You gave it an exploratory wiggle left and right and immediately regretted it. Your bottom lip was split and swollen. You winced again. “What the fuck?” you murmured. “I mean what the ever-loving, royal fuck?” you growled. The hot rage welling up in you was pushing some of the pain back.

“Let’s just get you up and off the floor, okay? Slowly.” Carol helped you to your feet. Your head swam and you squeezed your eyes shut, not letting go of her hands for a long moment until you felt steadier. Her expression said enough about what you must look like… “What happened? Do you know who did this to you?” she asked.

You shook your head a little, absently pressing a hand to the burning sensation on your chest, but you stopped as the burn surged when your palm landed flush on your skin. You took in a sharp intake of breath through your teeth. “No. Well—I saw one of them… they lured me up here. Told me there was a water leak they found while doing the scrapping and—and then someone hit me on the head from behind and I was knocked out. But I don’t know why. I mean, why me?”

Carol’s expression was taught. Anger swirled in her eyes. She knew exactly why. You couldn’t see it yet, but the word was partially carved into your chest. That graffiti on the wall out on the factory floor was just the tip of the iceberg. Things were rotting here just under the surface, and since you’d once been Negan’s wife, she imagined you were a perfect target for those who wanted to make a point. “Let me see the back of your head,” she said. There was a small split in the skin where you’d been struck, your hair stained rusty red, but she didn’t think you’d need stitches there and she was extremely relieved that it wasn’t worse... not much anyone could do from something like a skull fracture in the apocalypse. She sighed heavily as another flame of rage wicked upwards in her chest. “Okay… Let’s get you back to your room. Hold onto my arm. Can you make it?”

You nodded, gripping her to steady yourself on your shaky legs, and allowed her to lead you away. You glanced back over your shoulder and were sickened to see the smears of your blood shockingly deep red on the tile behind you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol had you sitting on the edge of your bed and she set down a first aid kit beside you. You were looking up at her from behind a wall of swelling and bruising on your face. You tenderly wiggled your jaw again, testing opening and closing your mouth. It felt ready to lock up. She could tell from the way you’d moved on the walk back and how you were slumped slightly forward now that there was probably substantial bruising beneath your clothes that she couldn’t see. Your movements were tentative and cautious.

You hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. You were afraid to. The pain was bad enough. The fogginess in your head was bad enough. You were worried if you saw the results of the beating, it would only make it worse, more real.

Carol began unpacking supplies. “Tell me everything you remember,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “Not much. Like I said, I was out working in the raised garden beds and somebody came up to me.”

“Who?” Carol pressed you. “If you don’t know their name, what did they look like?”

“Uhh… his name starts with a ‘G’ I think… Give me a second.” You filed through names in your head until you got the right one. “Graham. I think that’s it… He’s tall. Long black hair past his shoulders.”

“Okay,” Carol nodded, opening an alcohol swab. “What did he say exactly?”

“He asked if I could come look at a leak they found while they were moving all the scrap metal. He said they thought they could fix it but they’d have to turn the water off. I went to see and I was barely in the doorway of the room he pointed out. There wasn’t a water leak. I was just standing there, about to say something and—something hit the back of my head. I don’t really remember anything after that. Some foggy pain maybe but… mostly nothing.”

“Do you think there were others waiting up there? Or could it have just been him?” Carol asked, dabbing at a wound on the side of your face. You shut your eyes from the fumes of the alcohol. She was starting to worry about just how many traitors could be in the walls.

“There was at least one other person. When I got hit, I was looking back at him ten feet away from me down the hall.”

Carol sighed heavily and nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes drifted down to the cruelly carved letters on your chest. Your chin tilted down as you tried to look but her hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Hold on,” she said. Her face contorted with emotion she was trying to hold back. “Better you see this now. I’m so sorry.”

You gave her a perplexed look. You knew you were beat up but what was she—

Carol grabbed the small mirror off the little sink in the corner and held it up so you could see yourself for the first time. Initially, all you saw was the swelling and bruising on your face but then your breath caught in your throat. S-A- and part of a V, cut into your skin. The cuts were deep and she had already had to apply some butterfly bandages to hold certain spots closed. No wonder your skin had burned and stung there since you came back to consciousness.

You felt like you were about to be sick and Carol must have seen you pale because she hastily put down the mirror and gripped your shoulders again as if she was afraid you were going to faint. “Whoa. Deep breaths.”

Your eyes shut and you did your best to swallow down the nausea. “What the fuck,” you muttered, reeling. You blinked away angry tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you cleaned up and then I think I have some of my special ointment in my bag. If you apply it at least once a day it’ll minimize any scarring…”

You let out a wry laugh. “Minimize,” you repeated. “But I’ll still have half of ‘Saviors’ carved into me for the rest of my life.” Tears burned in your eyes again. It wasn’t bad enough what you had gone through with Negan, with his men, with the war—now this? Would it ever be over?

Carol winced. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea things were this bad here.”

You sniffled and mopped gently at the tears that had broken out onto your cheeks. “I knew they were pretty bad but—can’t say I saw anything like this coming.”

“Well, who could? It’s—horrific.” She gave you a sympathetic look and then surprised you by pulling you gently into a hug for a long moment. Her eyes were teary now too when she pulled back, but she pulled herself together quickly. Back to business, she returned to the first aid kit and continued her ministrations. Your mind was endlessly turning.

“I wonder why they didn’t finish,” you suddenly said softly.

“Mmm,” Carol hummed, nodding, tossing down another soiled gauze pad and reaching for a new one. “They must have gotten interrupted. Maybe heard someone in that part of the building.”

Your eyes lifted and met hers. She paused at the expression on your face. “Do you think they were going to kill me? Leave me there with—with this cut into me to make a statement?”

Carol’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone flat. Your question had been asked matter-of-factly and Carol was suddenly reminded of all you had gone through in the war and even before any of them had met you, when you’d just been a stranger with a mysterious backstory. “But obviously they knew they couldn’t take you in a fair fight. Fucking cowards,” she growled. “Had to ambush you to even have a chance.”

You sighed, shaking your head again, your eyes dropping to your hands. “They sure beat the shit out of me though,” you mused aloud. “It’s probably good Daryl isn’t here. He’d lose it,” you said, fiddling with another gauze pad which Carol took out of your hands and taped down over the now cleaned cuts below your collarbone.

She cleared her throat. “About that…”

You met her blue eyes again. “You radioed him? He’s probably way out of range by now. He’s probably already in Hilltop,” you said.

“Rosita rode out on the quad immediately to get within range. Eugene is doing a headcount as we speak to see who, if anyone, is missing…”

Another wry laugh left you and you nodded. “That’s why you took so long. And I just thought you couldn’t find the damn kit,” you said, shooting her a look, tears burning in your eyes. “Daryl is gonna go on a rampage,” you said softly.

Carol nodded. “Probably. But he should be here with you. And if I didn’t radio him, I’d be on the receiving end of that rampage. And I think we should focus it on the assholes that did this to you instead.”

You nodded and a sob tried to burst out of you. You suppressed it as best you could and it came out as a hitched breath. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little strained.

Carol quickly grabbed you into a hug again. “Everything is going to be okay. Daryl will be here soon and we will figure this out.”

You hugged her back and nodded into her shoulder, grateful again for your found family.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was there in an hour, stomping through The Sanctuary with Eugene at his heels, mostly ignoring the stream of words out of the mullet-headed Texan’s mouth. Rosita finally grabbed Eugene’s arm and stopped him, clearly realizing Daryl wasn’t hearing a word of it, didn’t give a shit about anything but going to see you. He was at the door of the little room the two of you had shared before anyone could come to tell you he’d arrived.

Daryl froze and made himself knock lightly, rather than barely in. The last thing he wanted was to startle you. His stomach turned as he waited to hear your voice on the other side, inviting him in. “S’me,” he drawled, the jittery feeling that permeated his body translating to an ever-so-slight tremble in his voice.

You sat up in bed. “Come in,” you said hurriedly, already feeling the tears burning in your eyes again. You were in clean clothes now and thoroughly patched up thanks to Carol, but that wasn’t going to change how rough you looked and how hard it was going to be for Daryl to see it.

The door opened slowly, measuredly, and he took shape in the doorway. He froze for only a split second as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the swelling and already deep purple bruises. Then he rushed to you and hugged you in against him gently. That was all it took for you to go to pieces against him, clinging to his leather jacket. “Jesus, what the hell did they do to ya? ‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry I wasn’t here. I shouldn’ta left ya. ‘M so sorry, babe. I shoulda been here,” he said into your hair, kissing you on the top of the head, holding you gently so he wouldn’t hurt you but firmly so you knew you were safe.

You sniffled and mopped the tears from your cheeks as he clasped your face and brushed your hair back. “Don’t—don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” you said, looking up into his blue eyes. They were stormy and turbulent. “You couldn’t know…”

“Lemme see ya,” he said, looking you over. His heart ached as you showed him the bruising on your stomach and ribs. “Sit back. Rest,” he said, climbing into bed beside you where you were propped up against the headboard and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You tucked in against him. He left a kiss in your hair again.

“Did—did Rosita tell you what they—that—”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell me anything specific except that some assholes had hurt ya bad, beat ya up, and that I needed to get back here,” he said. “Tell me what?” His stomach churned around a hard knot. His mind began inventing all kinds of horrific scenarios immediately. What did you mean?

You could see him whirling and quickly tried to explain. “I was unconscious but—” Your hand landed on the gauze pad taped over the wounds below your collarbone. His eyes flitted down to it. “They used a knife and—” You couldn’t get any more words out so you simply lifted the bandage to show him, gingerly peeling back the medical tape and bandaging. Daryl froze completely. Every part of him stilled. He stared at the brutality someone had inflicted on you and hot rage boiled inside him. More tears leaked out onto your cheeks as you saw what it was doing to him to see that on you. You hastily covered it back up.

He softened again, coming back to himself, letting his anger flow away, and wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs. “Hey—it don’t matter to me what they—how they marked ya like that. Ya know that, right? Ya got every right to feel however ya feel ‘bout it. Ya do. But to me—” He shook his head. “It don’t matter, okay? I just see you. It’s all gonna be alrigh’.”

You collapsed into him again, finally letting yourself completely break down, wondering how the fuck you’d gotten so lucky as to find this man. He held you against his chest, his strong arms securely around you. He could feel the bump on the back of your head where they’d hit you. He could feel the swelling on your face and under your clothes, and he internally yelled at himself for leaving you behind, even if it was only supposed to be for a couple days, even though no one would have guessed that anything like this would happen, even though he knew how strong and capable you were. “‘M so sorry,” he murmured again. “I shouldn’t have left ya here… here of all places, with them.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’m gonna track down every one of these assholes and put ‘em in the fuckin’ ground,” he growled.

You couldn’t stand him blaming himself and you pulled yourself together. “It’s not your fault, Daryl. And—maybe… maybe I should have known something like this could happen…”

His brow furrowed. “What do ya mean?” He took a beat, his heart seemingly suspended somewhere in a gaping space that had opened in his chest. “Did somethin’ happen before this?”

You bit your bottom lip, your eyes still glassy. “No. No, not exactly. Nothing happened. I mean, people have—said things to me before. Made comments. I just—”

Daryl frowned, his brow heavy over his eyes, casting them in a deep shadow. “Like what? What kinda comments?”

You sighed and turned to face him more fully. You rested your hands on his sides. “Just—little shitty things. Because of what I’d been here,” you explained. “As Negan’s wife…”

Daryl was boiling again inside with anger. “Ya weren’t ever his wife,” he said. “That word means somethin’ else.” Your fingers went to touch the wedding band on your ring finger, the one Daryl had made with his own hands and given to you.

“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly. “I just wrote them off and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be a big deal and I knew how upset you’d get. It just felt like shitty people being shitty at the time. Mostly…”

“Mostly,” he growled.

“I never thought anything like this would happen. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

Daryl sighed and ducked his head, running his hands gently up and down the soft bare skin on your arms, marred with bruises and abrasions. “Don’t apologize. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wrong. I get why ya didn’t tell me… and yer righ’. I woulda beat the shit out of anybody sayin’ or doin’ anythin’ like that to ya. But tha’s my job. I wanna protect you.”

“I know,” you said. “We’ve just had so much on our plate here. I didn’t want to add something else. And I never thought—I didn’t think—” You grimaced as a wave of pain and dizziness hit you.

“I know. I know. Hey—it’s okay. We’ve talked ‘bout this enough. Ya need to rest. ‘M here now. S’okay.”

“I am really tired,” you agreed, shutting your eyes and waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass.

He clasped your face again, his eyes flickering from this injury to that, and then he kissed your swollen lips as gently as he could. You managed to give him an overwhelmed, somewhat sad smile which he returned. “C’mon. Let’s lay down.”

Daryl helped you settle down on the mattress and fitted himself beside you. You tucked yourself against his body, breathed in his smell and safety, and shut your eyes. His fingers brushed through your hair, reassuring and grounding.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning Daryl was awake early while you slept on. He carefully, ever so slowly slipped out of bed and pulled a change of clothes on. He snuck out and headed to find Carol, Eugene, and Rosita.

He spotted Eugene first and nudged his head up in a nod as a greeting. “Well, what d’ya got to tell me?” Daryl asked hurriedly.

“We were short five of the former Saviors at the headcount last night, and five again this mornin’. Carol and Rosita have been questionin’ people all night. We don’t think anyone here knew anything about it. They weren’t exactly gentle with their lines of inquiry.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’. As I thought then... Cowards took off right afterwards.”

“Indeed. I suspect they knew Justice’s hammer would fall hard and swift on them once their atrocious deed was discovered,” Eugene agreed. “No way to know now where they’re headed.”

Daryl sighed. “Hopefully righ’ into a fuckin’ herd of walkers,” he drawled. “Alrigh’. Well, we need to send out runners to get word out to The Kingdom and Alexandria so ev’rybody can watch out for those pieces of shit... Y/N and I will take news to Hilltop today, and keep our eyes open for any sign of ‘em on the way. If I get sight of ‘em, I’mma strangle ‘em with my bare fuckin’ hands…” He sighed again, even more heavily this time. “Thanks. For everythin’ ya’ll did last night.”

“Of course,” Eugene said sincerely. “How is her condition today?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head. “She’s still asleep. She was exhausted. ‘M gonna get back up there. I dun want her wakin’ up here alone and ‘m still afraid there could be somebody in here—” he hesitated to speak his fear lest it become real. “She’ll be alrigh’. She’s tough. But she was shaken up pretty good and I can’t believe how bad they beat her up... and what they did,” he said vaguely, referring to the letterds on your skin. “But she’ll be okay.” He patted Eugene on the shoulder gratefully and headed straight back to you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

With hasty goodbyes and thank you’s to your close, chosen family, still at The Sanctuary you departed for Hilltop on the back of Daryl’s bike. You held extra tightly to him the whole way, and often his right hand left the handlebars to smooth over yours for a moment. The Sanctuary shrank smaller and smaller behind you and then disappeared into a cloud of dust. Neither of you knew it at the time, but you’d never come to that place again while it was a semi-functional community. It would be only ruins when you sheltered there during the storm eight years after the war.

On arriving at Hilltop, Maggie threw her arms around you and tears of shock filled her eyes when she saw your bruised and swollen face. Enid insisted on checking you over again, but gave you the all clear after much expressed anger and concern. Maggie quickly carved out a space for you and Daryl to stay, close to the room she shared with baby Hershel in the big house up on the hill.

Your body had stiffened overnight and on the bike ride. Every movement caused aches and pains to shoot through you and Daryl was attentive and worried as you settled into your new home. When you settled into bed at first, Daryl kissed every part of you where he could see a bruise or injury. His fingers were light and gentle on your skin, and you were amazed as you always were that he could be so soft when he was so strong. Finally, the sun sank below the horizon and you were again laying side by side, your head tucked up under his chin, listening to the whoosh of air in his lungs and his steady heartbeat.

“I had an idea,” you said softly, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Maybe when I’m all healed up, if—if it scars bad, I can get someone to do a tattoo over it to cover it up.”

Daryl smiled. You were already thinking ahead to the future, thinking of solutions. That was a good sign. He hugged you more tightly against him. “What would ya get?”

“I don’t know. Something pretty… to cover up something so ugly,” you mused aloud. “Like, there are these flowers that only bloom once in their lifetime and it can take decades to happen.”

“Nah, tha’s no good,” Daryl said quickly.

“What? Why?” you asked, looking up at him with surprise from beneath your lashes.

“It don’t fit ya. Yer bloomin’ all the time. Every day. Ya always have been, even when ya couldn’t see it,” he drawled. He pressed a kiss softly to your forehead.

You smiled at him sleepily.

“Was that too cheesy?” he asked with a gruff laugh.

“No. It was just the right amount,” you said. “Okay… maybe I’ll just get ‘Property of Daryl Dixon’,” you joked.

“No good. Ya ain’t nobody’s property. Ya belong only to yerself. ‘M just lucky that you share with me,” he said, his fingertips tracing vague shapes on the bare skin of your hip, exposed from the way your shirt had draped.

You sighed and nuzzled in against his neck. “I was only kidding,” you said, closing your eyes.

“I know. But it’s true.”

You yawned. “Maybe. But I do also belong to you, by my choice. I have since that night you fell through that rotten floor,” you said with a laugh. Daryl’s chest moved as he joined you with a low chuckle. In another minute, you were asleep. Daryl whispered ‘I love you’ into your hair, and shut his eyes too.

He meant what he’d said—he’d find whoever had hurt you and end them if he could, but after that, he wouldn’t allow the shadow of the past to dim another day. He’d walk with you forward, facing the sun in the same way you’d been doing together since the end of the war. And he hoped this time all of it, all the Saviors, The Sanctuary, the fear and pain, was really behind both of you.

[lunaroserites]

Art and Ice - Doodle

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: MC asks Bucky to be her focus on her project.

This might a 2 or 3 parter (it's gonna be more because cannot help myself). College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that trope and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Bucky is a playboy. Fighting.

Word Court: 2770

Likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, without my express permission, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

Catch up here: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 ❤️

“You think I can just say fuck it and drop out?” The words tumbled out of your mouth quickly as you walked with Nat toward the arena. Practice was in the afternoon today because there was a game tonight. According to Nat our rival team would be here later to do some warm up before the game tonight. 

“Seriously?” She raised a manicured brow at you. 

“Maybe Pietro was right. I should be a drama major,” you whispered, mostly to yourself. You knew you were being over dramatic about the ordeal, but Barnes was an egotistical jerk and he was going to make this project hell. Was that a pessimistic take on it? Maybe. Were you wrong? Probably not. 

You pulled your school hoodie tighter, winter's grasp was holding on tight this year. The wind nipped at your nose and cheeks as you both made your way into the arena. Once inside the main doors heat blasted at you, you rubbed your arms with your hands and looked at Nat who was doing the same. 

“You are dramatic. But it’s gonna be fine,” her confidence almost made you believe her. Originally you were just going to wait and ask him outside the arena, in hopes maybe his cocky, surefire attitude would be on the back burner. But Nat said practice was amping up now as the season drew closer to playoffs and the team would be traveling a lot more. Nat led us to our seats next to the bench, another woman was sitting there already. 

“Peggy!” Nat said cheerfully, as she sat down next to her. 

“Natasha!” she said cheerfully back. “Who’s this?” She smiled at you. You waved and introduced yourself.

“Oh you’re the one doing the art project? Steve mentioned it,” she asked. 

You nodded, “news travels fast?” you laugh a little weirded out how she already knew. 

“Hockey players gossip worse than fishermen wives in the locker room...”

“And out of it,” Nat added with a laugh, Peggy chuckled as well.

 “And Barnes can’t shut up about the fact you drew him,” Peggy said with an eyeroll. Right, you thought. Peggy probably spent a decent time around him, since Steve and him were best friends, from your understanding it was rare to see one without the other. 

“I’m not surprised,” you chuckled, looking down at your sketchpad. The night before you stayed up and watched videos of Barnes’ best plays and a couple of his interviews. There were some very detailed pictures of his face there. You quickly turned to a black page so Nat wouldn’t see it and poke fun. When you found a muse, it was hard for you to focus on anything but it. You could feel the hole you were digging getting bigger and bigger. 

“Fuck,” you glared at Barnes as he slammed into the glass in front of you, startling you. He had his helmet lifted and he was giving you a bright and flirty smile. You raised an eyebrow at him and shook your head, uninterested in his antics. He slipped his helmet down and pushed back, skating backwards, he moved so fluidly, you couldn’t help but pay attention. 

“Oi! Barnes. Pay attention,” someone snapped, you looked towards the voice and stared for a moment. 

“Coach Fury,” Nat said to you, “the only person that can get Barnes to pay attention besides Steve,” she finished. You nodded before looking back at the players. Your eyes were drawn to a smaller player, he wore a 12 on his back, Stark. He had been in one of your business classes you took in your second semester. He was an interesting guy, cocky and arrogant, he also came from money. His father was the owner of Stark Industries. He was speeding up and down the ice with ease. 

“12, he's fast,” you murmured to Nat, who nodded.

“He broke a record last year, his size makes it easier for him to zoom around,” Nat answered as she looked down at my paper, “Barnes really has your eye doesn’t he, this is like the Hela thing all over again,” she chuckled.  

“Yeah,” you blushed deeply and looked back down at your paper. You really wished one of the other teammates caught your attention, if Clint did this would be much simpler. But of of course the school hot shot had to be one to catch your eye.

“Hey,” Nat lifted your chin and made you look at her. “It’s fine, muses come and go. That’s how art is,” she smiled, that was one thing you loved about Nat, she never questioned or made fun of your muses or how ridiculous an idea you had was when it came to your art. She would poke fun, and make silly jokes, but nothing harmful. Just good natured fun. Her support was unwavering and true. 

Nat was a dancer, she was studying dance and dance theory. That’s how you two met, you accidently stumbled into one of the dance studios after hours instead of the art room. She was there practicing, and made small talk with you. You ended up just sitting on the dance room floor and working on your project talking with her as she practiced. 

“You know what’s funny, I didn’t think about dance for this project,” you chuckled after you relaxed a little. Nat’s face broke into a wide smile. 

“It would be the same as Pietro and the track team, but at least we look cute in our dance attire,” she mused lightly. You laughed loudly at her comment. 

“You really hate those track uniforms,” you shook your head as you chuckled some more. Clint zipped passed a moment later and Nat‘s eye followed him like a magnet. “Goodness, you’re so in love, it’s sickening,” you mused, she pushed your shoulder playfully. 

“How long have you two known one another?” Peggy asked. 

“Since first semester,” you answered her with a smile. 

“You guys are such good friends, I would have expected childhood bestfriends,” Peggy said, as she smiled at Steve who skated by. 

“We just clicked,” you shrugged, returning to your sketchpad. 

Practice drew to a close a little while later and you followed behind Nat and Peggy as they made their way back toward the locker room. There were a few girls, including Pepper Potts, Starks on again/off again girlfriend. Every other week Nat would be talking about it. The girl Bucky had on his arm last time was missing from the group of girls waiting for the players to leave the locker room. First out was Clint, and he made a beeline for Nat, instantly pulling her into a hug and pressing his nose into her neck, she squealed a little as his cold nose made contact with her skin.

Peggy excused herself to go wait by the door for Steve who emerged with Barnes a moment later. She whispered something in Steve’s ear and pointed over at you with a smile. Steve nodded and waved with a small smile of his own. Barnes followed his gaze and instantly he perked up when he noticed you. He swaggered toward you, past the gaggle of girls waiting to try and get his attention, you noticed a couple of them glare in your direction. You stood with your arms crossed over your chest, sketch book tucked against your side. You looked up at him as he came up to you making a complete stop a foot in front of you. He really didn’t care about personal space, you took one step back so you didn't have to crane your neck as much to look him in the face.

“And what do I owe the pleasure today Doodle,” you cocked an eyebrow at the nickname, and squinted slightly. The nickname didn’t make you scrunch your nose or want to gag so it wasn’t the worst. You sighed heavily and danced on the balls of your feet for a moment. He just stared, watching you intently, a dumb cocky smirk plastered on his face. 

“Would you let me draw you for my art project?” You asked, you wished the weight bearing down on your shoulders lifted but it didn’t. You dreaded the thought of spending more time with this menace of a man. His lip twitched further upward and showed some of his perfect white teeth. 

“Ah Doodle, I thought you'd never ask,” he ruffled your hair with one of his big hands. You groaned and moved your head from him and tried to fix your hair. 

“Don’t touch me, please,” you said sternly. “I just need permission to draw you and use your likeness.” 

“Ah don’t be like that,” he moved forward and you stepped backwards and to the right, dodging him. He huffed in annoyance and you stared at him with your arms crossed again and slight scowl. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked, finally standing upright, his own arms crossed across his broad chest. 

“Seats are sold out besides the reserved seats for team partners,” you stated, “so no not tonight.”  

“There's always a seat reserved for my girl, you can have that one,” he stated matter of factly. 

“I’m not your girl,” you said back firmly. “This whole thing is for my art project,” you moved your hand jestering to both of you, “it ends once my project is done.” 

You couldn’t quite place the look on his face after you said that, but you could pick up the small look of challenge in his eyes. It seemed he was making this game, like he was contemplating how long it would be before you would cave and give him what he wanted. Another notch in his bed post. From what you could tell based on his body language alone he was not used to being rejected. Women usually flaunted over him and fell in his lap, all he had to do was choose who he wanted at that moment. Your determination to not be one of those girls was considered a challenge to him, met head on with stubborn determination to break you down and get what he wanted in the end. That made your stomach twist at the thought, he only wanted to do this to sleep with you, have some fun and then dump you off on Loki’s lap heart broken. 

You shook your head, lost in your own thoughts. Barnes was still looking at you, a contemplative look on his face. He had his chin in his hand as he rubbed it, “this will be fun, see you tonight Doodle.” You glared at him as he walked away, twirling his keys around his finger. 

“Jerk,” you said softly to yourself before you made your way over to Nat and Clint. 

“Well that went better than I expected,” Nat said quietly as the three of you left the rink until you had to be back later. 

A sleek black car was parked at the curb, you waved goodbye to Nat and Clint as you ran over to the car and slid into the passenger seat, you rolled the window down and shouted “goodbye! See you later,” Nat waved and they continued walking. 

“Hey Loki!” You said cheerfully. 

“Hello darling, I take it asking Barnes went well?” He asked as he put the car in drive and pulled out from the curb. 

“It went alright. The cocky bastard,” you clipped your belt in place and turned your head to look at Loki fully. “He’s already flirting with me,” you shook your head in annoyance. 

“At least he has good taste darling,” Loki said sweetly as we sped down the freeway into town to have an early dinner.

“Have fun darling,” Loki shouted out the open window of the car as he dropped you off at the arena. You turned back and gave him an unamused smile and flipped him off. 

“Yeah, fuck you,” you said with a slight laugh and turned away, waving, “love you dork,” you said over your shoulder. Nat was waiting just inside the arena for you and led you to your seats. 

“So one of the perks of dating hockey players? Free seats?” You mused sitting down next to her, the arena was still pretty empty as the game didn’t start for 45 minutes. 

“One of them,” she chuckled. Warm ups started and Clint stopped for a moment in front of us and lifted his helmet.

“Hey girls,” he said with a smile before darting off to warm up. 

“Looks like Barnes just noticed us,” Nat said as he skated over. 

“He had me clocked from the parking lot,” you grumbled. Nat laughed loudly and placed her hand on your shoulder wiping a tear from her eye. 

“You’re not wrong,” she said between giggles. Barnes skated forward and came to stop sending glittering flecks of shaved ice toward the glass. 

“Nat, Doodle, how's my new favourite girl?” He asked with a cocky smile. You rolled your eyes, and placed your cheek on your hand as you looked at him with a deadpan expression, Nat smirked next to you. You watched as Barnes ran his tongue over his teeth, he then winked and skated off to join warm ups. 

“Do the woman he dates actually like that attitude?” You mused absently as you doodled on the open page of your sketchbook. Nat shrugged.

“Honestly, they’re probably more interested in his looks, and don’t care about anything else. That or the potential paycheck he’ll be earning if they can tie him down long enough,” She said softly. Your gut twisted uncomfortably at that, and you grimaced. Sure the guy was an arrogant prick, but he deserved better than that. Nat noticed your facial expression and nodded. “It’s not really fair, there's moments when he’s more than the arrogant show off, he’s pretty sweet. I think he’s just gotten used to hiding it; he doesn't bother being anything else.” 

“Be what they expect of you and no one will question it,” you hummed. You mindless doodles turned into a simple sketch of his face. You admired the sharpness of his jaw, his mouth set in a soft line that was slightly upturned.  

The game started, and you were too focused on watching Barnes skate to really watch the game. Not that you really understood the sport enough to really understand what was happening in front of you. First intermission passed and they were half through the second period when a black punk landed on your sketch pad. It startled you and your head shot up and you meant Barnes eyes. Nat was giggling next to you as you picked the offending puck up and handed it to the kid sitting behind you, who happened to be wearing a Barnes jersey. The kids day was made and Barnes’ narrowed his eyes at you. You smirked back in return and went back to drawing. 

The crowd erupted in loud chants as Barnes scored with less than a second left in the third period, winning the game for your college. You watched as Barnes skated around celebrating his goal only for the captain of the other team to get up in his face. You tensed up as you watched the guy push Barnes shoulders and then grab his protective gear getting in his face. 

So the rest of the team came to investigate and there was an all out brawl on the ice right in front of you. You stood up and looked down. Barnes was on top of the captain, his fist raised and he was breathing heavily. 

“Bucky,” his name left your lips before you could stop it and he had to have heard you because his face tilted in your direction for a fraction of a second and the captain took that as an opportunity to flip Barnes over and bring a hard fist down on the bridge of his nose. You shrieked as blood gushed out of Barnes’ nose. Nat was standing next to you as you both watched in horror. 

You turned your head and saw your college coach hopping the bench and helping refs break it up. Steve hauled the other team's captain off his best friend and shoved him into the arms of other teammates who pulled him further away. Steve helped Barnes up and took his face in his hands, Barnes just gave him a dopey smile. His gaze turned to you for a moment and he smiled a bigger smile.  You looked at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape, horrified. 

The captain of the other team didn’t look like he fared much better. He was bloody and his eye was swelling shut with each passing second. Coach Fury looked pissed, and was stalking over to the other teams coach for a few words, a ref following close behind.

Taglist: @vicmc624, @calwitch, @learisa, @aaqua-tofana

Feel free you send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list <3

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 4.2

Having Paul talking about following his artistic muse and deciding not to care what other people think paired with the insanity of McCartney 2 is fantastic. 

I sincerely hope those 20K words that Paul wrote for his posterity about his time in jail are published some day. 

He looks so pretty in this interview!

John and Sean are so cute! 

“Nobody Knows” is about secretly hooking up with John, obviously. But “that includes you, honey!” Is that at Linda?? Don't do that to your mother, Paul. 

The only scenario in which I  support a hypothetical JP sexual/romantic relationship in the 70s is that hypothetically no wives were harmed in the making of this hypothetical. 

Not the cut from “Coming Up” to “Probably the thing that John and I will do . . .” to John's self interview about bisexuality and Paul and life begins at forty back to Coming Up interspersed with footage of happy JP to John getting out a guitar to record a demo! 

And the demo is (Just Like) Starting Over. Just bury me already. 

Another lyrical reference I didn't catch in the demo version: “it's easy.” Sung very similarly to how he sang it in All You Need is Love. 

John comparing them to brothers (Everly) and a marriage (Goffin and King) in the same sentence. And he's right, too.

I love the interviewer being so skeptical of John and how dismissive he is of Paul in this interview and how he can't get his story straight on when the last time he'd seen Paul was. More women should've interviewed him.

How I imagine it went. Interviewer: hi John are you ready to -- John: did you know I never think about Paul anymore unless somebody brings him up? Interviewer: but I didn't – John: yeah he used to show up at my door with a guitar and I told him to go away. Interviewer: ooookaaay? 

Cutie! I love John so much.

“If I was dead, they wouldn't be angry with me. If I'd conveniently died in the mid seventies after Rock and Roll album or Walls and Bridges (((everybody loves you when you're six feet in the ground))), they'd all be writing this worshipful stuff about what a great guy.” It hurts to hear and it hurts that he was exactly right. 

I don't care what John and Yoko say, manifesting is just another capitalist lie to keep the proletariat complacent. 

“The only one who can control me is me and that's just barely possible.” It's one of those John quotes that's so silly and cute and also entirely relatable. He really had a way of capturing the human condition. 

“Nobody ever said anything about Paul having a spell over me when I was with him for a long time! Or me having a spell over Paul! They didn't think that was abnormal, two guys together.” Yeah, John, they definitely did and they made fun of it and tried to poke holes in it, or have you forgotten?

“Or four guys together.” Yeah. George and Ringo were in the Beatles too.

“In those days? Why didn't anybody ever say ‘How come those guys don't split up?” You're joking, right John? 

The video/audio pairing here though! You mean ‘what's going on under the table?’

Love John getting pissed that nobody asked him, “What is that Paul and John business?” RIP John, you would've loved Beatles Tumblr.

[4izawas]

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “soon, i will make you my wife,” he promises softly, holding her hands to his chest, and y/n looks up at him with eyes that reflect a million stars as she smiles.

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: avatar ( 2009/2022 ) | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: tonowari/fem!reader, background ronal/tonowari, past neteyam/fem!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 4.19k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: age gap, soft dom tonowari, mentioned past bottom tonowari, romance-oriented, reader is besties w neteyam ( they’ve had some sexytimes tho so besties w benefits real ), bi neteyam supremacy, bi reader too bitch, cockwarming, previously established relationship, secret to not-so-secret relationship, reader and neteyam are twenty, canon divergent world building ( metkayina olo’eyktans commonly have multiple wives, etc ), jealousy.

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

“fuck, i’ve wanted you all day.”

tonowari’s voice, low and thick with arousal, is muffled as he mouths along the line of y/n’s collarbone, a breathy smile quirking up her lips as she reaches up to cup the back of his head, cradling it as he laves her skin with attention. 

“i could tell,” she murmurs, tipping her head back ever so slightly to give him more places to kiss. 

“yeah? ‘s that why you were all over that damn boy?” he grumbles against her flesh, and she laughs softly and relaxes further in his hold as he shifts a little, his length buried oh-so-sweetly inside shifting with him. the fullness that came with it only further calmed her; goddess above, she wished this would never end. 

“you’re always so jealous of neteyam, aren’t you?” she asks quietly, taking a lock of his hair in hand and beginning to quickly braid it as she’d done time and time again with her best friend and his younger siblings and parents. the act cemented bonds and love between na’vi in omaticayan culture, and tonowari only tipping his head closer so she wouldn’t have to stretch as much made her smile. 

tonowari growls out a low, “he’s laid with you many times before — you’ve said so yourself,” and y/n scoffs and lets go of the half started braid to hold it in one hand as the other rubs at his cheek fondly. 

“and you’ve fucked ronal enough to sire two children with a third on the way,” she  retorts, then hums thoughtfully as she begins braiding with his hair again. “although i can’t really fault you for it; if i was married to ronal and had the means, we would have a handful of children as well.” this makes him smile.  

“it makes me happy that you are still attracted to my wife despite the way she’s treated you this far,” he murmurs, nuzzling against her as his former  jealousy is left forgotten. 

“she is your first wife, jealousy is to be expected,” y/n muses, then chuckles. “and hopefully i can find ways to… appease the disliking she has for me.”

tonowari’s eyes twinkle. “i don’t doubt you’ll manage to get your way,” he says honestly, and y/n chuckles quietly before letting the untied braid disappear into the rest of his curls as she settles against his chest. they sit together like this for a while, resting as one beneath a high blanket of stars and moons granted to them by the great mother. y/n hums softly, taking one of tonowari’s large hands into both of her own, and he gazes down at her fondly as she toys with his fingers. 

“i’ll have to return soon, you know,” she finally says, breaking the comfortable silence, and tonowari sighs. 

“must you? surely i could just tug you along to my marui.”

y/n laughs. “no. neteyam waits for me at the shores, practicing for the dives he is to go on — just as ronal waits for you within the marui you so lazily just mentioned.”

tonowari  sighs, but nods in agreement. “yes, you’re right,” he mumbles quietly, nuzzling against her gently before carefully helping the two of them part and begin to make themselves decent again. 

as y/n finishes tying the top that she’d made a fortnight prior, tonowari takes her hands in his own. “soon, i will make you my wife,” he promises softly, holding her hands to his chest, and y/n looks up at him with eyes that reflect a million stars as she smiles. 

“keep this promise, and i will bear you half a dozen sons,” she sighs, and he laughs. 

“i need no more children as long as i have you,” he replies, a warm look in his eye as he reaches a hand up to cup her cheek. “tomorrow night, you and i will bond for life — if you will have me.”

y/n gazes up at him, pleased, and nods once, then the two go their separate ways. 

“hey, uh, y/n — where were you and neteyam last night?”

the sudden question, sprung on her by her best friend’s younger brother lo’ak, had the elder na’vi woman tensing. neteyam cuts his eyes at her from the side, his tail swishing over to rest on top of hers for a slight second before moving back, and she chuckles a little before returning to cutting up the fruit she was handing out, giving the first piece ( completely rid of the bitter peel ) to a whining, oblivious tuk, who accepts it excitedly. 

“why were you awake so late, lo’ak?” she retorts good naturedly, neteyam smiling softly in amusement by her side as he also resumes his work on descaling one of the fish he’d caught that morning when meeting up with y/n on her return from her escapade. he’d been practicing his breathing techniques all night — and unlike his brother, he knew exactly what y/n had been doing. she’d never been too shy about sharing — not with him. 

“i asked you first,” lo’ak replies, and y/n raises an eyebrow. 

“i asked you second. plus i’m older than you,” she says simply, pulling a full grin from her best friend as he cast the scales in his hand onto a large leaf he had resting to the side of him that y/n wasn't occupying ( as usual ).

lo’ak pouts playfully, a smile he was fighting off making the corners of his mouth twitch. he clearly wants to keep asking about it, nosy as ever, and kiri is also about to say something as y/n hands her her own large cut of fruit, but they both drop the subject when jake exits the marui not too far away with neytiri following closely. none of them wanted to see how they’d blow the adult na’vi slipping out of their new home in the middle of the night out of proportion. 

“morning, kids!” jake greets warmly, tail swishing happily behind him, and neytiri echoes the sentiment while kissing the top of tuk’s head. neteyam and y/n share a look, unable to understand how both his father and his mother were always so damn cheery in the mornings when they always felt like death; their own mornings typically included hisses and growls shot between the two of them directed at one another, with the occasional nip or full-on bite being shared. 

jake and neytiri take their places in the messy circle made up by the little group, leaning against one another fondly. jake graciously accepts the fruit offered by y/n once kiri and lo’ak get their own large hunks of the fruit, tipping his head in appreciation and thanks as he gently takes it from her and begins to eat, neytiri being offered the next piece. soft conversation starts as everyone eats what they’ve been given and y/n cuts neteyam his own piece, holding it up to him while continuing to cut one handed so he can also eat while he continues preparing fish. he takes a bite, bumping his nose against her knuckles in thanks as he chews, and the two loop their tails together fondly as they return to work. neytiri and jake share a look between themselves, both smiling at the sight. they were so, so sure that they’d find the two had disappeared and then returned mated sometime soon — and they were so excited for it! y/n had been a constant fixture in their lives for so long now, having been best friends with neteyam since the two were still learning to crawl. she’d melded perfectly with their family over the last twenty years, she and neteyam were thick as thieves, and neytiri had been so excited to see what she would do as tsahik before they’d had to flee. now she would not be tsahik, just as neteyam would not be olo’eyktan, but they were still more than anticipating the eventual official welcome into their family ( as well as the grandchildren that would follow ).

in their distraction with one another, they miss the way y/n’s eyes and ears flick towards the passing chief of the metkayina, the large male looking at her as well through the corner of his eye as he passes while making rounds of the village as he did every morning. she raises an eyebrow and he obviously fights off a slight smile before carrying on on his way. neteyam, watching all of this in amusement, uncurls his tail from hers and slaps her on the back with it gently, regaining her attention as she turns to smack him back and  start squabbling with him through a smile of her own. 

his parents and siblings, oblivious as ever, just hide their smiles and laughter as they watch the two. 

the work day begins after that, neteyam and y/n make their way through the village doing the tasks assigned to them with relative ease and swiftness, much to the pleasure of the metkayina and their leaders. the two had taken to ocean life and works with ease, working hard and long to earn their keep all day long. 

their tails, linked as always, keep them from losing each other as they travel through the busy epicenter of the village, a place teeming with children and expecting mothers and the elderly and sickly as well as other working na’vi, and neither pay attention to the occasional stares they get for it. 

“so… gonna tell me more about your little adventure last night?” he murmurs into her ear as they sit down at a more private spot with all of the seagrass, reeds, and other things that they’d be hand weaving into baskets and braiding into nets today. 

y/n laughs softly, a twinkle in her eye that neteyam was excited to see ( it had been so long, after all ). “how much do you want to know?” she asks quietly, taking a few reeds and stripping them to get the stringy insides, her fingers flying as she begins braiding them as easily as she braided neteyam’s hair. 

“skxawng — you know i want you to tell me everything,” he snaps through a grin. “you got fucked by the metkayina olo’eyktan, and this seduction of yours has been months in the making. don’t be so cruel as to keep secrets from me.”

y/n is quiet for a while, thinking about what he said, before replying with a, “well, it was more like i fucked him,” that has neteyam’s jaw dropping around a wild smile. 

“you topped him?!” he hisses, laughing a little, and y/n grins back as she shrugs. 

“i don’t kiss and tell,” she says in mock-snootiness, and he scoffs and bumps her with his shoulder. 

“liar, you’ve told me how all your lovers’ cum tasted, tell me how it was,” he retorts, ignoring her hiss for him to lower his voice as she giggles a little. 

“it was…” she sighs. “god, neteyam, it was so good.” he raises an eyebrow and waits for her to continue, which she does. “he was so attentive and sweet — nothing like the bumbling omaticaya boys, and he knew how to eat it unlike most of the omaticaya girls and boys.”

neteyam grins. “so you’re saying… this is a man,” he says, and y/n swats at him through a grin of her own before giggling deviously. 

“one could say that it’s two men,” she purrs, and neteyam’s eyes widen. 

“it’s that big?!” he hisses, and she nods wildly with a wide smile. the two fall apart in the revelation she shared, tossing opinions back and forth, including thoughts of ronal; neither were unfamiliar with partners of the same sex, and both had been a part of a group of na’vi seeking pleasure more than once, always groups including both of them. neteyam knew what y/n liked, had seen her go for it in person multiple times, and from what both had murmured about in the dark ( even during times the two had fucked here in awa’atlu before y/n had really set her sights on tonowari and his wife ) he knew that she more than liked what she saw when gazing at the olo’eyktan and tsahik. 

“god, ‘teyam, i came four times,” y/n groans, covering her face for a second, and neteyam’s eyes widened. 

“you were only gone for an hour!” he cries quietly; both notice when ronal enters the center area of the village and that she’s watching them, but act as if they don’t notice the glares sent y/n’s way by the tsahik in favor of continuing their conversation. “we went out together to practice and then you caught his scent and ditched me —goddess above, it must have been good.  is that why you came back on such shaky legs?”

“you have no idea,” y/n murrs, leaning against him fondly. “he’s one of the best i’ve ever had. i mean it.”

neteyam looks impressed. “damn,” he replies, “you better fucking lock that down.”

y/n giggles. “do you not see the way ronal is looking at me?” she asks warmly, and neteyam scoffs. 

“she always looks at you like that, she hates you,” he retorts, and it was true; while it was a known metkayina custom for their olo’eyktan to take on more than one partner and/or mate, tonowari and ronal’s relationship was well known as he had stayed with her and her alone for just over twenty years now. “you better go down on her like you did irta’ne back home.” y/n rolls her eyes.

“tonowari and i have been meeting more than just last night,” she says ( as if neteyam doesn’t already know ). “we’ve had many conversations, learned much about each other. last night we only wished to press further — and once we were done, he promised that tonight we would make tsaheylu and confirm our relationship, that i would become his wife.” this bit of information surprises neteyam; he’d obviously known that the two had been meeting up, and that the two had been engaging in sexual pleasure with each other for the last three or so months, but this? this was new. y/n had never entertained the thought of mating before with anyone but him ( they’d sworn that if they both were still unmated by the time they turned thirty that they’d bond with each other when they’d passed their iknimaya back home ); this was big. he opens his mouth to comment on it, but y/n isn’t finished. “he told me that he’d told ronal of his intentions already. that’s why she’s been avoiding us as best she can.”

“and as usual, i’m being punished by association,” neteyam groans playfully, laughing a little when y/n pushes him slightly, only to get serious. “really though, i am happy for you — this is really important. i know you’ve been hesitant about mating, and to know that you consider tonowari and ronal the perfect match is good.”

y/n smiles. “thank you,” she whispers, truly happy, and the two press close and intertwine their tails again before returning to their work, which they’d been distracted from. a thought comes to y/n, and she snorts, and when neteyam gives her a confused look she squints at him. 

 “and by the way, when i get my hands on ronal, i’ll have her howling like i had all the girls, not just irta’ne,” she grumbles matter-of-factly. 

neteyam just laughs. 

night falls sooner than either neteyam or y/n planned, and before know it they’re returning to the marui they shared with the rest of neteyam’s family and  settling down for the night. y/n curls up beside neteyam on their shared bedroll as usual, their tails curling together as they tended to throughout the day and at all times while they slept, and when they give their second blanket to tuk because she complains of still being cold they press closer to one another, whispering back and forth in volumes far too low for even their family member to head despite being so close. once again jake and neytiri share knowing glances ( though truthfully they knew nothing at all ) as they get ready for rest as well, and soon everything is silent aside from the sounds of them sleeping. 

y/n hums in her sleep, pressing closer to neteyam on instinct then blinking awake slowly when the warmth of his body seeps into her more. she glances through slitted eyes towards the window, seeing the darkness outside, and slowly disentangles herself from her friend, who blearily opens his eyes before squinting up at her. 

“it is time,” she whispers, not having to explain herself, and suddenly he’s wide awake. he sits up.

“i’m so happy for you,” he whispers, smiling fondly at her, and she smiles back. 

“me too,” she responds softly, and he gets up to walk her out of the marui, neither noticing neytiri’s eyes open and widen as she sees the two walk out hand in hand as quietly as possible. she smiles, excited for the impending announcement from her son and future daughter tomorrow, and tries to go back to sleep.

neteyam and y/n part ways halfway to the usual meeting spot that tonowari and y/n shared, and neteyam bumps his nose against hers once fondly. “good luck,” he whispers. “if you need me, yell for me; i’ll listen.”

“perv,” y/n murmurs softly through a slight smile, and neteyam scoffs. 

“nevermind, skxawng,” he replies, rolling his eyes and smiling before backing off. y/n sends a nod his way, then turns and walks toward the spot she intended to meet tonowari. it’s not too far of a swim once she reaches the water, and she finds him waiting for her still dripping wet; he clearly had only just gotten here himself, knelt surrounded by the glowing flora and beneath eywa’s many stars. 

“tonowari,” y/n calls softly, and she sees his ears flick up excitedly before he turns with a smile, watching with interest as she pulls herself from the water. 

“hello, my love,” he murmurs, walking towards her and resting his hands on her hips. she presses her body against him, sighing happily as she soak up his warmth, and smiles against him as she feels him chuckle. “i have waited all day for tonight,” he whispers, and she laughs. 

“oh? and why do you speak so softly when we are the only ones here?” she asks, her voice just as quiet. he leans down and presses his forehead against hers, not responding, and she melts into it. 

“out of respect for you.”

goddess above. no one, man or woman, had ever made her feel the way he did. 

she pulls away from him, slowly moving around him in a dance he mimics as they circle one another. the tension between them grows, and he follows her deeper into the glowing depths of the lone island that housed more flora than was present at the beaches, the island that reminded her of the forest she used to call home. tonowari had brought her here on their tenth or so escapade when he remembered what it looked like and hoped that it could bring her a sense of comfort; she had cried that night, and had held him close. they had done nothing but sleep in each other’s arms, and it was what had boosted their romantic relationship in ways they could never come back from. after that day, y/n had cut off neteyam. 

“come,” y/n whispers over her shoulder, disappearing onto the trees, and tonowari follows like a starving man to a meal, never one to deny her. they rush through the plants growing everywhere, each step they take lighting up the plants beneath their feet and marking their way before slowly fading out as they continue forward until finally they stop before a grove of trees that glowed the most beautiful shades of pinks, purples, and blues. the two stand side by side in silence, staring, before y/n wraps her hands around tonowari’s wrist and studies it, knowing he’s looking down at her fondly but nervous to witness it; tonowari had such a way when it came to speaking with just his eyes, and it took her breath away every time. 

“if you are nervous, we can wait,” he murmurs, but y/n shakes her head. 

“no,” she whispers. “i want this. i want you.”

the two press on into the trees before finding a spot y/n deemed perfect, pressing close enough that their skin pressed flush against the other. y/n climbs on top of where he’s knelt on his knees, cupping his face in both of her hands and staring into his eyes as the two speak wordlessly. the stars, scattered between the glowing flora above them, reflect in his eyes, and she finds herself dangerously close to being lost in them until he tilts his jaw up to kiss her. melting into it, y/n moved her hands from where they’d cupped his face to where she can loosely loop her arms around his neck and over his shoulder, her wrists crossed and hands hanging limply in only the way they’d ever be around him. 

“i love you,” he whispers into her mouth, and she bites at his bottom lip before returning the phrase. his hands begin to wander, stopping to toy at the ties of her loincloth on her hips, and she lifts them so he can remove it easier so they can begin. tonowari’s own loincloth has mysteriously been discarded already as y/n sinks back down to sit on his thick thighs, and she laughs happily into the crook of his neck. “what’s so funny?”

“your eagerness for tonight has shown itself endlessly to me,” y/n admits, shifting to press his cock ( long since hardened ) against her slit, and he laughs as well. 

“how could i not be eager for you?” he asks fondly, running his thumb over the soft skin of her hip. “my family is soon to grow by the grace of the great mother and by you, loving me.”

“who says i love you?” y/n retorts affectionately, already reaching for his braid as he does the same for hers with a snort. 

“you yourself, not more than two minutes ago,” he breathes as they hold their queues up to one another. they’re both just out of reach of the other, the silky pink strands reaching for the other in a silent insistence that only furthered their thoughts of this being what was intended. 

tonowari glances up at y/n and takes in they way she eyes the beginnings of their bond with wonder, then looks back down as she begins to move her wrist ever so slightly. one strand of her queue links with his, and their pupils blow together and tonowari’s one-handed grip on her hip tightens enough to bruise  as the bond begins to form. endless emotions and feelings fly through the bond, y/n sinking down on his cock and making them both gasp at the sudden feelings coursing through them. it wasn’t their first time fucking, nor was it their first time getting sexual, but goddess above was this different than every other time they’d shared. 

lifting herself up, y/n relishes the slide inside as his cock slowly leaves her body before she drops back down, filling herself up with him again. she lets go of her braid on favor of wrapping her arms around him, uncharacteristically vulnerable, as he does the same. “close, i want you close,” she whimpers, and he purrs against her throat. 

“we cannot get any closer than we are now, my love,” he breathes. “great goddess above, thank you — thank you, y/n, for this.”

“yes — yes, yes, yes… f-fuck,” y/n whimpers, and tonowari groans and begins to meet the drop of her hips with thrusts of her own. 

“s-so good, my love, so good for me, just like that…” he moans, pressing his face into her chest and furrowing his brow as the pleasure rolls over him like tides on the shore. she’s warm, and she’s soft, and he can’t get enough. 

they fuck until they both are exhausted, then curl up beneath the trees with one of her legs hiked up and thrown over him, his seed dripping from her swollen cunt in a steady stream. her head rests on his chest as one of his hands toys with her braids, and neither can control the smiles on their faces as they rest there together. this time after was for them, to bask in the glow that followed tsaheylu, and to relish the feelings that came with it. both are lulled into a serene sleep, aided by the rolling waves and the wind in the trees and the warmth of the other’s body. 

explanations — to the clan and to the sullys — could come with the rise of the sun. 

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[ithaquasbbg]

Almost done yay.. then I’ll find myself some more prompts sk I can stay active (I’m proud of myself)

Won’t you stay, my darling? - Ithaqua x reader

Pairing : Morningstar! Ithaqua x reader

Experimented with the idea of a very down bad, and very touch starved Helel here. Also with the idea that under his persona he shows the world, he’s still the same scared young man he was before his exile.

VERY loosely inspired by the song “curses” by the crane wives

….

The king was utterly obsessed with you, to say the very least. From the way your eyes had a lovely shine to them, to your smile that made his heart flutter every time he saw you; a sensation he believed he’d no longer be able to feel. Every single part of you made him weak at the knees, you were his dream. Though, he could never bring himself to say anything. You were like a fire in his mind, per say, and try as he might, he couldn’t put that fire out.

None of the towns men or women could enthrall him the way you did, make his heart skip a beat like you. Every day he spent without you, it was like the fire of longing in Helel’s mind and heart would grow more and more. It was embarrassing to him, the way he, the king of a utopia had fallen so head over heels for a mere commoner such as yourself. The way he was more than willing to forget his position and do everything to please you was humiliating!

But it’s not until he hosts a ball for all the townspeople to attend he speaks to you for the first time. “My, you look quite lovely tonight, my dear.” He muses, corners of his lips peeking up in that confident smile he’d show to the public, eyes hidden from the world by the mask he’s adorned. You look nervous, getting ready to boy to him before you feel a hand gently grabbing your chin, tilting it upwards towards his face. “No need to bow to me, really, just tell me your name.”

All this time of watching from a distance, and Helel didn’t even know your name! Though you didn’t know of his admiration, and seemingly thought he was looking for another person. “I’m (Name), your majesty.” His smile brightens upon hearing your name, mumbling it to himself in a tone that sounds almost adoring. “That’s a lovely name, really.” His remark causes your cheeks to heat up, a smile creeping onto your own face.

By the end of the night, you find yourself in the ballroom with the king after everyone else had left, even his guards. You had only seen him in his speeches, an imposing ruler in those circumstances. Though, when he was here in front of you now, he seemed awkward to an extent, smitten, that couldn’t be towards you.. could it? Helel’s smile never leaves his face, he can think so much clearer when you’re with him, like the flames had calmed down in his mind, though the longing for you still remained.

And that’s why he finds himself reaching for your hand as you turn to leave that night, holding onto it like a lifeline as you look back at him, a curious expression on your face. “Won’t you stay with me, my darling?” He asks, his normal smirk replaced with an anxious, almost pleading look. Though he’s overjoyed when you nod, a soft smile adorning your lovely face that he loves so much. “Is there any specific reason?” You inquire, to which Helel quickly answers, embarrassment visible on his face afterwards; “I don’t want to be alone tonight, please.”

You think it’s a little strange that the king, one who had seemed so fearsome before this, is begging somebody as low as yourself to stay with him. But something about him makes your heart beat faster, gives you the feeling of butterflies every time you see his genuine smile, not just the smirk he shows the world. A maid walks up to you two as he walks you through his palace, a smile on her face as she asks if she could get the two of you anything.

“Just a nice change of clothing for (Name), if you will” he replies, voice hardening a little more in front of her, though there’s still that hint of gentility he doesn’t have to the public when addressing her. She nods and comes back shortly later with some of the finest clothing you’ve ever seen, handing it to you with a smile. “Tell me if you need anything else tonight, my dear.” She tells you, before walking away, likely to tend to her other duties.

Helel shows you to a room and allows you to change. You meet him a moment later when you step out of the attached bathroom, seeing him sitting on the bed slowly undoing the braids in his hair. “Here, let me help with that.” You whisper, not knowing what makes you sit behind the king, hands running through his hair as you undo the braids, listening to the way he hums as you do so.

Though when it’s time for him to sleep, he hesitates, hands over his mask as if he’s afraid to take it off. “You’re alright, my lord, I will not tell anybody what I will see beneath.” You promise him, watching as he slightly calms down, taking off his mask, albeit cautiously. Though you’re shocked to see the soft features of the former prince in front of you, the man who had been presumed dead years ago. “ ..Prince Helel?-” you ask, feeling a finger press against your lips before he takes your hands, moving them so they cup his cheeks.

“(Name), please, just address me as Helel..” he whispers, shaking at the sensation of hands on his face. It’s been years since he’s been touched in this way, handled carefully by anyone. His desire for affection being buried down under a harsh persona he spent years building up, only for it to come crashing down at the hands of you.

You feel yourself acting without thinking, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs as he crumbles even more into your touch. It’s only a matter of time before he’s laying in your arms under the covers, still shaking at the lovely sensation he seems to have missed so much. “…Stay with me tonight, (Name), that’s all I ask..” he mumbles, eyes dropping in exhaustion.

You nod and whisper a quick “good night” to him as you feel Helel slowly fall asleep in your arms. You were still confused, left unsure why the king had attached to you the way he had. While Helel, on the other hand is filled with happiness for the first time in a while, not only to be good enough to be graced with your presence, but to be held by somebody for the first time in forever, to be cherished the way he craved, even if he would have to worry about putting his act back up the next day.

To Helel, you staying with him, easing the burning in his mind for tonight was better than anything, falling asleep in the arms of his Angel.

[brabblesblog]

Ch 14: For love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The rescue attempt goes off with some hitches.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The morning light was streaming through the window when Astarion looked up to see Gale walk into the room. His tressym followed, fixing Astarion with a stare that felt a little too penetrating for what was, in his not-so-humble opinion, essentially a glorified cat.

“Are you ready?” Gale asked, leaning on his staff.

“Indeed.” Astarion’s tone was surly, an attempt to mask his weariness. He had maintained the mental link with Ban until she had fallen asleep. Even now a part of him cradled her mind, soothing her through the worst of the torment.

Astarion belatedly realized that he was not only exhausted, he was hungry and having difficulty concentrating. He’d only had one meal since arriving in Waterdeep, and between maintaining the mental link for so long and his state of stress, the lack of sleep and blood was noticeable. Today, he was especially glad that the sanguine hunger no longer tormented him, but blood helped him maintain his strength, kept his mind clear, and gave him energy. Energy he desperately could have used today. Grumbling, he picked up Woe.

“Do you need me to reiterate the-”

“Gods, Gale. Do you think me so stupid I can’t remember your frankly rudimentary plan?” Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s just go.”

Gale exhaled. “Here.” He stepped forward, holding out a small pouch.

Astarion hesitated before gingerly accepting the proffered bag with some suspicion.

“Healing potions. I prepared two. One for her, one for… potential mishaps.”

Astarion tucked the pouch away. “Thank you.” The words came out in an awkward drawl, his discomfort in expressing gratitude obvious.

The tressym kept staring at Astarion; he glanced down at it, fidgeting under its piercing gaze. “If your claws and teeth matched the enormity of your judgment, cat, then I’d perhaps be interested to hear what you have to say.”

“Tara,” Gale chided gently, though he wasn’t surprised she disapproved of the Ascendant. Gale had told her everything; she was fond of Ban and she’d rather liked when Ban had stayed with them.

She fixed Gale with a long, hard stare before turning to leave, flicking her tail haughtily as she went.

“Sorry,” Gale shrugged.

Astarion didn’t deign to answer, although he was privately rather affronted by her judgment. Damned cat.

Gale led Astarion through Waterdeep, heading for the Stedez mansion. It was far smaller than the Crimson Palace, though no less imposing. Astarion stayed a few steps behind him, mind still connected to Ban’s. As they approached the mansion, she kept slipping in and out of consciousness. He could see through her eyes each time she awoke, the visions merely feeding his rage.

“They should be asleep,” Gale mused. In theory, it would be easy to sneak in undetected, free Ban, and slip back out. But he wasn’t sure if Astarion was willing to let this affront go unpunished. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to let it go, either.

“Well if they aren’t,” Astarion hissed, his eyes glinting with a devilish glee that bordered on madness. “All the better.”

Gale stood in front of the large door of the Stedez mansion, steeling himself before knocking. He was disguised as an elf. Astarion hid nearby, invisible. All part of the plan, and yet Gale couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. It had been more than half a year since he had done anything remotely close to this, and he wondered if he was still capable. These days he was a professor, not a warrior, his life revolving around his students and books.

And sometimes Ban, he thought ruefully. The time she’d spent in his tower had been special.

Gale turned his attention back to the matter at hand as the door creaked open.

A tall, scantily clad servant eyed Gale curiously. Just like Cazador, Vel Stedez’s public persona was that of an affluent, if eccentric, nobleman. As such, the mansion rarely received visitors.

“Greetings,” the servant said, “You seem… lost. What can I do for you?”

“Is this not Saer Vel Stedez’s abode?” Gale offered his most winsome smile. “I’m here on behalf of the Blackstaff Academy. Saer Vel and I have corresponded about his most generous donation, for which the Academy is very grateful. In fact,” Gale held up an index finger, “I am here today to discuss a ball the Academy wishes to host in his honor!”

The servant hesitated. No instructions regarding visitors had been given today, but her vain master would most certainly want to hear about this. Gale noticed her moment of indecision and pressed his advantage, stepping forward so the servant was forced to open the door far enough for Astarion to very carefully slip inside, a small whisper of air the only sign of his movement.

“I- of course, saer,” the servant conceded. She beckoned Gale in, and he stepped over the threshold, shivering involuntarily at the chilly temperature inside the manse.

Gale noted that the house was eerily reminiscent of Cazador’s - and Astarion’s - iterations of the Szarr Mansion.

Dark marble floors and mahogany walls lent a sense of ominousness, thick curtains blocking out any sunshine that threatened to shine through. The air was stale, cold and tomblike, as if the mansion was frozen in time.

Astarion noticed the similarities too, stifling a snort. At least our marble is white. That had been Ban’s idea. The thought caused a pang of worry; he pushed it away quickly. Moving past Gale and the servant, he headed deeper into the mansion, taking the first set of stairs he found leading down.

Meanwhile, Gale let the servant lead him to a study.

“Saer…” the servant began, fishing for his name.

“Er. Dammon,” Gale said, cursing himself for not thinking up a name ahead of time.

“Saer Dammon,” the servant continued. “Kindly wait here while I inform the master of your arrival.”

The prospect of meeting the vampire lord alone made Gale a bit anxious, but he nodded. It was a possibility he hadn't wanted to contemplate too closely when they had planned this, but if all hell broke loose he knew he would be able to handle one vampire.

He hoped Astarion got to Ban fast.

The dungeon smelled putrid, like sewers and rust and congealed blood-

The iron-rich scent gave Astarion a longing for blood - a now-unfamiliar craving, all but forgotten after all this time. It caught him by surprise. He hadn’t hungered for blood, not since the rite, but the smell of it reminded him of just how exhausted he was. Some blood would be the perfect thing to perk him up. He sighed, shaking his head, and pushed on.

The dungeons were unguarded, just as Gale had surmised. After all, Vel’s coven lacked crucial information: the Ascendant didn’t need to be invited in to enter a domicile.

His eyes scanned the dimly lit dungeon, searching for Ban. He spotted her in the furthest cell and rushed forward with preternatural speed. As he reached the cell, Gale’s concentration broke; Astarion’s hands and body became visible again.

Ban? He tried to nudge her mind, and felt her stir.

The sight of her chained to the damp wall, her body sagging onto the filthy floor, broke his heart. Ban was mostly unharmed, though those cruel silver manacles had severely burned her wrists. He’d seen more than his fair share of torture, of course, but seeing it done to her brought forth a wave of indignation so strong it instantly became wrath.

How dare they. I will burn this entire mansion and everyone in it to ash for this.

He pulled out his tools, nimble hands working at the lock of the cell door, but it took longer to pick than it should have, owing to his trembling fingers.

Astarion heard a satisfying click and pushed the door open. Ban’s eyes opened and took a moment to focus, finally settling on him. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. Words he’d spoken before she’d told him she loved him for the very first time. Words she’d told him the night before the rite. Always meant, always realized.

Ban merely nodded in response, slumping tiredly into Astarion’s arms. The movement caused her wrists to drag against the manacles and she gasped. He looked up at them, frowning, assessing the locks.

“Let me get you out.”

He reached for the first manacle, fingers moving across the surface of the silver. It made his skin sizzle, his fingertips burning where they made contact. The pain was sharp, but pain wasn’t new to him; he ignored it. He quickly worked one manacle open, then the other.

Ban’s hands fell to her sides; they'd gone numb after being held up for so long. Astarion firmly rubbed her arms to encourage blood flow, avoiding the burned parts of her wrists.

“Ban.” When she didn’t respond immediately, concern flooded him. He tapped her face hoping to rouse her, to no avail. Reaching into the pouch Gale had provided, he took out a flask and uncapped it. “Drink,” he urged, his eyes locked on her as she complied.

He gave her another once-over, noting that her complexion looked better. But not enough so. He fingered the cap of the remaining potion, debating. He could have her drink it now, but what if she needed it later? She could barely move, but he couldn’t risk using their last potion yet.

Determined, he reached a decision.

Ban watched with dazed eyes as Astarion lowered himself to her, cradling her head and tilting his head to bare his neck, a gesture that needed no words.

She obliged, fangs sinking into the scars Cazador had made centuries ago. She drank ravenously, her instincts taking over.

Astarion felt the icy numbness begin; the tips of his ears and his fingers started to grow numb. In spite of the situation, he felt a flood of contentment fill him. Ban had so rarely bitten him that even in this filthy dungeon, the joy of nourishing her was immense. Exhausted as he was, though, it didn’t take long for his vision to start to blur and his heart to flutter. He lifted a hand to her shoulder, a gentle reminder to stop.

The memory of the first time he bit her came to him unbidden; he couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face.

Ban immediately stilled at the touch, pulling her fangs out of his flesh. After a light swipe of her thumb to clean up, she leaned back.

“Sorry. I jus-” She looked down at her shirt, at the tear where the stake had been shoved in. “I still can’t believe I’m alive…”

Astarion felt only relief suffusing his being. He cupped Ban’s cheek and leaned in. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but he hesitated. We don’t have the luxury of time.

“Let’s go,” he said, “It’s daytime. Most of them should be asleep.”

Ban followed Astarion out of the cell, but paused as his words sunk in - most?

“You said ‘most’.”

He sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately I suspect the master of the house to be awake.” Gale’s plan, after all, had hinged on it. He explained the plan to Ban, retrieving Woe from where he’d dropped it in his rush to free her.

“You expected Gale to - to distract Vel?” Ban was incredulous. Gale, really?

“Well- who else? Would you rather it be me doing the talking while Gale snuck around?”

She conceded the point. Gale had always been atrocious at stealth.

“So we have to kill Vel.” Ban spied a chest near the entrance of the dungeon; she opened it to reveal her pack and her sword. She dug through the pack, tossing out various unneeded items, then slung the now-lighter pack over her shoulder. She kept her sword in hand.

“I’m not displeased by the notion?” Astarion smirked. “But I didn’t exactly promise Gale I’d save him either, you know.”

“Ass.” She tried to smack his arm but he dodged it easily, his laughter pealing a little too loudly for the situation they were currently in. “If anything, you should be thanking Gale for coming with you.”

The laughter died and Astarion turned solemn. “He’s here for you. If he had his way I would be staked somewhere and you’d be in his arms.”

“Perhaps.” Ban shrugged. She looked at her husband, noting the taut expression and the tense set of his shoulders. “Problem?”

He took a moment to answer, gathering his thoughts. “I’m… envious of how easy it is for him to get you to confide in him. How easily you confide in all of them.” To trust them.

Astarion knew that Ban loved him the most; he did not doubt that at all. But did she truly trust him? It wasn’t something that would return without work from the both of them, he was perfectly aware, and yet the feeling was there. Jealousy, poisonous and foul and always lurking in his chest.

Before Ban could assuage his fears, they were back at the entrance hall.

“Do you know where-”

The question died in Ban’s throat. There was a disturbance in one of the rooms, going by the sounds emanating from it. They both rushed forward; Ban shouted for Gale, trying to ascertain his current state. Once again, Astarion found himself resenting the wizard.

The door was ajar; Ban rushed in to see an elf being held down by Enxisys and Miaxisys. The elf looked up at her, and she realized it was Gale. He was on his knees, his staff on the ground in front of him.

Astarion, right on Ban’s tail, halted for a different reason. Enxisys and Miaxisys were holding onto Gale, but their gazes were fixed on Astarion, numb expressions entirely too familiar. It brought forth a wave of memories, recollections that he had been pushing away - hiding from - since the rite. He forced them down as best he could, focusing on Vel and the situation at hand, but he wasn’t wholly successful.

“Look who decided to join us, hm?” Vel said, rounding on Ban. She immediately leveled her sword at his chest.

“Not another step,” Ban growled.

Vel laughed, raising his hand, Rhapsody in his grasp. “See, I knew the wizard would come to save you,” he said, pointing the dagger at the disguised Gale. “What I didn’t expect-”

Four more of Vel’s spawn came in behind Ban and Astarion as their master spoke, blocking their retreat.

“-was you, Ascendant.” The words were spat out, the contempt unmistakable.

“If you thought I wouldn’t come for her-“

“Oh, no! I know you’d come, eventually.” Vel snapped his fingers and the four vampires blocking the door closed the distance, crowding Ban and Astarion from behind. “That was the whole point.” He waved his hand indifferently.

“But I honestly expected you to make someone else do the grunt work first. I didn’t consider the fact that you might be able to… circumvent… some of our kind’s more peculiar quirks.”

“You know perfectly well I am stronger than you could ever hope to be, and yet you didn’t consider the possibility that I could enter your home uninvited as well?” He laughed without humor. “I can circumvent whatever the hells I damn well please, Vel. That includes your miserable existence.” He took a step towards Vel. Immediately the four spawn reacted, surrounding Astarion.

Ban weighed the situation. Seven vampires - well, six spawn and a vampire lord - against Gale, Astarion, and herself. Manageable, but not without risk. Especially with Gale held down and Astarion having given her so much of his blood. She would have laughed if it wasn’t such an ill-timed moment.

Rapidly, she reached a conclusion. She squared her shoulders and shot Gale a meaningful look.

Get ready.

Almost imperceptibly, Gale nodded.

The three of them glanced at each other, the long months of fighting as a unit resurfacing with ease. Everyone braced.

It all happened in an instant.

Ban dropped her pack and activated giant form, greatsword rising as though to cut Vel down. She knew she would miss - and indeed, as she swung Vel dodged effortlessly - but it was enough to draw Enxisys’ and Miaxisys’ attention. Their grip on Gale eased as they hesitated, torn between their obligation to protect their master and holding Gale down.

It was all Gale needed. He rose, Markoheshkir in hand, and called lightning. It struck the twins, Vel, and one of the four spawn near Astarion. The spawn did not get up.

Astarion seized the opportunity, turning to one of the remaining spawn and blighting him. The spawn crumpled, meeting his second death.

Ban raised her arms for another strike at Vel, the arc of her sword cut short when a blur of motion passed in front of her. Astarion lunged at Vel with inhuman speed, pinning him to the ground and shoving his fist into Vel’s mouth.

He turned to Ban with a pained expression. Astarion had seen the way Vel’s spawn had looked at their master; had known that look.

“Wait!” he panted. Vel was thrashing and biting, but the Ascendant was unaffected, holding him down without effort, his other hand pinning down the arm holding Rhapsody.

The four surviving spawn froze, unsure. If they made a move, they would be overwhelmed by the wizard and the consort. If they didn’t, and their master survived, he would punish them for it…

“Ban.” Astarion’s pained expression deepened into anguish. “Let them do it. Let them do what I should have done.”

“Can they? Won’t he compel them not to hurt him?”

“Not if we cut out his tongue,” Astarion’s voice was severe, rough with emotion.

Belatedly, Ban and Gale realized why Astarion had his fist in Vel’s mouth. Ban nodded, stepping on Vel’s weapon hand so Astarion could let go. Gale picked up Woe from where Astarion had dropped it, his face somber.

Astarion pried Rhapsody from Vel’s hand. He pulled Vel’s offensive tongue from his mouth and severed it with one quick slice, tossing it to the side. Vel’s wordless screams should have been satisfying. But he felt no joy - only a pang of regret, of shame. Rhapsody fell from his grasp just as swiftly as he’d used it. The last time I cut someone with that dagger… He shuddered at the memory.

This should have been how it went for me. With his friends present and his siblings at his side, working together to end their master’s life.

Astarion pulled away from Vel’s face to kneel beside him, holding his chest down, breathing hard. He turned to the spawn. They stared at him, still uncertain.

“Go on,” he urged, “Take what should be yours. What should have always been yours. Your freedom awaits.”

Freedom. He offered Ban a sad smile.

It should have always been yours as well, my love.

Ban’s response was a small, sad smile and a flood of warmth through their connection.

Vel’s spawn seemed to be recovering from the shock. They approached one another, quietly discussing Astarion’s offer amongst themselves. One of the spawn, the drow male who had helped abduct Ban, murmured an apology to her.

But neither Ban nor Astarion noticed. The only thing they saw was each other, eyes locked as they shared their emotions through their bond. Astarion’s mind was in turmoil, a dark maelstrom of conflicting, stormy thoughts that threatened to envelop him. Endless waves of rage, fear, regret, shame, and sadness were swirling, building upon the other until they were very close to overwhelming him. Ban could feel that he was on the verge of panicking.

She quickly sheathed her sword and approached Astarion, offering him a hand up, pulling him into an embrace.

Astarion let Ban pull him up and into a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she held him. He wanted to sob, to finally say I did the right thing, but he knew it was too late for him. He’d hurt her, he’d murdered his siblings, he’d driven away his friends and sacrificed all seven thousand of those poor souls.

But as Ban had drawn him up, she had turned her back on Vel. Had lifted her boot from his wrist. Had caused Astarion to let him go.

Movement over Ban’s shoulder drew Astarion’s attention. He saw Vel rise lightning-fast, Rhapsody in hand, poised for a strike, blade already arching down towards Ban’s back.

If I can be enough for only one thing, I hope it will be saving her.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Astarion shoved Ban to the side. He felt a flash of relief as she was flung across the room, out of range of Vel’s swing.

As it had sunk into his former master’s back, Rhapsody sank into Astarion’s breast.

Into his heart.

[brucewaynehater101]

What music genres do you think the batfam members listen to?I ask this because of how little Alternative music fan headcannons there are. I personally think Tim enjoys grunge and or nu metal(Specifically bands like limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Korn, and System of a Down)

I'm not too familiar with genres, so I'll be giving this my best shot. I typically listen to music by the vibe it gives. My playlists include music that makes my brain go brr (the nice dissociation), songs for muses, ones to scandalize my mother, music a garage band would play, songs that make God fear me, and a long playlist for pleasant company.

Anyways, I've seen a few fics where people say that Bruce and Tim share a love of those genres. I could definitely see Tim listening to the ones you mentioned. He probably plays it through his preferred headphones as he fixes electronics, codes, or plots destruction. He also, because he suppresses his anger a lot, probably listens to music like Ghostemane, Kim Dracula, and Freddie Dredd.

Jason definitely enjoys musicals. Dick as well, but Jason isn't as vocal about it. Instead, Jason will listen to 80's rock and 2000's girl bands if others around (he ofc listens to TLC).

I like to think that they all enjoy music in different languages. For Dick and Damian, they especially like music they grew up listening to in their respective cultures. The others, because the batfam is multilingual, just enjoy all kinds of different tunes in multiple languages. The batfam playlist, especially for hanging out in the cave, is chaotic. Bruce nearly had an aneurysm the first time he heard Touch You (Yarichin Bitch Club) over the speakers. The only reason the kids didn't get in trouble was because Damian was out with Colin at the time.

I hc that Cass likes lofi hip hop music. She typically enjoys all songs but prefers those without words (because understanding words still requires energy from her and can prevent her from fully relaxing). She does listen to a lot of classical music, a passion she shares with Alfred.

Alfred, the man the myth the legend, enjoys swing music the most. He'll put on a variety of music in the kitchen (different classical eras, opera music, the occasional musical, jazz, some more modern instrumental music, and some movie background tracks), but the whole fam knowns he's in a really good mood if swing music is playing.

Bruce is the type of person to just listen to what's on. Unless he dislikes the music, he will be fine with whatever his kids or Alfred have playing. He particularly enjoys alternative rock and old country music (like Garth Brooks), but he doesn't usually fight for the aux cord.

Barbara has playlists depending on her mood. Birds of Prey mission prep? Bruce being a dick? Dick being a dick? Batfam drama she has to once again intervene in? Coding nights? Can't get out of bed days? She also has a few playlists for each person she regularly interacts with. For calm or bad nights, she'll put the playlist in that person's comm. She also likes to hack speakers around Bruce and play her revenge music when he's being a petty asshole. Some of her revenge music includes "They're Coming to Take Me Away" by Sloppy Jane, "OoOo1" by galen tipton, "All I see is Poop" by Hobo Johnson, "I Swallowed Shampoo" by Soupy Garage Juice, "I am now going to bark at you" by thquib, and "I hope You Die in a Fire" by Grand Commander.

Duke is most definitely a Mitski, Hozier, Crane Wives enjoyer, and you can pry that hc from my cold, dead hands. He probably also likes songs similar to "Ancapistan" by Jreg or "The Fine Print" by The Stupendium.

Dick's music is either super high in energy or sad as fuck. He loves the songs "Has Anbody Seen My Will to Live" by The Tin Knees and "Copacabana (At the Copa)" by Barry Manilow because they are both sad and happy :) I hc that he likes songs by TV Girl, Yot Club, Joji, and Cosmo Sheldrake. He also has a few playlists he follows of Zumba music. The song "The Masochism Tango" by Tom Lehrer is one of his favorites.

This is already a pretty long post, so feel free to reblog with more ideas! I didn't get to Steph or more in depth with Damian :(