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lauraneedstochill · 8 months

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Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

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controld3vil · 10 months

Text

keepin’ it honest

PAIRING: MIGUEL O’HARA X SPIDER!READER SYNOPSIS: you were dead in his universe. but in yours, he wasn’t... NOTES: - im sorry i think i just like oscar isaac a lot. spiderverse was fun to watch though!! but lmk any ideas/requests you guys want for a continuation. - this is inspired by too many nights - metro boomin & don toliver

You knew you were dead in his universe.

Every time he looked at you, Miguel would have a remorseful look on his face. It feels as though his heart shatters the moment he lays his eyes on you. And sometimes you could feel it. The way you sense his longing stare from afar. You can’t help but feel guilty for him. Even if you had no part in his world, that small fragment of your existence makes for it in heartbreak.

Jessica recruited you after one of the first few anomalies emerged. That night, the AI-generated by Lyla was monitoring the busy highways of Earth XXX. New York in your world was much darker, more grim. In clouds of thunder and everlasting rain, your city operated like an old junction train. It had a roughness to it. Everywhere you looked was shattered and torn apart. You could even notice the hot puffs of smoke in apartments. Every structure was distinct with its barred markings and wounds. It carries curiosity for outsiders. With its unpredictable weather and extended nights, numerous events could occur.

Dusk is where danger becomes alive. People were conscious of that. So when Lyla concluded her examination, Miguel and Jessica cautiously tried to locate their Spider counterpart.

You were skeptical of them. Your uncanny sixth sense never failed you. It’s so accurate that sometimes you hoped it was wrong. But in cases like these, you heeded your intuition. The concept of there being alternate versions of oneself, like Spiderwoman, is truly mind-blowing. In all of the same, you were all Spiderman. And there you stood in a back alley, introduced to a woman with a big afro, wearing a black and red suit. And a man with identical attire of dark blue and radiant red markings.

Through a great extent of compromise and explanation, you agreed to help them on their mission.

“When we’re done, you two have to go.” You recall saying with a look of agitation furrowed between your brows. Not that they could see your cold expression - you kept your mask on. But like all Spider men and women, they knew. Miguel and Jessica dart at each other and reluctantly nod, meeting your gaze.

“In and out.” Spider-Man 2099 answers in a mellow fashion. You could sense something was on his mind. His thoughts scattered in an array of emotions. And you do not miss his last second glance at you before Jessica moved to exhibit a miniature hologram.

The mission was finished a couple of hours later, three hours into the new morning. What you foresaw to happen quickly came and ended within minutes in your head. Because by four in the morning, the anamorphic creature had been sedated and taken in by an abundant amount of nets. Strings of bright red and white enveloped them. And as they struggled, the tighter the webs contracted.

Luminous portal morphs behind you like the sunrise. It’s bright and colorful, similar to a coloring book in a children’s library. The altitude of rays glares against your webbed mask eyes. It takes a few seconds to readjust to the brightness as you blink continuously. It’s beautiful. Spiderman 2099 yanks the mindless anomaly across the floor toward the portal. His shoulders stag from fatigue and wounds. His partner took damage as well but heeds reluctantly.

“We appreciate your help back there.” Spider-Man 2099 coughs not so subtly to catch your attention. “Without you, we would have had bigger things to deal with.”

“Sure,” You started, allowing some softness into your voice. “Helping you guys out is the least I could do.”

“You did more than help us out,” Jessica Drew swoops in, crossing her arms authoritatively. “You saved an entire universe. Your powers…”

“How long ago did you say you were bitten?” Her male counterpart interrupts, flexing his shoulder perpendicular to you. Your Spider eyes arched upwards in a confused manner.

“Why is that important?” You could feel the anticipation of what they wanted to request. Do you want to join us? Earth XXX always had its issues, the mistreatment of superheroes, alienated beings coming from outer space, and now alternative versions of Spider-people. New York XXX was your domain to rescue.

Most of your life, after you got bit, was already messy. You were weary. Your job slowly evolved to being a hassle. Every heist and bank robbery felt redundant and pointless. You felt like you were not changing the city for the better good. Although it seemed like an extraordinary possibility, you had a city to handle, a planet to protect. You were the few to endure numerous foreign and military raids. There was so much you would leave behind. You would leave Miguel behind, whom you have driven to protect since your debut as Spiderwoman.

The other Spiderwoman glances at her partner in hesitation until he reciprocates with a nod. “Anomalies have become a huge problem for the last few months. It’s been tough to track them down since there aren't not many of us yet. But we could use all the help we can get. With your abilities, you won’t only be saving a couple of planets but the entire multiverse.”

Spider-Man 2099 eyes down at you. You were in deep thought. He understands and has seen it all. Every Spider person he has met contemplates the same questions and morals. Should they risk it all and follow? What would happen to their world? Should they trust them? For some odd reason, he’s willing to be more understanding. Perhaps he feels strangely nostalgic whenever he looks at you. Because the more he stares, the more he feels a tinge of sorrow in his heart.

“I appreciate what you two are doing. But I’m afraid I can’t.” And just like that, his heart deflates pathetically like a balloon. “I’ve got a whole city to look out for. I can’t leave them behind.”

Both of them sympathized with you. They were the same before assembling the Spider Society.

“You won’t—“

“We understand. Thanks again for your help.” Just like that, he disregards you and pivots to leave. His response was brief with a hint of distraught. On the other hand, his partner shakes her head out of displeasure. Between the two, she was more in tune with her emotions with people.

Jessica offers you a painful grin. “Thank you for everything. Truly I mean it. And if you ever reconsider, always keep a sharp eye on us. We might come to visit sometime.” When the sun waked from its slumber, they were gone. The multicolor doorway was no longer there. Yet every fragment of their fight was still present.

Jessica had hoped to see you again. There was an underlying thread that told her you would join someday. You were a great fighter with capabilities that she and Miguel didn’t have. You were clever with your attacks. On top of that, you were standoffish and did terribly with jokes. For a short exchange, you became someone she dearly looked forward to. And if she didn’t know any better, Miguel’s too.

Gwen was keen to get to know you. Why? With every waking hour in the Spider Society, she notices you. The cafeteria, in the peripherals of her conversation, and every other encounter with other Spider-people. You were there. In the corner of her eye, Gwen detects her sixth sense every time. It’s bizarre but something the teenager picks on. She’s curious about you and your presence. After months of training and going on missions, she becomes quite enamored in your existence as Spiderwoman. Seeing that not many female Spider individuals were reluctant to greet her, all Gwen had was Jessica.

Even with Jessica, her mentor and role model, she wants to be friends with you.

You were just you. It was a surprise that the mass majority were frightened of you. Your background was something that caused many eyes to divert. But Gwen did not mind their avoidant stares and hoped to learn more about you. People say Earth XXX was a disastrous universe with greater casualties than any other. And by assumption, people considered you a bold and terrifying warrior that endured more than you wanted. You’re broody like Miguel and don’t make conversation often. The only time you converse is for missions. In your line of position, you were unjust and tyrannical to most. But to her, you were a strong and dedicated leader.

Gwen fears you. More so petrified if she ever finds you infuriated. There were always whispers and gossip about what you did to your victims on missions. Or forbid if one of the Spider-people violates a direct order. You would be livid to no end. Miguel acts on impulse, and so do you. People don’t know whether you would rip them apart or chuck them out of the building. Yet all the times she’s been to the Spider Society, she had never seen you angry. She thinks she’s not familiar yet to comprehend the nuances of your personality.

After some time, Gwen confirms you do have a heart. It’s crude of people to believe you were raised and born to be this way. She recalls greeting you once. She was returning from another dimension and wanted to speak with Miguel. Her time at the Spider Society was short-lived. Yet she always made it her mission to catch you.

“You’re here to report back to Miguel?” Your soft-spoken voice almost startles her. It’s not as aggressive as she imagined it to be. Her pupils widened, mirroring back at yours. Your dark purple mask was on. The illuminating design compliments your entire suit.

“Yeah! Uh, I just finished another mission,” the blonde nervously chuckles, already internally scolding at her behavior. It didn’t seem to bother you, more so you looked curious.

“How’d it go?” She was almost frightened by how different you were from all the rumors. Your tough exterior was not always apparent, but it did exist. Gwen is impressed by your calm and composed demeanor.

She unconsciously rubs her neck, taking off her hood. “It went well! The anomaly wasn’t very complicated to track. I caught them in a jiffy.”

“That’s… good to hear.” You expressed pondering what to say next. Casual conversation was never your thing. Moreover, interacting with others wasn’t your strongest pursuit. “I’m sure Miguel will be pleased.”

Quickly the young teenager blows a raspberry. “Even if I did everything exactly as he told me, he’d still find a way to blame me.” Miguel was relentless and reticent. He’s extremely particular on missions since he constantly reminds everyone of the risks. Bargaining with the multiverse was treacherous. It concerned considerable unexplored opportunities and what-ifs. If someone did change a canon event, more anomalies would appear to wreck the universe.

You don’t laugh but hum in understanding. It was as if Gwen could discern your smile under your mask. “Uh, so what are you up to with Miguel?”

“I have reports to give back.” You casually respond, dialing the area code. When the lights ensure green, the dark passageway unlocks. It’s eerie and has no source of light coming through it. A few times Gwen has gone through the hallway, shivers traveled down her spine. By now, she’s used to the benign deficiency of light.

A few seconds passed by as you two walked down the hall. The only prominent sound came from the footsteps of your patted suits. A few beeps from computer monitors beam in the alertness of your presence. For a huge office, it lacked capacity. It’s quiet, the luminance of red rays flashing occasionally.

Miguel did not like bright lights, she’d assumed. Because anytime he would be present, little to no brightness came through the building. Even in the long dark hours, he hides in the shadows. In contrast, in the daytime, her leader rarely leaves his office. What catches her eyes is his suit. The red blood linings blaze dangerously. With his mask off, he stands in a rigid position. He’s organizing something on his computer, a report likely.

“Report 82B Lyla,” you command the AI to pull up a document. Gwen is slightly behind you, crossing her arms patiently.

“Gladly.” The auto-generated woman winks at you and waves at the teenager. A yellow screen that the blonde presumes is the data script next to you. You start typing away, already slowly melding into the backdrop. The young Spider can hear murmuring coming from Miguel as he concludes his last paragraph on the monitor. The screen suddenly fades, and Lyla appears back at his side, reorganizing everything per his request.

“Gwen,” he starts before his eyes flicker to you typing. You glance at him before reading over the information on the digital file. He stretches his arms tiredly. “What’s your status?”

“Doing great sir!” She tries to reply jokingly but then coughs out of embarrassment. “The anomaly capture was successful.”

“And the casualties?” Her boss draws up her file before skimming back at her anomaly report. Spiderman 2099 then walks back and forth as a way to focus. He reads what Jessica had remarked on her performance.

“Little to none.” Gwen reaffirms with more emphasis. “He wasn’t difficult to track either. And I caught him easily.” Miguel hums and swipes away her profile. He nudged Lyla to show the screen recording video of the anomaly his associate managed to record of Gwen. The blonde teenager notices he gives her a satisfied look.

“You did good, kid.” With a yawning sigh, Miguel dismisses her before nodding back at his schedule. “You’re good to go. You’ll get notified when your next mission is.” Excitedly, the young Spider girl bounces with a hopeful grin. Even under the mask, you could sense her relief and satisfaction. “Oh, and next time stay hidden.”

“Sure thing!” The young teenager offers him an awkward thumbs-up before backing up to face you. You return her gesture with a little wave. Immediately the file you had in front of you was transferred to your leader. “I’ll see you around.”

The sound of rushed footsteps swiftly evaporates into the void behind. As mentioned, Miguel’s office is dim and gloomy. It was one of the few rooms where no one visited. But it was a great advantage as Gwen shuffles closely by the doorway. When the entrances shut, the lively ambiance she radiated gradually decays, and tranquility immerses.

Your relationship with Miguel bothered her. Because, for the last three months, she has felt an unwanted feeling. She wasn’t sure if it was her intuition or her natural Spider senses tingling to be more wary whenever the two of you were in the room. It was typical for people to consider you and Miguel O’Hara were the same person from different universes. Maybe you were associates from one dimension and knew each other. Gwen did not know for sure. But through persistent questioning from Jessica, Hobie, and Pavitr, she became concerned that the two of you might be something more. Something more personal or private, there was an underlying truth that you came from a parallel background as Miguel. Everyone knew his story, but not many completely understood yours.

Moreover, you scarcely mention your home universe. The most conversed with was the primary details of New York XXX. With its contaminated zones and corruption, your universe was horrific enough. Not once had you been keen to chat about life on Earth XXX, you were avoidant. However, Gwen gathered some details of your personal life. For example, you did part-time at Stark Tech and graduated with a master's degree in Biochemistry. She would have to thank Jessica for that part.

But with no context, Gwen hypothesized something terrible happened to your planet similar to Miguels, if not worse. Did you have a family? You did not care to mention one. With such little information, all she could do was pester her friends. Because she truly wanted to get to know you. You, Spider-woman, the head of security and offensive danger of Neuve York.

So she attempts to attend to your conversation with Miguel O'Hara. If you two even had one, you both were born from the same pod of awkwardness.

“Mission was successful.” You spoke without thinking. It felt automatic for you at this point. It has become a routine for you to report back to him daily.

Lyla pulls up the report file in front of him. “And how did the new Peter do?” Miguel swipes from side to side and scans the content of what you have written.

Between the barricades, Gwen presumed you tightened against the discomfort felt in the room. “He did all right for his first mission,” She could almost imagine the lilac radiance from your suit against the scarcity of sunshine. “The guy’s new, what’d you expect?”

Miguel's face morphs into a scowl, evidently troubled. “I want your personal opinion,” he maintains forcefully, still not making eye contact with you. “Was he adequate for the job?”

Jessica made it a known truth that you were observant of many things. You had a knack for using your super hearing to take in intel and conversations particularly inclined to your line of work. Miguel’s comment about your prestige perception was a “particular asset” for their team. You were good at reading people because he always paired you with recruits. You knew what to say about their character and expertise.

“Like every other Peter, he’s fine,” You redirected your weight to your opposing leg out of irritation.

“Fine,”

“Great,”

“Come on guys! Lighten up the room here!” Lyla emerges on a more oversized screen, raising her arms in the air. “No offense.”

“Look, I just want you to stop giving me recruits for a while, okay?” Out of vexation, you crossed your arms. The grudge you had was beyond a minor nuisance. Not many saw it, including Gwen.

You were aware of the unspoken friction between you and Miguel. It’s become a regular occurrence that reminds you so much of him. But this Miguel was different. What he was capable of and his background was separate. Yet with everything you had given him, Miguel could never look past it. He’s stubborn, something you could never shake off. Nonetheless, you knew you should not bring it up. But your patience was growing thin by the minute.

It was the same dispute with Miguel. A suggestion would come up and be ignored by his eternal night schedule. It’s become a problem for you as you’ve continually sent messages to him in the past, stating your schedule change. Yet he never replied nor mentioned it in person. You did not have time to train recruits. You had other places to be.

“Someone else can train them.”

“I think it would be better if you took them,” the brown-haired male sneers under his breath. His snarky remark does not bypass Gwen or your ears. “You’re in charge of security for a reason.”

“Head of security means I have more things to take care of,” Your wide arachnid pupils contracted in a sarcastic arch. “You’re holding me here.”

“So what if I am?” What was he getting at? Gwen did not understand what her boss was thinking. There was a quick pause until your padded feet strode forward. Your suit’s soft footing made a minimal sound that not even Gwen could hear. What she could concur was your jagged breathing.

“What if you are..?”

“You’re the only person who knows Neuve York better than anyone else! I need you here for the time being,” Your leader whispers your name as if it was a last resort. He rarely calls you by your alias matter of fact, no one did. “Look, we have bigger things to deal with right now.”

“Funny, you never mentioned these "things" before.” It sounded like a scornful blow. Because while you were one of the more skillful Spider-people, you rarely participated in group settings. You preferred to work alone or sometimes with another person. There was never an in-between with you. Perhaps it's the reason why Miguel was persistent in your mentoring.

“I want you to stay here all right!” Miguel snaps as he frustratedly pinches the bridge of his nose. A tense silence surged through the room. The walls tremble as though they were alive. With no one around, it feels like you were walking on edge with him, where the world revolved only around you and him. Empty and dull. In his domain and lab, Spider-man 2099 sulks and does not say another word. You ponder what he says, it's difficult to put together. You were disappointed in his loyalty and trust. However, you were also unhappy. A bizarre combination.

You realize the pitiful emotion of regret. Your heart cracks at the sound of his tremble of words. It seems like he said it for his benefit. It's complicated as it is to follow orders from Miguel. Regardless, you look back at his face. A fleeting flash in his eyes tells you of his remorse. His beating pulse from afar is rapid. The room suddenly feels hot, your hands clench together.

The older Spider-Man grips his hair as a way to calm his nerves. “An anomaly breach has been spotted. Peter B confirmed it. And it should be me and Jessica’s responsibility to oversee it. So I need you here, in charge.”

It sounded like he was pleading, the teenager thinks. When has Miguel been this desperate in a situation? Everything she was hearing made Gwen reflect on everything you two discussed. The way you spoke to each other is distant and discomfiting. You particularly were stiff every time you saw him. And Miguel acted as though you were never there in the room. Like he was purposely ignoring your presence. Yet Miguel was never a person to plead for someone.

You inhaled slowly out of your nose. It is challenging to meet the gaze of your leader as you contemplate his comments. Above all else, you must prioritize what's at stake. Sudden breaches were serious threats. You consider Miguel's course of thinking. It was always he and Jessica to take over when things became chaotic. And it's you that comes last as a backup. It's the way and standard they have decided on. Your leader claims it's better to limit their troops before heading into danger. And Jessica can't help but agree. But you knew, still, you think of his personal feelings as well. Apart from every mission, you know Miguel's true intentions about you. The reason? The answer was as frank as it always has been.

But how insistent he has become and how sullen you felt afterward. With that, you stare up at the platform. “Fine.”

Gwen stops in confusion. This wasn’t the person she knew you as.

Lyla, who has been spectating in the background, observes her boss’s reaction. He seemed out of breath and tense. The very presence of you makes him uneasy. Even so, she could tell he wanted nothing more than to do what was best for Neuve York. If that means making you stay longer, you’d have no choice but to obey. And she wants the best for you. Lyla also hopes and pleads for you guys to reconcile someday.

“Are we done?”

“Yeah… We’re done.” Miguel could his racing heart slow down. He pierces his lips together, his shoulder relaxing.

You hold a grim cast, swiftly turning to march toward the double doors. The atmosphere is heavy from the strained tension. Yet you stand your ground and continue out of the room, never sparing Miguel a glance. Reluctantly, the curly-haired man’s eyes soften in a moment of vulnerability. Your immediate departure left a bitter taste in the room. With no one else in the room, Miguel is finally alone. Again, in his thoughts, in darkness. His heart thumps steadily to know you're away from peril. Even if it meant you would be resentful of him, Miguel's content.

You vanish into the darkness. Your suit has a camouflage characteristic to it. Because you stray further from the doors, you can feel your whole body basking in the absence. And finally, you snatched your mask off in one swoop. With no eyes glaring back at you, your body trembles slightly. You didn’t realize how hot and sweaty you were at that moment. Like a breath of fresh air, you gasped full breaths continuously. Miguel could never see you without your mask. It was a secret in his presence, for his sake and yours.

Out of a fearful situation, Gwen speechlessly heaves in astonishment. Unbeknownst, her hands and body shake. Her big discovery was making her head explode. How couldn’t she have known? You two hid it so well. She believed your dynamic was natural for your similar personalities. But the multiverse was more cruel than she thought.

He cared for you.

The next morning, you were gone. Back onto your universe for a checkup. Because every so often, you receive information from Stark Tech or national news of Earth XXX's well-being. According to Stark, you may be considered reckless because you have an overextended work schedule. Your universe was a different problem. Your body and soul were born in this world. It holds a special spot in your heart.

You were not a full-time superhero. You occasionally helped Iron Man or Black Widow on scouting missions. Though you would say most of your work was predominantly independent. You relished in tranquility in what your jobs provided. Here is your small apartment in New York, where you did not have busy associates bugging you.

Your city was quiet tonight. It brought you joy and ease. After Miguel’s little chat, you wanted to avoid the Spider Society. The heated conversation left a bad taste in your mouth. Now as you flee from Neuve York, you're welcomed to a more comfortable setting. The skies were majestic in your world. Its eternal darkness settles you back into your old life. The stars were out tonight but so tiny. And the honks of pedestrians frazzle your ears. A familiar tune plays outside of your dorm casually on the side of the building. In a world where terrible things happen, it's so peaceful tonight.

Neuve York was never home to you. The people are indeed welcoming and sweet. But it's nowhere near how you feel with New York XXX.

In opposition, Spider-Man 2099 commonly resides at Neuve York. After you decided to join the Spider Society, meeting Miguel became a usual thing. You learned many things about him. Such as his preference for food, whom he tolerates, and his story. Spider-man 2099 is a gruesome man with a tragic background. Disregarding your quarrels, Miguel was the one to recruit you. He was the same person who created the Spider Society and made Neuve York their main base. It was all thanks to him for your tremendous efforts.

Thus, when you walk inside your apartment, you try not to think about him. You flicked the light on and you relished in its comfort. It had been months since your last arrival. You had not felt relief in months due to your recruitment business. Apart from that, you occasionally did missions per Jessica's request. You were the head of security, many things had come up to you in the past year. All else aside, you weren't working right now. You were finally home. In a place where you could find solace. You stroll around, familiarizing yourself with the place. The decorations and furniture lead you back to old memories. Fresh and prepared to do anything. In your younger years, you would be ready for the worse.

Eventually, you changed into pajamas. They were loose but comfortable. The sheer difference from your civilian wardrobe to your Spider suit is two completely different styles. But you weren't Spider-woman right now. You were just you. You were just a lonesome neighbor, wanting to eat.

You discovered there were leftovers in the fridge and reheated it. A random movie was playing that allowed your mind to rest. The concrete table you had in the kitchen had a beautiful set of gray colors. It's marble which compliments the cupboards next to them. You feel nostalgic thinking about it. When you first moved in, nothing in your apartment was the same. You had to renovate everything to satisfy your vision. And as it turned out, your kitchen was one of your accomplished projects.

You look back on the fond memories you had as a young adult. Now years later, your mind and thinking have matured. Many things have changed since you became Spiderwoman. Your life now was on a constant radar. And as you sit down on your couch with a bowl of rice and teriyaki steak, you sigh. Your life was not going to get easier. It would not get more difficult from here. The movie playing on your television catches your attention. A single line from the main character reminds you of what your uncle had once told you.

With great power comes great responsibility.

The morning ran by rather quickly. You didn’t realize how much time had passed until your eyes slowly registered the fluffy covers on top of you. The natural illumination coming from your window displays next to you. You can see the small particles of dust in the air. The world is a blur for you for a moment. Until you awakened in your bed, the scent of vanilla and blueberries distinctly attracted your nose. Your legs slowly lifted themselves to the floor. You note that you don't remember showering or cleaning after yourself last night. You'd assumed you were carried straight to bed.

The sun was so bright and delightful outside. For once New York was not raining today on its cool morning. And rubbing your eyes, you casually walk toward the scent. “Morning,” You yawn clumsily, leaning towards the nearby counter. Unfortunately, you slipped and failed to catch the edge of the table.

Luckily a fast hand reaches out and holds onto your forearm. “Morning, mi amor.”

You blink up and give your savior an adorable smile. “Morning.” In return, he laughs at your drowsiness. Your hair, most likely was a mess. And your face was probably droopy from sleepiness. Not to mention the sweat and dirt you endured from the previous mission.

You were guilty. Even after returning home, you did not take the time to shower yet. “Sorry, I was exhausted yesterday.”

“No need, amor,” your fiancé gives you a sympathetic look, squeezing your bicep, “I didn’t know you would come home so soon. I should’ve set up dinner for you.”

“It's all right.” You wave a hand in reassurance before sitting on one of the stools. “I had some leftovers.”

Your partner flips a pancake and grins. “Yes, I could tell.” There was an underlying teasing tone you sensed. “But don’t worry, that’s why I made you breakfast.” At the word, he places the last pancake on a white plate. Grabbing fresh blueberries from the sink behind, he sprinkles the rest onto the pancakes. Adorningly, you giggle at his gestures of courtesy. In casual clothes, he wears your cute little apron. It has little pink hearts on it. His stature looms over you easily as he leans in with a charming look.

With the maple syrup in hand, you eagerly look at the pancake and then back to him. “Thank you, Miguel.”

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sapphicmsmarvel · 4 months

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acotar characters loving a plus size reader

NSFW bc of descriptors. But like, actual smut? Nah. also body worship vibes but again, not Explicit.

Azriel: if he could spend eternity between your thick thighs, it would never be enough. Whether that be his head, hand, shadows, dick, anything. He lives for it. He loves you in any clothes (especially his) but seeing you in a cute little sundress while he stuffs his cock into your cunt? Heaven on earth for this man.

Cassian: this man loves your hips oh my. He loves when you wear his shirts and your plush hips just peek out from the shirt. It’s a tantalizing mystery that he has to solve every time. Aka, whenever he sees it, he will eat you out. Either against the wall or in bed, always private because he refuses to let anyone else see you the way he does.

Rhysand: this man loves your arms. yall know that one jessica chastain and oscar isaac clip? Rhys always does that to you! He purposefully buys you dresses that will show them off! When you made your mating/wedding bargain with him, he made sure the tattoo did not cover your beautiful skin there. He loves holding your arms above your head while he pounds your body into the mattress.

Feyre: sit. on. her. face. She’s so in love with your size! Your thighs? She could die perfectly happy! Your tummy? Oh my Gods, the most beautiful sight to her is when she’s eating you out and can see those thighs quivering and stomach trying to catch a breath. She loves you in any type of clothes, but seeing you wear a dress? She’s floored every time.

Morrigan: your stretch marks are everything to her. She loves kissing them and tracing them with her tongue. She loves when you wear a netted or mesh fabric that shows them off a little bit. Whenever you wear revealing clothes that show them, she always has a hand on them, tracing them delicately with her fingers just imagining the sounds you were going to make that night while she fucked you.

Amren: She would never, in a million years, say it to your face; but she loves your cheeks. Both your ass and face. She loves how squishy and red your cheeks get when she fucks you (again, both of them). She loves the cellulite, the stretch marks. You look like a statue from her time. You’re her home.

Nesta: Her and Cassian have a type, it’s the hips. She loves when you wear a skin tight cotton dress. She can see the outline of your perfect body, the fabric hugging every curve that she is dying to sink her teeth into. She does bite in bed, but she can’t help it. How dare you look so fucking hot that she can’t contain herself?

Elain: elain isn’t one for vulgarity, but my gods your tits. She constantly has to catch herself from just face planting into them because she loves it there. A lot of times if you’re sitting at a counter or standing in a mirror, she’ll just walk up behind you and cup your boobs in her hands and just squeeze. She cannot help it.

Lucien: he is an Ass man. He likes having something to grip. He loves watching your skin recoil at the force of his thrusts. You’re just so hot it makes him breathless sometimes.

Eris: Like Morrigan, nothing, on this earth, makes him weaker than your stretch marks. Every time you have sex he is kissing and tracing, sometimes licking them. He can’t help himself. They’re just so pretty.

Tarquin: if you ever wanna put this man into cardiac arrest, wear a bikini. Or frankly, don’t wear anything. He will not complain. He’s not really a Territorial Guy, just a smug bastard that smirks and touches you when he knows people want what’s his. If you’re in your bedroom wearing just a robe he will 100% just walk by and untie it just so you don’t have anything on.

#acotar x reader #acotar headcannons #feyre archeron x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #nesta x reader #elain x reader #tarquin x reader #eris x reader #morrigan x reader #amren x reader #lucien x reader

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redeyerhaenyra · 9 months

Note

Hey, its ya girl, ominoose. Honoured to be here on opening night.

I would like to request Jake Lockley, Blue Jones and Basil Stitt with a curvy/chubby reader please! XOXOXO

Jake, Blue, Basil, with a curvy reader

Summary: Some headcanons for Jake, Blue, and Basil with a curvalicious reader

Warnings: Masturbation(male), possessiveness, unhealthy relationships in Basil's section, recording, thigh fucking, dollification(?)in Blue's section, a small bit of titty worship if you squint

Notes: MUSHI omg, yes yes yes 1000% yes, autistic bisexual curvy oscar isaac lovers RISSSEEE- I kinda got carried away with Basil's section hehehe but I hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

Jake Lockley

OK so if there's one thing we know about Jake, he is the opposite of shy, especially when it comes to his affections for you

Man lives and breathes to just look at you

The bastard will fucking pout if you're going out and you don't wear tight clothes

"But, hermosa, I wanna show you off, you're so hot. Everybody wishes they were you, prometo."

He's so proud you're his, there is nothing about you he doesn't love. Like I said earlier, he just likes to look at you.

All the curves and bumps, your soft tummy, your plush thighs, he can't get enough.

You will be sitting in his lap most of the time and this is non negotiable

It's half a sex thing for him and half that you're basically his plushie that he likes to cuddle, just having you sit pretty on his lap, all warm and squishy, makes him feel better

I think he'd definitely be into thigh fucking like c'mon now it's obvious

Feeling and seeing his dick between your squishy thighs just makes him go feral

I've said it before I'll say it again he fucking lives for making Marc and Steven jealous and recording himself fucking your thighs on Steven's phone for the poor guy to find later is just one of the many ways he does that

He talks alot too, just to rub it in further

"Guau, qué chica tan bonita. Hmm? You're so beautiful aren't you, baby? So perfect and squishy for me, I bet Marc and Steven wish they were here right now, huh? Don't you agree? Yeah, I bet you do."

Blue Jones

Oh no

If you thought Jake was bad you have a whole nother thing coming

Blue will PERSONALLY make sure all the costumes you wear on stage highlight just how curvy and plush you are.

But no one else is allowed to touch you

Oh no, that right's reserved for him and him alone

Tbh even when you're not performing, he'll want you to be wearing tight fitting shirts so he can stare at your boobies as you go about your day

Yeah he's a tit guy, don't get me wrong he loves all parts of your body but titties just do it for him

Him and Jake are very similar tbh, he also likes to show you off.

When high rollers are in the club you'll be sitting on his lap and no one else's

You're his doll, toy, barbie even

He likes to dress you up and play with you ;)

I'm serious he will pick out outfits for only him to see you in, dress you up in them, sit you on his lap and brush your hair

Like I said you're his toy, his stress ball, even

Just squeezing you will calm him down, any part of you, it's almost grounding to him

He talks to you in these moments, but it's just sort of general babbling about how shit his day was, and all you have to do is sit in his lap and let him nuzzle your breasts

"You're so good to me, bunny. I don't deserve you, do I? No matter what I do you're always here.. always so soft for me.."

Basil Stitt

Ah, everyone's favorite recluse

Look at the way this man lives and tell me he's not a porn addict please

YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT

So we've established that he's a greasy little basement dweller who watches porn on the regular

And we all know that most mainstream porn showcases sort of a singular body type (no hate to my skinny ladies btw ily mwah mwah)

Like it never occurred to him that he might find chubby ladies attractive

So when you, his new neighbour, moving into the apartment across the hall from him, knock on his door to say hi with the most wonderful tight leggings on he basically dies on the spot

The way your thighs looked so squishy and plush- he just wanted to grab them and sink his teeth into them

He tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible because he knew he would've ended up moaning out loud at any point

And then you turn around to walk away AND HE SEES YOUR ASS he's dead he's so dead

The next time he sees you, you're coming back from a night out, clearly a little tipsy, and wearing the shortest, tightest black dress he's ever seen, he dies a second time

His face is pressed up agaisnt the peephole in his door so he can watch you

You drop your keys at one point and bend over to pick them up and he basically cums in his pants untouched

Groaning and falling to his knees as his now softening dick rubs against the wet patch in his jeans

He makes it a point to watch you whenever he can now

He learns your schedule off by heart, it becomes his schedule. Probably has alarms set for it on his phone

Like "Oh , it's 9AM, time to watch my neighbour leave for work." "Oh its 8:30 time to watch her come home."

He really desperately wants to talk to you more but the poor guy is just so insecure :(

This cycle continues for a while.. until one fateful day, you come back from your weekly night out, in the same tight black dress that he loves so much on you... but this time... you're accompanied by a man

The both of your are similarly a little drunk, giggling and fumbling over the keys to your apartment

What? What's this? A friend, brother... partner? Basil silently begs you from behind the door to not let him into your apartment but oh god that's exactly what you do

He feels the tears running down his face before he realises he's crying, pleading for you to stop from behind his door.

His pleads turn to shouts as you close the door, sniffling and crying

Definitely fucks up his apartment again in his anguish

And when he's done that he angrily jerks off, to get back at you? He's not sure. He doesn't even know if you're having sex with the guy, or if it's just a friend you're letting crash at your place, but he's so obsessed with you he can't imagine it being any other reason that you would "betray" him like that

His poor cock is red and sore and he realises he shouldn't have tugged on it so hard 🥺 poor baby

He spends the next day crying in bed, it feels like you've dumped him when you're both barely more than acquaintances but by this point he's formed a sort of parasocial relationship with you, and your soft tummy, that he can't get over the prospect of you even looking at other men

And so, it's decided. He's going to go, knock on your door, and talk to you.... tomorrow. One day. He will do it! Just.. not today.

#blue jones #blue jones sucker punch #blue jones x reader #blue jones smut #mushi ♡#jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely smut #jake lockley moonknight #basil stitt #lightning face #basil stitt x reader #basil stitt smut

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chaithetics · 14 days

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Fics for Palestine! 🖤❤️🤍💚

Hey, beautiful Tumblr besties!

Do you want a fic and to support a good cause? A super specific fic? Want to ensure you are fed those Monkey Man fics you're needing? Or have you sent me a request and want me to hurry up and write it (Sorry I do take my time with writing)? THEN READ

I will write and prioritise requests from you and have them posted on Tumblr NO LATER THAN MAY 31ST!!!!

All you need to do is send same day confirmation to me either in the ask box or as a message of donating to a fund or organisation on the Operation Olive Branch list! This could be a family's Go Fund Me page for evacuating Palestine, the UNRWA fund, or eSims for Gaza etc.

This is the Operation Olive Branch's linktree page

I don't know what the response will be to this, if miraculously so many people were interested that I was too overwhelmed I would come up with a new date or close temporarily and 'reopen' for June. We'll see how this does, but I will be regularly updating this!

I will write for the following characters:

Any Pedro Pascal characters

Any Oscar Isaac characters

Any Dev Patel characters

Any Fallout characters

Any Succession characters (not Old Guard or Greg lol but even Tom!)

Tommy Miller (TLOU)

Any The Bear characters

Marvel characters like Matt Murdock, Wanda, Bucky etc.

And more I just can't think of, you're more than welcome to ask about a certain character in comments, DMs or in my inbox before donating as well 🫶

What I will write:

I'll write fluff, angst, smut, or any combination! I will write plus size readers, poc readers, disabled readers etc. I will write female readers, and gender-neutral readers, I'm bi/queer so am happy to write wlw fics if you desire Shiv or some Wanda with an f reader or more straight ones- whatever you want! Requests can be as vague or as specific as you want!

If you want Kendall and Stewy's conversation the night before his wedding to Rava with some angst, you got it! If you wanted to request a plus-size reader to go on a bookstore date with a contemporary Ezra, you got it! It's pretty open to your dreams!

I won't write fics that are nonconsensual, 'dark', heavy kink, gore, vore, paedophilia, and nothing with under-18 readers or characters (this includes characters 'aged up' for a fic).

My masterlist is here for navigation and if you aren't familiar with my work but want to get an idea!!! Chaithetics Masterlist

Moving on.....

If you donate 5 USD, CAD, GBP, EURO whatever currency that fund is in:

I will write a fic with your request that is at least 500 words long and is posted no later than May 31st.

If you donate 10 USD, CAD, GBP, EURO whatever currency that fund is in:

I will write a fic with your request that is at least 1,000 words long and is posted no later than May 31st.

If you donate 50 USD, CAD, GBP, EURO whichever currency that fund is in:

I will write a fic with your request that is at least 4,000 words long and is posted no later than May 31st.

Why is this important?

We need to help out and do our part to not be complicit in Israel's genocide against the Palestinian people. Palestinians are begging for our attention and aid, since October 7th 2023, Israel has murdered over 35,000 Palestinians, displacing the survivors so many and committing numerous war crimes. Israel's expulsion, ethnic cleansing and war crimes have been terrorising the Palestinian people and land since 1948. We all have a part to play, so get involved with this if you like, please contact your local representatives and government, keep engaging with Palestinian content and voices, support the funds if you can- I know that's not accessible to everyone, attend rallies, protests, and vigils in support of Palestine. Do what you can, what is physically, emotionally and financially accessible to you.

I'd love it if you could share this as well, especially for my mutuals and others in these fandoms with much bigger platforms (I have a humble 300 followers, that I adore) and also for other writers to consider doing something like this! Thank you for reading this far, let's stay empathetic and support each other in these trying times 🖤❤️🤍💚

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moonpascaltoo · 13 days

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╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all moon knight stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, let me know <3) some will have summaries if provided <3

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 05/26/24

★ moon knight one

★ moon knight two

★ @eastbluecafe

☼ first kiss

☾ You're trying to figure out why your lovely boyfriends Marc and Steven haven't kissed you yet.

★ @luke-o-lophus

☼ homecoming

☾ All you can remember is Marc died. Your boyfriend, killed by Harrow's bullets. He died not knowing how deeply you love him. And now everything has stopped making sense. But then who's the man in the room?

☼ all of me, all of you

☾ Steven's life is finally going his way, but he's feeling empty. It's up to you, his long time friend, to remind him he's beautiful and worthy of love. And maybe find love along the way.

★ @astroboots

☼ love bites

☾ Marc wakes up with a lot of hickeys in the mirror.

☼ i need some sleep 2.0

☾ You've fallen asleep with Steven deep inside you and the poor man tries to hold onto his failing sanity (cockwarming galore).

★ @commander-sunshine

☼ domesticity

☾ You move into a new flat with the moon boys and they have their first tastes of domestic bliss.

★ @lizzie-is-here

☼ lonely is a man without love

☾ you’re an ex-black widow, now working with the avengers. and marc spector, a soldier gone vigilante, is your target. so who’s this steven guy, and what’s up with the giant skeleton bird?

★ @softlyspector

☼ touched starved jake

☼ request

☼ baseball game

☼ the question is why

☾ Steven tries to ask you on a date, he really does.

★ @phantomspiderr

☼ wrong part 2

☾ Your first date with Jake takes a bit of a steamy turn but ends in a rather soft moment

★ @wysteria-clad

☼ when they decide you're "the one"

☼ keepsake

☾ the boys keep something of yours that reminds them of you

☼ i accept in cash and kisses

☼ cucumber face mask and fist of vengeance

★ @marc-spectorr

☼ lesson in touch

☾ an inexperienced steven turns to you, his best friend, for advice ahead of a date. you happily agree to give him a few pointers, including a quick guide on how to kiss. but what starts out as an innocent favor ends up unearthing feelings that steven has buried for so long, complicating things more as his lessons in touch with you unexpectedly continue.

★ @bibli0thecary

☼ glimpse of us part 2

☾ you love all three of them equally, not knowing only one of them truly loves you just as much

☼ daylight

★ @charnelhouse

☼ drabble request

★ @quicksilverownsmysoul

☼ secret

☾ You unlock Steven’s hidden mommy kink after overstimulating him

☼ just a kiss

★ @saikokirakira

☼ were not married yet

☾ you received nothing but radio silence from your partners for months. one day, jake comes home and calls you by an unknowingly offensive endearment. your insecurity acts up, and jake won't give up control until he fixes it.

★ @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

☼ the boy with the thorn in his side

☾ Steven Grant’s day is going poorly to say the least. He’s lost days, missed his date and now a stranger has sat down opposite him who seems to know him? It would be nice if our favourite Gift-Shopist could catch a break.

☼ cancelled

☾ Your plans change.

★ @in-a-daddy-state-of-mind

☼ getting up next to you

☾ Steven keeps waking up next to you after you and Jake hook up

★ @madlittlecriminal

☼ fixing mistakes

★ @sailorkamino

☼ chaos in us

☾ When you leave behind your friends in New York to be the master of the London Sanctum you can't help but feel a little lonely. Luckily a mysterious gift shopist is there to make the foreign city feel like home.

★ @variety-fangirl

☼ 3 days away

☾ you and Jake end up arguing about his safety, especially when he comes home worse than ever. After days of silent treatment from him and him refusing to let the others front, you decide a few days away for him to calm down is best.

★ @missdictatorme

☼ the power of love

☾ You live a quiet life, not really feeling like you belong to anywhere. You go to work then go home to your empty apartment and that’s about it. For comfort, you read your favorite comic book, Moon Knight, which is criminally underrated in your opinion. It doesn't even have any merch which is devastating, so you take matters in your own hands and make some dolls out of your favorite characters: Marc, Steven and Jake. Your life takes an interesting turn when unexplainable things start happening in your apartment.

★ @ivystoryweaver

☼ ovulation sensation

☾ You feel awful and Steven makes it all better. Or, I've read the amazing period fics. What about the sometimes-hell of ovulation?

★ @writingsoftheloser

☼ the museum's guy

☾ A meet-cute at the museum

★ @inknopewetrust

☼ resolutions part two part 3

★ @ereminsdiary

☼ for the first time

★ @grippingbeskar

☼ a little banged up

★ @moonlight-presence

☼ getting to know you

☾ Jake is jealous of Marc and Steven, so he asks them if he can "get to know you better"... You aren´t sure of this, so you ask to talk to him first. Things escalate a bit, and you end up knowing him in a very intimate way.

★ @cosmicloki

☼ everything

☾ there are always fights with marc, but this time he went too far and steven has to come out to fix the mess he made and try to convince you not to leave them, since you are literally the only good thing in his shitty life.

☼ chamber of reflection

☾ steven looks really tired and exhausted, so you decide to confront marc for not taking care of his body properly and this pushes him to do something that the three of you have been wanting to do for quite some time now

☼ softcore

☾ marc is apparently having a breakdown in the middle of egypt, the good thing is that you’re right there with him, the person he seems to hate the most in the whole world… or quite the opposite of that.

★ @never--doubt

☼ succiduous

☾ You know you’re in love with your coworker, Steven Grant. But when things go sideways in more ways than one, will you ever be able to tell him how you feel? More to the point…will you ever see him again?

★ @spilledkauffie

☼ tuesday's on the phone to me

☾ Steven misses a date with you; understanding and thinking that you'll never want to see to him again, he apologizes and leaves. . .

★ @jayke0

☼ and they were roommates

☾ You catch your roommate, Marc, having some private time, and it's only when he comes at the sight of you that something inside you is released.

★ @pilotispunk

☼ french lessons

☾ You had been in desperate want to learn French, but the absolute droll of learning through a boring app was no fun. Coincidentally, you meet a brilliant gift shop clerk at the museum who can teach you French while you can teach him a thing or two about love.

★ @ohcaptains

☼ take me, i’m good

☾ marc’s lost in egypt. he could do with a helping hand.

★ @foli-vora

☼ tear in my heart

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

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Birthday Surprises - Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: Oscar gives you the task to distract Pedro so they can break into his apartment and set it up for a surprise birthday party - both you and Pedro get more than you planned for

Words: 2.4K

Warnings: none I think

Notes HAPPY BIRTHDYA TO THE BEAUTIFUL AND HUMBLE MAN THAT IS PEDRO FUCKING PASCAL

--------

Y/N’s POV

My heart pounds in my chest as I knock on Pedro’s door, Oscar having given me his address with one specific detail: get Pedro out of the house by 1pm and keep him out until 6pm. It’s his birthday and we want to surprise him with a small gathering, knowing he’s been stressed recently with The Mandalorian and The Last of Us press tours and the fans wanting to know his every move.

Before I can have any doubts about this the door swings open and a very sleepy Pedro appears. He looks fucking amazing in just his shorts and a loose lakers tee shirt, fluffy hair standing up in all different directions as if he’s just run his hands through it. He seems to light up when he sees me, the frown slipping from his soft features as he ushered me in. The door shutting with a soft click and he’s herding me to the kitchen where I see a massive stack of pancakes ready to slide off the plate.

“Happy Birthday Pepsi,” I laugh softly, turning to face him and pull him into a hug. I’m not much of a hugger but Pedro… I will never say no to a Pedro hug. His chest rumbles with laughter as he wraps his strong arms around my shoulders and rocks us on the spot as he presses a smiled kiss to my temple. I don’t know how long we stand there but we only separate when Pedro suddenly lets me go with a cry of ‘save the pancakes’ and I’m just watching him race around the island and steady the pile with one fatality.

He’s laughing and pointing towards a cupboard for me to get another plate, “Come on sweetheart, we’ll share the birthday pancakes. I made too many for myself anyway!”

“Alright but I have an afternoon planned for us and you can’t say no.” I shoot back, grabbing another plate and helping Pedro dish out the pancakes before both plates get placed on the island. He buzzed around the kitchen, grabbing all sorts of things like whipped cream; sugar; lemon juice and syrup before joining me, “That’s a lot of sugar.”

“It’s my birthday.” He grins around a mouthful of pancake and whipped cream, bright and bubbly like a child. I can’t keep the fond smile off my lips, shaking my head fondly at him as he giggles. Fuck me he’s so cute and I wish this was everyday life for me, getting to wake up and have breakfast everyday with him and be able to kiss the bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth but this isn’t my life. I’m just here to help a few friends out and before I can stop myself I’m swiping the cream from his lips, going to wipe it on my jeans when those very same lips wrap around my thumb and his tongue darts over the pad of it before he’s pulling back with a ‘pop’ and a cheeky grin, “I’ll go get dressed.”

Despite being spring the breeze was still cold and harsh, rustling hair and tugging at our coats that are tightly wrapped around ourselves. Pedro is telling me how last year he had a quiet birthday with his family who came to visit him and he made them a traditional chilean meal, it was apparently his mother’s favourite meal. My hand found his when he told me that, the sadness in his voice evident despite how hard he’s trying to hide it, gently squeezing his large hand comfortingly and getting that softest smile in return.

I had definitely had reservations about becoming an actress when I had seen how pompous and self-centred they could be, scared I would end up just like them but I quickly found my group of people who I couldn’t live without. I met Pedro through Oscar Isaac after being an extra in Star Wars, not sure why Oscar decided to become my friend but here we are now years later. I owe a lot to Oscar as he got me my role as Bobbi Morse aka Mockingbird in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D and it was my breakout role really. I wouldn’t be where I am right now, having worked with major stars I could only have dreamt working for, and currently walking along side the most humble and warmhearted celeb I have ever met.

Pedro is currently eyeing up a cafe across the street from us, eyes flicking between the cafe and me with his bottom lip jutted out in a pout and his honey eyes all wide and innocent as he flutters his eyelashes at me. A simple look would have gotten me to say yes but what he’s doing in making me weak at the knees so I just fake sigh and pull him towards the cafe, hearing the triumphant sound he lets out.

The coffee shop is a cozy haven tucked away on a quiet street corner. Pedro moving closer to me in excitement as we step inside, the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling my senses, instantly calming me. The shop fills with natural light streaming through the large windows, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere and none of that fake brightness lightbulbs give in quaint places like this.

The walls are adorned with local artwork and framed photographs, giving the space a personal touch. The wooden floors creaking underfoot, adding to the charm of the place. The furniture is an eclectic mix of cozy armchairs, wooden tables, and benches that looked like they had been there for decades. Behind the counter, a barista greets us with a smile, ready to take our order. The menu written on a chalkboard, which I take the time to look art despite knowing exactly what Pedro and I will have to drink. We get the same things every time so I go ahead and order.

“Hey! Could we get a caramel macchiato and an iced quad espresso with extra ice and six shots please.” I tell him and he raises an eyebrow at Pedro’s six extra shots but a warm smile replaces it when he sees Pedro staring at the pastries and small cakes with his face and hands practically pressed to the glass. It catches me off guard as it’s the smile you give a couple when you see them do something cute and deeply romantic. I should correct him and tell him he’s wrong but instead I add to my order. “Could you add two caramel doughnuts to that.” and I don’t regret it when Pedro’s face lights up even more.

Pedro is practically bouncing on the spot as we wait for the coffee and doughnuts, watching the barista prepare them with such love and care while I scan the cafe, It’s quiet and calm with the only other occupants being a group of friends huddled together in a corner, chatting and laughing and a couple sat across the cafe, lost in conversation. The sound of clinking cups and spoons fill the air as I thank the barista and grab our cups while Pedro practically snatches up the doughnuts, having already taken a bite out of one of them before we can sit down.

“Mmmmm, so fucking good, we - me and you -“ He waves a hand between us, almost knocking his coffee over, “We are coming here very often.”

“I can get behind that.” I agree as I take my first sip of my macchiato. It’s the best macchiato I’ve tried, the rich and complex flavours making me groan lightly into my cup and I don’t miss the way Pedro’s honey eyes sparkle with amusement. It’s too damn good to care, I’ve made my fair share of coffees as a barista before I became an actor and no way have I ever been able to make one this good. The smooth and velvety texture of the steamed milk adds a layer of creaminess that beautifully balances the espresso's bitterness. It is like a dance between the two flavours, with each one complementing the other perfectly. But the real star of the show is the caramel syrup. It is sweet and slightly nutty in flavour which adds such a warm and decadent sweetness that lingered on my taste buds.

“You’re making out with that coffee.” Pedro smirks and I’m spluttering.

“Just because I have actual coffee and not six shots of hyper,” I retort, sticking my tongue out at him, “Whatever this barista has done it’s really fucking good. Like a fucking work of art, a symphony of flavours perfectly crafted and blended to make this-“

“You’re cute when you nerd out. You know so much about coffee.”

“I was a barista before I became an actor.”

The afternoon continues like that, Pedro and I finding topics to discuss or bicker over but each of us avoiding the topic of our shows and movies. We have an agreement that we talks about normal things, like we aren’t famous or noticeable. Pedro tells me all about his family and I always listen intently as they’re such great people and he seems so close to them it makes me a little jealous as I broke a lot of bonds with my parents when I became an actress. I think out of everyone in his family I would love to meet Lux as she is crafted by the gods themselves and she just seems such a strong and passionate woman with a lot to say and no fear in saying it. She seems dedicated to what she does and seeing pictures and videos of her and Pedro I can see an unbreakable bond that I can’t wait to see in person if Pedro would ever allow me.

I had told Pedro about my parents and how they had reacted badly to it all. My dad wanted me to become a machine and sit at a desk doing a nine to five job until I get old and die. My dad kicked me out while my mum had shook her head and let me pack my bags, not knowing that I had sent a message to my older brother. My brother had become my pillar of support and Pedro had sat there with pain in his eyes and a hurt look on his face when I had told him everything. He had promised me that he would always be there for me and I could always find him if needs be which really solidified the growing feeling I have towards him.

We were on our second round of drinks when my phone buzzes with a message from Oscar.

‘Mission birthday boy is go.’

Then another comes through before I can text back, shielding my phone from Pedro despite the small pout on the older man’s lips as I never hide my phone from him, I could never as I have nothing to hide from the man I am head over heels for but right now Oscar needs me to be secretive.

‘That means get your asses here now.’

‘Be there in 10.’

Pedro turns his key in the lock and swings the door open to darkness. He frowns at me, raising an eyebrow in question as we step inside but I stay silent, seeing the smallest amount of movement as I shut the door. As soon as the door clicks shut the room lights up and erupts with cries of “SURPRISE!”

The birthday boy lets out a shriek of surprise before accepting the hug Oscar pulls him into, the pair laughing and hugging. I think they probably would have stayed like that for longer if Sarah hadn’t wrangled Pedro out of Oscar's arms. All I can do is watch: the apartment filled with weighed down balloons; birthday banners strung up and a small feast of food spread out upon the kitchen island while Oscar joins me leaning against the wall by the door.

“You did good,” He bumps my shoulder and I laugh softly, taking the beer he’s holding out and leaning my head on his shoulder. There’s not many people here, around 25, and they’re all giving their birthday wishes to Pedro who is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. I can’t stop the fond smile as he is so happy, eyes sparkling and hands flailing excitedly while Oscar turns his head and presses a kiss to my hair before mumbling, “There’s a surprise for you too.”

“For me?” I frown up at him but I don’t get to pry more when Pedro makes his way back over, a grin so wide I think his face may split into two. He pulls me away from Oscar who takes my beer from me, shrugging with fake innocence when Pedro stops us by the floor to ceiling windows he has in his top floor apartment. His large and soft hands slide up my arms, stopping when they’re cupping my jaw.

“You organised this for me?” His voice is low and gentle, eyes wide in awe and I go to protest but I realise what Oscar meant so I just nod, scared to see his next move. His ducks his head a little, nose bumping mine a little and I can’t stop the squeal of surprise when his nose is cold and the feel of his warm breath ghosting my face is almost overwhelming. My heart jackhammers in my chest, my eyes slipping shut at the first brush of his pillowy lips in mine. It’s a gentle kiss, full of tenderness and love, nearly knocking me off my feet and how he can make it feel like nothing else matters as I melt into his embrace. It’s just him and me, lost in the passion that comes with a first kiss.

But the cheering and whooping brings me back to reality, my face heating up and I’m hiding in Pedro’s shirt as he chuckles. Mixture of emotions fill my chest: excitement, nervousness and a rush of adrenaline. His heart is racing just as fast as mine, a small moment of pure intimacy despite the many people observing our interactions. The hug is long and lingering, and as we pull away, I look up into his warm honey eyes and see a mix of emotions there as well. It’s like we both know that something special had just happened between us, and we are both feeling the weight of the moment, knowing we’re in this together and all of our friends couldn’t be happier for us.

“Happy Birthday Pepsi.”

“Best birthday present mi cariño.”

----------

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fangswbenefits · 9 months

Note

It's all fun and game until you hear, for the first ever time, Miguel sings as he's rocking your baby to sleep.

And that man KNOWS how to sings (I mean, he's voiced by Oscar Isaac, of course he does), he just stopped doing it after he lost Gabriella.

So you're waking up from a much needed nap, Miguel, even though he fell asleep with you, is no longer by your side and in the next room, you hear this low yet soft voice sing a sweet melody. You swiftly get up, walk to the door and slowly open it, almost like you felt that behind it, the precious scene in display must stay undisturbed.

Your eyes land on Miguel slowly pacing in the living room and for a few seconds, you can't believe your ears. The sweet warm of the Spanish lullaby he singing seems to sooth your baby alright and it's sooth you too, but mostly its beauty bring tears to your eyes. Miguel tenses has he hear you sniff and toddle toward you with worries all over his face, but you just lean in his touch.

"Please don't stop, it's beautiful... the song you're singing, do not stop" He could have cried too, but keeping your sleeping child in one of his arms, he wraps the other one around you, pressing you against him, and starts singing again.

GUYS

#answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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monimccoythings · 1 year

Text

Miguel O’Hara headcanons

Warning: This contains slight spoilers for Across The Spiderverse

I’m a new person after watching Across the Spiderverse. Words cannot describe how much I loved this movie. But the things I loved the most was how the characters were portrayed, like, you could tell their actions were wrong and that they were taking the worst approach to the situation, but still understand why they behaved like that and empathize with their reasoning behind their actions. Another thing I truly loved was their approach to their supposed love triangle, they mostly took the same route they took in Venom, Miles was a bit jealous at first, but the supposed love rival (Hobie my beloved) was just a cool guy who genuinely wanted to help and there was never any rivalry or hostility between them and that’s very healthy. I also loved Oscar Isaac’s portrayal of Miguel O’hara, absolutely wonderful.

I usually try to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, but this time I decided that this time reader would be fem!reader, but please feel free to use any pronoun you feel more comfortable with.

Imagine Miguel who after the incident with his alternate self’s daughter closed his heart off to everyone else, genuinely believing that to be Spider-Man you need to suffer and vowing to never love anyone ever again.

Imagine Miguel finding a carbon copy of his alternate self’s deceased wife in his real “home” universe and realising that he could have had a family here after all.

Imagine Miguel deciding not to pursue you and start a family, thinking that it would all end in more heartbreak and pain for them.

Imagine Miguel keeping tabs on you despite everything, because he wants to make sure you are safe, happy, well cared and surrounded with good people.

Imagine Miguel’s shock when you start working at the same laboratory as he as a lab assistant and having to self restrain himself from holding you against his chest and never letting go.

Imagine Miguel having to become cold and aloof towards you to save you both the suffering, thinking it will be easier if you hated him even if it’s killing him. Nonetheless, you still see through his façade and realise that behind that cruel and cold mask there is a scared man. Because you always do see him, in every universe.

Imagine Miguel pretending to not care whetever you are dating someone or not, but still tearing his private lab into pieces in the middle of a jealously induced rage fit.

Imagine Miguel finding and beating the shit out of the date when they inevitably break your heart.

Imagine Miguel’s walls slowly coming down no matter how much he wants to keep them up because that’s the effect you always have on him.

Imagine Miguel’s learning to appreciate and love your version’s differences with the one from his deceased counterpart universe and value you as your own individual.

Imagine Miguel’s sudden understanding as to why Miles was so adamant of protecting his family when he sees some thugs about to shoot you.

Imagine Miguel losing it and becoming a rabid beast ready to murder those thugs.

Imagine that the only way to calm him down his to hug his broad back and whisper soothing and reassuring words to him. Even if you are trembling with fear, you find more important to hush him before he does something he will surely regret.

Imagine Miguel finally deciding to pursue you romantically and open his heart. He is not risking losing you ever again.

Imagine Miguel always fearing something bad might happen to you so he is a bit overbearing and overprotective. He always is expecting the worst of everyone. But you are always there to reassure him you are not going anywhere.

Imagine Miguel almost expecting a canon event to take you away from him again. But as time passes, your romance blossoms, you get engaged, you get married, have beautiful babies, and nothing happens. Not like Miguel isn’t there to make sure something bad happens, as mentioned, he is very overprotective.

Imagine Miguel being kinda worried that his children may inherit his “special traits” and you comforting him, telling her that no matter what you love them all.

Imagine Miguel waking up one day and realising nothing bad is happening because this is the future he was meant to have, a happy one.

Imagine Miguel stepping down from his role as leader of the Spider Society and giving it to more capable hands to spend more time with his family.

Imagine Miguel finally allowing himself to relax and enjoy life and his role as Spider-Man with his family by his side. Healing from trauma once and for all.

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse spoilers #atsv #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader

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604to647 · 4 months

Text

Safest with You (Ch. 11 - The Poker Game)

5.9K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din hosts a poker game and invites you and your friends; the meeting of friends prompts a discussion about the status of your relationship.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), new-ish established relationship, dirty talk and teasing, mentions of infidelity (not Din), reader gets in her own head a bit (some anxiety), pet names as usual (Pretty bird, pretty girl, baby, sweetheart, etc.), reader is described as shorter than Din and Din can pick her up.

A/N: Please kindly suspend your disbelief and allow me to write Poe Dameron as Boba Fett’s son 😂😂😂 Like, when I thought of a roguish, charming, sh*t disturber son of a mob boss, Oscar Isaac’s delicious face just came to mind 🤷🏻‍♀️ I'm going to level with you, I wasn't a big fan of Poe in the Sequel trilogy - too much fly boy/fuck boi energy for me, and that's kind of how I'm writing him here. I'm sorry, Poe-lovers, please don't come after me! (For the record, I *am* a big fan of OI!)

I ran a poll on WIP Wednesday asking asking if there was a preference to separate the smut at the end this chapter into its own post. I told myself that if even one person answered that they wanted it separate, then I would do that; it's easy enough to click on the link at the end of the chapter to take you to the smut if you so choose! I hope no one is disappointed that the storyline is moving in the direction where smut will be a regular addition to the chapters - but if that's not your bag, I totally understand! I'm sorry if you need to go and am so thankful that you've read along to this point 😘😘😘

Series Masterlist

In the following weeks, you and Din fall into a comfortable rhythm and easily slot each other into your busy lives.

Your nightly dog walks resume and on most week nights Din tries to stay at your apartment, with you working late more often than not and it being closer to your office. He’s becoming a familiar face to your work colleagues, bringing you (and often them as well) dinner as an easy and welcomed excuse to see you. Some days he’ll just join you for a lunch trip to your favourite sandwich shop and the two of you will have a quick picnic outside your office building if the weather is warm enough. Weekends are for long, lazy dates that span the entire day, rolling into romantic dinners that have you and Din eating your way across the city. It’s so easy being with Din; the conversation never stops, the sex is brain meltingly good, and he never ceases to make you feel adored. If anyone were to ask, you were the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman on this planet and Din would readily unretire his boxing gloves if anyone dared to disagree. Every moment with Din makes you giddy; not only is this bear of a man actually a secret softie, he’s also goofy and funny, and lucky for you, his new favourite pastime is to make you laugh.

One night over dinner, you mention in passing that you love the arm waving tube men outside of used car dealerships (actually, you don’t know what they’re called, so you did a sort of arm flail with both your arms above your head and Din almost died laughing). The following Saturday, you arrive at the gym in the afternoon to find that Din has rented two tube men and they’re bending, blowing this way and that, arms flying and rippling from the force of the air being blown from the fan units in their base. You join a large group of onlookers in front of the gym, mostly children, laughing and watching with amusement as the silly attention-grabbing gimmick brings you pure unadulterated joy for a good 10 minutes. After going in, you find Din folding some towels next to the boxing ring and you launch yourself at him directly, too full of laughter and delight to care who sees. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” you murmur against his lips, unable to stop smiling. Din picks you up so you can wrap your legs around him, not caring who sees either; he wants everyone at the gym to know whose girl you are. Feeling your big smile against his mouth before seeing it, he grins, “You’re welcome, pretty bird.”

“Are they a permanent feature?”

“Unfortunately, no. Just for the weekend, then I have to give them back to the used car lot down the street, Watto’s. Plus, people keep coming in asking if we’re having a special on memberships today,” he says with a groan.

Giggling, you slide down Din’s body and give him a long, deep kiss, one that will guarantee a fair bit of ribbing from the guys, before heading up to Din’s apartment via the gym’s second floor entrance. Most of these indulgent weekends start at Din’s so he can stay close to work – you take to baking in Din’s apartment and bringing down treats for the patrons, which are generally very well received. When you brought down ginger molasses cookies, Greef had jokingly scolded you saying his boxers shouldn’t have too many sweet treats as part of their training, before scarfing down two cookies, then swatting Jimmy’s hand away from the plate and pocketing three more. You’re sure your offering the following weekend of high fibre raisin bran muffins were better for training regimens, but the enthusiasm for them seemed lower.

Din’s place, the apartment and the gym as an extension, starts to feel more and more comfortable; a small collection of your things (books, toiletries) have migrated to his apartment, and you love that the familiar faces at Mando’s are starting to fold into your life as well.

The only small twinge of regret you have is that with all the time you're spending with Din, especially the time spent at his place, you’re not spending as much time with Al. He’s more than welcomed at Din’s but you hadn’t wanted to uproot him too much, or impose too much on Din too quickly, so on the weekends Bea’s been coming by to walk Al and take care of him. You miss your special guy, your long weekend walks and dog park events; as you cut the butter into your shortbread cookie dough in Din’s kitchen, you decide that you have to make more of an effort to make sure Al isn’t left out.

“Can you do me a favour?”

“Anything, pretty bird.”

“Do you think you might be able to hang out with Al tomorrow night? I feel like he’s feeling a little neglected, and I don’t want to leave him alone. I’d take him to Rory’s but her building has a weird no pets rule,” you pout a little as you scratch Al’s head with one hand while holding the phone to your ear with your other.

Without hesitation, Din agrees, “Sure, baby. I’d love to have him over during poker night. Guarantee he won’t feel lonely.”

“I’ll make some food for your poker night as a thank you! And I’ll bring a dog bed too. God knows I have a few to spare,” you chuckle as you scan your apartment to pick a bed to bring.

“No need, pretty bird. I bought Al a dog bed for here already.”

“Of course you did,” you smile to yourself. Thoughtful, thoughtful man.

And that’s how you find yourself with two big bags of food, an overnight bag each for yourself and a dog, and said dog in tow, looking up at the long flight of stairs leading up to Din’s apartment. Luckily, you don’t have to wait very long before his thundering steps are heard and he comes to help you carry everything. Once on the top landing, Din gingerly places everything on the ground before pulling you in close for the greeting you deserve.

“So… I’ve been thinking…” Din starts, almost shy, “Do you think your friends might like to come over and hang out here? It won’t be a ‘girls’ night’ but there’s food and drinks and it might be fun for our friends to meet? …I mean, if you think it’s a good idea?”

Grinning at Din’s suggestion, you think outloud, “I mean, it’s not a bad idea… I’ll check with Rory and Bea, but what brought this on?”

Din answers by burying his face into your neck and nibbling on your earlobe, “Just like being with you, pretty bird.”

You relent easily, “Ok, but I’m warning you right now about playing with Rory, she’s going to take you all to the cleaner’s.”

“Good. It’s been boring being the only one who wins money,” laughs Paz, who has suddenly appeared. Giving Din a pointed look, “Hey, you know, the gentlemanly thing is to help the lady carry her bags inside,” before giving you a big bear side hug and greeting you with his new nickname for you (“Hey, Lil’ Lady.”) He picks up the food bags and heads in, passing Bo who’s on her way onto the landing to say hi. For one reason or another, you haven’t seen her since Jimmy’s fight night; after a big hug, she looks at you with seriousness, “Thank god you’re back. This one,” she jabs a thumb at Din, “was an unbearable grump while you were apart. Please never leave us again.” She takes Al’s leash from you, and leads him inside the apartment; a second later you hear a raucous cheer of “Alfredo!!” followed by Al’s happy barks.

After setting out the food you brought (caprese sandwiches, sugar dusted mascarpone-blueberry turnovers, bruschetta) and putting what needs to be warmed in the oven (garlic knots, salmon-onion dip, turkey meatball pops), you text the girls and receive an enthusiastic response to the suggested change of plans.

Sitting on Din’s lap to give him the good news, you pass around the sandwiches to the delight of the players already seated at the big card table Din set out for the occasion. You’re excited that the Mandos that are here tonight will get to meet some of your friends and you tell them so.

“Looking forward to it! And… you get to meet Poe tonight,” says Koska, with an almost apologetic look.

“Who’s Poe?” you ask, curiously looking around at the facial expressions of the Mandos, ranging from eye rolling to what can only be described as shit eating grins.

Din explains, “He’s Boba’s son.”

“And you guys… like him?”

“We have to,” quips Paz, which is met with laughter from the group, “but we also do for real. He’s just… a lot.”

Mayfeld chimes in, “He’s all about having good time; always trying to up the ante cause he’s got ‘My dad’s a big deal’ energy and always has. Used to start shit for fun when we were in school cause he knew no one could do anything to him.”

“I remember it more like he would start trouble with that smart mouth of his, then one of us would have to finish it.” Paz looks at you, “Used to be me and Din standing between him and a bloody nose, every damn time.”

Din appears to be a bit more forgiving of the past, “He’s calmed down a bit now… still has the smart mouth and a lot of energy, but blows off steam in more constructive ways… like poker instead of all night partying. Which is like the rest of us, really…”

Jimmy reaches past you to grab a sandwich, “Yeah, the rest of you old timers…”

“What was that?”, Bo cocks an eye brow at the young boxer, who smartly pretends to be incredibly invested in selecting the right sandwich.

Wrapping his arms a little more tightly around your waist, Din draws soothing circles on your thigh with his fingers, “Don’t let Paz give you the wrong impression of Poe; he’s just bitter because he was always the one who ended up getting in trouble when someone wanted to kick Poe’s ass.”

Paz huffs, “Yeah, getting in trouble for defending him when he probably should have taken a pounding; kissing someone else’s girlfriend half the time.”

“Omigod” you giggle, as Paz puts Jimmy in a loose headlock; revenge for the “old timers” comment.

Woves pipes up, “Oh yeah, he’s still a shameless flirt. Warn your friends.”

“Warn her friends?! Warn herself!” exclaims Koska.

“He’s mainly all talk though. Lisa would slit him from balls to throat if she ever caught him cheating,” Woves explains, seemingly to you.

“Caught him again, you mean,” Koska grimaces.

“Oh shoot. I forgot about that girl on the yacht.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about Fennec’s birthday party, but yeah she was pissed.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Donut shop,” chime in Bo, Mayfeld, Din and Paz in unison.

“Lisa is his girlfriend?” you ask, unsure.

“His wife. And the mother of his two beautiful kids. They’ve been together since high school. On and off, if you haven’t guessed already,” Bo looks embarrassed, even though she has no reason to.

Din hooks his chin over your shoulder and says gently, “That was in the past, though. They’ve worked through it and he’s been good.”

“Nah. I bet he just got good at not getting caught. Always assume cheating until proven otherwise, is what I say,” pontificates Mayfield.

“And that, Mayfeld, is why you’re single,” snickers Woves.

“Right, and you’re beating them off with a stick,” counters Mayfield. The group laughs, but you find yourself quiet. You know the Mandos are just joking around and that they’ve all known eachother forever, but you can’t help but bristle a little at the casual way they talk about Poe’s past (and potential?) infidelity. If the rest of the Mandos are anything like Din, you know they value loyalty and fealty, but did their sense of unwavering commitment not extend to partners? You and Din haven’t officially discussed exclusivity; you had assumed that like you, Din wasn’t seeing anyone else – but maybe that wasn’t the case.

You can feel yourself getting in your own head and before you can help yourself, an image of Din kissing someone else flashes before your eyes and your heart constricts painfully. Sliding off of Din’s lap, you excuse yourself to go check on the food in the oven; you make to busy yourself with taking out and plating the food, but you can’t help it, the heart-breaking image has taken root in your mind. You’re mad at yourself for spiraling so quickly over something created entirely by your own overactive imagination. Yes, you haven’t confirmed your relationship status with Din, but he hasn’t given you any reason to give any weight to your sudden anxiety. This stabbing pain in your chest is entirely of your own making and you feel so much embarrassment that you start to tear up a little bit, which makes it even worse.

You’re not sure how long you’re in the kitchen wallowing, but it must be a while because Din comes in looking for you, “Need any help, pretty bird?”

Turning away from him, you say quietly, “No, thank you though. I should have everything out in a minute.”

And just like that, Din knows something is wrong; he makes sure you don’t have anything in your hands before wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his nose right behind your ear and kissing your neck lovingly, “I’m here, baby.”

He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, even though he wants to know. He doesn’t ask how he can help, even though he would do anything to make it better; he just wants you to know he’s there and that you can come to him on your terms. You turn in his arms and bury your face into him, breathing in his soothing scent and instantly feeling calmer. Face smooshed into his chest, you mumble, “Dhnn, dyoothkchhhteenisohhhk?”

Din chuckles, “Sorry, pretty bird, I don’t think I caught that.”

Leaning away slightly, but not making eye contact, you re-ask your somewhat loaded question in a quiet voice, “Din, do you think cheating is ok?”

Cupping your jaw and tilting your head up to meet his concerned eyes, Din says gently, “No, no, I don’t, sweetheart. What brought this on? Is it because we were talking about Poe?”

You sigh a small sigh, “I guess so. You just seem to all be so… okay with his cheating history? At least everyone talks about it so casually. And I’m guessing you all know Lisa too… I feel so bad for her if everyone is talking about how her husband cheats like it’s so normal or something…” You collect yourself and take a deep breath, “Din, actually, no, I’m sorry. That’s being presumptuous. You’ve all been friends forever and have so much shared history… I don’t mean to assume anything about your friendships. I just… I didn’t know if the way Poe’s cheating seems to be no big deal… means that all cheating is no big deal.”

“I see,” considers Din. He knows this is a serious topic and it obviously means a lot to you, but he can’t help but find your anxious state somewhat endearing, you aren’t usually so flustered and it makes him desperately want to scoop you up in his arms and soothe away your worries. He bends down to give you a little peck on your lips before picking you up by your waist and placing you on a free space on the counter. He doesn’t want you to be able to avoid eye contact with him when he answers, “Pretty bird, I don’t blame you for getting the wrong idea. You’re right, we probably are too casual when we talk about Poe’s exploits. It’s been going on forever, and he’s kind of like… a show that we get front row seats for? Like a celebrity kind of? We love him, and he give us something to talk about, but the way he lives is not the way we live. He lives in a totally different world than the Mandos; when you’re the boss’ son, you play by different rules.”

You gaze reverently at Din as he so patiently and lovingly talks you down from your self created ledge and can’t help but let a little smile crack.

“Poe… well, you’ll see. Poe is Poe. Can’t be mad at him. And sometimes that makes it seem like the shit he pulls isn’t that bad. But, baby, for ourselves? I promise you, no Mando has ever been a cheat. It goes against everything we stand for; we don’t cheat each other, we don’t cheat the family, and we definitely don’t cheat in our relationships. And I swear to you, baby – I never have and would never cheat. Not on anyone, but definitely not you.” Leaning in to alternate soft kisses to your lips, your neck, the corners of your mouth and your nose, Din’s voice gets low and husky, “Why would I want anyone else? You’re my dream girl. You make me laugh and smile. You’re so sweet. And the smartest. You know how smart you are? I’m obsessed with everything that comes out of that mouth. I could listen to you talk about anything for hours. Days. And you’re beautiful, and kind, and you take care of me, and my friends. Just look at how much effort you put in to the food for tonight when you didn’t have to even bring anything at all. I’m so lucky. Why would I ever want anyone else?”

“Oh Din,” you whisper, marveling at Din’s talent for saying all the perfect things; you had wound yourself up inexplicably tight, but he knew exactly how to calm you and pull you out of your dark place, “How do you always know what I need to hear to feel better?”

“It’s actually very easy, sweetheart. All I need to do is tell you the truth,” murmurs Din, as he starts to deepen the kisses, “Actually, scratch that. I lied a bit, I’m just obsessed with this mouth, period. Love kissing this mouth. Love when this mouth opens up for me. How it feels pressed on my skin. The way it takes my cock…”

“Oh fuck, Din-“

“…but the thing I love the most about this mouth is the sounds it makes when you come,” Din buries his face into your neck, nipping at your sensitive spots as you cross your ankles behind his back and pull him closer.

A round of raucous laughter from the poker table pulls you out of your arousal laden haze and away from Din, both of you panting lightly. Looking in Din’s eyes and finding nothing but sincerity, you feel comfortable enough to broach the last of your overblown concerns, “Din, if you were seeing other people though, I couldn’t be mad, I guess. It’s not like we’ve had any talks about exclusivity.”

At first, Din isn’t sure if you’re being serious, the idea so absurd to him. But when he sees you start to chew your bottom lip nervously, he placates you, “Oh, pretty bird, I didn’t think we needed to have a talk about it. I’ve been exclusively yours since I met you in the coffeeshop. I was yours and only yours before I even knew your name, before I knew if I would ever see you again,” Din leans his forehead against yours and you can barely breathe from his romantic words.

When you sigh, relaxed, Din grins, “Feeling better, sweetheart?” Looking up at him, your eyes bright, you smile and nod happily. As he helps you hop down from the counter, you cheekily ask, “Don’t you want to ask if I’m seeing anyone else?”

Din stills, hands frozen where they were holding your waist not a moment ago, “Are you?”

Now you can’t help but be mischievous, “And if I were?”

Eyes darkening, Din reaches for you, “Baby, I-”

At that moment, your phone buzzes and you’re saved, “Oh! Bea and Rory are downstairs! I’m going to let them in!” You grab a plate of garlic knots and practically flounce out of the kitchen, depositing the plate at the poker table before exiting the apartment. You’re about halfway down the stairs when you hear the outside door being buzzed open, and see the smiling faces of your friends along with a the attractive face of a dark haired man you don’t recognize.

The man is chatting animatedly with Bea, his smile lighting up his whole face. He is quite handsome, you admit – soft longish curls frame his face and he’s mainly clean cut with just a hint of a shadow, giving you a clear view of his chiseled jaw. His lightly hooded eyes are bright and full of mirth, and his expression is currently so energetic he has a charming, almost boyish look about him.

You wait for the trio on the second-floor landing; Rory spots you first (“Babe!!”) and rushes up the last few steps before enveloping you in a big hug, the bags in her hands full of clinking wine bottles. You giggle and give her a big kiss on the cheek, “Is this overkill?” as you peek in her bags and find 7 bottles (2 Cabernet Sauvignons, 2 Sauvignon Blancs, 2 Beaujolais [that’s for you], and one bottle of Rosé).

Rory shrugs, “Didn’t know what everyone would like?”

“That’s why I brought tequila! Everyone hates tequila!” quips the stranger, beaming widely.

“…and tequila hates everyone,” you smile and introduce yourself while pulling Bea in for a hug.

“Poe! Poe Dameron! You must be Din’s girl. Must say, I can see what the fuss is all about,” he winks, “Guess it’s true what they say, beautiful girls only hang out with other beautiful girls.”

You’re so confused. The line is so cheesy. And you know about his flirting from the Mandos… but you’re not creeped out? Apparently you and your friends are not immune to Poe’s famous charm and earnest brown eyes and you suddenly understand what Din meant when he said you just can’t be mad at Poe.

“Dameron!” comes a shout at the top of the stairs; it’s Paz, with a look of impatience on his face. Unless you’re Paz, you chuckle to yourself.

“Sorry, Heavy P! Got distracted, I mean, even you can’t blame me,” Poe flashes his winning smile again before angling out his elbows and offering up his arms for any willing woman to take. Letting your friends have at it, you walk ahead and mouth to Paz as you get to the top, “Omigod. Heavy P?!?”

Paz rolls his eyes and shakes his head (“Lil’ Lady, don’t.”) before muttering, “I swear to god,” and holding out his hands to take the wine from Rory and the bags of food from Bea (which you now realize that Poe notably did not offer to help carry).

You enter the apartment as a comical looking group: Paz laden down with bags that he carries directly to the kitchen (scowling), you looking amused (eyes wide with a kind of astonishment at the scene that just played out), then Poe bringing up the rear, making a grand entrance with a beautiful woman on each arm, grandstanding like a debutant making her entrance at the cotillion. Al makes a beeline for Rory and Bea when he spots them, and they readily abandon Poe to greet the pup; you have to stifle a snicker when you see Poe’s look of disappointment at having been upstaged by a dog.

“Told you he’s a lot,” a voice whispers in your ear; you turn to find Din grinning at you. He gives you a little kiss on top of your head before going to greet and welcome your friends. Introductions are made and everyone gathers around the card table so that those who are playing can play, and everyone can chat, drink and eat. The Mandos are incredibly hospitable and warm towards your friends; you don’t know if it’s out of kindness to you and Din or just because they really are a friendly bunch, but it fills you with joy to see your friends so well taken care of. To no one’s surprise (not even Bea or Rory’s), Poe insists on pouring everyone a shot of the tequila he brought and plays deaf to people’s protests. Rory downs hers without complaint before going back to her cards; you wrinkle your nose in disgust at your shot and when Poe isn’t looking, Din drinks yours, and you see Mayfeld nonchalantly do the same for Bea. Poe just goes about his business, pouring himself more shots and chaotically raising bets while telling wild story after story about the people in the room (usually targeting the last person who called his hand). He’s entertaining for sure, and he's seems less interested in winning at poker than he is getting everyone to have a good time. It’s working. Poe’s energy is infectious and the tequila is effective - the party gets livelier and livelier as the evening goes on.

At a certain point, Woves and Paz nearly get into it after Poe (deliberately?) exposes his hand and everyone decides it’s a good time for a break so people can stretch and get more food. You and Bea flop down on the couch with your wine, and a few people, including Poe, come over to join you, “So, when are you going to come and meet my dad?”

“Why would she meet your dad?” Bea asks curiously.

You look at Poe, your eyes widening just a little, mouth open to interject but having no response ready. Without missing a beat, Poe says smoothly, “Oh, my dad and Din’s dad were best friends. Din’s basically family. My father’s favourite son.”

Bea laughs and you shoot Poe a grateful look, which he acknowledges only with the quickest of winks. Din comes over, catching the tail end of this exchange; he claps Poe on the back appreciatively before sitting down and throwing his arm around you, “I think I’m done for the night, pretty bird. Don’t have any more money for Rory to take.”

“Told you she’d clean you all out,” you giggle.

“I think both Bo and Paz are in love with her, too. I’m not getting in the middle of that, so I’m just going to hang out here with you for the rest of the night, if you don’t mind.”

You shake your head, “Of course not, but are you sure? I don’t want your friends to think that when I’m around, your attention is divided.”

“Oh, it’s not divided, sweetheart.” Smooth talker. But you can’t help but feel flushed at Din’s words.

“Ok, ew. Yeah, Dad is going to love you. He’s been wanting Din to settle down for forever and he deep down he loves this gooey stuff,” bemoans Poe, and the group cracks up.

When the card game looks like it’s going to start up again, Bea yawns a bit and announces she’s going to go hover over Rory to gently encourage her to cash out her winnings so they can head out soon. This reminds you that you have something for her, and you excuse yourself saying you’ll be right back.

When you emerge from the bedroom with the book you brought for Bea, you run into Din in the hallway; he’s leaning up against the wall, as if waiting for you.

“Hey you,” your smile easy and wide, reflective of how content you are with how this evening has gone.

Din moves towards you and using only his size advantage, crowds you against the wall he was just leaning against, then braces his forearm above you and peers down at you, “Hey pretty bird.”

You can’t help but let out a school girl giggle at this move.

Still holding your gaze, Din says in a low voice, “Don’t think I forgot what we were talking about in the kitchen before.”

Oh. So that’s what this little display is about; you’ve had a little time to think about it and you smile sheepishly, “Oh Din, I have to apologize for that. Like, the image of you kissing someone else only flashed across my mind for a second and it upset me so much! I shouldn’t have teased you with the same thing. I’m sorry.” You look up at Din with your most innocent, forgive-me eyes.

Din softens internally; he had been prepared to tease you mercilessly, but now looking down at you and feeling a little bad that you had been upset earlier, he’s tempted to let you off the hook. Maybe.

“Pretty bird, I’m sorry you had even a moment’s doubt and that it upset you; in case it’s not clear, I’m yours and yours only. There isn’t anyone else, baby. Couldn’t be anyone else.”

You melt under Din’s words and you want to make sure he knows how you feel too, “I feel the same way. You’re so sweet, and kind, and caring, I can’t believe you’re real sometimes. You make me so happy. There’s no one else for me but you, Din.”

“But,” Din leans in to whisper darkly in your ear, “if you were seeing other people…”

You gasp a little at the low edge to his voice. “…I would want to know who they were.” Din places a light kiss on your jaw before pulling back to move to the other side of your face and when he does, the expression you see on his face makes you shiver. “I’d want to make sure they were treating you right.” Another light kiss on your jaw. Switching back again to the other side to nuzzle just below your ear, he continues in his deep, sultry drawl, “But when it’s my time with you… I’d remind you of who you really belong to.”

Afraid of letting out a whimper, you bite down on your lower lip, eyes open wide while you take in Din’s words. “The things I would do to you would make you scream out my name until you couldn't speak, until you forget every other name but mine. And when I’m done, there wouldn’t be any doubt in that pretty head of yours that you belong to me, sweetheart.”

This time you do whimper out loud and you’re sure everyone on the other side of the wall can hear; at this, Din dips to kiss his way to your other ear and growls, “Mine.” You feel your panties dampen at his possessive words, the low timber of his voice making your knees buckle; Din catches you by wedging his thigh between your legs and you curl your arms under his to steady yourself. “Yours,” you whisper, “all yours, daddy.”

Din’s mouth is on yours in a flash, tongue gaining quick entrance as your soft moans escape without your permission. He drinks you in like a man parched, chasing your taste, unable to get enough. You match the pressing brush of his lips and the movement of his tongue, stroke for stroke; his possessive manner and almost jealous sounding tone unlocking a deep desire within you. It’s the same part of you that loves to be marked by his mouth, his hands, his cum; that part of your being that wants Din to claim you. You’re getting all the way lost in Din and the way he surrounds you when you drop the book you’re still holding for Bea and it makes a loud thud that silences the chattering voices on the other side of the wall.

“Hey, lovebirds! We can fucking hear you!” booms Paz.

“Looks like I’m not the horniest one for once!”

“Shut up, Dameron!” Din yells, but with a grin only for you, “Yeah, I’m kicking them all out now, pretty bird.”

Chuckling, you give Din a sweet kiss before picking up the book that gave you both away, “Don’t do that. We need to give Rory time to take all of Poe’s money.” Winking, you turn to blow Din a kiss before rounding the corner to a chorus of hoots and hollers.

---

Poker night has been so much fun, you’re almost sad it’s over. Everyone ate and loved the food you and the girls brought over; Mayfeld quietly apologizes for eating over 70% of the garlic knots and on behalf of everyone else who plan to politely demand that you supply the food for all future poker games. To no one’s surprise, Rory leaves the poker game the big winner, having taken nearly everyone’s money and also the hearts of both Paz and Bo. Jimmy and Brian encourage you to invite your friends to the next big fight, making sure to do so in Bea’s earshot. Woves and Koska, both wine drunk, fight over who gets to take Al out for his nighttime walk; a fight they both lose when Din steps in and declares clearly that Al’s late-night walks are spoken for. Poe, to (poorly) quote Pride and Prejudice, simpered and smirked all evening and made love to them all – you concede that the Mandos were right, he really is the life of the party.

After everyone leaves and you put your girls in a cab, you and Din set out on your nightly walk with Al. As you stroll through the neighbourhood, still bustling despite the late hour, you feel Din pull you closer into his side and you respond by hugging his waist and looking up adoringly at him, “I think Al had such a good time tonight, Din. Thank you for letting me bring him.”

“Of course. Al’s my boy. What about you, pretty bird? Did you have a good time?”

You nod truthfully, “I really did. I think everyone had such a good time and your friends were so, so nice to my friends.”

“Even Poe?”

“Especially Poe.” You both chuckle and continue the walk in comfortable silence for a bit. Deep in thought about the serious discussion the two of you had in the midst of all the fun tonight, Din wants to make sure you’re feeling okay, “How are you feeling about what we talked about? I know some of the stuff with Poe made you a bit uneasy.”

“Mmmhmm, I went to a bad head space for a bit, but you pulled me out. Thank you, Din,” you say, lightheartedly, your easy tone suggestive of having moved past it.

“I’m always here for you, pretty bird.”

“And I’m more than okay with what we talked about,” you add; it’s an innocent enough response, but now you’re thinking about how hot your conversation in the hallway was. Recalling Din’s dark expression as he talked about making you his has you squirming and you feel the warmth of your arousal start to seep through your panties. When you finally make it to the sidewalk outside of the gym, you decide to broach the topic again.

“Din?”

“Yes, baby?”

You consider how to ask for what you want, “When we get home, do you think you can.. I want you to… do what you said in the hallway?”

Din tilts his head slightly to convey he’s not sure what you mean.

Suddenly shy, the words spill out in a hurry, “I want you act like I’m seeing other people, and then I want you to fuck me hard until I forget that anyone exists but you.”

Realization hits Din like a freight train and he’s overcome by his need to have you right now, “Is that what you want, pretty bird? You want me to make you scream my name so many times you don’t need to know any one else’s?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, “Fuck me and claim me, daddy.”

“Holy fu-, I can do that. But tonight, I’m not your daddy. You only call me by my name. Got it, pretty bird?”

Wordlessly, you nod again.

“Good girl. Now get upstairs.”

Go to: Ch. 11 Addendum - After The Poker Game

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