#shifting in array list

[spearofheaven]

⋆˚࿔ NO ONE NOTICED — rockstar ex! geto suguru

SUM. After a year of breaking up and making multiple songs about you, he starts to forget. Isn’t that what he wanted though?

CONTENTS. 18+ contents, MDNI. 6.9k words. non canon compliant/au. x fem! reader. some angst. hints of desperate suguru. ex sex. jerking him off. nipple play. cunnilingus. unprotected p in v. riding. doggy. unresolved feelings. some aftercare. reader makes questionable decisions. pet names.

inspired by no one noticed—the marías

Out of all the places that Suguru Geto expected himself to be tonight, your apartment would've been dead last on that list. 

In the middle of an ongoing tour.

When he was supposed to be in his hotel room rehearsing the song that he'd promised Ijichi he'd have ready for tonight. A song that a majority of his fans was bound to be expecting.

Though he supposed that maybe Ijichi was the reason that he found himself on your doorstep in the first place. And not the sheer desperation that fueled his actions, that very same desperation that made him get a plane ticket at an absurd price just to see you as soon as possible. To pack up a duffel bag with only a shirt, one pair of pants, and the first pair of shoes he found scattered in his hotel room.

For knocking on your door like a mad man at nearly one in the morning, praying to whatever entity there was above that you wouldn't just shut the door at the first glance of him. Shifting between his feet, waiting to hear for some kind of signal that you were inside. He'd gotten this far, right? That had to count for something.

"Geto, can I talk to you for a second?" Ijichi had waited until all the band members had left, approaching him with an iPad clutched underneath his arm. "Yeah, go ahead," Suguru responded offhandedly, making no effort to stand up just yet, his guitar sitting next to him. All he did was look over at the man with a bored expression on his face, waiting for what he had to say.

Last time Ijichi said he needed to talk to him—he ended up getting called a slut. Well, not precisely in those words. But Ijichi made it a point to get it through Suguru's skull about how hooking up with random groupies on tour wasn't the smartest idea (stuttering over his words when Suguru gave him a sharp glare in response.)

And he had stopped sleeping around with groupies. For the most part, that was. So he wasn't too sure what to expect from this conversation.

Ijichi didn't waste time in getting the iPad from underneath his arm, his fingers frantically typing and swiping across the screen. "I know it's somewhat of a late notice but the fans are somewhat expecting a teaser of a song for the next show," he kept his gaze on the iPad, handing it over to Suguru once he pulled up an array of graphs. An array of graphs that Suguru simply gave a once over to.

"What type of song are they expecting?" Ijichi retracted the iPad once he realized Suguru wouldn't show interest in the same graphs he'd spent hours the night prior coloring, tucking it underneath his arm. "Well, it's been a while since you've written one of those love songs. But please, let me know if you need more time."

"No, it's fine. I'll have it to you by tonight."

Despite how assured Suguru had been in the statement, he found himself prolonging actually having to sit down and work on the song. Cleaning up his space, packing up his bags earlier than usual. Anything that he figured would be the most time consuming. Even going as to cleaning around the hotel room despite that the staff would've done so either way.

It was ridiculous how much effort he took to make sure not an ounce of dust or a food crumb was left by the time he finished. The space was left cleaner than when first stepped foot inside.

Suguru wasn't completely sure why he'd put off the task as long as he did, this type of material came to him naturally. He always used the same muse when it came to writing things like this—you. Even after a year of breaking up, you were the only one he could bring himself to bear his heart out to. He could write another one of these songs, right?

It wasn't like you'd left his mind throughout the past year, anyways. He didn't need to bring himself to lie whenever he composed a new work—everything was a manifestation of what he'd never tell you in person. Choosing instead to express it in his songs. Which he guessed is why his fans ate it up as much as they did. He figured he'd be done before tonight, pulling his notepad out from the depths of his backpack.

But as soon as he went to press his pen down against the notepad, Suguru found himself second guessing every word that he wanted to write down. A feeling that was extremely foreign to him, considering that he'd usually be able to paint a clear picture of you in his head. The last good day you'd had with him before breaking up. But now he was lost. He simply just didn't know.

The color of your eyes? He couldn't remember. The scent of your perfume? Was it cherry? Bergamot? Or neither. What you looked like waking up in the mornings? Suguru could barely decipher your face in his mind, his memory failing to recall the scene that consoled him throughout most nights.

Isn't this what he wanted, though?

To completely forget about you. To just be able to say that the two of you had a failed relationship and move on, like most people probably would've done in his situation. To be able to be with someone else without the constant reminder that they'd never hold a candle to you, that he wouldn't even bother remembering their name by the time the night was over.

To stop having to take shot after shot so that the dull pain in his chest that never seemed to just go away could be replaced with the sharp pounding in his skull.

Except that Suguru didn't want to forget you, he didn't want to ever forget about what the taste of your lips was like after you'd applied a fresh layer of lip gloss was. Suguru didn't want to forget about the person that made him feel safe, that made him feel like he was at home. He didn't ever want to forget just how happy you'd made him, even if it hadn't lasted for long.

He didn't want to find himself missing you so badly was the problem. But no, he didn't want to forget you. At least he realized that now.

After a year, no less.

The more that he looked at the blank piece of paper in front of him, the sheet almost taunting him, the more that Suguru started to realize that this wasn't what he wanted. "Come on," he muttered to himself, the rest of his bandmates next door oblivious to his obvious struggle. He was starting to grow restless, his leg bouncing against the cold granite of the floor. The memory of you was slipping away despite how much he wanted to cling on.

Suguru looked over at the clock, nearly thirty minutes having passed since he'd taken a seat. And all he had on his page were scribbles and a stick figure on the margin of the page. He balled up the sheet of paper after staring down at it for a couple more seconds, a pile of missed paper balls piling just on the edge of the waste bin. Much to Suguru's annoyance. The work that he promised wouldn't be finished by the end of the month at this rate.

Which is what lead him to book a flight without thinking too much of the consequences, Suguru supposed he could deal with those tomorrow. All that he knew was that he needed to see you, to feel you, to remember what it was like being around you again.

And maybe Suguru should've gone with a phone call first, see if you'd even want to have a conversation for more than five seconds. But whatever brain cells that were still alive in that big head of his decided that this was the best idea. Leaving without so much as giving up a heads up to the rest of the band. All he had going for him was some stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, you didn't hate him completely. That you missed him the same way.

Three loud knocks woke you from the nap you were taking on the living room couch, the movie that you'd picked out still droning on in what you had to assume was the climax. You rubbed a hand over your eyes, hoping that you didn't look as tired as you felt before making your way over to the front door. "Who's there?" You'd meant for it to come out more authoritative, though the words came out groggy as you tried to wake yourself up fully.

You made no effort to move, your foot tapping on the wooden floor while you waited for some kind of response. You let out a scoff, rubbing the bridge of your nose before calling out, "Hel-?"

"Don't come out here to hit me with a baseball bat. Just me, I promise," the very same voice that came from trending songs on the radio (that you skipped with a bitter look on your face) was the same one calling out. Sounding almost desperate. Well, the closest thing to desperate. You opened the door to see Suguru standing there, a duffel bag slung on his arm. If you had to guess, you would say that it's all the man was carrying with him.  "Shouldn't you be on tour?"

Suguru shifted awkwardly on your carpet, looking more like a sopping wet dog than the cocky persona you'd grown used to seeing on TV. "I can't explain it, but I just had to see you. Do you mind if I come in?" He threaded carefully, unmoving from his spot. You rubbed your eyes, letting out a sigh before glancing over at the wall clock in the kitchen. "You came here at two in the morning and you can't explain to me why you're here?"

"Exactly."

"And you don't see how that's a little strange?"

Suguru swallowed dryly, looking around before his eyes met yours again. "Please," the word sounded like it was painful to get out, like his pride was getting damaged with every second. Or maybe he wasn't letting his pride come in the way? Whatever the case was, you found yourself getting increasingly curious. "Fine," you relented, moving to the side to let him inside. Suguru almost rushed inside, doing quick work of taking his shoes off.

Before you had the chance to change your mind.

You walked over to the living room, a noticeable gap in between the two of you as you sat on the couch. Blankly staring at the screen, ignoring the obvious elephant. You wanted to approach the situation, you really did, but what exactly were you supposed to say to him? 'How have you been since I broke up with you?' just didn't seem like the perfect conversation starter. If he was as conflicted as you were, you couldn't see it.

From the corner of your eye, you gauged his expression. He almost seemed too composed. Too composed for a man who was just outside your door begging to be let inside. You'd been expecting something more than just having him stare at the anticlimactic movie.

"I missed you, that's why I came here," Suguru spoke up after a couple minutes of sitting in silence, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. His hands twitched to touch you, to feel your skin underneath his fingertips once more. But he refrained, choosing to stuff them in the pockets of his jeans instead. "Everything feels dull without you around. Music doesn't really feel the same, sleeping isn't that easy for me anymore."

The two of you hadn't exactly ended on bad terms, which only served to make these interactions all the much more painful. You still loved him, he still loved you. But the two of you were at completely different points in your life when you made the decision to end things. While Suguru was out traveling in various different cities, you stayed at home. Occasionally going to some of the local shows nearby.

Your relationship was composed a simple phone call every couple days or a collection of text messages, something that you didn't quite mind at first. Rumors started speculating like wildfire on the shows you didn't go to—pictures taken out of context, falsified interviews. And as much as you didn't want it to get to you, it did. Especially when Suguru didn't want to risk bad publicity by denying these claims.

"You can't just come here every time you feel lonely, though. It's not healthy," you responded, keeping your gaze on him. You could see the way his jaw ticked slightly, the only visible reaction that your words had affected him. "You're not hearing me. I'm telling you that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. That even after a year, you're still the one that every song is about."

"And you're not hearing me. I'm telling you that you can't just come over every time you decide that you miss me. I'm trying to move on too."

"What are you trying to move on from when you're the one who left me?" Suguru's voice raised as he spoke, desperately running a hand through his hair again, "You left."

The sheer vulnerability in his voice, the way it seemed like he was willing himself to stop it from cracking made whatever remaining pieces of your heart that still belonged to him clench painfully. "I know. But being here isn't exactly doing you any favors, Suguru."

"Tell me to go home. Tell me that you never want to see me again and I'll go," Suguru spoke up after a couple moments of silence, his gaze boring into you. You wanted to say something, say that this the opposite of what you should be doing. Send him on his way back home. But why couldn't you open your mouth to say those things?

Every brain cell practically yelled at you that this was a bad idea. You knew that you had to send him home—that this would only serve to complicate things between the two of you. But what even was there to complicate? And the silence between the two of you spoke louder than any of the other words you'd said to him tonight. "Stay," all you did was just affirm what was already basically implied, "Just for the night."

"Just for the night, I promise," Suguru brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. A silent reassurance between the two of you. Even after all this time, things still felt so.. unfinished. You hadn't been able to move on, either. Even if you'd tried to convince yourself that this was for the best. "But if it's just for the night, then just let me do something stupid."

Every memory that Suguru had been clinging to, trying so desperately to try and remember came rushing to him like a freight train at just having your skin under his fingertips. Every little thing that he'd been having a doubt about came back to the forefront of his mind. And for once, he didn't mind that the only thing in his mind was you. Frankly, he was starting to enjoy it. Wondering why he'd even let you slip away so easily.

Suguru's lips connected with yours in a span of mere seconds, one of his hands coming to rest against your cheek. Holding you as close as he could to himself. "Still taste so good," he whispered against your lips, his teeth gently pulling at your bottom lip. Coaxing you into parting your lips, his tongue slipping inside with little to no resistance. "Just for the night," you said once again, trying to convince yourself.

Trying to convince him in the process. Though you weren't doing a great job at either, your body practically molding into his as his hand went down to your back. Instinctively arching against him as if it were the one place that you belonged. It felt as if Suguru needed to have your lips against his own, needed to engrave the taste of you in his mind again. He didn't dare pull away; your lips seemed more vital than oxygen.

The only time that Suguru pulled away was to have you sit on his lap, your warm cunt resting right against his hardening cock. If the tent in his pants was any indication, anyways. Your hand cupped his cheek, the small contact enough to have him leaning into your touch. Like a man starved. But when you started to shift a little bit too much on his lap, his hands gripped your hips.

"I know I'm the one that put you up here, but we don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I just.. I guess I just wanted to taste you again," Suguru was quick to stop your movements, placing one of his hands above your own. His fingers gently enclosing against your wrist, treating you like a piece of fine china. Treating you the same way he should've done over a year ago.

"I want to, I promise," you assured him, placing your other hand above his own. Amethyst eyes bored into yours, trying to gauge your expression for any trace of uncertainty. For any trace that you didn't want to do this. After finding none, he removed his hand and placed it back on your waist. "Are you sure that you want this?" You questioned. This time it was you analyzing him for any tics or signs he was uncomfortable.

"Yes," he sounded ragged, his fingers drawing small circles against the thin silk material of your nightgown, "More than you know." The last words were spoken as a whisper, almost as if he were thinking out loud. Exposing himself to you in every form. You moved further down, giving yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans. His cock was tenting through his boxers, hitting his stomach when you slipped them down just enough.

The sight was almost pretty to look at. Just like the rest of him. Through the pale moonlight shining in through the window's curtains, you could see a drop of precum dripping along the side of his shaft. The tip an angry shade of red, his cock twitching for whatever attention you would give. "Don't tease me, please. Just want you," Suguru spoke up after you'd been staring at his cock for a couple seconds.

"Don't worry, I won't. But a little patience wouldn't hurt, y'know?" You couldn't help but poke fun at him a bit, a teasing smile on your face as you traced the path of his happy trail. All the way down to where his cock was throbbing to be touched.

"You try being patient when you've been deprived for a yea—"

You wrapped your hand around the base, jerking your fist as you moved up his shaft. "Oh fuck," Suguru let out a huff underneath you, his hips bucking up to meet your hand. "Easy there, let me take care of you," you whispered, keeping one of your hands pressed against his thigh. The muscle flexed with every movement you made, his cheeks flushed as he threw his head back. You started off slow, building up with absolutely no rush.

“So good, so good, don't stop," Suguru all but whined, the man completely unraveling from a couple strokes. Wet sloshes and low groans drowned out the sound of the TV in the background, his cock completely covered in his own precum. "S-Shit, just like that," his words came out as he bit down on his lip, muffling any other moans that threatened to leave him. That was, until an idea came to mind.

Suguru pushed the flimsy straps of your nightgown, your breasts exposed to him in a manner of seconds. He met your gaze when he leaned in, his tongue swirling around your areola before taking it in his mouth. "F-Fuck," a muffled moan escaped from his lips, his other hand going up to your other breast. The combined stimulation of his fingers tweaking your nipple and the small chill in the living room had your nipples hardening in record time.

Suguru dripped like a faucet against your hand, drops of precum helping you glide your hand against his length with ease. Your thumb swirled around his tip, bringing it up to your lips and swirling your tongue around it. The taste of him somewhat salty (presumably from how shitty his diet's gotten through tour), but still bearable. At the sight, Suguru took his hand off your nipple and placed it on your chin.

While the previous kiss had been something out of sheer desperation, this one was much slower. Though just as needy, if not more. His tongue tasting the taste of him and yourself combined, the two of you moving in synchrony. You weren't even sure if his moans were from your hand or the kiss anymore. Probably both. "Missed you, missed you so much," he whispered when you pulled away, holding your face for just a little while longer.

And the moment would've been bittersweet, if he weren't for the slutty moan he let out. "S-Shit, getting close," Suguru let out a louder hiss, his moans starting to become more vocal. You reached down with your other hand, holding his balls in your grasp. You could feel just how heavy they were when you held them in your palm, your fingers rolling over them the way you would dice. "Let go, let go, I'm gonna cum," Suguru all but pleaded, placing his hand on top of yours.

Your hand came to a halt before he came, tapping two of your fingers against his bottom lip. His mind barely registered the action—his cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink and his eyes completely unfocused. His tongue wrapped around your fingers—slick with his precum, before licking them completely clean. "So nasty," you uttered, pulling your fingers away once he was finished.

"Saying that like you don't like it," Suguru clicked his tongue, bringing you into a kiss once more. He really was taking every and opportunity that he could to do it, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. Even if that meant he got a taste of himself in the process. "Let me return the favor, you just sit there and look pretty. Okay?"

Suguru dropped down to his knees in front of you, violet eyes locked on you as he slid his hands across the smooth skin of your legs. His hands were rough, calloused after playing guitar for so long—but his touch still managed to be gentle all the same. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. Missed this," he spoke quietly, his hands coming underneath your silk nightgown. Toying with the hem of your underwear. Teasing you in the same matter you'd done him.

And yet, you did have an idea of how much he missed you. There wasn't a day that had passed by where you hadn't woken up to a drunken ramble from Suguru, where he'd usually express how much he found himself missing you. Voicemails that you deleted right after the first listen—never acknowledging the ever growing collection and pretending as if you'd never received anything in the first place. It was easier.

Suguru started off by your calf, raising up your leg to rest on his shoulder before he started to kiss his way up. His movements were slow, his fingers gently stroking your leg when he did. "So pretty. So perfect. All just for me," he punctuated every sentence with a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his mouth by your inner thighs. "Just for the night," you reminded, your back already starting to arch into him.

"Yeah, yeah, just for the night," he almost sounded annoyed that you were interrupting him, to say that of all things. Suguru reached your underwear, pressing a kiss on your clothed mound.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, sliding them down with relative ease before letting them fall to the floor. And if he still had the same habit he did when the two of you were dating, you knew that you wouldn't see them again after tonight. His head fit perfectly in between your thighs, the one place where he wouldn't mind staying in permanently.

"I didn't tease you this badly," you let out a small huff, your fingers threading through his hair. Almost wanting to pull him where you needed him most. Almost.

"You're lucky I'm feeling nice."

"Lucky? You're the one on your knees in my apartment."

"And I could easily leave."

“Except for the fact that you won't."

Almost as if proving your point (or wanting you to shut up), Suguru's tongue prodded deeper inside of your cunt. "So pretty when you finally shut up," he mumbled against your folds, messily spitting against them. You could only dig your fingers into his scalp, even if your walls clenched at just the simplest contact. And as if it wasn't enough that your pussy didn't get the memo you were annoyed, he simply laughed. Didn't even wince.

"Fucking slut, of course you'd be into that," you muttered, the sound of his laughter only serving to grate on your nerves even more. "If it makes you feel better, I only like it when you do it," he responded, unable to stop himself from laughing further, "You're the only one that does it like they hate me."

"Wonder why that is," your words died in your tongue when you felt two of his fingers penetrating through the thick layer of muscle, pushing inside your cunt. His tongue swirled around your clit, working in tandem with his fingers. "O-Oh s-shit," your body went completely lax, your hips pushing your cunt all the much more into his mouth. "Not bad for a slut, hm?"

"U-Until you have to open up your mouth to say something," even now, with just how needy you were for him to keep going, you refused to let him have the last word. "Thought you liked my mouth," And the shaky breath that you let out when his tongue started to draw circles on your clit definitely wasn't working in your favor. "J-Just oh fuck, just when you use it for everything else."

Suguru was more of a giver rather than receiver— all that much more evident in the way that he relished in your cunt. Tongue lapping up every single drop of your essence, greedily taking everything you had to give. Every single of drop of alcohol that Suguru had taken a sip of paled in comparison to the sweet taste of your cunt; just one taste was enough to have him drunk off you. Completely intoxicated.

Your back arched up against the couch cushion, your head entangled in his thick hair. He didn't even seem to mind the way you pushed your hips to meet his licks, letting you push his head further in your cunt. He'd gladly die in between your legs if it came down to it if only to get the taste of you ingrained in his taste buds. "Gonna cum, aren't you?" All you could do was nod, your grip on his hair tightening.

"F-Fuck, keep going, keep going," you let out a series of babbles, your toes curling against his shoulders as you approached your orgasm. You could hardly register the fact that he was tracing his name on your clit with the tip of his tongue, only making the connection after the 'g.' By the time he'd finished, your walls clenched around his two fingers before coating them in your release. "That's it, there ya go," Suguru let out a muffled praise, lapping up every drop of your cum.

Some of it dribbling down his mouth and chin when he pulled away. Your grip on his hair loosened, your hands falling by your sides. While you were busy trying to get your chest to stop heaving with every shaky breath that left your lips, Suguru wiped away your release with the back of his thumb.

"Just had to trace your name?"

"I had to, yeah. Don't see why you're complaining if I made you cum. Already more than what anyone after me's probably done," Now you know why you hadn't bothered to contact him earlier. If this was him coming to you, you couldn't imagine how damn cocky he'd be if you were the one to break no contact first. "There hasn't been anyone after you," you muttered reluctantly, sitting up on the couch.

Suguru got up from his spot on the carpet, taking a seat on the couch cushion next to you. And before you had the chance to complain about his bare ass on your expensive couch, he was already pulling you up on his lap again. "No one else could compare?" You looked over to see him biting down on his lip, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Don't laugh at me," you grumbled, smacking the side of his arm. Not hard enough to hurt. Which only led him to start laughing. Loudly.

"Okay, okay, sorry," your glare had him shutting up immediately, his hands running up and down your thighs. "It's kind of cute, really."

You looked down at his cock, looking more intimidating than before now that you were going to ride him. "Don't worry, we'll take our time. There's no rush, okay?" His reassurance was a stark contrast from just a mere seconds before, though it did help you calm down. Somewhat. You hovered above his cock, your hand wrapping around the thick base as you lined it up before slowly starting to sink down.

"There you go, just take it. You've always done it so well," While his words were meant to be reassuring, the sting in between your legs as you tried to take his cock was almost too much to bear. Suguru's fingers came to rest on your hips, the cold silver of his rings a stark sensation to just how warm the rest of his body felt. You sunk down completely, a combination of a hiss and a moan leaving your lips. You felt so full already, the thickness of his cock stretching your walls.

"That's it, that's my girl," you weren't sure if you wanted to smack him or kiss him.

Probably both.

You looked down to see that the man was already staring up at you, one of those fingers reaching to wipe some tears from your waterline. Tears you hadn't even noticed until now. "Don't force yourself if you're not ready. Take your time, it's okay," his fingers rubbed small mindless circles on your hips. Your cunt clenched and unclenched around his shaft, a low groan leaving Suguru's lips.

The sting subsided enough after a while, your movements slow as you tried to move. "So fucking tight," Suguru leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes still boring into yours. Your ass hit his thighs each time you sunk down, the loud squelch of your wet cunt and the sound of skin clapping against one another echoing throughout the room. Drowning out whatever last bits of the movie remained, if it was even playing.

Your hips swiveled as you tried to find a steady rhythm, Suguru's breath hitching at the motion. His fingers gripping onto your hips all the much tighter, holding onto you like a lifeline. "So so fucking good," he let out a groan, his head killing forward to bury his face in your neck. Pressing a couple kisses in whatever skin he could reach, leaving spit trails in his wake. He bit down onto your shoulder, sucking on the skin to leave a hickey behind.

"N-Not so obvious," you let out a mix between a hiss and a moan at the feeling of his teeth nipping at your neck. Your nails dug into his shoulders, using them to keep yourself balanced while you tried to establish some sort of pace. "Got other hoes that mind seeing you with them?" Suguru let out a sharp hiss when your walls tightened around his cock, almost making him swallow his words.

"N-No. A-Already told you there's no one else," you let out a shaky laugh, barely managing to get it out as you impaled yourself on his cock, "Not everyone's a w-whore like you."

And he didn't even give you a chance to regret your words before his hips started moving against yours, his cock filling you up faster and deeper in a span of seconds. (The very same thing you'd been trying to do for the past ten minutes.) Your nails dug into the couch cushion in front of you, your head buried into a decorative pillow. "Ah ah, fuck Suguru," your moans came out muffled, your body jerking forward with each thrust.

Whatever delicacy Suguru had granted you at the beginning of your night together was completely stripped away—his hips snapping into yours. His balls smacked against your ass with every thrust, his fingers digging into the flesh. Sure enough to leave indents for a couple days. Like he just needed you to remember this night as much as he did. "Feel how fucking deep I am?" He pressed down on the bulge prodding through your lower tummy, putting some pressure behind it.

You could start to feel him at your throat in this position. Not that you'd ever admit that, of course. "D-Don't think you're deep enough, really," you babbled, the drool dripping from the corner of your lips and the cockdrunk look on your face completely betraying that statement.

Each thrust had you regretting even opening your mouth, each one getting deeper and deeper than the last. Your cunt practically swallowed him in, your walls clenching around his length like a vice. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whined out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Suguru placed a leg up on the couch, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper. "Too deep, too deep," you relented, his thrusts slowing down the slightest bit.

"Thought it was what you wanted," Suguru clicked his tongue, one of his hands going down in between your legs. His pointer finger began to rub small circles against your clit, moving in tandem with his hips. "It's good, it's good, I swear," you practically let out a whine, your hips moving back to meet his. Your ass jiggling with every movement, the sight only serving to entice Suguru even further.

"L-Love you so much. Missed you so bad," And every fiber of your being was telling you to just let his words slide—that it was just a mindless admission made. But you couldn't help the way that both your heart and your pussy clenched afterwards, the latter squeezing around his cock like it never wanted to let go. "Got so tight, you like hearin' me say that?" Suguru whispered by your ear, his chest resting against your sweaty back.

"Like hearing how much I miss you? How much I missed your pussy?" You could practically see the shit eating grin on his face—yet you couldn't exactly bring yourself to care. Not while you were so close to your second orgasm of the night.

All you could do was nod, your whines muffled by the couch cushion underneath. "D-Don't stop, Sugu. Please! Missed your cock!" You babbled, your pussy squelching around his length. Coating it with your arousal, making it slide in with ease. The tip of his cock prodded against your g-spot, your nails digging into the couch. "How much? Come on, tell me."

"So so much," you managed to get out, your chest heaving with every breath that you tried to take. Your walls clenched tighter around him, your cunt snuggling around his cock like a vice. "Gonna c-cum," you managed to get out, the coil in your lower belly tightening and tightening with each of his sloppy thrusts. "That's it, there you go," Suguru continued rubbing at your clit in circles, that coil inside of you snapping. Your walls unclenched, your release coating his length and forming a creamy white ring around his base.

Suguru barely managed to pull out of the tight vice you had his cock in, rope after rope of cum shooting onto your back. "Fuck, fuck," he groaned, the wet sloshing sound of his hand combining his moans as he came all over you. "I'll clean you up in a bit, let me just catch my breath," Suguru laid on top of you, not seeming to mind the fact that his cum was rubbing all on his chest when he did.

The two of you stayed still on the couch for a couple minutes, shaky breaths escaping your lips as you tried to get your breathing under control. A pin dropping could've been heard with how quiet the room was, though it was a comfortable silence this time around. And maybe the two of you still had things to talk about, but you figured that they could be left for another time. Not while the two of you felt so at bliss, at least.

Suguru came back into the living room with one of the hand towels that you kept in the bathroom's bottom right cabinet—walking around your space like he'd never stopped being around. "You did so well for me, so perfect," his voice came out quiet as he swiped the slightly wet towel against your inner thighs, his touch almost as soft. He continued with that gentle touch across your back, wiping away his dry cum off you.

You’d barely registered when he moved the two of you to the bathroom, barely starting to come to your senses. While he was getting a towel, he’d also started up a warm bath for when you were ready.

"Am I finally allowed to ask what you're doing here?" You broke the silence, your back leaning against his chest in a manner that was all too comfortable between the two of you. Like it was the one place where you belonged. "No," Suguru responded almost immediately, squirting some of your body wash onto the washcloth. Moving it slowly across your back, the scent of it combining with whatever candle Suguru raided from your cabinets.

"Am I allowed to ask how long you're planning on staying here, then?" You figured he was bound to break with one of these questions, only to get the same answer. "Turn around for me," was the only thing he said a couple moments later, your back completely lathered up in a mixture of bubbles and soap.

"Do you mind if I stay?" The way that Suguru asked the question reminded you of a sopping wet dog, that same desperation from earlier coming back tenfold. You'd never seen him so compliant in the years that you'd known him—usually he'd just act like he'd owned the place and take up the middle of the bed. "Yeah, just stick to your side of the bed."

After turning off the lights and making sure the doors were locked, you made your way underneath the warm blanket. You hadn't expected for Suguru to take your words so seriously, but at least he'd stuck to the right side of the bed. The sight was almost comical, seeing him comfortable with your collection of stuffed animals scattered around him. You set your phone on your bed stand table, shifting to get comfortable.

And as much as you wanted to fall asleep, your thoughts just didn't seem to shut up. He wouldn't book a flight just to come and see you if all he wanted was pussy, right? No, of course not. If the tabloid articles that came out while he was on tour was anything to go by. And as much as you wanted to bite your tongue, go to sleep as easily as he did, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not without the slightest bit of resolution just yet. "Sugu, you still up?"

You turned to look over at Suguru, almost expecting for him to be still awake. He'd clutched one of your plushies underneath his arm, looking more at peace than he had throughout the night. "Good night," you whispered, pressing a kiss against his cheek before pulling the pumpkin blanket to cover up the two of you. The act almost felt too domestic, much too reminiscent of your past relationship.

Though, you figured you could start worrying about what this all means tomorrow. "Good night," Suguru mumbled, turning to face you. He was more half asleep than anything, the plushie long discarded next to him. It'd probably end up on the floor later in the night. His arm wrapped around your midriff, keeping you pressed against his body. His body intertwined against yours, almost like he had no plans of getting up by any means.

"I love you," was the last thing that you heard before you succumbed to sleep, your body molding against Suguru's almost perfectly.

You'd expected to wake up next to a head full of hair in the pillow next to you, not the same coldness you'd grown accustomed to throughout the last year. Suguru had left without a trace, almost as if he never stepped foot into your place. The only indication that the previous night wasn't a figment of your imagination was the indent of his body left behind on the sheets.

A/N: i was thinkin ab a part two when i originally wrote this but enjoy anotha repost 😓

[moscatosin]

🖤 lists. mattheo riddle 🖤 oral. studying. fem!reader self insert. tongue in cheek. thank you to @nottscherry for reading this & confirming my idea was sane and @voidofsunlight for her bot that inspired the idea. mdni. raspberry vodka recommended (2.1k)

It was painstakingly obvious that Mattheo's curiosity had clearly gotten the best of him. Slipping down into a seat beside you in the back of the library, he smirked; honey tinted eyes washing over you with a trail of unspoken questions he’d stop at nothing to get answers for. Reaching out, with careful fingers, Mattheo tucked some loose hair which had fallen down in front of your face behind your ear, using the gesture as an excuse to let his fingertips linger beneath your chin and turn your head to face him.

“You know, you really should be more discreet with what you keep in your dorm..”

For a few moments, an array of impulsive thoughts and taunting images raced through your mind. When he had asked earlier in the day about borrowing a textbook you had on ancient runes for a class he wasn't all that committed to, you hadn't thought much about lending it to him. He just wanted to pass - you were nice enough to extend the offer to a friend - end of story. Right? Nope.

That little shit had taken it upon himself to snoop around your dorm as if he owned the place rather than just walking in and walking out the way you'd expected, like a thief in the middle of the night. You'd told him exactly where the book he was after was - top shelf in the bookcase beside your bed in between a stack of parchments you vaguely could refer to as homework and the novelty coffee mug of a dog he'd brought you years ago in Hogsmeade after you mentioned you thought it was cute.

Mind racing; you wondered what he'd stumbled on. Ever so surely, you began to flicker through the mental catalogue of everything you kept in your dorm. Perhaps the lucky red lace bra you always wore on first dates? The novelty candy G-string Pansy bought for your birthday last month? The handcuffs your ex had far too many ideas for? The bullet vibrator you kept in your bedside top drawer shaped like a golden snitch? No, let's be real - all these things were far too safe for someone with the last name Riddle; far too vanilla. Yet whilst you tried so desperately hard to think, your mind just couldn't quite pinpoint what he was hinting at.

“I’m sorry”, you murmured out with a raised brow, half tilting your head to the side to act partially naive and yet to also shift away from his touch. “You'll have to be more specific, Mattheo. I don't quite have the gift of legilimency like you do..”

“The list, sweetheart.”

For a moment you froze as time seemed to stop still. A single blink is what it took for your brain to kick-start back into motion after going offline oh so temporarily at his simple statement. The list. The god forsaken list. A stupid piece of parchment you'd hidden well, you initially thought, between ties and mismatched socks in your trunk which he'd had to have gone digging through to find. What a little shit –

“So you've been snooping?”, you sigh, hands raking through your hair roughly as the breath that escapes you burns raw against your lips. “Mattheo, we're friends - I trusted you to walk into my dorm, get what you needed and get out. Something that really, should not have been that difficult of a task for a wizard like yourself..”

He cuts you off by placing a finger firmly against your lips and scoots the seat he's on a few inches closer towards yours; wooden legs of the chair scraping harshly like nails on a chalkboard against the floor. With his free hand, he plucks the folded parchment out from his robe pocket and sets it out in front of you; his eyes dancing towards it, daring you to open it. You do - with shy, trembling hands; trying so, so hard to keep yourself afloat in this sudden drowning chaos you're finding yourself trapped within. It's okay, the waters only ankle deep - you can still get yourself out of this without needing to swim.

At the top of the list in handwriting which is clearly your own - that perfect cursive that has witches jealous of your quill skills, is Mattheo's name. Beneath it; listed in no particular order, a few dozen reasons girls think he'd be a decent fuck along with their signatures beside the comment. You swallow; the feeling rather uncomfortable and intense which hurts your throat as you listen to him begin to read it.

“Would definitely let me call him Daddy - A. Greengrass. Has 99 problems but that cock sure ain't one - L. Brown. Hands that could choke me into place with ease - H. Abbott. Are you girls bloody mental? Who writes shit like this?”

Would you answer him? Eh… The whole idea of lists had started out as a joke a few weeks ago at a party. Sober thoughts meeting drunken confidence when you'd suggested a list be written about all the boys you knew. Not necessarily sexual in nature but at least suggestive to some degree Somehow, rather unexpectedly; someone brought up Mattheo's name in conversation after commenting on how damn good he looked wearing all black, sipping on firewhiskey like it was nobodies business and bang - the ‘I would fuck him’ list was born.

“Riddle, it was just a little harmless fun. Like you can honestly tell me that you and your mates don't talk about or rank girls you'd like to hook up with or date or –.”

“Your name’s not on it.”

The sound of the library fell into a deep and unexpected silence you could hear a feather drop within. Your posture straightened upright; both brows rising as the faintest shade of rosy peach colouring skimmed across your cheeks. Coughing to clear your throat, you let out a semi-soulless chuckle.

“Yeah, because we're friends and I don't exactly see you in that way Mattheo.”

“But what would you write?”

“Nothing”, you confirmed with a confused stare at him, “We're friends.”

“But if you had to..”

Oh, he was getting desperate for an answer. How interesting. Had the names and comments already listed not been enough to stroke his rather expansive ego. You glance at the list before looking back at him; licking your tongue over your bottom lip to buy a little time to further think.

“You're not being serious?”

“Dead right I am.”

“Matt - almost three quarters of the bloody castle have signed a parchment that declares they'd willingly want to fuck you, and you're caught up on the fact that I, one of your best friends, hasn't signed it?”

The puppy dog look he shot you without warning made it feel like you'd just kicked him. You were well aware that there'd be only one way to suffice him, so picking up your quill you scribbled the first thing that came to mind and signed the bottom of the list. Mattheo had shifted to be staring over your shoulder intently as you scribbled away neatly; the gasp that from deep within his chest sounding like he may or may not have just experienced a minor heart attack.

“Might know how to use that tongue? Might? What the fuck? You think I'd suck at eating a girl out? Are you insane? I'm the best—.”

“Mattheo, seriously - shut up! We're in a library and I'm trying to study and yeah, as a matter of fact, you seem like a guy who wouldn't want to get messy and doesn't have the patience to go down on a girl long enough to please her, so yes. Might - know - how to use that tongue. Take it or leave it.”

Your heart is racing at this point. It was a joke. This whole thing. The list, your comment, the fact the two of you were even having this conversation. He slaps a hand down hard against the desk causing your ink bottle to shake and lets out a gruff sounding growl making your thighs tremble and quake. No. No. No…

“You're a wicked little witch.”

The sentence comes out with a hiss and a little sprinkle of threat and before you know it, Mattheo has slid his chair back, not caring to glance around and see if the two of you have company before dropping to the floor and crawling beneath the desk. Your brain short circuits again, this time; involuntarily as you feel his hands spread your knees apart; lips pressing hot, slow kisses that burn up the inside of your thighs deliciously. God it had been so fucking long since you'd been touched.

“W-what are you doing?”

*Proving that statement of yours fucking wrong.”

His curls tickling against your skin, your hands grasped at the edge of the desk you sat at, knuckles whitening as his teeth sank in to nip sultry at your skin. Your body tensed for a split second before sinking into the seat, his lips continuing to pepper kisses up your thighs before planting a final teasing kiss over your panties against your core that had you seeing stars.

“Hell.. Mattheo - we need to sto-...”

Like he was about to listen. Honestly. Tugging your panties to one side, you felt him chuckle against your clit before pressing the softest of kisses against it; your nerves endings bursting into an electric craze. Tip of his tongue sliding neatly in between your folds, you bit a knuckle painfully between your teeth to stifle a moan and felt your body grow warm.

“Oh my god..”

The words are nothing more than an uttered whisper of submission as Mattheo's tongue flickered teasingly over your entrance, slipping in shallow to torment you as his hands wrap around your thighs in an attempt at keeping you still. Your head tilts back; eyes clamped shut, your own hands tearing your skirt up to find his curls and knot through them, keeping Mattheo's head and mouth exactly where you need it.

“Mhmm.. you taste so fucking good.”

Compliments? Ugh. Your toes curl as his tongue continues to slide between your wet folds, sucking at your clit before diving back into you again. Your hips rock to help fuck yourself against his tongue to which he doesn't object to; devouring you like a feral animal who hasn't had a feed in weeks. You can feel your thighs becoming wet; your arousal evident as it paints his chin, the seat, your legs slick. You try to control it; the coil of heat burning in the pit of your stomach but when he shakes his head, tongue flickering over every inch of you on offer, your mind loses it.

Clamping your thighs tightly around him, Mattheo continues to let his tongue work magic; sucking at your folds before one final hit at your clit that has you not only seeing stars but almost seeing the whites and sparkle of what you can only guess are the pearly gates of heaven. Breathing heavily, you feel your legs lose tension as you unknown your fingers from his curls; face flushed and body quivering as you struggle to regain your breath.

“Holy fuck that was -..”

“Amazing?”, Mattheo asks, picking himself up off the floor to take the seat beside you again.

You blush a little harder; struggling to pick up your quill, yet you manage to, crossing out on the list what you wrote to reconfirm what you'd doubted. Mattheo's gaze turns from hungry to soft as you correct your admittance.

A tongue that belongs to me.

He can't help but gloat; chest puffed out, chin still glistening as he smirks your way. Leaning across, Mattheo presses a kiss to your temple, slinking an arm around your shoulders almost possessively.

“I'll admit baby girl, I'm kind of impressed I was able to change your mind so quickly. Tell me though - are there other lists or am I the only boy oh so fortunate?”

“Oh”, you chuckle, shifting your tie around your neck to adjust it for some breathing room, “There's another list.”

“Another?”, Mattheo spits out immediately. The way you've suggested it and he's said it, making it clear that apart from his laying on the desk in front of you, there's only one other in existence.

“Mhmm”, you mumble in confirmation.

“So who's the guy?”

Oh this is fun - he got to tease you, and now the tables have turned in your favour for you to tease him. Twirling your quill between your fingertips, you reach out to dip the tip into your ink pot and smirk.

“Theodore”, you explain with nothing more than his best friend's name.

“...and is his ‘list’ as extensive as mine?”

“Oh it's longer..”, you giggle, trying to focus back on your studies, “..and before you ask, yeah - I've signed it.”

[kultofkorii]

— Otherworldly Differences

mark grayson x saiyan! reader

• fic type: oneshot & fluff

• summary: crash landing on such a feeble planet wasn't on your to-do list. although this being whose nearly as strong a you confronts you, so you decide to humor him.

• word count: 5.8k

• warnings: mild canon typical violence, threat of violence, blood

• a/n: As you can see I got really carried away. 🧍‍♀️I like DBZ and I like Invincible, so why not combine the two!! Also I've just started watching invincible so sorry if he's ooc.

A shrill, wailing sound yanks you from unconsciousness, vibrating through your skull like an alarm gone haywire. You groan, forcing your heavy eyelids open, and are immediately greeted by the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth.

Smoke billows around you, thick and suffocating, curling from the shattered remains of your ship—a twisted hunk of alien steel embedded deep in the cracked pavement.

Your head pounds in protest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your temples. You press a hand to your forehead, then glance down at yourself.

Dust clings to your skin, mingling with smudges of soot and dried blood. Your armor, now riddled with scorch marks and gashes, groans as you shift.

Damn. That landing must’ve been rough.

Muffled shouts rise above the ringing in your ears. Blinking away the haze, you finally take in your surroundings.

Small, weak-looking creatures encircle the crash site, clad in identical dark uniforms. They hold strange little metal sticks, aiming them at you like they actually expect them to do something.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

“Step away from the wreckage!”

“You’re under arrest!”

You arch a brow, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. They think they can arrest me? That’s adorable.

With a groan, you push yourself upright, rolling your shoulders. A shower of debris crumbles from your armor, scattering across the crater floor. Your hair, wild and voluminous as ever, whips around your face as you stretch.

"Where in the name of Vegeta am I?" you mutter, voice thick with irritation.

The humans stiffen. Their fingers tighten around their weapons, eyes flickering between you and the destruction left in your wake.

The boldest of the bunch—a man with gritted teeth and an unfortunate mustache—steps forward, barrel trained directly at your chest.

“I said put your hands up!” he barks.

You tilt your head, gaze flicking over him with mild amusement. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Apparently, he doesn’t. None of them do. Because instead of answering, they just keep shouting, their voices a frantic mess of demands and threats.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. This is exhausting. If they refuse to answer your questions, perhaps a demonstration is in order.

Your eyes scan the wreckage, landing on the nearest object of interest—a large, boxy vehicle with shattered windows and blaring alarms.

Without hesitation, you grab it by the undercarriage, lift it effortlessly over your head, and hurl it toward a nearby building.

Glass explodes outward as the car crashes through the structure, embedding itself halfway into the second floor. The ground trembles from the impact, sending fresh cracks spiderwebbing across the pavement.

That gets their attention.

“Holy Shit!”

“She’s a freaking alien!”

“No shit,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Now, which one of you is in charge?”

Before anyone can respond, a gust of wind nearly knocks you back. A shadow streaks across the sky, descending at high speed.

You turn just in time to see a figure land in front of you, kicking up dust upon impact.

An array of yellow, blue and back filled your vision, toned muscles flexing between the tight material of a suit.

You recognize the stance immediately. A fighter. Interesting.

“You must be the problem everyone’s freaking out about,” he says, arms crossed. His tone isn’t immediately hostile—more wary than anything.

You grin, rolling your shoulders. “Depends. You here to challenge me?”

The guy blinks, visibly thrown off. “Uh, not exactly.”

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping someone here would be worth my time.”

Despite yourself, you’re intrigued. He’s strong—you can sense it. Not nearly Saiyan strong, of course, but there’s something different about him. Something… familiar.

He studies you just as intently, gaze flicking between your tattered armor, your battle-worn knuckles, and—most notably—the towering mass of thick hair atop your head.

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates.

“I’m Invincible,” he offers instead.

You snort. “Bit cocky, don’t you think?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

A beat of silence. Neither of you moves.

Then, cautiously, he gestures toward the chaos surrounding you. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

“That makes one of us,” you say, cracking your knuckles.

Mark exhales through his nose, clearly trying to be patient. “Seriously, can we just… talk?” He gestures at the wreckage, the police, the frightened civilians peeking from behind cover.

“You’re obviously not from around here, and you seem kinda… lost?”

You bristle at the implication. You are not lost. Saiyans do not get lost.

But.

Well.

You don’t exactly know where you are, and it’s slightly concerning that your ship is currently a pile of molten scrap metal.

“…Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your hands into the tattered remains of your belt. “But if this is a trap, I’m breaking every bone in your body.”

Mark exhales in relief, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Noted,” he mutters. Then, more amused than he probably should be: “You always this dramatic?”

You smirk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

His lips twitch, as if suppressing a laugh. Instead, he just shakes his head and gestures for you to follow.

You crack your neck, glance at the still-stunned humans, and grin.

Let’s see where this goes.

••••

You hate this place.

It smells like sterilization and fear, the kind of artificially clean air that makes your skin itch.

The walls are a cold, metallic gray, pulsing with dim overhead lights. The whole facility hums with electricity, the kind that suggests they have restraints for things stronger than humans.

And the way they’re looking at you? Like you’re a specimen in a cage? You really, really don’t like that.

You sit in a metal chair bolted to the floor, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly as you stare at the wrinkled man in front of you.

His name is Cecil. You’ve already decided you don’t like him.

For the past ten minutes, he’s been droning on, asking questions about your species, your ship, your intentions—like you owe him answers.

You’ve made a game of not responding, watching his patience wear thin.

“You’re really not gonna talk?” he asks, finally, voice dry as dust.

You smirk. “Why would I answer to someone who can’t even fly?”

Cecil’s face twitches. Across the room, Mark—Invincible, as he insists on being called—snorts.

He tries to smother his laugh, pressing his lips together, but you see the amusement flickering in his eyes.

Cecil doesn’t react beyond a slow exhale through his nose. He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. A lesser man would’ve cracked by now.

“I’ll be honest,” he continues. “You’re not our first alien visitor, and you probably won’t be our last. But if you’re planning to cause problems—”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, flashing him a slow, sharp grin. “I am the problem,” you say, voice dripping with amusement.

“And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

Mark shifts slightly. You don’t need to look at him to feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body tenses like he’s preparing for you to lash out again.

You’re not going to—yet—but the fact that he thinks you might is amusing.

Cecil just sighs and rubs his temple. “Get her out of my sight.”

You stand, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“Finally. This room smells like weakness.”

One of the armed guards by the door stiffens at that, knuckles whitening on his weapon. You give him a slow, pointed grin before turning away.

Mark steps beside you, shaking his head. “You’re so charming,” he mutters, voice laced with dry amusement.

You flash him a smirk. “I try.”

He gestures toward the exit. “Come on, oh mighty warrior. Let’s get you some fresh air before you pick a fight with the janitor.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn about Earth.

Assimilate, he says. Blend in.

You think it’s ridiculous. Why should you have to adapt to them? You are superior in every way—stronger, faster, smarter. If anything, they should be learning from you.

But… well. You suppose humoring Mark is preferable to rotting away in that dreadful government facility.

So when he insists on introducing you to “the best thing Earth has to offer,” you allow yourself to be dragged along, arms crossed and skepticism at full capacity.

Which is how you find yourself sitting in a place called Mama Luigi’s Pizza.

The walls are plastered with photographs of grinning humans holding enormous, greasy slices of something that looks like food but definitely doesn’t smell like anything worth eating.

The air is thick with the scent of melted cheese and sizzling dough, mingling with the faint tang of tomato sauce.

Mark places a box in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, first lesson in being an Earthling, food.”

You narrow your eyes at the offering. The circular dish is sliced into uneven triangles, topped with bubbling golden cheese and a thin layer of something red.

You poke it with a finger. It squishes slightly. “What is this?”

Mark sighs like he was expecting this reaction. “It’s pizza. Just try it.”

You glance at him, then back at the pizza. It doesn’t smell awful, but it looks so… soft.

Your diet consists of meat cooked over an open flame, raw energy rations, and the occasional alien delicacy that most species wouldn’t dare touch.

This? This just looks like melted goo on soggy bread.

“Do humans consume nothing of nutritional value?” you ask, lifting one of the slices and examining it like it might try to escape. “How does this pathetic excuse for sustenance fuel you?”

Mark groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not always about nutrition. Sometimes it's about taste.”

You snort. “Taste is secondary to power.”

“Okay, Y/n,” Mark deadpans. “Just take a bite.”

You sniff it warily, then, with great reluctance, sink your teeth into the gooey mess.

The moment the flavors hit your tongue, your brain short-circuits.

Salty, savory cheese. Rich, tangy sauce. The warm, crispy-yet-doughy crust. Your taste buds—so accustomed to the harsh, metallic tang of survival rations—practically explode.

You don’t mean to make a noise, but something between a hum and a low growl of approval rumbles in your throat.

Your grip on the slice tightens, fingers flexing instinctively.

Mark watches with interest as your pupils dilate. “...Well?” he prompts, smirking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you devour the rest of the slice in two bites, grab another, and tear into it like a starving beast.

Mark blinks. “Oh. Oh wow.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The pizza—this godly, divine creation—is disappearing at an alarming rate.

You don’t pace yourself.

You don’t breathe.

You just consume.

Mark leans back in his chair, watching in a mixture of horror and awe. “Uh, you do know you’re supposed to chew, right?”

You ignore him, grabbing another slice, cheese stretching between your fingers.

Mark’s brows shoot up. “Are you—oh my god, are you actually growling?”

You pause mid-bite, realizing that yes, you are growling—a low, territorial rumble vibrating from your chest. Your muscles are coiled, posture slightly hunched as if guarding your prize.

You force yourself to relax, clearing your throat. “Instinct,” you say, voice muffled around your mouthful. “Saiyan biology.”

Mark stares at you.

Then at the emptying box.

Then back at you.

“That’s terrifying.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, completely unbothered. “It is efficient.”

Mark gestures to the now nearly empty pizza box. “That was supposed to be for both of us.”

You glance at the single, lonely slice remaining in the box, then at Mark. Then back at the slice.

You grab it.

“HEY!”

You take an exaggerated bite, chewing slowly, making direct eye contact with him as you do.

Mark groans, slumping back in his seat. “I cannot believe I just witnessed a Saiyan discovering pizza.”

You swallow and grin. “Alright.” You gesture to the crumbs and grease-stained box. “This planet might have some value after all.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn human customs if you're going to stay on Earth.

You think human customs are stupid.

“Just try to blend in,” Mark says as he leads you down a crowded city street, his voice already laced with exhaustion. “No throwing cars, no threatening people, and for the love of God, no fighting the barista.”

You scoff, ruffling your hair in annoyance. “If this barista dares disrespect me, they’ll have earned the beating.”

Mark sighs. “I’m begging you to be normal for five minutes.”

You don’t dignify that with a response.

The place Mark drags you to is small and cramped, filled with the scent of something bitter and the low hum of human chatter. Coffee shop, he calls it. You call it a waste of time.

The line moves painfully slow. You tap your foot impatiently, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ridiculous menu full of nonsense words like macchiato and venti.

“These names are stupid.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to understand them. Just order something.”

Finally, you reach the front. A young man stands behind the counter, looking more exhausted than Mark. His uniform is wrinkled, his expression blank.

He sighs. “What can I get you?”

You lift your chin. “Your strongest drink.”

The barista barely reacts. “Do you want that hot or iced?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is there a difference?”

Mark nudges your side. “Just say hot.”

You roll your eyes. “Hot, then.”

The barista punches something into his register. “Name for the order?”

You blink. “Why do you need my name?”

“It’s so we can call it when your drink is ready.”

You frown. “You mean I have to wait?”

The barista, clearly dead inside, just blinks at you. “Yes?”

You lean forward slightly. “Do you know who I am?”

Mark audibly groans.

The barista, now vaguely alarmed, glances at Mark for guidance. Mark shoots him an apologetic look before turning to you, voice dangerously close to pleading. “Just give him your name and be cool.”

You stare at the barista. The barista stares back. Then, slowly, you smirk. “Fine. My name is Y/N the Warmonger.”

Mark visibly deflates.

The barista, now beyond caring, just types something into the register. “That’ll be $4.75.”

You blink. “That will be what?”

“Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Mark pulls out a small green rectangle and hands it over before you can start breaking things. “I got it.”

You watch as the barista takes the rectangle, swipes it through a strange machine, and hands it back.

You lean over, voice low. “Did he just steal from you?”

Mark drags a hand down his face. “That’s how money works.”

“Money is a scam.”

Mark gestures for you to step aside as the next customer moves forward. “Welcome to capitalism.”

You huff, tapping your fingers against the counter as you wait. “How long does this process take?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Mark shrugs. “How busy they are.”

You look around. There are only three other people waiting. “This is pathetic.”

“Do you have to say everything you think out loud?”

“Yes, I do.”

Mark stares at you for a long moment, then sighs. “Just… stand here and don’t start a fight.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I won’t start a fight.”

Mark looks at you like he doesn’t believe you at all.

Minutes pass. The baristas move at a snail’s pace, making drinks with far more effort than seems necessary.

Your patience—what little exists—wears thin.

Finally, someone calls, “Y/N the Warmonger?”

You smirk, stepping forward. “Ah, finally.”

The barista places a small cup on the counter.

You eye it. “That’s it?”

Mark claps a hand over his face. “Please don’t—”

You grab the cup and inspect it. It’s small—far smaller than you expected. And it’s hot, heat seeping through the flimsy material. You narrow your eyes at the tiny opening in the lid. “This is ridiculous.”

Mark nudges your arm. “Just take a sip.”

You do.

And immediately gag.

Mark snorts. “Not a fan?”

You shove the cup back at him, wiping your tongue on your sleeve. “It tastes like burnt dirt.”

“That’s coffee.”

“Why do humans drink this?”

Mark shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink. “Some of us like suffering.”

You glare at the cup. “This explains so much.”

Mark is laughing now, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe coffee isn’t your thing.”

You sneer at the cup as if it personally offended you. “I will destroy this establishment.”

Mark grabs your arm. “We are leaving.”

••••

Mark should’ve known better than to mention Halloween in passing.

The moment the words leave his mouth, you stop walking, whip around, and grab his shoulders so fast he barely has time to react.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Your grip tightens, eyes burning with intensity. "So you’re telling me there’s a day—a whole day—where I can wear anything I want, and people just… give me things?"

Mark blinks, looking mildly concerned for his well-being. "Uh… yeah? That’s… basically Halloween."

Your expression is deadly serious. "This is the best planet in the universe."

Mark sighs, prying your fingers off his shoulders. "You really don’t need to be this dramatic."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I absolutely do. This is groundbreaking information, Mark. Do you understand how insane this sounds? Where I’m from, if you want something, you take it—or you beat someone into the ground until they hand it over."

"Yeah, we call that robbery," Mark mutters.

You ignore him. "But this? This is a sanctioned event?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much. Kids dress up, go door to door, and get candy."

Your head tilts. "Candy?"

Mark pauses, realizing something horrifying. "Wait. You’ve never had candy before?"

You raise a brow. "Should I have?"

Mark grabs you hand, a new found conviction stirring his heart. "Okay, new plan. We are absolutely fixing this."

The next thing you know, you’re standing in the middle of a store filled with costumes.

Mark drags you through the aisles, dodging plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and a disturbing number of severed limbs. You pick up a dismembered hand, inspecting it with mild curiosity.

"Humans celebrate death?" you ask, turning it over in your palm.

Mark huffs a laugh. "Kinda. Halloween’s all about spooky stuff. Ghosts, monsters, horror movies—"

"Horror movies?" you echo, dropping the fake hand.

"Yeah, it's filled with things that's supposed to be scary—like, creepy stories, jump scares, murder-y villains—"

Your eyes light up. "You have a murder holiday?"

Mark sighs, rubbing his temple. "That’s not—never mind. Just pick out a costume."

You survey the wall of options, eyes scanning the bizarre selection.

"What’s a ‘sexy nurse’?"

Mark chokes, face growing warmer. "Not that one!"

You grin, baring sharp canines. "Ohhh, so it's not just a murder holiday."

Mark groans, dragging you toward another aisle. "We’re not doing this."

After an obnoxiously long debate (and Mark vetoing several of your more violent ideas), you finally settle on something appropriately intimidating.

A black cape, sleek armor, and a terrifying mask with glowing red eyes.

Mark squints at the tag. "Darth Vader?"

You tilt your head. "This man—he was a warrior, yes?"

"Uh… kinda?" Mark hesitates. "More like an evil space dictator."

You grin. "So, a king."

Mark sighs. "I feel like I should stop you, but… honestly? You’re weirdly perfect for this."

You flick the cape over your shoulder, nodding in approval. "Yes. Lord Vader is ready to conquer this...Halloween."

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don’t start referring to yourself in the third person."

You smirk, already deep in character. "Lord Vader does as he pleases."

Mark groans.

Hours later, you’re stalking the streets with a plastic skull bucket (Mark refused to let you carry an actual skull), and your energy is through the roof.

"Look at them, Mark!" You gesture wildly at the groups of costumed children. "They fear me!"

"They don’t," Mark corrects. "They think you’re cosplaying."

You scoff. "They should fear me."

"That's called fear mongering."

You ignore him, marching up to a door and pounding on it like you’re issuing a challenge.

A kindly old woman answers, beaming. "Oh, what a lovely costume! And who are you supposed to be, dear?"

You puff out your chest. "I am Lord Vader! Kneel before me, mortal!"

Mark, standing behind you, mutters, "I can't do this."

The woman chuckles, unbothered, and drops a handful of candy into your bucket. "Well, Lord Vader, enjoy your treats!"

You stare down at the loot. Then at Mark. Then back at the candy.

Your voice drops to a whisper. "It worked."

Mark claps a hand on your shoulder, smiling lightly at the child like wonder in your expression. "Welcome to Halloween."

••••

Mark fascinates you.

You don’t know when it happened, or how, but somewhere between the endless sparring matches, the insufferable Earth lessons, and the way he constantly calls you out on your arrogance, you started… caring.

It’s infuriating.

He’s not a Saiyan. He’s soft. Idealistic.

Sentimental in a way that would get him killed on any real battlefield. Yet, he doesn’t break. No matter how many times he's knocked down, he always gets back up.

He’s stubborn. Stupidly determined. And worse—so much worse—he’s kind.

And every time he smiles at you, your stomach does this weird thing that you refuse to acknowledge.

You blame it on Earth’s atmosphere.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you, golden from the streetlights. It’s late—too late—but neither of you seems particularly eager to leave.

Mark leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, I used to think I was strong.”

You snort, swinging your legs over the ledge. “Used to?”

He gives you a sideways glance. “Yeah, and then I met you.”

You smirk. “Ah. A humbling experience, I’m sure.”

Mark groans. “I hate that you’re so smug about it.”

“But I earned the right to be smug,” you counter, grinning. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. You should thank me for showing you how weak you are.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh yeah, thanks so much, Your Highness. I love getting my ass kicked on a regular basis.”

You shrug. “You should. It builds character.”

Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You love messing with me, don’t you?”

You tilt your head. “Of course.”

“Why?”

You blink. The question catches you off guard.

Mark watches you expectantly, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you—less irritated, more curious.

You feel a strange warmth creeping up your neck.

You click your tongue. “Because you react.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You wave a hand at him. “Most beings—weaklings—would just fear me, but you? You get angry. You argue. You fight back.” You smirk. “It’s entertaining.”

Mark shakes his head, exasperated but smiling. “You are so weird.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He leans back again, gaze shifting to the sky. “It’s not.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You don’t like the feeling.

The next time you spar, it’s different.

You’ve fought Mark dozens of times now, and it’s usually predictable. You win. He loses. He gets slightly better each time, but the outcome never really changes.

Except… today, he lasts longer.

His movements are sharper, more controlled. His dodges are precise. His counters actually make you work.

You grin, blood pumping, excitement thrumming under your skin.

“Finally,” you breathe, dodging a punch by a hair. “I was starting to think you’d never improve.”

Mark exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a very aggressive training partner.”

You smirk, throwing a kick that he barely manages to block. “And look at you now! Almost respectable.”

“Almost?”

You grin. “Let’s see if you can prove me wrong.”

He lunges again, and for the first time, you let yourself enjoy it—not just the fight, but him. The way he moves. The way he refuses to back down. The way he looks at you, like he’s actually enjoying himself too.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky grin, but a real smile. Bright. Genuine.

And something in your stomach flips.

You stumble.

Not much—barely a misstep—but enough. Mark seizes the opportunity, slamming into you with enough force to send you skidding backward.

You catch yourself before you hit the ground, flipping midair and landing in a crouch. Your heart is pounding—not from the fight, but from the fact that you hesitated.

You never hesitate.

Mark grins, slightly out of breath. “Hey, did I actually get you just now?”

Your fingers twitch. You force your expression back to neutral. “No.”

Mark raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

You glare. “Absolutely.”

He smirks. “You totally hesitated.”

You stand up, rolling your shoulders. “You wish.”

Mark chuckles. “Oh, I know I did.”

You hate that he’s right.

You hate that you let him be right.

And most of all…

You hate that your stomach does that thing again.

••••

You don’t care about Earth.

That’s what you’ve told yourself, over and over again, ever since you crash-landed on this ridiculous planet full of weaklings. You don’t care about its people, its customs, or its foolish attachment to peace.

But then someone hurts Mark.

And suddenly, none of that matters.

It happens fast.

One moment, you’re watching him trade blows with some costumed idiot—some third-rate, no-name waste of oxygen who dares to think they can beat him.

And then—

Mark hesitates. Just for a second.

And in that second, the bastard slams a fist straight into his ribs with enough force to send him crashing through a building.

Your vision goes red.

Your usual smugness—your sharp, teasing quips—vanish. There's no room for anything but pure, feral rage.

You don’t think.

You react.

The air around you crackles as you launch yourself forward, faster than the fool can process. One second, they’re standing there, smug over landing a hit on Mark—

The next, you have them by the throat.

Their eyes widen, hands clawing at yours, feet kicking uselessly in the air. You squeeze, just enough to make them panic.

“You think you’re strong?” Your voice is low, almost a growl, vibrating with barely restrained fury. “You think you can just touch him?”

They make a choked noise, eyes bulging. You hate looking at them. This weak, insignificant thing that had the audacity to harm what’s yours.

Your grip tightens. The building behind you trembles from the sheer force of your energy surging outward. Hair flickering between its normal color and golden for a split second.

Mark coughs somewhere in the rubble. "Y/N—"

Your head snaps toward the sound. He’s trying to push himself up, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood smeared across his cheek.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, expression torn between disbelief and something else—something softer.

You don’t like it.

You scowl, then turn back to your prey. You could end this fight right now. Just a little more pressure, and they’d be nothing but a crumpled mess of bone and flesh.

But Mark—damn him—is still watching.

And for some stupid reason, you care about what he sees.

With a growl, you throw the bastard across the street. Their body smashes through a lamppost before skidding to a limp halt. You don’t bother checking if they get up. If they know what’s good for them, they won’t.

The moment they’re gone, you stalk over to Mark, who is still gawking at you.

“Did you just—”

"Shut up," you snap, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet.

He stumbles slightly, and you automatically shift to steady him, one hand gripping his forearm.

He’s warm under your fingers, his breath still uneven from the fight. His eyes lock onto yours, searching.

Your jaw tightens. "If you die, I’ll be very pissed off."

Mark blinks, then—despite the blood on his lip, despite the bruises already blooming across his skin—he grins.

“You care about me,” he says, tone dripping with amusement.

Your eye twitches.

"You care about me," he repeats, sing-song, like he’s delighted about it.

You shove him, hard enough to make him stumble back. "I will end you."

Mark just laughs, wiping blood from his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Right after you finish avenging my honor."

You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate that you let yourself care.

And most of all—

You hate the way your stomach flips when he looks at you like that.

••••

It’s late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you don’t sleep much. Not like humans do.

So you sit alone on the edge of his rooftop, arms resting on your knees, staring up at the sky. The stars above are bright tonight, scattered across the inky black like shattered glass.

They stretch endlessly, far beyond Earth, far beyond this tiny planet with its weak gravity and fragile people.

Somewhere out there, a long time ago, there was a place you should have called home.

But Planet Vegeta is gone.

You don’t remember it. You were too young when it was destroyed, sent away before the blast could reach you. By the time you were old enough to ask questions, there was nothing left to return to—just empty space where your people once stood.

You should be used to it by now.

But some nights—like this one—your chest feels hollow.

The soft thud of footsteps behind you barely registers. You already know who it is.

Mark drops down beside you, not saying anything at first, just watching the sky with you.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected months ago.

Then, quietly, he asks, “You ever think about going back?”

You exhale slowly, gaze never leaving the stars. “Not really an option.”

Mark tilts his head. “Why not?”

Your fingers clench slightly. “Because there’s nothing to go back to.”

His expression shifts. "Oh."

You don’t like the pity in his voice. You shoot him a sharp glance. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t lose my planet—I never had it to begin with.”

Mark studies you, his expression unreadable. "Still. That’s… a lot."

You scoff. "I manage."

Silence.

Then, softly—“Then maybe Earth is your home now.”

Your head snaps toward him, expecting mockery, but there’s none. No teasing, no sarcasm—just sincerity. Just Mark.

He looks at you like it’s an obvious answer, like it doesn’t matter that you’re not human, that you don’t belong here.

For the first time, you don’t scoff.

“…Maybe.”

••••

Mark is fidgeting.

You’ve been watching him shift awkwardly in place for the past two minutes, and you can’t decide whether you’re more entertained or secondhand embarrassed.

His hands keep clenching at his sides, like he can’t decide if he wants to put them in his pockets, cross his arms, or just gesture wildly. He rubs the back of his neck so much that you’re convinced he might actually rub his skin raw. And the way he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot?

Pathetic. Yet...cute.

Your brow arches. “Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there looking constipated?”

Mark flinches like you just punched him in the gut. “I—I have something I need to tell you.”

You cross your arms, tilting your head, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

He takes a deep breath, like that might somehow help him, then lets it out in a rush of air that makes him seem even more stressed.

His shoulders are too tense, his expression too strained, and his heartbeat—oh, his heartbeat is practically hammering through his chest. Is he nervous?

He’s never like this during fights. Even when he’s getting thrown through buildings, he usually keeps his cool, and pushing through with sheer stubbornness. But right now?

Mark looks like he might actually pass out.

“So, uh…” He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I think I—no, I know I—uh—”

Your smirk widens. You can’t help it. “Spit it out, Invincible.”

That seems to make it worse. He groans, eyes squeezing shut, head tilting back like he’s begging the universe for patience.

Then, he just blurts it out.

“I like you, okay? A lot. A lot more than normal, And I know you probably think I’m beneath you, but—”

You don’t think.

You act.

Before he can finish whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to say, you grab the front of his suit and yank him forward, crashing your lips against his.

It’s instinct. It’s reaction. It’s the only thing you can do when faced with something that makes your chest feel tight.

For a second, he freezes.

Then, he melts into it.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and he’s so still. You realize he’s holding his breath, and maybe you are too. The world around you fades into nothing, like the only thing anchoring you to reality is the heat of his mouth against yours.

And then it’s over.

You pull back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, letting go of his shirt like it just burned you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your face—damn it, why does your face feel hot?

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to cover your mouth, your brain screaming at you for what you just did.

Mark just… stares.

His mouth is slightly open, his eyebrows raised, his lips still parted like he’s still processing what just happened. There’s a deep flush creeping up his neck, painting his ears red, but—he’s not speaking.

Oh, universe.

Why isn’t he speaking?

Panic creeps up your spine like a slow-burning fire. You shouldn’t have done that. What if you—what if he—

“…You kissed me.” His voice is dazed, barely more than a whisper, and that’s when you snap.

You stiffen, looking anywhere but at him. “You were—talking too much.”

Slowly—too slowly—something shifts in his expression. The stunned silence fades, melting into something smug. His lips curl at the edges, the flush on his cheeks still present but no longer uncertain. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered victory.

His voice is annoyingly triumphant. “You like me.”

Your entire body locks up.

“No,” you say immediately.

Mark steps closer. “You so do.”

“I don’t,” you insist, but the way you’re backing up is not helping your case.

Mark follows, his confidence growing with every second. “You totally do. Oh my god.” He drags a hand down his face, but it’s not exasperation—it’s exhilaration. “I knew it.”

“You don’t know anything,” you mutter, face burning.

He grins. “You are so cute right now.”

Your hands clench into fists. “I will end you.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases. “But not before I kiss you again.”

You whip around so fast your hair nearly smacks him in the face. “I hate you.”

He has the audacity to laugh. A full, bright, obnoxiously victorious laugh.

“No, you don’t.”

Your mouth opens—probably to snap something back—but Mark just leans in, smirking.

“If it makes you feel better,” he muses, “I really enjoyed it.”

You go completely still, face burning impossibly warmer.

Mark grins wider, “And I know you enjoyed it too.”

Your eye twitches.

He laughs again, and you hate how much you don’t hate the sound of it.

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (7)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC

word count | 6,1k words

summary | you leave for the reach, angsty love confession, false rumors travel to king's landing.

tags | (MDNI), SMUT, unprotected sex (this is asoiaf so all sex is unprotected), p in v, death, heavy angst/NO COMFORT, vampire powers, heavy miscommunication

note | I'd be really interested in knowing if you guys made a name for the reader, in my head her name is Krystyna Mikaelson (yes, I googled norse names and chose my fav) So did anyone else read George R.R Martin's blog??? Anyway, I'm just here for Ewan, Olivia and Phia tbh. I was thinking that reader could be a witch. Like I know witches can't be vampires, but Siphoners can. Like just imagine her father was from a Gemini coven, and she doesn't know she has magic and since she's an original, she's her own power source, hence first heretic.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

You had woven yourself into a web of deception, and now, the strands began to unravel. The Hand’s summons rang ominously in your ears, commanding you to escort Prince Jaehaerys to your so-called "home" in the Reach. Yet, the truth was far less straightforward; your true home lay not within the verdant fields of the Reach, nor did it belong to this mortal realm at all.

Time pressed against you—tonight, you would depart from Kings Landing. What could you possibly say to the watchful White Cloaks accompanying you? The question gnawed at you, demanding a rapid strategy as you struggled to quell your rising panic.

For the moment, the Hand had instructed you to gather only your essentials. As the hour of the wolf approached, you prepared to meet the call at the courtyard and bid a bittersweet farewell.

Your hands moved with urgency, tossing your cherished Mikaelson amulet into a trunk, alongside an array of simple dresses that would serve you for the arduous journey ahead. But amidst the flurry of preparation, the creaking of your chamber doors momentarily pierced through your focus. The air thickened with the unmistakable scent that sent a thrill down your spine, a presence you knew too well.

Stubbornly, you continued to pack, resolutely ignoring his entrance. You were a fool playing a game rigged against you—fostering feelings for a prince destined for a mortal being. Unlike your sister Rebekah, who pinned her affections upon every charming face, you fought against the tide of your own heart. Yet, in the shadows of your denial, an undeniable pull towards Aemond Targaryen had ensnared you, leaving you trapped in a whirlwind of desire and longing.

“I knew something would eventually go awry,” he murmured from the shadows, his tone laden with the weight of foresight.

You stubbornly continued to gather your belongings, your hands trembling ever so slightly. “I know not of what you speak,” you replied, defiance lacing your words like poison.

The atmosphere shifted as Aemond crossed the threshold, his presence a storm—intangible yet fierce. You felt the warmth radiating off him, enveloping you as he positioned himself behind you, the scent of dragonfire and leather filling your senses. “Whenever I find a fleeting moment of happiness, it is whisked away quicker than it appeared. The day I claimed Vhagar, and now, as I stand here with you,” his voice wavered, betraying an edge of vulnerability.

You clenched your jaw, a frown creasing your delicate features as an unbidden ache tightened around your heart. “I do not know how long I shall be gone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Strong hands found your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, a silent promise wrapped around you as he whispered, “It matters not; I shall await your return, no matter how long it may take.”

With a pained sigh, you turned to confront him, your eyes glistening with unspoken sorrow. “You shouldn't.”

Aemond's brow furrowed, confusion etched across his handsome face as he tightened his grip, unwilling to let you slip away. “Why would you utter such foolishness?”

Your insides twisted as you longed to lay bare the truth that lay heavy on your heart. A truth about your eternal curse—a vampire destined to walk the earth forever, but never to grow old alongside him, to bear him no heirs. Instead, you shook your head, you voice trembling as you whispered, “A prince cannot wed a bastard.”

His brow knitted deeper in perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“I am not my father's daughter,” you confessed, the words tasted bitter as they left your lips. “And that alone should be reason enough for you to forsake any thought of marrying me.”

The admission struck you like a blade, a noose tightening around your spirit. Aemond’s disdain for bastards echoed hauntingly in your mind—his vitriol directed at those he deemed unworthy. If claiming your own truth was the only path to forging a distance between the two of you, then so be it. You would bear the burden of his scorn, if it meant sparing him from the shadows that clung to your existence.

In a flicker of desperation, you realized the power you held—the gift of compulsion. You could erase every whispered promise and shared secret, rendering him a stranger to your existence. Yet, the thought pierced your heart like a dagger; to be forgotten was a torment worse than heartbreak. Aemond’s scorn would be a balm compared to losing him entirely, for you would rather endure his hatred than vanish from his memory.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the inevitable scorn, the revulsion you feared would pour forth from his lips. Instead, you felt his hands, warm and tender, gripping your face with an intensity that stole your breath. “Look at me,” he urged, his voice a gentle command.

With reluctance, you opened her eyes, meeting his piercing violet gaze that seemed to see through to your very essence. "I do not care," he declared, as though his unwavering love could alone mend the fractures within your heart.

A tidal wave of anger surged through you—not directed at him, but ignited by the very depth of his relentless love. With a swift motion, you pushed him away, desperation fueling your words as they spilled forth like a torrent. “You should care! You must understand, Aemond— I am not good for you, and I am certainly not worthy of your love.”

Aemond’s frustration prickled in the air as he gestured animatedly, his brows knitting together as if you had unleashed a storm within him. “And who are you to declare yourself unworthy? Do you think Aegon worthy of the Iron Throne?”

You let out a derisive scoff, the incredulity igniting your tone. "Comparing me to Aegon? That is a completely different situation," you stressed, your words punctuated with defiance.

"I cannot fathom your urge to push me away," Aemond's voice rose, desperation lacing his every syllable. The calm mask he wore shattered, revealing the turmoil beneath. “Is it because you do not love me?”

The weight of his question struck you like a lightning bolt. You could feel the tears welling, and you felt the weight of your own heart as it threatened to overflow. Unconsciously, you yelled, “Of course I love you, Aemond! How could I not," The urgency in your voice rose, a plea wrapped in desperation. “But what you fail to grasp is—”

“You love me," All traces of anger evaporated from his expression; instead, a spark of something else ignited in his eyes as he latched onto your statement.

You faltered, momentarily confused. “What?”

“You love me,” he echoed, his voice rising with fervor, amplifying the truth hanging in the air like a spell.

With a scoff, you shook her head, trying to dismiss the revelation. “That is not the point of the matter, Aemond—”

“It is indeed the point,” he countered, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming as he reached out, cradling your face in his hands. “Because you love me, and I love you.”

A weary sigh escaped your lips, the weight of his insistence pressing down on you. “Aemond, you’re not hearing me.”

“I am,” he replied earnestly, his thumbs brushing softly against your cheek, “I hear you, and yet your heart speaks a truth that cannot be silenced: you love me.”

And as Aemond leaned closer, that fierce violet eye consuming your own, your defenses began to crumble. His lips brushed against yours, igniting a spark that uncoiled like wildfire within you. Resistance became a ghost, fading in the heat of your shared breath as your mouths melded together. Aemond's tongue slid past your lips, a tantalizing invasion, and you found herself yielding to the irresistible pull of desire, your essences intertwining in a dance as ancient as the realms you inhabited.

With each caress from his skilled hands, the world around you faded into oblivion, thoughts dispersing like ash in the wind. You clutched at his neck, your fingers tangling in his silver locks as you deepened your kiss, hungry for more. Aemond's grip roamed boldly across your form, igniting a fire beneath your skin that made your pulse quicken—a symphony of passion building between the two of you. You could feel the unmistakable hardness of his desire pressing against you, stirring a yearning that enveloped you.

As the kiss broke, your breaths mingled, thick with anticipation. Aemond trailed hot kisses along the delicate curve of your neck, his lips sending tremors through your body. A gasp escaped your lips as he scooped you up with effortless strength, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your body fitting perfectly against his as he pressed you closer. Your bodies met, his erection unmistakable even through the barriers of your clothing, igniting a primal need that demanded resolution.

He carried you to the nearest table, as he laid you down, the cool surface contrasted with the heat emanating from your bodies. Aemond’s fingers deftly hiked up the hem of your dress, each inch sending electric thrills along your spine, leaving your breathless.

"Do you want this?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper yet filled with a primal urgency that stirred something deep within you, all of your hesitation gone.

With languid desire pooling in between your legs, you yielded, your desperation spilling over into your voice as you breathed, "Take me now, Aemond. I wish to feel you in me, even after I've departed."

His response to your words was immediate and animalistic, a predatory instinct awakened. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, words lost to the fervor that gripped him. Like a tempest unleashed, he tore away the delicate fabric that separated the two of you, casting it aside with a fervent urgency. His fingers deftly unfastened the laces of his trousers, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

In an instant, he pulled you closer, your bodies colliding with an electric urgency. The tip of his cock grazed your slick heat, a tantalizing tease that sent ripples of desire coursing through your veins. With each passing moment, your body ached for him, the need swelling within you like a tide crashing against the shore.

“Please,” you breathed, your tone rich with longing, “I cannot wait any longer.”

Before you could utter another plea, Aemond surged forward, his curved tip breaking through the barrier of your softness. Moments stretched into eternity as he filled you, a divine sensation that stole your breath. It felt like fire and ice intertwined, the ecstasy consuming you both.

As you joined together, he leaned over you, your faces mere breaths apart. His lips found yours, capturing the essence of your fervent connection in a searing kiss that tasted of bloodlust and boundless craving.

You were not a creature of restraint, especially not in the heat of the moment. With a sly, vixen-like grace, you entwined her legs around Aemond's waist, ensnaring him effortlessly. The force of your pull sent him slamming into you, your bodies colliding with a fervor that made the very air sizzle with electric desire. Aemond groaned, a primal growl escaping his lips as he felt the intoxicating warmth envelop him completely; he was ensnared by you as if caught in a hunter's trap.

Your soft moans echoed like a siren's song, urging Aemond on as your lips trailed kisses down the cool expanse of his alabaster skin. Each kiss was deliberate; it was a tantalizing dance between temptation and control. Your fangs tingled with the hunger for his fiery dragon blood, simmering ever closer to the surface, but for now, you quelled that urge with sheer willpower.

Yet Aemond, with his predatory instincts ignited, began to thrust into you with a relentless rhythm, your flesh meeting with a damp slap that resonated through the great hall like a heartbeat as Aemond thrust himself into your cunt over and over. The air thickened with the sweet scent of lust, pleasure, and something darker that lingered in the wake of your intensity.

“When will you truly understand?” Aemond rasped, his breath quickening as he plunged into you with fervor. The rhythmic, wet sounds reverberated softly in the room, his hand finding its way to your most sensitive spot, teasing your clit with skilled flicks. “You were made for me, just as I was for you.”

Pleasure surged through your veins, overwhelming your senses as you murmured, “I love you.”

With deliberate movements, Aemond traced slow, firm circles on your pearl, lowering his body closer to yours as he whispered against your lips, “I love you.”

A soft whine escaped your lips as your body tightened around him, waves of ecstasy crashing over you in a blinding storm of sensation. Aemond was drawn to your peak, his own release spiraling just behind yours. He let out a deep groan, his essence spilling inside you as he collapsed against you, panting, entirely lost in the moment.

You felt Aemond's warm breath against your skin as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Nuhon,” he murmured, his words carrying an electricity that entwined your very essence with his. (Mine)

For a fleeting moment, you tightened your grip on him, reluctant to sever the bond that pulsed between you. Yet, time was against you, and Aemond slowly withdrew himself, his gaze piercing into yours, leaving an ache in the space inside you. A soft gasp escaped your lips; the void he left behind felt cavernous, devoid of his heat, as you only felt emptiness.

Silently, you watched as he regained his composure, the delicate dance of his fingers deftly lacing his trousers. As he turned, casting his attentive eye around the chamber, he picked up a handkerchief with a gentle touch.

What followed was an act more intimate than what the two of you had just done—the careful way he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion felt surreal. Aemond's hands were gentle, almost reverent, as he smoothed your skirts back into place, making you feel cherished in a way that transcended the physical.

His hands found their home on your waist, solid yet gentle, your fingers instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. With a graceful lift, he eased you from the tabletop, setting you down on the cold stone floor. His gaze shifted downwards, landing on your stomach, and a wave of panic surged through you, yet you instinctively placed your hand over your stomach, wishing to shield it from his penetrating stare.

“You must drink moon tea before you depart,” he murmured, his voice laced with a trace of regret, as though he carried the weight of unspoken truths.

A harsh swallow caught in your throat. It was an empty act for you to do, as your womb lay barren, yet the implications of his words hung heavy in the air. You turned your gaze away from him, a flicker of vulnerability dancing across your features, and nodded nonetheless.

His hand, warm and reassuring, cupped your cheek, gently guiding your eyes back to his. "I shall fetch some for you. Wait here, I will return shortly."

Silently, you nodded, feeling the electrifying brush of his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss, a soft collision of breath that sent shivers through your being. It was a moment suspended in time, brief yet profound, leaving you yearning for more. But before you could fully savor it, he withdrew, leaving your chambers cloaked in the bittersweet essence of his absence.

You busied yourself, gathering the few belongings you possessed, when Aemond returned with striking swiftness. A sense of discomfort washed over you as you drank the vile tea, acutely aware of his watchful eye.

After a brief silence, you dared to glance up at him, a question dancing on your lips. "Do you intend to escort me to the courtyard?"

His gaze remained piercing, an unwavering ember in the flickering light. "Indeed," he replied with a hum that resonated between you.

A sigh escaped you as you reached for your trunk of belongings, but before you could grasp it, Aemond’s hand was there, lifting it away with a possessive ease. A small spark of frustration flickered within you, yet words eluded your lips as you and he made your way through the dim hallways toward the courtyard.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and palpable, each lost in private thoughts as you pushed open the grand doors leading into the courtyard. A sea of anxious faces greeted you, their attention fixed squarely on your arrival.

Shame washed over you as you realized you were the last to come forth, and with Aemond at your side, the scrutiny felt even more intensified. Yet, this was a moment that demanded courage. You squared your shoulders and set your gaze ahead, making your way toward Helaena.

Her eyes danced with sorrow as she stepped forward, cradling her sleeping son, and placing him tenderly into your arms. You held him protectively, your voice dropping to a fervent whisper. “I promise I shall protect him with my life.”

Helaena's expression softened, her hand gently caressing the boy’s delicate face before nodding in earnest agreement. As you turned, your gaze met Aegon’s, his watchful eyes drilling into you, fixated on the sleeping prince nestled securely in your embrace.

With a steadying breath, you made your way toward the carriage, but a hand on your shoulder halted your steps. You turned to find Alicent, her eyes reflecting a sadness that tugged at your heart. She offered you a tight smile, squeezing your shoulder in a gesture of support. “You’re performing a great service for the crown,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. You could only nod in acknowledgment as she added softly, “Promise me you’ll look after yourself.”

“Of course, My Queen,” you murmured, tightening your hold on Jaehaerys, his warmth a comforting presence against your chest.

Her smile deepened, and she said, "I will pray for the safety of both you and Jaehaerys."

“Thank you, Queen Mother,” your heart swelled at her words, while you whispered the word 'mother' as if it was sacred.

As you stepped into the carriage, you turned once more, your gaze locking with Aemond’s, unspoken words hung heavy in the air between you. Just then, a white cloak swept to close the door, sealing you and the sleeping prince in an intimate cocoon of silence.

When Jaehaerys stirred awake, panic etched across his delicate features, his bright violet eyes wide with confusion, had required an abundance of soft whispers and lots of patience from you. With tenderness, you had reassured him, carefully explaining the necessity of his departure, a necessary measure for his safety.

“What of Jaehaera?” he inquired, his voice laced with anxiety as he searched your face for answers.

A frown tugged at your lips as you deliberated, knowing the harsh truth—that his life must take precedence, for he was the heir. Instead, you offered a gentle smile, fabricating a reassuring lie. “She is being taken somewhere else, my Prince.”

“And Shrykos?” the small prince pressed, his tiny hands fiddling with one of the lemon cakes hastily packed in by the Queen Dowager.

You gazed down at Jaehaerys, who nestled against your side, “Shrykos and Morghul will remain safe within the Dragonpit,” you whispered softly.

A deep sigh escaped him, a pout forming on his lips as he burrowed deeper into your embrace. “I've never been away from Mama or Jaehaera before..." he murmured, his small frame trembling with a mix of fear and longing.

Wrapping an arm around him, you tightened your hold, "Fear not, my prince. I will keep you safe. And soon, you will be reunited with them," you murmured.

You were suffocating in boredom. Two endless days cooped inside this rickety carriage left you feeling more drained than when you began. The road to Highgarden loomed ahead, a serpentine path promising nearly a month's worth of dreary travel. Restlessness gnawed at you, a specter whispering in your ear, as you devised a plan.

Murdering the three White Cloaks tasked with your escort was an appealing thought. Yes, it would be regrettable, but the crude vulgarities spilling from their lips, laced with the foulest lechery as they leered at you, twisted the notion into something almost justifiable.

Once the deed was done, once the lifeblood of those pompous guards stained the earth beneath you, you would take Jaehaerys and make your way back to King's Landing. You would craft a tale of treachery—how you were ambushed by Rhaenyra's sympathizers, forcing you to retreat and return.

As Jaehaerys slept peacefully beside you, his form curled like a contented cat, you decided now was the best time to act. With delicate care, you shifted him onto his back, ensuring he remained undisturbed. You then directed your attention to the partition that separated your lavish prison from the brutish guards beyond.

With a purposeful knock, you roused their attention, your senses heightened, attuned to the disgruntled murmurs that reached your ears as the carriage shuddered to a halt. The door swung open abruptly, revealing Ser Loren, his face taut with irritation, the kind one might expect of a man dragged from the warmth of the sun into the chill of night.

“What,” he snapped, brows furrowing with annoyance, the tone of a man used to being in command.

In response, you offered him an enchanting smile, sweet as nectar dripping from a ripe fruit, and raised a hand to cup his cheek. The confusion flitted across his features, but your grip was steadfast as you redirected his gaze to meet yours.

“Ser Loren,” you murmured, the subtle power of your compulsion thrumming through you like a siren's song. “I need you to slay your fellow guards for me.”

His eyes widened, the flicker of uncertainty sparking a thrill within you. Yet, you tightened your hold, your voice dropping to a velvety whisper as you compelled him anew. “Do not utter a word,” you commanded softly. “You will carry out my will without hesitation, and when that is done…you shall take your own life.”

“Now go,” you urged, the finality of your words binding him as surely as any ancient spell.

As he departed, you closed the door with a soft click and settled back beside the peacefully slumbering Jaehaerys, the anticipation coursing through you like a potent elixir. Through your enhanced hearing, you could make out Ser Loren’s hesitant movements as he drew his sword. The air was thick with tension as you tuned into the muffled voices of his comrades, their puzzled murmurs a prelude to chaos.

Then came the dreadful sound of steel meeting flesh, followed by the piercing screams of two men, echoing in stark contrast to the quiet of your carriage. The ritual continued—a whimper preceding yet another stinging strike of blade on flesh—until an oppressive silence fell, wrapping around you like a shroud.

Rising to your feet, you opened the door and stepped out into the chaos. The sight that met your eyes was macabre: the fallen guards lay sprawled upon the ground, their once-pristine white cloaks now marred with blood, a stark contrast to the pale of their skin. Only the soft whicker of the horses broke the stillness.

With a satisfied hum, you turned your attention back to the carriage, intent on retrieving Jaehaerys. By horseback, you would make your way back to King’s Landing. Slipping back inside, you knelt beside the sleeping prince, your heart sinking as you perceived an ominous shift in Jaehaerys.

Gently placing your hand against his brow, a frown twisted your features upon feeling his rising temperature. Panic bubbled within you as realization struck: the boy was burning with fever, likely the consequence of his first venture beyond the castle walls. His frail immune system was struggling against the onslaught of illness. Children, as you knew all too well, were vulnerable, and fevers could turn grave in the blink of an eye.

Time was of the essence; you needed to find safety for him, a sanctuary where he could heal swiftly.

With care, you gathered him into your arms, cocooning him in a soft blanket to protect his fragile form. Then, you climbed onto a horse with him nestled closely against you. Urging the steed forward, you set your sights on the nearest village, aware that King’s Landing would have to wait—your priority was the precious life cradled in your embrace.

What you were blissfully unaware of was how swiftly whispers of three slain white cloaks would flutter to the ear of King's Landing. Such is the nature of tidings that venture too far from their origin—truth, like shadows, warps in the light of rumor.

What reached the capital painted a grim picture: three white cloaks brutally cut down, their carriage reduced to cinders, with the lady and the prince within consumed by flames. Perhaps there lay some truth to this tale; after you'd fled with Prince Jaehaerys, desperate commoners stumbled upon your carriage, and in their frenzy, laid it to waste.

And so, that account flew to King's Landing with the swiftness of a raven on the wing.

"He's dead," Aegon breathed, his voice thick with disbelief, as he struggled to absorb the weight of the news. "He's dead!"

In a fit of rage, Aegon hurled a glass goblet against the stone wall, shattering it into a thousand shards, his fury echoing within the council chamber. "I’ll kill them all!"

He pounded the table with sufficient force that the goblets rattled, while the rest of the council sat in stunned silence, their eyes upon him. "This is war! I declare war! I declare war!" His voice rose, raw and strident.

With cheeks flushed and a face streaked with remnants of tears, Aegon turned to his Grandsire, his expression a tempest of anger and anguish. "This is your doing! All of this is your fault!"

Alicent, glancing nervously between her father and her son, sought to defuse the tension crackling in the air. "He did not kill Jaehaerys, Aegon," she insisted softly, her voice trembling with urgency.

"No! He merely sent him forth to meet his doom!" Aegon shouted, his despair morphing into a howling tempest.

Otto's gaze remained steady but weary as he leaned back in his seat, allowing a heavy sigh to escape him. "It was a miscalculation on my part."

"A miscalculation that cost my son's life!" Aegon's anguished cry reverberated through the chamber.

"And yet, no one was privy to Jaehaerys’ departure, which suggests treachery lies among us," Lord Larys Strong observed softly, his voice laced with a chilling certainty.

Aegon turned his gaze to the council, suspicion etching lines on his youthful face. "Then it could very well be any one of you!" He thrust a finger towards the council members, prowling behind the table as a predator.

“While Lord Larys raises a point of merit,” Otto continued, as Aegon sank heavily into the head chair, the weight of his grief palpable as tears fell freely down his cheeks, “Jaehaerys will do more for us now than a thousand knights in battle. You will have your war, Your Grace. But if you wait a short time, you may yet double your strength.”

"Mother," Aegon whispered, his voice a fragile wisp swirling in the air, laden with unshed sorrow and searching for comfort.

Alicent stepped closer, her hand settling gently on her son’s shoulder. "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it, it might be the right one."

Otto, with an air of finality, declared, "Let us continue with the funeral procession for Jaehaerys. He shall be honored with a grand casket, and riding behind it, the Queen, and with her, the Queen Dowager."

Alicent shook her head in disagreement. "No, I no longer wish for it to become some grand spectacle."

“The realm must see the sorrow of the crown,” Otto asserted, his tone brooking no argument, “a sorrow best expressed through its most gentle souls.”

Casting one last mournful glance at her son, Alicent firmed her resolve. “I think you’ll all agree the king himself must be spared.”

“No. No. It cannot be true,” Helaena whispered, her voice barely above a breath, as she shook her head in disbelief. Alicent stepped forward, the weight of the grim tidings looming over her like a storm cloud, heavy with sorrow.

“The carriage… it was consumed by flames,” Alicent spoke, her voice trembling with the pain of the knowledge she bore.

Helaena’s denial tightened its grip on her heart; she paced restlessly, the fabric of her gown whispering against the stone floor. “She promised me,” Memories of warm embraces and gentle reassurances echoed in her mind, each one a testament to the promise that now lay shattered, “She swore she would protect him.”

“Helaena—” Alicent's hand reached out, a mother’s instinct to comfort surging forth.

Yet Helaena recoiled from the touch, wrestling her emotions. “They are alive, I can feel it,” she insisted, the desperation in her voice soaring.

“There were no survivors,” Alicent replied, her tone heavy with the weight of acceptance, an acceptance that felt like betrayal.

Helaena’s eyes glistened with tears as she twisted her fingers together, seeking solace in their familiar dance. Alicent took a deep breath, gathering herself before adding, “The funeral for Jaehaerys will go on as planned, and… we’ve been asked to ride on a wagon throughout the city.”

With a swift turn, Helaena faced away from her mother, leaning against a sturdy timber beam that framed her bed. “I don’t want to,” she murmured, her voice defiant yet frayed.

Alicent’s expression twisted with empathy; she understood her daughter’s pain all too well. “Neither do I,” she admitted, her heart heavy with the weight of duty. “But when a thing like this happens… a blow to the king is a blow to the realm. When the people share our grief, they draw closer to us.”

“I don’t want them closer,” Helaena shot back, “I don't know them.”

“Sometimes, we have to pretend,” Alicent whispered.

Defiance shattered, the tears Helaena had valiantly held at bay now cascaded down her cheeks. The truth settled in her chest like a stone. “Why?” she questioned, her voice choked with pain.

Alicent stepped closer, “We are representatives of the throne. We have a duty,” she reaffirmed.

Helaena offered no reply, her silence a testament to her grief. Instead, she turned away, allowing her tears to flow freely as she braced herself to mourn not only the loss of her son but the fading light of her dearest friend.

You were dead.

Those haunting words echoed relentlessly in Aemond's mind, a cruel mantra he could not shake off. You were gone, and he would never again behold your celestial beauty, nor bask in the warmth of your radiant smile. The soft comfort of your embrace, which had always been his sanctuary, was lost to him forever. You were gone, and with that, the future he had imagined—a life entwined with yours, filled with laughter, children, and the tender joys of family—vanished into the ether.

He knew he should have fought against the tides of fate, should have raised his voice and insisted on accompanying you to The Reach. But in that fateful moment, he had faltered, and now the price was your death.

The one soul who had loved him unconditionally—perhaps the only soul that ever had.

In the throes of despair, he had ravaged his own chambers in a storm of sorrow, crashing furniture and shattering glass. Yet, even amidst the chaos, he found no solace. Driven by a desperation he could hardly understand, he stumbled to your chambers, longing to find you smiling, blissfully unaware of his turmoil.

But the truth awaited him there, stark and unforgiving: your room stood as a mausoleum, empty and frigid, a world devoid of the warmth you once brought. A wretched reminder lingered in the air, a bittersweet trace of your scent that was now inseparable from his suffering.

And so, in his agony, he lay upon your bed, a canvas of despair draped in the remnants of your essence. He curled around your pillow, desperately inhaling the lingering fragrance of you, each breath a silent prayer for your return as tears slipped from his eyes, tracing paths down his cheeks.

There was a desperate thought that flirted with the edges of his grief—perhaps he should end it all, surrender to the oblivion that beckoned. In that darkness, he imagined a reunion with you, a sweet escape from the relentless pain of war and dread. Yet even in his muddled sorrow, a flicker of sanity held him back, urging him to cling to the slivers of his own existence, the remnants of a life that felt achingly incomplete without you.

Even if he were to shatter this fragile existence, he knew deep down that he would not be reunited with you; heaven would welcome your pure soul, while he would drown in the torment of hell's grasp.

Shame twisted in his gut as he found himself in the Blue Pearl, entwined with a woman who was not you. The very same woman who had robbed him of his innocence so many years ago, the one who had snuffed out the last vestiges of his untainted childhood.

"The love of my life is dead," Aemond murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper against Madam Sylvi's soft, perfumed skin. He was acutely aware of the hollowness inside him, a well from which no more tears could flow.

"You are still young, my prince. There will be many more to come," Sylvi cooed, her voice a melodic attempt to soothe his anguish. But her words only ignited a flicker of anger within him. How could she presume to understand? How could she speak of future loves when in his heart, there was only room for you?

"The last time I laid eyes on her, she told me she loved me," he said, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could summon forth that cherished moment. "I was the happiest I had ever been. And yet, how swiftly that joy was cruelly ripped away."

"Daemon sent them to kill me," he continued, his tone darkening with the weight of truth. "I was out."

"You were here," Sylvi stated.

"In truth, I am proud… that he considers me such a foe," Aemond confessed, a grim satisfaction threading through his grief. "And that he seeks to murder me in my bed—he fears me. His actions have borne my lady love’s tragic end, and he will answer for it."

"As well he should," Sylvi replied, her gaze intense. "The boy is grown into a man." She leaned closer, her lips hovering tantalizingly close to his.

"Mm. No. Not here," Aemond said with a frown, his body recoiling from her advances. Disgust flooded through him as he shifted away from her, seeking refuge on her thighs, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The brothel faded into the background as memories of you flooded his mind—your laughter, your warmth, the connection that ignited his very soul.

(I love making these vids)

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @anyisaravia2001 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @ln8118 @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @Lokisgoddessofpower @anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader @feelingfaye @sxlsvv

[lovesickhughes]

Congrats on 500 Liv!! You deserve it and more!! I love seeing you on my dash and reading your work <333

Please may I send an amour letter to Luke Hughes with #17 (list 2)?? Thank you <3

a/n: you're the absolute sweetest, thank you for requesting! (not edited!)

prompt: "seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again and remember how it got there in the first place"

18+ under the cut!

Tangled beneath the sheets with Luke's arm weighing on your side as you soundly slept, you began to wake, coming to notice the dull ache between your legs, instant memories flashing back into your mind as you recalled the events from the night before that were the reason to your soreness.

You smiled to yourself, reimagining the feeling and sensations of Luke's body and lips roaming your own, worshipping you as if you were sacred, because really, to Luke, you were. Goosebumps arise on your skin at the thought of feeling Luke inside you, reaching all the points of pleasure and the simultaneous feeling of his lips attaching your skin and collarbone, etching your skin with love bites.

You felt Luke stir from behind you, his body pressed firmly against yours, feeling the warmth of his own skin radiate beneath the covers and through your own body. His arm that was draped over your centre instinctively tightened, pulling you even closer into his embrace as you felt the curls that fell from his forehead tickle the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent.

"Morning, my girl." Luke mumbled into your skin, sending pulsating vibrations through your skin and making your stomach flip. You roll over under his arm to face him, taking in his tired, sleep-filled eyes and face, noticing the sly grin that was planted on his lips as you turned to face him. Luke seemed mesmerized by you as you adjusted your body beside him, his eyes stuck to your face, but every so often glancing to your neck and chest.

"What's with the look?" You giggled, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at his devoted attention.

He nodded upward slightly, smile growing brighter as he brought his hand up to your jaw, tilting your head back to gain a better view at the skin of your neck. "Just seeing the aftermath of last night." He said quietly, almost huskily as his morning voice was coarse.

Your eyebrows furrowed, in confusion and you reached over Luke's bare chest to your phone to open your camera, only to see the array of red and purple marks scattered across your skin and lower onto your chest. Immediately you felt flushed, heated under the covers and within Luke's embrace, but you layed back opposite of Luke, turning your attention back to him.

"I guess we got a little carried away there, huh?" You quipped, raising an eyebrow only to see Luke's cheeks painted with pink. He quickly covered his face by leaning to kiss your jaw, placing, soft, wet kisses against the structure of your face, trailing all the way to your chin before meeting your lips and connecting his own with yours, eliciting a sharp breath to be sucked in by you at the contact.

His hand tightened on your side, pushing you softly so that you were splayed against the mattress beneath him, his body hovering yours as you felt his cock hardening against your upper thigh. Your hands found the nape of his neck and shoulder, massaging the muscles in your hands as Luke deepened the kiss, his tongue passing by and exploring your mouth.

When his lips left yours to then attach to your neck, just below your ear which earned a soft whimper to escape your lips, he pulled away quickly, smirking at the sight of your head thrown back into the pillows.

"You look so fucking perfect all marked up by me, my sweet girl," he mumbled, shifting down so his head was in line with your breasts, quickly sliding a hand up to palm the soft skin within his hand, earning a deep, pleasurable sigh to push through your lungs. "So fucking perfect," He'd continue as his mouth began to work the sensitive buds of your breasts, his tongue masterfully toying your nipple while the other was occupied with his hand rolling the other between his fingers.

"Fuck, Luke," you sighed as your hips bucked up into his torso at the feeling of euphoria rush through your veins. His lips attached at the top of your breast, sucking softly, intentionally leaving yet another mark against your skin.

"Gonna mark you up even more, so everyone's aware of who you belong to."

[teine-mallaichte]

We need to expand our use of dilirium within the whump community I think.

When people see the prompt "dilirium" or "dilirious" in a whump event most jump to fever, illness, infection. And that's fine. That's valid. But there is SO MUCH MORE to dilirium.

Delirium is a complex psychological state that can indeed be triggered by illness and fever, but it can also result from a wide array of other causes. It’s a state where cognition and coherence deteriorate, where reality may start to frey at the edges leaving the whumpee confused, disorientated, maybe unable to even distinguish reality.

You can drive a character into a dilirious state without any external factors. A characters cognition and coherence can be picked to the brink by so many things.

1. Extreme Sleep Deprivation: this is a favourite of mine. A whumpee kept awake for days on end, their cognitive functions begin to deteriorate, the boundary between wakefulness and sleep blurs, leading to fractured and disjointed thought processes. The mind starts to struggle to maintain coherence, resulting in hallucinations and a profound disorientation.

2. Substance Withdrawal: Not one I've explored much, but can totally count. The body and mind in chaos, craving what they can no longer have. The physical symptoms can be brutal, but the psychological torment can drive them into a state of delirium, where reality becomes a shifting, unreliable landscape.

3. Psychological Torture: Another one I tend to gravitate to. Intense psychological manipulation, sensory deprivation or overwhelm can also drive the mind into delirium. Continuous gaslighting, isolation, or exposure to disturbing stimuli can erode a characters grasp on reality, leading to a state where they can no longer distinguish between truth and illusion.

4. Emotional Trauma: this a mental breakdown. Severe emotional trauma pushing a whumpee into a to their mental limits. The overwhelming stress and fear fracturing their mind, causing confusion, disorientation, dissociation, hallucinations as their psyche tries to protect itself and struggles to make sweetheart if what's happened/happening.

5. Overwhelming Physical Pain: Pain, just pain, if relentless and severe enough, can lead to delirium. A whumpee in constant, excruciating pain might find their mind breaking under the strain, leading to confusion, disorientation, and a detachment from reality.

6. Fever: and just because it can't really be left of the list, fever. Infections, illness, etc. But did you know there is more than one kind of dilirium? Yes there is the sick whumpee who is too weak too most and admits all their insecurities and secrets in a slurred disjointed major. But there is also the type of dilirium where the character becomes energetic, erratic behavior, pacing incessantly and speaking rapidly, refusing to rest. Frustrating and worrying for those trying to help.

And this is just the ones of the top of my head. There's so much potential here! And yes this is a very self indulgent and selfish post that I wrote while writing a fic where I am inducing dilirium in a character through acute stress and an identity crisis 😅 but in short - I want to see more varied portrayals of dilirium in whump.

An extension of this post A similar post about hallucinations A similar post about fever

[necstasy]

candy-coated raindrops

& willy wonka

synopsis. willy wonka lets you play around in his chocolate kit. neither of you could have predicted that you would create an aphrodisiac chocolate.

includes. aphrodisiacs, smut 18+ MDNI, accidental drugging (due to aphrodisiacs), oral (f receiving), dry humping, cumming untouched, premature ejaculation, p n v intercourse, virgin coded willy, teaching/coaching, neighbors/friends to lovers, typical wonka shenanigans, fluff

word count. 6k

a/n. title from candy rain by soul for real. art is aftersleep by lewinale havette.

Willy should have never let you in his chocolatier kit. He was being sweet, charming, romantic, even. It seemed like a harmless idea at the time, letting you have full reign over the elaborate ingredients in his at home kit, allowing you to make whatever chocolate you wanted. 

You’ve seen him make chocolate often enough to know the process. You stressed that you didn’t need his guidance. You wanted your creation to be a surprise, so you casted him off to his living room while you sat in the kitchen, working diligently to create your masterpiece. 

When you finished and had two tiny and harmless-seeming chocolates in your hand, you and Willy quickly indulged yourselves, humming around the surprisingly pleasant taste. But then the effects began to kick in. 

They were slightly unnoticeable at first, and your immediate instinct was to attribute the sudden warmth to a shift in the temperature, the sweat gathering along your hairline to the stress of making chocolate, the adrenaline in your limbs to the sugar making its way through your body, the stirring low in your abdomen to the presence of someone you feel something for standing just across from you. 

But the growth of your symptoms were confusing. Willy displaying similar symptoms was alarming. 

Standing in the center of his apartment, you’re trying to ignore the way your heart is trying to jump out of your chest and into his while you focus on the way Willy’s green eyes are a little lidded and heavy and—dare you say—lustful as he stares at you, all while you’re trying to get to the bottom of the incident. 

“Willy,” you call his name once, and when he doesn’t answer, you call it twice. It’s not until you introduce a firm tone that he blinks himself out of whatever stupor he was in. When he looks at you again, his eyes seem a little clearer. 

(He was intensely trained on the way your blouse, newly tailored by your own hands, fit over your bosom with just enough strain to create emphasis. In fact, you were filling out all of your clothes quite well today, but he hadn’t noticed until now. Until the chocolate has taken effect, he reminds himself.)

“I’m sorry, have you been talking?” 

You nod. “Yes!” 

Willy clearly hasn’t been listening at all. Now, he stands straight with his hands tucked into his front pockets. You don’t fail to notice the tension in his shoulders and his face, especially since he attempts to relax both areas, only to end up in the same predicament as before.  

“Did I do something wrong with the chocolates?” You ask him. 

Willy takes a second. He clicks his tongue, turns to face the wall to your left, and hums. 

“That depends. Did you do something wrong with the chocolates?” His attempt at a joke falls flat, especially when your response is the same expression. He presses his lips into a thin line, dips his head. “Sorry.” 

He runs down the list of the standard ingredients, asking if you’d included each and every one to the T. Then he gets to the additives, the ingredients that make Wonka’s chocolate unique. The array that you previously had free reign to, left with one singular instruction to not mix them together. 

“You didn’t mix them, right?” His eyebrows lift, his eyes widen as if mixing the ingredients could cause something as disastrous as the end of the world. When you shake your head with the absolute truth, worries melt from Willy’s face for just a second, before his eyebrows push together and he takes a step closer to you. 

“Oh, God, don’t tell me you used the pink bottle? The small one tucked in the corner?” He says it with caution, and this tone alerts you more than the previous. This tone is careful, as if he’s attempting to not scare you as well as himself. 

This tone makes you hesitate to answer truthfully. You choose avoidance as a replacement strategy. 

“What would happen if I did use the pink bottle? Nothing bad, right?” 

Willy steps back, turns, and begins to pace the apartment, your eyes following him to and fro. 

“Nothing bad, I guess. Just … unfavorable. Awkward. Debauched.” With each adjective he stops, faces you, and then continues pacing. 

Debauched? Is that why you feel like this? Is that why you’ve been watching Willy’s mouth and hands move rapidly? Why you’ve been noticing how pink and smooth his lips are, and how slim and long his fingers are, and why you suddenly can’t stop thinking about exactly what he could do with both. 

It takes loads of strength to snap yourself out of your daze. 

“Um … debauched? What d’you mean, Willy? What was in the pink bottle?” 

He finally stops his pacing to face you. His green eyes seem a little remorseful, maybe regretful. He looks like he’s going to deliver unfavorable news, things that could change the trajectory of your slightly comfortable life. 

“It’s an aphrodisiac.” 

An aphrodisiac. Willy Wonka has an aphrodisiac in his chocolatier kit. It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, the man has Yeti tears and Hoverflies and other things you can’t even begin to comprehend. But Willy Wonka making sex chocolates is the thing you’re struggling to wrap your head around. 

You don’t bother asking why he has an aphrodisiac, and you know what it would do—what it will do to you both—but you still find yourself asking for assurance. 

“What would an aphrodisiac chocolate do?”

Willy clicks his teeth. “Well, I suppose it would … do what aphrodisiacs do.”

Currently, it’s certainly doing what aphrodisiacs do. Willy really shouldn’t have let you make chocolates.  

You turn away from him. 

When you’d been sitting in front of all of Willy’s ingredients, they were all a little overwhelming. You had endless options for what you wanted to create. Endless possibilities for effects. And when you’d decided to keep it simple with a pretty pink unlabeled bottle, you assumed the chocolate would be strawberry flavored at most. Not this. You can’t help but ruminate, letting your thoughts lead you down twisted corridor after twisted corridor, all lined with possibilities of how you and Willy’s cherished friendship could be destroyed by this one mistake. Your mistake. 

You hear his footsteps first. Soft thuds of his worn in boots against the creaky floor. You feel the warmth of his body next, getting closer and closer until he’s right behind you. 

When his hand touches your elbow, you flinch at first. When he doesn’t remove his touch, you quickly become used to it. 

“Hey, you aren’t panicking, are you? Because I’m sure I could whip up an anecdote or something. It might take a while because I don’t know the exact ratio, but I’m sure I could do it.”

There’s a second where you don’t say anything, even though you have a worried reply already brewing on your tongue, the words along the lines of Willy either making the situation worse or taking too long to create an anecdote. Ultimately, you decide to hold your tongue, not willingly, instead because you’re acutely aware of the way Willy’s trying to soothe you. You’re focused on the way his voice reverberates in his throat, the volume and tone so soft that you can’t help but create an entirely different scenario for when the words could be said in your imagination. He sounds so beautiful, a voice you want to hear for as long as the universe would allow it. 

And if that’s the chocolate or your long term crush talking, you don’t know. What you do know is that you and Willy should stay away from each other just in case either of you thought about giving in and ruined whatever good thing you had going thus far. 

Willy doesn’t take kindly to your suggestion. 

He steps in front of you, bending down enough to force you to look at him, his hopeful eyes searching for your downcast ones. 

“Stay away from each other? I think we should do the opposite, just for our own safety. We don’t know how strong this batch is, you know. What if you walk out of this flat and jump onto the first guy you see?” 

He talks fast, bordering on rambling, and his words hold an edge stronger than plain worry. Jealousy, even, but you refuse to believe it. 

(Willy certainly is jealous at the thought of someone taking care of you in this state, especially since that would leave him alone with only his hand and the memory of you once more.)

When you agree to stay, your decision is based on wishful thinking. You both sit back on Willy’s new couch, a display of how well his chocolate shop was doing. There’s a little too much space between you both, but the energy radiating from your bodies occupies the gap.  

Willy asks you about your symptoms first. 

You list them off, the same as before save for the addition of the arousal gathering in your panties. Willy nods, you notice his ears turning a very light pink as he divulges into his symptoms. 

“The same as you and I uh …” he hesitates. His hips shift along the couch and he wipes his hands along the knees of his trousers. “I have an erection,” he eventually admits, his voice just a tad bit too low. 

It is plain curiosity that drives you to look over at his crotch where you take notice of the evidence. 

You want to stare longer, you really do, and your gaze does linger for a moment. Until you feel Willy watching you and you lift your eyes to his, taking in the way they’re just wide enough to display curiosity, a look he wears often and well. 

He licks his lips and your ever inquisitive eyes pick it up. 

“How long do you think the symptoms will last?” You ask him. 

Willy shrugs. “It can’t be more than a few hours, right?” 

You nod, sit back, and wait. 

Two hours pass by before you give in. 

You make it through the first hour with much difficulty and nothing but board games, books, and stories about your childhoods to keep you tethered. You go to the bathroom an hour and a half in and seriously consider forcing your fingers between your thighs for just a bit of relief, but Willy calls out for your turn in a rousing game of chess from the otherside of the door and you’re flushing the toilet and waddling back out to face him. 

It’s a slight brush against the other that changes the course. 

You’re both in Willy’s kitchen attempting to make tea. The space is like yours, just inverted, which means it is entirely too small for the price you pay. You’re moving around well enough at first, asking Willy where things are before you grab them yourself as he works in tandem. 

And then it’s a slight brush, just the smallest bit of friction from his crotch running against your bottom, that makes your breaths hitch. 

For the past two hours, you both had been avoiding the issues at hand, dancing around the elephant in the room like hormonal teenagers going through their first near-sex encounter. Willy kept a pillow over his lap to shroud his prominent boner. You tried your best to keep your blouse from rubbing against your erect nipples, or the seam of your trousers from rubbing against your cunt. And all things considered, you were doing pretty well. 

All it took was one little brush and suddenly your pelvis is pressed against the counter, the cabinet above you is closed with its desired contents forgotten, and Willy has you caged in your spot with his hands on either side of you. 

His head rests against your shoulder as he frantically rocks his hips into yours. One of his hands leaves the material of the counter to grip your hip, keeping you still as he continues to hump you. Your own stimulation from the act is minimal, but the aphrodisiac has apparently also made you grateful because you take what you can get. 

Plus, the little sounds Willy makes are enough to get you off alone. You wished you could bottle them up and take them back with you, in fear that this would only be a one time thing. 

He is all but whimpering against your back with each shaky thrust into your ass. He glides the length of his cock along the seam of your cheeks, working in strokes as long as the situation allows for. 

There’s not much coordination to it, but apparently it gets the job done because it is alarming how soon his hips stutter and he rocks into you one final time before he stops and pants against your back. 

His turnaround time is even quicker. 

“Oh God,” he steps back from you, but the kitchen doesn’t allow for much space. When you turn around to face him, he’s still within arms reach. “I’m sorry. I … I don’t know what came over me. Maybe you were right, we should’ve gone our separate ways. Allow me to show you out…” 

You put an end to his rambling by pulling him close with one hand on his face and the other on his shoulder. 

You’re bold for a moment, bold enough to bring your mouths almost together. The tips of your noses touch, you can feel his breath mingling with yours, but then you give him space. You give him the option to back out, positively damning you to your own devices and memories once more. 

But if it means you and Willy could remain friends, then you’ll take it. 

The doubt begins to creep into your mind. It starts to make a home in your frontal lobe, distorting the image in front of you into something shameful. Self deprecating, even. He had just humped himself to completion against your back, yet you question how he feels about you. 

Your touch on Willy’s body lessens into a gentle press for just a second in preparation to separate from him completely, but then Willy takes the initiative to move a hair closer and presses his lips to yours. 

It’s swift at first, nothing but a hesitant press of lips against lips. It’s not halfhearted, though. On both ends is a certain amount of exercised restraint, and when you sigh and press your chest to Willy’s, he gets rid of his first. 

Like before, Willy displays an unruly side to him that you had barely seen before. He delivers onto you a passion you have only seen him have for his business thus far. 

His hands eagerly cup your cheeks as he sears his mouth against yours. Your lips move in uncoordinated tandem, lacking any cleanliness within it. You allow yourself to be coaxed into opening up until you have your hips against Willy’s and your hands in his hair. 

When you bump your crotch into his, Willy makes a noise into your mouth that sounds like he’s been wounded. It’s then that you notice that he’s hard again. Or, maybe he was never soft to begin with, despite the dampness you know to exist within his trousers. 

An idea forms into your mind. 

You continue to allow Willy to kiss you, opening your mouth just enough to tease your tongue into his, before placing the muscle back into its home. Meanwhile, your hand travels down, over Willy’s chest, along his waist and pelvis, and then right to his croctch where you brush the palm of your hand over his boner with just enough pressure to elicit a reaction. 

He sighs, pulling back from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. You take the positive reaction in stride and continue your work. 

Your lips part in grateful shock whenever Willy rests one of his hands on your bottom, gripping the flesh through your skirt in his hand. His eyelashes flutter to open, revealing his big green eyes, windows into his soul that display the desire swarming through his body like a colony of active bees. 

You only palm Willy’s cock twice more before he rests his hand on your wrist. 

Your eyebrows lift, but you don’t have to voice your curiosity. 

Willy smiles at you sheepishly as he delicately peels your touch away. “I don’t wanna …” He shakes his head. “Not too soon. Again. I want you to feel good, too.” 

You don’t have to be told twice. 

You dig your fingertips into the stiff waistband of Willy’s trousers and use your grip to pull him to the den behind you. Truthfully, even if you hadn’t tethered him you knew he would have followed. 

As soon as the couch is within sight, you direct Willy to it and push him to sit. He falls back unceremoniously with a light “oh!”, looking up at you expectantly, eagerly. His lithe hands resting on his knees, his eyes as wide and curious as ever

As soon as you straddle him, he weakly thrusts up into you, as if the reaction was unintentional and instinctive. When your hands begin undoing the buttons of your blouse, Willy’s eyes drift down to watch, and it’s comical how they widen even more whenever your blouse is open and he gets the first look at your chest. 

You pull the remainder of the shirt off of your body, and slip the straps of your bra off of your shoulders, but you stop there. 

“Do you wanna take it off?” The previous haste hangs suspended over you both for just long enough for Willy to answer. As soon as he nods you’re directing his nimble fingers to the back of your bra, dropping your touch to allow him to fumble for the clasp. You expect it to take longer than it does, but only a few seconds and two attempts are needed before Willy has your tits exposed. 

He stares. And stares. His lips quirk into a small smile, he compliments you with so much sincerity that you think you flush a little bit. 

His hands still rest at your back, fingers lightly pressed into where the band of your bra had been digging into your skin all night. You don’t say anything when you latch your fingers onto his forearms and pull his hands around to the front. 

Willy looks up at you with raised eyebrows, nonverbally asking for the permission you’ve already given him. Still, you nod once, and then he has two large hands covering your tits. You let him gather his bearings there, directing him every so often in ways to massage and pinch and rub against your nipple. Just when he starts to pull direct pleasure from you, he inhales as if he was going to say something.  

“Can you—uh …” he hesitates and then starts again. “Can you teach me how to make you feel good? What can I do?” 

You’re busy knocking your hips in a search for more pleasure, so it takes you a second to respond. “You can use your fingers. Or your mouth.” 

Willy’s reply comes incredibly fast. “My mouth. If that’s okay with you.” 

You stop moving and just smile down at Willy, brushing a stray curl off of his face only to watch it fall right back into place. “More than okay with me.” 

Which is how you end up sitting on Willy Wonka’s new couch entirely bare, your legs spread before Willy who is on his knees in front of the couch. He has only taken his shirt off, and despite the disparity in nudity, you don’t feel uncomfortable. Even though you’re spread open before him. 

From above, you’re able to see the way your cunt glistens, enticing even you to do something about it. It’s all the more confusing on why Willy is just sitting there, staring. You know he’s inexperienced from the way he requested guidance, but does he not know what to do at all? 

Your lips part. “You can start by–” Willy doesn’t let you finish before he speaks over you. 

“Just one second.” He drags it out. 

It’s there where you realize he’s not completely lost. He’s just admiring. 

You don’t rush Willy, even when your emptiness starts to become unbearable and you can feel frustration growing. You don’t have to wait for long, though, because Willy is soon extending a long middle finger and gently pushing it against your folds, applying just enough pressure to separate your lips and dip into your arousal. 

He swipes through the fluid, gathering it on the tip of his finger before lifting the digit to the light, ignoring the way you shiver. You watch him inspect the way his finger glistens. You watch him bring it to his mouth and wrap his lips around it. You watch his cheeks hollow as he sucks his finger clean, his eyes fluttering shut much like they do whenever he’s tasting one of his particularly well made chocolates. 

He releases his finger with an audible pop, his eyes opening and focusing right back on their target. When he speaks, it’s likely to himself. 

“Wonder if I could harness this flavor.” He leans in as he says it, his lips getting closer and closer to the place you’ve wanted him for a while now. His last few words are spoken in almost a whisper, but you catch it anyway. “Maybe put it in one of my chocolates …” and then he’s letting his tongue exit his mouth and placing it on the path he’d opened. 

He takes tiny and tentative licks for a few moments, focused on not one particular spot. He’s in between your entrance and your clit, occasionally catching a cluster of nerves that provide a teaser of what he could be doing with just a bit of guidance. Guidance that you’re willing to provide. 

“Go up a bit,” you tell him, your hands digging into the velvet fabric of the couch cushions under you. He moves up, his eyes watching you and his eyebrows raised curiously. “Just a little further. There should be a–” He finds it just then and your head throws back. 

You think he speaks a “there?” into your clit, but you can’t be sure. You nod either way, letting praises slip past your lips while Willy focuses his tongue there. 

He’s not half bad now that he knows what to look for. His hands hold you open, one palm on each thigh, five fingers pressing into your skin with a firm focus. The tip of his tongue flicks your clit, sometimes slipping a little too far under or above but it works. The aphrodisiac knocking through your system makes sure that it all works.

Your hand eventually gravitates towards Wonka’s curls, fingers slotting through the tousled brown until you have the hair along his crown pushed back. He responds positively to this, pushing himself further into your cunt until his nose is buried in your mound. His enthusiasm peaks, he has a burst of energy, and he starts to lap at you. He pushes your legs up and back, opening all of you up to him, and he devours. 

He’s messy and audible with it, switching between sliding around your entrance to going back to your clit. Every so often, he misses his target, but his recovery is quick, strong, and impressive. 

You want to tell him to slip a finger in you, but the words refuse to find your tongue. They float aimlessly and uselessly around in your head, evading the hand that attempts to grab them. Instead, you grip his hair, push him down while you push your hips up, and Willy takes the direction as a hint to force his tongue in you. It’s unexpected, but it feels so good. You’re nodding and moaning far too loud. 

“Yes, yes, right there, Willy. Don’t stop, please.” 

It’s a little counterproductive and ironic when he briefly stops to assure you that he won’t stop, but the sentiment is still there. His nose nudges at your clit as his head bobs with the movement of his tongue working in and out of you. The combination has you close, and closer, and closer, until … 

Your legs close around Willy’s head and your hips cant up towards his mouth while one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had takes over you. It surely has to be a combination of your recent celibacy, your feelings for the chocolatier between your legs, and the sweet candy still taking over your system. And you’re so thankful for each aspect as your thighs continue to tremble and you struggle to catch your breath. 

Willy doesn’t seem to notice your struggle. He continues his work in the same place and with the same amount of determination, undeterred by your thighs pressed against his ears. He has accepted the position, resting his hands on the outside of your thighs and rubbing his palms up and down your skin. It’s almost too much, and you’re just about to tell him as such whenever you feel the beginnings of another orgasm creeping up your spine. 

You debate your options: letting this orgasm taper off or letting it exist, and you can’t come to a conclusion before your body is making it for you. 

Willy has switched back to your clit for this one, pink lips puckered around the bud as he sucks and licks and even nips every so often. Finally, he pushes a finger into you, just one but the rough pad of the digit massaging the top of your walls is enough for your head to throw back and your mouth to open in a silent shout as your toes point and your back curls. And soon after you’ve gone through this orgasm, you go limp and simply exist, shockingly thankful when he takes his mouth away from you. 

“You taste good,” is the first thing he tells you. His lips and the surrounding area glisten. His overindulgence is obvious on both of your bodies. 

You hum, trying to come back to. 

“Do you want a taste?” He’s already rising to your lips when he asks it, and you wouldn’t have said no anyway. You kiss him gratefully, but lazily, letting his tongue slip into your mouth without much reciprocation on your end as you’re not wanting the flavor as much as you’re just wanting him. Thankfully, Willy doesn’t seem to mind. 

Remaining lazy on top, you use your hands below Willy’s waistband to lightly palm his cock. When you find what you’re looking for, another boner stuffed in his trousers, you start to undo his pants. 

When you pull his cock out of his boxers, you momentarily forget about his moment of weakness earlier. The mix of dry and wet cum around him doesn’t bother you, and you momentarily have the thought to clean him up with your mouth. You don’t get to act on it before Willy speaks. 

“I should get protection.” 

Your eyebrows lift. “Do you have any?” 

When Willy nods enthusiastically, as if he’s proud to own condoms, your heart thuds painfully behind your throat. It makes sense that Willy would have slept with someone who wasn’t you, but that doesn't make it sting any less. 

You watch him, anticipating him to stand and walk away to grab a condom. Instead, he reaches under the couch cushion, searching for a second, and pulls out a metal tin. You go to ask him about the location, your lips already forming the question whenever he answers it for you. 

“Just in case.” His lips pull into a thin smile. 

Is Willy really that desired that he keeps condoms stashed around his apartment? You wonder where else they are, and how often he gets to use them. 

(Unbeknownst to you, it’s not very often at all. The locations are picked simply as a trait of overplanning and born from his hopefulness.)

In no time, Willy has the condom slipped over his dick and his tip nudges at your entrance. You’ve laid on the floor beside the couch, your back pressing into the rug you’d helped him buy not too long ago. When his tip is kissing your entrance, he stops there, eyes raising to meet yours for a second. You don’t know exactly what he’s waiting for, but you give him a curt nod anyway and that seems to do the trick. He pushes forward slowly and you don’t know if it’s for your benefit or his, for he shudders as soon as his tip breaches your entrance and you hiss and he continues to introduce more and more of his length. 

You didn’t get a good look at him before allowing him to enter you, so you go on feeling alone. He’s thicker than you would have imagined, with more veins than you would have thought, too. The condom shields more than you would have liked, but safety is the most important thing here, even though your amplified brain tells you that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a kid with Willy. You’ve seen him interact with children before, and the thought would sometimes find you late at night, or during moments like now. But before you can dwell on it any longer, you push it away as Willy sinks more length into you. 

You try to be patient and breathe through it all. When Willy finally stops, you think you’ve reached the end. But then he moves a little more and apologizes when you groan exasperatedly. 

“Almost there. I promise.” Just a few more seconds, and some impossible inches later, and Willy is finally nestled completely within you, deeper than you anticipated. 

You’re unresponsive under him, your eyes blinking at the ceiling and your lips parted. From an outside perspective, it looks like you don’t have a single thought behind your eyes. When really, it’s the complete opposite. Your thoughts are taking over every bit of your being, echoing the same phrase in an exclamation: It’s finally happening! 

He’s not moving yet, but even this feels heavenly. You’re so full, fuller than you’ve been in a while. Willy’s combination of length and girth is something you’ve never had before and you worry that after this dream completes, you might never have it again. You’ll forever be an addict chasing a high you won’t ever achieve again. 

But that’s for you to worry about afterwards. 

Willy has his head hung low above you, his hands pressed into the rug beside your head. His hips are flush with yours, still unmoving, but he’s breathing heavily above you. Labored, almost. 

In an attempt to be soothing, you rake your hands through his hair. He shakes against you and lets out a sound that is a combination between a gasp and a moan. It’s so pretty that you want him to do it again, so you repeat your motion. It doesn’t get your intended reaction until you pull on the thinner hairs at the back of his head, and then he makes the sound again and gives you your first thrust. 

After that, he doesn’t stop. You don’t think he can. 

His thrusts are clearly unpracticed, which qualms your worry about Willy sleeping with someone other than you (not that it matters or anything). You don’t know if he gets the hang of it, or if it’s just pure luck, because after a short while he improves. 

He starts rolling his hips instead of just moving them back and forth. He angles them a little, likely something accidental but it works, and you push your legs into his side to keep him there. He’s finally lifted his head, but his eyes are closed while he feels it. He’s deep in you still, his thrusts are a little shallow as they reach for your cervix and this alone makes you shudder. It’s a slightly unusual feeling for you, which makes it all the more alluring. You encourage him to keep going through unfinished sentences, and he praises you for how good you feel in between your words. You both are speaking at the same time, not exactly listening to the other and creating a concoction of words. 

“You feel so good. I can’t believe this is happening. Thank you, thank you, thank you …”

“Right there, Willy. Right there. Yes! Keep going, please. Don’t stop …” 

It’s no surprise to you when he cums first. He warns you before it happens, his words are a little shameful when he admits it. “I’m close. I’m not gonna last.” 

You tell him to let go anyway and when he does, it’s such a pretty sight. Earlier today, he was behind you when he did this, and you weren’t graced with his face. But now that you are, you kick yourself for missing it before. 

He’s so pretty. 

His pink lips swollen and open. His dark eyebrows pushed together. His eyes closed. His curls hang over his forehead. But the small features in his face is what makes the picture so pretty. All of the tiny muscles working together, minute in nature, but joining to create a painted canvas that you want to either save or see as many times as possible. 

This orgasm lasts long enough for him to pull you in it with him. He’s still cumming into the condom, providing a warmth that’s so close but so far inside of you. His thrusts are strong and constant, even though the rhythm of them is off and unpredictable. But each time his crotch presses into yours, nudging against your clit, and after enough times you’re letting go too, allowing whatever your orgasm wants to bring work its way through your body. 

Here, like this, it’s a beautiful, harmonious scene. You exist together like this, and not just together. It’s a bliss and a level of intimacy you’ve always dreamed of, and you want to sit in it for as long as you can. Apparently, you both do. 

Willy doesn’t move even whenever both of your bodies are limp. He holds his weight off of you on his forearms, but his head is resting between your breasts and along your stomach. He sits like that for a minute before rising, shakily pulling out of you, and then laying beside you. 

You speak first. 

“D’you think we should try to sell those chocolates?” 

Willy laughs weakly. “Valentine’s day special?” 

You hum, your eyes glancing down to where Willy has rested a hand on your stomach. The appendage sits there, unmoving, for a second, and when you don’t protest, he begins to draw indistinguishable shapes along your skin. 

Answering your question without humor, he says, “No. I think we would keep it between us. If that’s okay.” 

The way he says us has undertones attached to it, creating more weight than the two-letter word would usually have. You like the way he says it. 

You turn your head to look at him, already finding him looking at you. For the first time, your skin flushes at the thought and you feel giddy. A little embarrassed, too. The aphrodisiacs must be wearing off and the confidence with it. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” A moment passes. Then, “But I don’t remember the recipe so don’t hold it to me.” 

Willy laughs with a little more enthusiasm this time and you return it. 

“Should we get cleaned up? Maybe have some dinner?” 

You nod, leaning in towards his lips. When you kiss him, he tastes like strawberry flavored chocolate. Well, underneath the distinct bitterness of your arousal he does.

[driaswrld]

city boys! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.4k

summary : you go grocery shopping with satoru and suguru and they're just idiots tbvh (gn! reader)

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : i have shamelessly brought my calculator to a kfc drive thru and yes i do it at the grocery store bcus i have dyscalculia math sucks don't @ me. also i have so much satosugu brainrot i can't breathe. yay to the satoru themed era of the blog :))

other : this can be read as platonic or poly just however you wanna see it! (like three curse words i think - mentions of cunnilingus) I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT U THINK

current casette : city boys - burna boy

There’s something about summer that makes Satoru and Suguru hang off your shoulders more than they ought to. In the most mundane situations too.

“—and it’s not even that serious!” Satoru groans, dragging his feet on the floor, reluctantly marching behind where you’re pushing the trolley. “Who cares what kind of curry it is? Curry is curry.” He reasons with a huff.

Suguru nudges you in the middle of the supermarket aisle from time to time, pointing out things you usually buy, brands you usually prefer over most, and you grab whatever you find remotely necessary and toss in the cart, both of you collectively ignoring Satoru’s whines.

“C’monnn… Listen to me!”

You pick up a can of diced pineapple and look at Suguru. “Nah, that one’s too sour,” he murmurs and you put it back instantly. Afterall, Suguru’s the best taste tester you could ever ask for. Satoru just scarfs down everything in a forty mile radius.

“The design on the can was pretty though, ‘s a shame.” You sigh.

Satoru’s groans fall on deaf ears.

You turn a corner and head into the fruit aisle. Suguru’s eyes flick to something over your head and his steps falter for a moment. While you’re pushing the trolley ahead, a soft smack! noise comes from behind you and before you can turn your head—

“No! I wanted the other one—”

“This one’s better—”

You ignore them, albeit barely with all the commotion both boys are causing in the supermarket. Leaning over an array of cherries on display, you hum to yourself, carefully picking the pretty ones to add to the cart, perusing at the other assortment of fruit and if even possible, Satoru and Suguru’s bickering gets louder.

“That tastes like shit—” “You look like shit—”

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“You eat pussy with that mouth?”

You strain your head forward as an old lady strolls past, her eyes a little wide and eyebrows knitted with a look of utter shock and you shrink. With a stiff, humorless giggle you turn your back to her, suddenly finding a bunch of grapes oddly interesting.

Embarrassing.

And when you breathe a breath of relief as the old lady passes by, Satoru swings his arm over your shoulder, pouting. “Suguru’s a dumbass—” He’s cut off by a smack to the back of his head, and despite yourself you can’t help but laugh a little.

“Will you two just behave and,” you shift out of Satoru’s hold to take the mini package of ridiculously sweet m&m infused rice krispies he has in his other hand.

You toss it into the cart. “—help me pick some stuff for my fruit salad?” Satoru shrugs with a sigh, he hates shopping. It’s so boring—

You laugh and pull up the list you typed up on your phone : Raspberries, check. Kiwi, check. Watermelon, check. Grapes…

“What else do you need?” Suguru asks, and he sidesteps Satoru, leaning casually on the trolley, one foot pushing it forward and backward as you look through the fruits. “Grapes—” you murmur, suddenly feeling indecisive as you look through the different bunches. Green or Purple. Purple or Green.

Satoru pushes his sunglasses down to the curve of his nose. “Green, ‘s prettier,” he says and you turn to grab a bunch of the green grapes as Suguru straightens his body, pretending to look over your shoulder as he sneakily drops a package of plain marshmallow rice krispies into the cart. “Yeah, green would make it look way more appealing, wouldn’t it?” You whisper to yourself.

“I saw that—” Satoru begins to say.

“Purple’s better, healthier than the green ones.” Suguru says with a straight face. Behind your back he flips Satoru off.

You shrug your shoulders and grab a small bunch of both. If anything, it’ll be shared well between you and Shoko in the bentos you make. Hopefully she appreciates the struggle.

Sliding your phone unlocked, you glance at the list again as you step off. Grapes, check. Suguru pushes the trolley, following close behind you as Satoru trudges behind him. “Wait—” You halt immediately, and Suguru has to steer the trolley left so he doesn’t run into you, but Satoru steps on the back of Suguru's shoes, and looks away with a bashful whistle.

“Other aisle, we need to turn around.” You say, sliding your phone back into your back pocket. Canned Pineapples. You forgot you put back the last one. “How many damn aisles are there?” Satoru mumbles as you turn and make a beeline for the next corner, going back where the three of you came. Suguru chuckles.

Kneeling, you grab the canned pineapples opposite to the ones Suguru said were sour. Hopefully that much distance in the store is enough of a difference between the two brands.

You check the list one more time. Pineapples, check.

“Right, that should be it.” You mumble and both boys internally celebrate — well, Satoru makes a show of letting out a long dramatic sigh of relief while Suguru nods.

Taking a look into the cart, Satoru pettily moves his package of rice krispies on the other side of the cart, away from Suguru’s and when Suguru looks at him incredulously, he sticks a tongue out, “Your flavor’s trash.”

Suguru rolls his eyes and is about to push the trolley forward to run him over when he sees you pull out a scientific calculator from your tote.

A scientific calculator. The same one you use for school. “The fu—” Satoru is about to say, and Suguru glances at him, both of them trying to at least read each other’s minds about what the hell is going on.

You however, are so hyper focused on your little task, pushing the buttons of your calculator, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Satoru and Suguru watch you for all of two minutes. One minute spent with expressions morphing from confused, to even more confused, to utterly amused. The second minute spent snickering quietly and snapping silent pictures for the groupchat.

“Huh, I went over a little.” You hum and though they haven’t wiped the sheer amusement off their faces, they both find themselves intrigued. “By how much?” Suguru asks, quickly sending off the pictures to the groupchat.

“Seven hundred yen.” You reply as you step forward to peer into the cart, willing and ready to discard one unnecessary item to drop the price.

Three of your phones chime. Satoru checks his own notification.

[Gojo Fanclub]

Nanaminn <3 : who added me to this???

Nanaminn <3 : delete my number gojo.

“Bet it’s the curry.” Satoru mumbles absentmindedly, typing at his phone screen. “The curry’s like—” he pauses, shoves his phone in his hoodie pocket and counts silently on his fingers. “A thousand yen or something — they must’ve put the god of curry in there or something.”

“It’s not the curry,” you reason scouring the cart for any discrepancies. And there’s quite a few of them. Including but not limited to some Sakura tarts, sour candies, an extra package of rice krispies—

“The curry powder we picked is five hundred yen, it’s not the curry.” Suguru shrugs, and Satoru leans against one of the shelves of seasoning, letting out a quiet sneeze.

“Bless you— I need to recheck these.” The calculator comes out again as you murmur to yourself, the click clacking of the buttons drowning out your own thoughts.

“I’m just saying— maybe it was the rice krispie Suguru snuck into the cart—” Satoru mumbles, all while he bends his body at the end of the aisle, reaching blindly around to the shelves on the other side.

“You put one in, I was only balancing the trolley weight.” Suguru interrupts, and he turns his head away when you look up from your calculator at him accusingly.

“See?” Satoru grins, almost victoriously as he grasps a package of baumkuchen, wheeling his hand back as he sidesteps Suguru, moving to slide the pastry into the trolley. “Who knows what else’ll just drop into the cart?” And your calculator is forgotten as you snatch the pastry from Satoru’s hand. “Nothing else is dropping into the cart—”

But something else catches your attention as you’re about to scold him.

Two bright green bags, hidden at the bottom of the cart, stuffed under the packaging of Sakura tarts.

“Who the hell put Kenpi chips in here?”

Satoru and Suguru both freeze, and suddenly their accusing fingers are pointed at each other. But instead of scolding them like they expect—

“Should’ve at least put one for me.”

You're never going to the grocery store with them again.

Bonus :

“Satoru’s paying for the extra snacks—”

“Not fair! Suguru shouldn’t get to just stuff his face—”

“Only two of those snacks are mine. Two. Out of ten.”

A notification sounds on the three of your phones.

[Gojo Fanclub]

Nanaminn <3 : is that my calculator that you borrowed???

@todorokies gets the privilege tag cs i told knives ab this first😭

[leighsartworks216]

Cinderella

Zayne x gn!Reader

Believe it or not, I started this fic before his cat card came out. And then I saw the card and I simply had to finish this

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, married life, established relationship, food/cooking, kissing, implied sexual content

Word Count: 1, 431

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Your body is weighed down by morning as you heave yourself to your feet, shivering all the while as the cold air of the room caresses your bare skin. You hurry to throw on the first thing you can find: Zayne’s shirt abandoned on the floor. As you start to button it up, you turn to look at the man himself, still fast asleep on his side of the bed.

His hair is tousled and unkempt, from your fingers and his pillow. His lips slightly parted with slow, even breaths. The blankets are up to his chest. Reddened marks trail from his exposed neck and down his body. You smile just thinking about his usual efforts to try hiding them when he has to go into work. It’s unlikely he’ll wear his turtleneck today, given he doesn’t have to go anywhere. And you’re going to love pulling down his collar to kiss right over them again.

Quietly, you pad your way to your dresser for some fresh underwear, collecting stray clothes as you go to dump them into the hamper. Then, you creep over to his side and carefully pull the blankets back up to his neck. The clock on his bedside table reads 9am. If you’re very lucky, he’ll sleep in until 10. He needs this rest.

You lean down and press a featherlight kiss to his cheek. He shifts slightly, his head turning as if he’s trying to chase your touch. Warmth floods your chest as you sneak out of the bedroom and so, so slowly close the door behind you.

The floor is cold under your feet as you make your way through the house. You make a detour to the entryway to steal Zayne’s own house slippers, left forgotten after you got home from dinner last night. It’s truly a miracle he found the patience to leave his shoes at the door. The slippers don’t fit you, but they protect your feet from the cold as you finally head into the kitchen to enact your devious plan to take care of your husband.

You work as quietly as you can to take down a pan and pull out a spatula. You grab a bowl and lay out all the ingredients you need to make pancakes. You also pull out some blueberries to drop into the batter once it’s all mixed together. With a drizzle of oil in the heated pan, you use a spoon to glob the batter into little piles. They spread out into little discs, almost but not quite touching each other.

You hum to yourself as you grab a couple of plates from the cabinet. You also grab his mug and get the coffee pot started on brewing some fresh, hot coffee. As it brews, you flip the pancakes over, exposing their golden brown deliciousness. They’re thick and fluffy, and you pull out some maple syrup from the fridge to set on the table. Once the pot is brewed, you fill the mug with coffee and top it off with some sugar, just how he likes it.

You lay the first few pancakes onto a plate, setting them in a cute little toppled-domino array, before globbing some more batter into the pan. You cover the bowl and set it in the fridge to finish at a later time. You consider the possibility of giving it to Xavier, but he’d need to use a stove to make them… Best not.

Once the next batch is done, you lay them onto your own plate and crack two eggs into the pan. Their liquid insides meet the heated metal with a pleasant sizzle. You turn down the heat a little, and watch as the eggs begin to cook.

“So that’s where my slippers went.”

You whirl around to the kitchen entrance. “Zayne! You can’t just sneak up on me like that!” you chastise.

He grins as he closes the distance between you. His hair is still a mess, but at least he took the time to pull on his robe. You lean up, and he meets you halfway for a soft kiss. It’s quick, just a little peck - but it’s sweet and tender and makes your heart leap with joy, even after you’ve been together for so long.

“You forgot your slippers in the bedroom.” He holds them up with one hand, where they dangle from two of his fingers.

You glance at the eggs quickly. “Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna risk waking up Sleeping Beauty,” you tease. You reach up to grab at his ear, but he easily ducks away. “You’re not even supposed to be up yet.” You then grab for your slippers, but he also pulls those out of your reach.

“I needed to find my Cinderella,” he teases back. “May I?” He gestures down to your feet, adorned in his slippers. You give him a suspicious look - it’s not often he’s so playful - but you nod, nonetheless. Your cheeks instantly grow warm as you watch him slowly kneel down in front of you, hazel green eyes locked to yours. He looks up at you like you are royalty meant to be worshipped.

You shift away from the stove enough to lean back against the marble countertop. It’s cold chill does nothing to tamp down the heated blood coursing through your veins. Zayne’s eyes slip shut as he pushes the dangling hem of his stolen shirt up to expose the skin of your thigh. His mouth immediately seeks it out, pressing featherlight kisses just below the line of your underwear and down your leg.

His fingers follow a similar pattern. They dance along your skin gracefully, almost tickling you as they travel to the back of your thigh, slowly gliding down all the way to your calf. His mouth stops at your knee. His hot breath fans over your bare skin, reverent and appreciative, exhaled from his nose, or from his mouth just as he goes in to leave another kiss.

His hand trails lower to your ankle. His thumb massages around the jutting bone, coaxing you to shift your weight and lift your foot up. With his other hand, he removes his slipper and sets it aside. His eyes open slightly to ensure he picks up the correct replacement; to watch as he slides the slipper tenderly onto your foot. “A perfect match,” he whispers.

You reach down to comb your fingers through his hair, detangling and smoothing it out so it sits normally on his head again. You can feel his grin. You’re tempted to grab his ear again just to mess with him.

He guides your foot back to solid ground. His lips find your other thigh, his hand finds your other ankle, and he helps you back onto one foot as he trades slippers once more. He meets your eyes again as he stands, and you feel like you can breathe again.

Suddenly reminded of what you were doing before this, you hurriedly flip the eggs over. “You almost made me burn breakfast,” you chide, but your face is so flushed, it doesn’t come across as seriously as you wish it did.

He unceremoniously slides his slippers onto his feet with a self-satisfied grin and a soft chuckle. His arms wrap around your waist, his chest to your back as he hugs you from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder with his head tilted to lean against yours. Your free hand finds one of his over your stomach. Fingers move in a familiar dance to tangle together. You trace the cool band on his ring finger. He watches the morning light catch on yours.

“Thank you, my love,” he hums, content.

You kiss his head. “Of course. I wanted to do something nice for your day off.” You have to let him go in order to transfer the eggs (slightly overcooked) to your plates. He automatically turns the stove off, watching to make sure you don’t accidentally burn yourself. “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

He steps away, arms slipping from your body, to move about the kitchen. While you grab the plates and carry them over to the table, he grabs his coffee and takes a careful sip of the hot liquid. It’s just as he likes it. He carries it over with a glass of fruit juice that he sets in front of your plate.

“Anything,” he responds at last. “As long as it’s with you.”

You chuckle. “Alright, then we’ll stay in bed all day.”

He smiles. “That sounds perfect.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 15th

Day 15: Hair Pulling // Glory Hole // Teasing

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Glory hole, anonymous pleasure, idiots, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, Mando being impatient, deep throating, cum swallowing

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Needing to be alone in that ship is a luxury neither one of you have. The sleeping shifts in the little bunk aren’t working. He can’t even take his helmet off without inhaling the scent of whatever soap or perfume you use. Filling his nostrils and making his cock ache in the darkness. He can’t even take himself in hand to relieve the problem. Too wary of you hearing his grunts and groans as he fucks his hand, you seem to hear every sound he makes as it echoes through the metal hull of the Razor Crest. 

Finally, he’s ready to return to Nevarro. To dump off the bounties that you’ve collected and gather more pucks. His rifle is left behind this time, not needed for where he will go after his meeting with Karga and he doesn’t want to have to store it somewhere else. The little storefront he will visit doesn’t allow rifles, just regular blasters. 

Running through the sandy alleys of Nevarro, you tread a familiar path. One that you slip off the ship and escape to every time you are here. Mando never asks any questions, never tells you where he goes for hours at a time. Both of you have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about your time spent on this planet and you are happy for that. 

You had found this place by accident. Looking for a store that sold display arrays that you could modify to fit the Crest, you had walked into The Hole. Karga had mentioned it once, chuckling and telling Mando about the wondrous treasures that could be found within its hallowed walls. The wall of metal beside you had practically shoved you from the booth and told you that you were leaving, your questions about what kind of place it was left unanswered. 

You had assumed it was a junk store. A place where people deposit their junk that is treasures to someone else. You had gone looking for it when you were bored and discovered why the Bounty Hunter’s Guild leader chuckle was so dirty when he mentioned it. It was a Glory Hole. 

You love going. The woman’s side is alright, but after one experience with a Twi’lek’s fangs, you had decided to stick with giving rather than receiving. So you come here and sit behind the wall to suck a stranger’s cock, fingering yourself while you do it. 

The Sullustan that runs this place doesn’t mind it at all. He doesn’t pay you and he gets to have a paying customer pleased. For him, it’s a boon when you walk in the door and he makes sure that he always assigns you the first customer to come when you are in your little booth. 

Mando stalks down the street, his head turned straight as he walks with a purpose. He will just slip inside The Hole and lay down a few credits. Get some relief that is sorely needed to make another trip with you on his ship. The payment from Karga was generous, but half belongs to you. The pucks on his belt will be dealt with soon enough, after he’s lightened his load in the anonymity of the glory hole and finds you again. 

He doesn’t know who is on the other side, but he always imagines you. Takes fragments of expressions you’ve given him over the months together as he closes his eyes behind his helmet and lets the mouth around him suck him off. Already hard beneath the flight suit, he steps inside the door and finds the proprietor to give him the required credits. 

Waiting never takes long. You’re already slick with arousal, fingers rolling over your clit teasingly and lightly dipping inside your cunt as you kneel in front of the hole. The cushion for your knees is a lovely little boon to your aching bones from kneeling on the metal grate floor of the Crest when you are working behind some mech panel. You hear shuffling, cunt clenching in anticipation for the cock that will be fed through the hole and presented to your hungry mouth. 

The booth is private. Something that Mando appreciates, even if he doesn’t do more than pull his cock out of his flight suit. He can relax, enjoy the pleasure without worrying about an attack from behind. Shuffling inside and closing the door behind him, he works on pulling his stiff length out with a quiet groan. 

You freeze. Aware of that groan, that sound. You know who makes it and yet you can’t fucking believe it. Mando couldn’t have come here. There is no way he would do this. You break your own rule and crouch down, peeking through the hole and choke when the familiar flash of orange tipped gloves can be seen. 

Pulling back, you don’t know what to do. You should say something, stop him. You know that he doesn’t want you, he’s never made any move on you. Never given you any clue that he finds you to be anything more than adequate help and an annoyance. 

Before you can find your voice, the thick heft of his cock slides through the hole and into sight. It’s fucking gorgeous. Making your mouth water at the girth, the length. He’s more than a mouthful and you want to taste him. You swallow, still unsure of what to do. 

Mando looks down, his cock is in the hole and yet there isn't a mouth around him. Pulling his hips back slightly and pushing forward again, wondering if the worker isn’t paying attention. He’s already aching, the head of his cock nearly purple with repressed need and his voice is slightly impatient. “Suck it.” 

You shiver, the growl coming from the other side of the wall shoots straight to your core and you can imagine that impassive visor looking down on you mercilessly. This is your fucking dream come true and he doesn’t even know it’s you. 

The small drop of liquid built on the tip calls to you and leaning forward, you lap at the tip, eliciting a dark, deep groan from Mando on the other side. Tasting his very essence and enjoying the salty drip on your taste buds before you start to lick down the length of him. 

His head tips back, visor pointed up at the ceiling as the wet heat drags up and down his cock. He needs this. Perhaps needing a pussy more, he will take this blow job and imagine you on your knees in front of him. Taking his cock down your throat and looking up at him with those pretty big eyes of yours. “Fuck.” He hisses. 

Your cunt quivers, fingers slipping in the slick that is now pouring out of your needy hole and you take the head of his cock into your mouth right as you bury your fingers down to the knuckles in your pussy. 

His fist curls tight, resting against the wall as he feels the mouth take him deeper. Eyes rolling back in his head as he groans again. Letting the pleasure of this wet heat surround him. “Take it all.” He growls. 

Fuck. You whimper around his cock because the man will be the death of you. He gives dirty talk a first class name through that modulator. Doing as he ordered immediately and taking him deeper into your mouth, you hum around him and push your fingers in and out of your soaked cunt. 

He gets lost in the sensation. The soft sucking and the hollowed cheeks when the pull on his shaft is a bit stronger. The fluttering of the tongue around him and driving him crazy when that mouth pulls back and that tongue presses against the slit. Whoever it is has some talent and he still imagines that it’s you pleasuring him. 

You put everything you hand into this blow job. Your hand that isn’t buried in your pants is wrapped around the base of his cock, wanting to keep as much of him on this side of the wall and give him as much pleasure as you can. The fact that your fingers barely fit around the base makes you moan around him, trying to stuff a third finger inside your aching cunt while you bob your head. 

“That’s it.” He growls, his body tensing under the pressure of that mouth on the other side of the hole. “I’m gonna cum, cyar'ika.” He hisses. “And you’re gonna drink every drop.” 

You whine, wanting that more than anything as you plunge your fingers in and out, rolling your hips down onto your hand to ride it while you suck his cock. You want every drop, you want to drink him down and make him limp with pleasure. 

Your own pleasure is so closely linked with this moment that you feel your body starting to prime to cum when his cock starts to pulse. 

It takes just a moment, from the pulling of his balls against his body to the stream of cum that bursts onto your tongue with a low groan of praise that you can’t even hear because your blood is rushing in your ears as you start to swallow down great, greedy gulps of him while your cunt spasms around your fingers. Moaning Mando’s name around his length inaudibly, rolling your eyes at how much you love that this has happened. How you want it again already. 

Your name is poised on his lips, barely being able to hold it back. Riding out his orgasm with slow rocks of his hips as the mouth moans and whimpers around him. He’s never had such an active blow job before and he’s already wondering how fast he can capture those bounties so he can come back to The Hole to seek it out again.  

[piastrisun]

halfway there.

pairings: charles leclerc + fem reader.

summary: a night out in france turns into a moment of connection as charles helps you face a language barrier, only for you to surprise him with more than just words.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 1.4k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: few days later but he’s a little blurb for charles’ international day!! one that has actually nothing to do with birthdays but alright, enjoy. :)

you find yourself seated with charles, on one of your usual and favourite kind of dates, dimly lit restaurant in the heart of lyon. the walls are adorned with intricate artwork, and the faint glow of candlelight dances across the polished tables, casting delicate shadows. the soft hum of french conversations fills the room, blending with the clinking of glasses and the faint notes of a jazz melody playing in the background. the air is rich with the scent of truffle, roasted garlic, and a medley of herbs, making the space feel both luxurious and intimate.

you stare at the menu, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the array of unfamiliar words and the elegant but indecipherable descriptions. each dish sounds more complex than the last, and the language barrier makes it almost impossible for you to figure out what you might enjoy. you feel a small wave of anxiety bubbling up—your usual indecisiveness amplified by not even being able to fully grasp your options.

charles glances at you, noticing your hesitant expression. “what do you think?” he asks, his voice warm, eyes full of quiet understanding.

you sigh, glancing down at the menu. “i don’t even know what half of this says,” you admit, laughing softly at yourself. “but i do know what i feel like eating.”

you had already mentioned what you were in the mood for, listing off ideas you had in mind but couldn’t quite articulate into a dish. as always, he listens attentively, picking up on the subtle cues and the bits of your personality that often lead you to second-guess yourself.

charles, ever composed, scans the menu with the ease of someone completely at home. he reads off the french dishes effortlessly, his voice low and melodic, a natural rhythm that feels both soothing and slightly intimidating. you watch him, trying to catch any familiar words, but most of it sounds like a beautiful, indecipherable blur. you nod along as if you understand, trusting him completely to make the right choices for you both.

“i think you’d like this one,” he says, pointing to a dish on the menu with a reassuring smile. he describes it in detail, translating the words into something familiar, tweaking it just the way you like—something flavorful, without any heavy meats.

you smile, feeling that familiar warmth spread in your chest, thankful for the way he always seems to get it right, how he helps you navigate these moments when your indecision takes over. “you always know exactly what i want,” you say softly, grateful for his patience, for the way he understands you so well.

when the waiter arrives, charles orders for the two of you, his tone polite. you admire the confidence in his voice, the way he effortlessly navigates into more than one language. the waiter nods, scribbling down the orders, and as charles thanks him, you feel a small flutter of nerves. something tugs at you, an impulse to step out of your comfort zone. you gently tap the waiter's arm, catching both his and charles's attention.

but something tugs at you—a small desire to step out of your comfort zone. as the waiter starts to leave, you gently tap his arm. “excusez-moi,” you say, your voice measured and deliberate. you can feel charles’s gaze shift to you, a mix of curiosity and surprise flickering in his eyes. “sans poulet, s'il vous plaît. je ne mange pas de poulet.” your accent is not that far from perfect, and the words feel slightly foreign on your tongue, but you get through it with a kind of quiet determination. the waiter nods politely, offering you a smile before he walks away.

charles stares at you, his surprise palpable. he blinks once, twice, trying to process what just happened. “you speak french?” he asks, his tone light but genuinely intrigued. he leans in slightly, as if seeing you in a new light.

you shrug, feeling a slight twinge of embarrassment mixed with a bit of pride. “i don’t,” you say, your voice firm but playful as you fidget with your napkin, folding and unfolding it just to have something to do with your hands.

he laughs softly, the sound warm and disbelieving. “you just did,” he points out, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “and it was quite good.”

your eyes meet his, and there’s a spark of something unspoken—pride, nerves, a hint of defiance. “barely,” you say, looking down for a moment before glancing back up at him, trying to convey that you’re not as skilled as he seems to think. “i know my basics.”

charles tilts his head, studying you, his smile growing. “greeting and introducing yourself are the basics,” he teases, a playful lilt in his voice. “not saying you don’t eat chicken.”

your expression shifts into one of gentle stubbornness. you keep your face composed, meeting his gaze with a flat but not unfriendly look. “it is to me,” you reply teasingly, your face serious but not harsh.

he bursts into laughter, the sound warm and infectious, that makes heads turn briefly in your direction. you watch him, your own laughter bubbling up despite your earlier seriousness. you can’t help it—the warmth of his reaction, the way he looks at you like you’ve just revealed a secret talent, makes you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and a little unnerving. your laugh is softer, almost shy, but it spills out as if it’s been waiting for permission.

you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself, but the smile lingering on your lips betrays your feelings. there’s a flutter in your chest, and the realization that this moment, this small, silly exchange, means more than it seems. it’s the little glimpses of who you are together—a shared laughter, a playful challenge, a quiet understanding.

charles watches you, his expression softening. “i like this,” he says quietly, his voice low and sincere. “i like discovering these little things about you.”

you tilt your head, curiosity piqued. “like what?” he smiles, taking a moment as if searching for the right words.

“like how you’re so sure you don’t know something, but then you go and prove yourself wrong,” he explains, his eyes never leaving yours. “it’s charming. you’re charming.”

your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “i just… i don’t want you to have to do everything all the time when we’re here or in your home,” you admit. “it doesn’t feel fair.”

charles reaches across the table, his hand brushing against yours in a gentle. “you don’t have to worry about that,” he says, his thumb grazing your knuckles. “i like helping you. i like being there for you.”

you blush under his gaze, your heart fluttering. “i know,” you say, your voice quieter now. “but it’s nice to feel like i’m contributing, even if it’s just in small ways.”

his fingers graze yours with a delicate yet reassuring touch as his eyes hold yours, warm and sincere. “you do,” he says, his smile spreads slowly, genuine, as if his words aren’t enough to express how much you mean to him. “more than you know.”

you squeeze his hand lightly, your gaze dropping to where your fingers intertwine before meeting his eyes again, determination flickering in your voice. “still. i want to meet you halfway, so you can really express yourself when we’re together.”

his gaze softens further, an almost vulnerable look crossing his face as he processes what you’ve just said. the tenderness in his expression deepens, and he leans in just a fraction, slightly blushing, as if closing the emotional distance between you. “you’d do that?”

“of course,” you say, your voice gentle as your smile softens. “i want you to feel at home, too, like you do for me. it’s important that you can be yourself, speak how you’re most comfortable.”

his features soften as if he's seeing you anew, and a quiet intensity builds in the space between you. “so…” there’s a tenderness in his expression. “if i say ‘je t’aime,’ would you know what i mean?”

you grin, a playful spark lighting your eyes as you roll them teasingly. “charlie, that’s actually basic french,” you respond with a lighthearted chuckle.

for a moment, charkes freezes, his confident exterior cracking as he mocks himself with an exaggerated, uncomfortable face, realising he’s been caught off guard by his own words. it’s endearing, the way he momentarily loses his composure.

your soft laughter fills the space, warm and full of affection, and you lean in closer, your voice dropping to a tender whisper. “i love you too, dumbass.”

his expression melts into a smile, one that’s equal parts relieved and overjoyed, and he squeezes your hand tighter, pulling you just a little closer across the table. “you really are something, you know that?”

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[transformers-spike]

Thinking about transformers characters and their human in a dominatrix setting. Where their human is the dominatrix and they’re begging their human to be rough with them.

I love this so much So many bots would greatly enjoy having their human dominate them this way TFP Megatron enjoys being humiliated and has a masochistic streak. Probably likes urethral sounding and having his human step on his spike. He will not beg, but he likes being verbally abused during it (literally the only person who can insult him and get away with it lol). Likes having his face ridden as well, will growl between your thighs as you do so - probably enjoys anterior node pinching and biting Ultra Magnus mostly enjoys relinquishing authority and getting the chance to rest. Although it would be nice if his human is more gentle with him. He can either go for praise or humiliation, and enjoys being used up. Please focus on him, he will beg you to let him overload - but keep on edging him until you feel that he's ready. Dreadwing would enjoy someone being gentler with him. As long as you show him respect, he'll let you do anything. Milk his spike dry, he needs it so badly. He won't dare lift a digit during the whole ordeal, shamelessly begging for more. Gets even better because his interface array is so sensitive, so any stimulation is bound to drive him over the edge. He's also very willing to get on his knees to pleasure you Wheeljack definitely enjoys it, although he's a lot more of a brat during it. Won't beg, but clearly wants to be put in his place. Enjoys annoying his human by being too chatty, frustrating them is his favorite part of fragging. Even if you make him overload plenty of times, he's still bound to ask for more. Definitely enjoys having his spike stepped on and having you bite his interface array. Clearly likes pain to a degree TFA Blitzwing is very much into it, but as a reversal of dynamics. All of his personalities typically enjoy playing the sadistic role of a dom, so getting them to switch roles for once is a surreal experience. Random's the one who loves it most, will lick your boots even if you don't ask him to - truly the most likely to listen to commands as long as it means overloading by the end of it. Icy and Hothead are a lot more complicated. Icy will fight tooth and nail to maintain his control and will adamantly refuse to beg. Getting him to break is difficult, but not impossible. Meanwhile, Hothead is all bravado and will insult you until you start edging him, at which point he crumbles and starts begging for release Sentinel would also enjoy it. Although, if you insult him, he will leave mid-frag. Being dominated this way comforts him a bunch - especially since you're the one doing things to him, so he can shift the blame over to you for the pleasure he feels. A guilt free frag. Probably enjoys edging and being cuffed. He acts like he's too proud to beg, but feeling those soft hands on his spike and valve has him crumbling in no time TF:One Sentinel is also on the list. Being the leader of Iacon and adored by all of the population, he could use someone taking control away from him (even if only in play). He loves being humiliated and called pathetic for what he's doing (mostly because it's a human saying it). Will eat you out on his knees and happily have his face ridden. Please step on his spike, it will make him overload in no time

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥

Summary/Excerpt || “Who are you when no one’s watching?” He pauses at the question, as if the query had truly eluded him. But then he answers.

WC: 2.7k

A/N: wasn’t thinking of writing anything for him, but the more I thought about it — the more interesting all the scenarios and drabbles can be. Minor allusions to suicidal tendencies I guess? This was a good way to get the feelings out.

A superpowered society of people was a grievance few could afford, or rather keep up with that is. Missives of machines, clones of the greats, and those who follow in their footsteps. The moment this population was addressed, it was a far-right of undoings that may as well spell their death from the moment one is born this way. In a hastily addressed letter, signed sincerely from the very first known superpowered individual — a whole new world opened up. Those who could take up the mantle, should or could; however, it is up to the individual how you wish to go out [In a blaze of glory?].

It is by the biggest fish possible, or just by mere accident. How one’s death goes will be how people know you, for better or worse. 

For Rudy, it was a fine line he had walked every single year — every single day — and he will continue to do so, which he found [highly] unfortunate. Trying to connect with one’s emotions and desire in the grand hole of the concept was a rudimentary thought, though he found it was worth the effort, in order to necessitate the greatest array of tools possible, just to protect all those he held dear. Even if he was viewed as a malicious person. 

Rudy just wishes you wouldn’t be one of those people, who would view him as such. He garnered valuable memories with you, formed a bond. It was something he dearly would never weaponize. All that he’s done, all that he ever will do. Will have been in the name of something good, he hopes. 

“Robot?”

He hums in response, flickering a light on at his work desk. His mechanic counterpart speaking in tandem, the person once in the dark was illuminated by his unconscious action. Rudy had learned to leave a light on for those who wished to speak to him, though he was far used to working in the shadows, there are those who lived with the light constantly. Something that he envied in a way. He turns, his willing gaze raking over their [worldly] appearance. For a moment he scrutinizes the details momentarily as his eyes adjusted to the light, before a flash of recognition finally lingers in his mind. 

It was you. One of his dear ones, and he had strikingly thought that you held him in the same regard. Rudy is aware that may not be the case of this relationship you share with him however, but he could dream. He’s dreamed of it many times. “You told me you were going to the downtown memorial service?” He says, tapers of confusion evident in his voice as he returns his gaze to what he had been mulling away with. 

“Did. But plans changed.” You replied, a forlorn tone, finding a chair to sit down at. “So I came back here.” 

Rudy arches a brow, but that quickly reverts back to his neutral expression, having gathered why the change had happened. “I understand,” He simply thinks, feeling the incessant swirling that fetters the gut of his stomach. Rudy understands far more than necessary, “Did you want to talk?”

“Not really.” You shrugged, shifting the subject as you leaned back into the chair you found home on. You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a pointed look. “What’re you working on?”

Another one of his [many] projects, though it’s importance wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He could spare the time, a lot of time. Since it was you in particular, despite the obviously grim and vicarious circumstances, he was truly elated to see you: and hear your voice. Rudy frowns at your deflection, though there was no blame to be placed, the times now were quite difficult to deal with. Both mentally and physically. He rests his working arm on the armrest of his own chair.

Rudy turns on the swivel, laying his foot against the floor to come to a stop. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He subverted the focus —  the silence — and you [could] only sigh, tilting your head as you lean forward. 

His words were carefully considered, as he steps into zones, out of tandem often. Though, Rudy wants to take a careful, comfortable step into a zone where he dared to tread. 

You take the moment to collect your thoughts, scratching at the sleeve rolled up on your arm. “You know, I’ve never taken news of a passing well.” Rudy hears those words so clearly, and his eyes widen. He certainly wasn’t expecting a situation like this to present itself, and not with you. Not at all. But, Rudy maintains a calm posture despite the brewing storm of thoughts that swam in his mind at the speed of a bullet train. He stays silent for the moment, then replies. 

“I highly doubt anyone has.” 

“Right.” You mutter, hanging your head. Far into your hands, “Mourning someone who was alive once was easier.” You admit [a hint of finality, he assumes], and you hang back, same as before. Those gentle hands of yours, more than he cared to admit, scraped down the flesh of your kind face. He thought to himself once, and wondered what the touch of your hands felt like. 

(Rudy had stood aside, standing in his familiar orange mechanical suit. In the genuine flesh as he had watched you take the brunt of many attacks, but he multi-tasked, taking care of the metaphysical obstacles with relative ease. Though he was famously known for; finding ways, information and identities. There was just one thing he couldn’t figure out even beyond the layers of all what he could do, and that was you. 

Not wholly anyway. 

“Two more minutes.” Rudy announces to the group, and it was as if all it once that a slight change of ease assimilated themselves into their bodies, fending off the attackers in order to buy time for the genius. He could hear shouts, comments from heroes who got pissed off [however rightly so], and the enemy who directly engaged the rest of his team. The wires were flimsy in the grasp of his hands, but Rudy worked, familiarity shooting through his veins as the barrage of fire and explosions ticked away the seconds in his head. Red wisps in his vision, and he couldn’t focus, nor direct the energy as to why. 

He briefly felt a glimpse of the scar on his cheek, a fresh reminder from a short skirmish—a fight that should have been quick but somehow stretched on and on, leaving him drained. There were people who had briefly praised him. But in the quiet moments like this [despite the throbbing pulse that reminded him of the situation he was in], when no one was watching, Rudy wondered how much of it was truly his. How much of it was just... obligation.

The mystery of it all hits him again, and he gasps as a beam narrowly hits his side. Rudy’s eyes flit over to whoever deflected the attack, it was Invincible. He sighs in relief, a nod to his brief moment of heroism. Rudy watches as Invincible’s shoulders deflate, tired he guessed, but so were many of the heroes. The black haired hero re-joins the others in the fight, leaving Rudy to return his focus to what was necessary. He lets out a low groan, feeling the weight of the pressure incessantly squeezing the heart in the cavity of his chest. Rudy sometimes wished that he didn’t go through with what he did, taking the measures he had performed early on, just to live longer in a more able body. The years had barred him with no sense of time to take it easy however, so he continued. 

"Why am I doing this?" he thought, eyes narrowing. "Every time I fight, every time I try to save someone, it feels like I'm just going in circles. Nothing ever changes."

A rare moment of exhaustion, especially for someone of his stature. Yet, Rudy tries not to falter. He flexed his fingers, trying to force them to calm, but they clenched involuntarily. 

He exhaled, the air feeling heavier with each breath. The weight of his mission, of his promise, was suffocating. As a genius, Rudy had been told since childhood that he had no choice but to succeed. It was his destiny, and it was theirs for him, too. But no matter how many lives he saved, no matter how many battles he fought, there was always something missing—a sense of true accomplishment, perhaps. Or maybe it was the gnawing feeling that his efforts would never be enough. It was that alone that will continue to remind him of his ability to be human, despite the biological factors. 

Finally, he reaches his small goal. Rudy reaches up into the air with the object, a mass portable object of destruction. Something easy enough to facilitate with just one of his suits. “I'm done! Someone grab it and press the button when they get close.” He shouts, unwavering in his steady devotion to the craft. 

Rudy immediately feels the weight lifted off his hand, and he smiles inwardly to himself. He knew well enough from the memory of the breeze tickling his hand many times over that it was you, with your capable ability to reach speeds unknown to the human body, or even to foreign beings that arrive on Earth; you alone had that special capability, particularly with your quick reaction time. 

Though he’s seen that look on your face, expectant – solemn. As if you were waiting for something to completely turn the tides in the favor of your opponents. Rudy wasn’t able to completely narrow that aspect, so he could only assume. That he could only do, as he watches the device in your bruised hands reach toward its destination. 

Succession was an unfeeling matter, he and you both knew that well. That bond of understanding was something you two had shared with one another. He knew the feeling too well—tight, like the weight of his duty pressing on his chest. His red hair hung in his eyes, messy and unkempt, as if his mind had been too distracted to care.

Rudy wishes he could feel it too – your hands, the weight of probable doom — as he watches and waits for the outcome like the rest of the heroes.)

“Who are you when no one’s watching?”

Your question pulled him back to the moment, this very time. The details rang a story you dared not tell aloud. Red rimmed your eyes, tears both shed and unshed. A giveaway to your darkest layer of the mind you held. You were in a place many had been before, your heart was wounded. You, like him, like so — so many — other heroes had questioned this reality [tearing out your hair, sobbing yourself to sleep, then repeat. Without bearing the shame of being seen]. Symptoms made physical, made real. Indented to crushingly guilty thoughts of why you had survived, why the others didn’t. There was a time that he had felt that way too, so he gave thought. 

Rudy pauses in his movements, resting his chin against the strong force of his hand; It was as if the query truly eluded him. But then he answers —

“Just myself.” He says, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Without going into the nuance, without manacles that hid away the thought. Rudy was, without question, a confusion made an existence. But the answer was appallingly simple that it had shocked you, blinking away the blurriness as you looked around, anywhere but at him. 

The environment was the same, untouched, nonetheless disturbed by the many familiar presences [young, old. They were all the same in the face of combat]. Heroes, even despite their power on the tier listing, so strong and hopeful. Though the years weather anyone down in no time when it comes to this line of work, so the expectant wanting of the experiences were partly to blame. You could feel the compositions of wires radiating from within the walls, all working hard to support the electricity that gives the view of what you wished for. 

You and Rudy wished for two very different things, you didn’t know that though. You wanted to know things, but you respected the impassable boundaries. 

“You say that like it���s easy.” You said, but the look you receive from Rudy makes you question what you had just said. He pressed both hands into the armrests, supporting himself as he stood, then walked over to you — Rudy was just a few steps short of your spot. He crouches down, leveling his gaze with yours. Rudy was making himself smaller against you on purpose, to give you room to breathe. 

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, “It isn’t.” He replies. “However, my belief is easy.”

Your arms drop to your lap, one hand still fiddling with the fabric of your sleeve. Confusion stirs in you, but you let him continue. Out of the corner of your peripheral, something scrawls closer. Just almost daring to touch. 

“My perception of things will present things very differently to me, then it does to you.” He admits, almost a scornful tone. A hindered string of resentment beneath it. “But my belief in you, in our friends. Will tell me it is enough to get through even the worst of things, even if I am sure that we are doomed.” Rudy closes his eyes for a moment, taking short residence in the quiet. His words — the words of a walking man, a walking metal one to sure [He wasn’t completely metal, not always], revered you with a sense of clarity that you had not been endowed with before. Even if the stairs to a light, away from a shadow of a former life had not completely formed. Your sense in what he meant, was both damning, but also relieving. 

Your hand reaches for his, he looks back at you, seeing a lop-sided smile on your face. Rudy wasn’t sure what it was, but something festered in his chest. But he was granted a sense of reprieve, even if his words did little to give you a sense of peace; he was glad that he could grant you a semblance of something similar. 

A windowed beat cracks against the glass, snapping you out of it as your eyes flit over to the windows, which gives anyone a view to the world outside. Rain, and even more thunder. 

“Lighting.” He affirms, “The weather seems to be particularly bad today.”

“Dunno…” You chuckle, tilting your head as you try to get a better look at what so little the view the windows offered. “I kinda like the clouds, they’re pretty, even for looking so grey.” 

Rudy takes a quiet mental note of that comment, “Good for nature, for the grass. Not so much for us, we would’ve gotten sick if we were caught out there.” You only nodded, leaning back as you sighed. Rudy stands up, offering you a hand. 

You take his assistance, almost suddenly startled as you immediately get pulled up into a stand by his hand. “Thanks.” You mumble, taking a moment to collect yourself, suddenly [far too loudly] wincing from the soreness that settled into your bones. Incoherent curses could be barely heard beneath your breath. 

“Today was rough?” Rudy questions, a tone of amusement evident as he walks over to an array of cabinets. The door to one creaks as he opens it, and you could only muster a mock-laugh as you swaggered over to his side, leaning against the counter. 

“No shit sherlock.” You began, crossing your arms, cracking the bones in your fingers. “It was all sorts of things today.”

“Do tell.” He responds, and you eye him as he takes out two packets of tea. You debated on whether or not you should call that out, or against the thought that he remembers that was something you liked in particular. You end up not doing so, instead taking his [not so] subtle request, taking the invitation to launch off into your rant about each and every detail that bothered you. 

Rudy continues to listen, and that was his one easy act of heroism. 

The man made flesh, who once hid behind metal. Learning to listen, it was that in which he remembered how [boisterous] he used to be in his speeches, when he talks: But learning was an experience in life. 

You, one of his dearest ones, are one of the only people he listens to.

[81pastrys]

hi! i hope youre doing well. i wanna request some dad max with a preteen/teen getting her first period maybe? and he's alone with her so he has to take over. xoxo!

Bad Timing

Summary— Max and Isa were supposed to go shopping, but she realized she didn’t actually know what to do for her period

Warnings— first period ; mentions of blood

A/N— I have another request I’m writing rn 🙂‍↕️

Dad Max List

Isa usually wore brighter clothing, especially if they went out to run errands and such. Today she put on black leggings and a baggy grey shirt with her hair in a bun. She hadn’t told Max that she started her first period in fear of how he’d react, but with her Mum away, she has to at some point.

“That’s a new color scheme.” Max noticed her clothing choice but any other ideas flew over his head. His preteen was just expressing herself differently, no biggie. Her friends had told her almost everything about periods, except the main key factor of pads or tampons so you don’t bleed over everything.

“Figured I should wear it if I have it.” She shrugged. They left the house and Max began to notice how she would awkwardly shift or how her face would contort into discomfort.

“Are you okay? You seem off today Isa.” He mentioned while they were at a stop light. She briefly looked over and then back out the window with a small shrug.

“I’m fine papa.” She nearly mumbled. They got to a store and she felt a gush of liquid. She ushered Max into the nearest store and immediately booked it to a bathroom. She was freaking out. Max was oblivious. She cleaned up the bloody mess and stuffed toilet paper to hold off anymore that might surprise her.

“Isa are you absolutely positive everything is okay?” Max was concerned now, different clothes, shifting uncomfortably, now she’s walking like her legs will give out. She looked around her before mumbling to him. He didn’t quite catch what she said but she was not about to raise her voice in the middle of the store they were in.

“I started my period.” She said a bit louder for him to hear. She looked guilty like it wasn’t natural. Max blinked a couple times but ultimately sighed. He walked her to an isle she had seen before but never actually browsed. “What are these?” She asked looking to the array of pads, tampons, and period cups.

“So you don’t bleed through your clothes, I think pads are probably best to start off with.” He looked to the array like he knew what he was doing and she just went along with it. She picked out a brand and Max opened it, she freaked out and went wide eyed at him.

“Papa!” She yelled in a whisper. “You didn’t buy that yet!” He shrugged and handed her one of the unopened pads. She stuffed it under her shirt.

“Take a picture of the instructions, I’ll go buy it now.” He said, he gave her a look of demand to take a picture and she did. “It’s not like I’m broke Isa!” He defended with a laugh. She went back to the bathroom and fitted the pad to her liking.

He was waiting outside the bathrooms for her and they left the store. “Where else?” She seemed like herself again but Max had been through girls and their periods. Maybe not their first one, but he knew she wasn’t feeling good under the smile on her face.

“I figured you’d want to go home, maybe just relax for the rest of the day.” He mentioned as they walked to the car. What he didn’t mention were the snacks and heating pad he also bought. “Just a chill day.”

Isa liked the idea, but hated that she ruined her dad’s day. “You wanted to go shopping though.” She said voicing her concern. He didn’t care about shopping, as long as she was comfortable and having a good day he was content.

“We can shop any other day Isa, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable while we’re out.” He assured her. “I don’t mind staying at home for that to happen.” With that being said he brought her home and they watched shows or old races, because talking about racing is Isa’s favorite thing to do with him.

Max is def the type to open something before buying it 😭😭

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @kallanfiona @chertik-007vvv

[adeadcreator]

Could you do protective headcanons of some of your favorite jojo characters? I'm okay with whoever, just thought it might be fun :))

I spent like thirty minutes to see who I even want to write about since I have so many favorites T0T. I had to cut the list down to these guys :D

Kira Yoshikage: 

-He would blow them up if they went too far. But for the most part he would present relaxation, even if he is disgusted by them daring to touch or rather glance at what is his.

You both are more than ninety percent always in doors for most of the time; however, when it is the ten percent you both are outside, you are always accompanied by Kira. No matter to the park or to the mailbox.

The grocery store was no exception, with either you following in Kira’s shadow or vise versa. “I don’t see the curry paste..” You muttered as you felt Kira’s presence hover over your own, raising your head back and making eye contact with your beloved “Are you sure you’re looking well enough?”

Your eyes rolled at his condescending words as you stood up and motioned to the shelf. “Be my guest and take a look for yourself then.” Determination crossed his eyes as he huffed and handed you the basket; it wasn’t too often when he did not want to admit defeat.

He crouched down to the shelfs level before rummaging through the array of paste “Let me know when you find it.” He gave a fierce glare, muttering some words under his breath as you silently chuckled. 

“Ah huh, well I’ll go ask an employee if they have more in the back, I’ll be right back,” you replied, feeling amused by his frustration. The store itself was not large by any means, it was small. Smaller than any other in the area and due to the size it seemed to have only one person on shift.

“Hello sir, I was wondering if you had a specific curry paste in stock in the back” the man on shift was distracted by a magazine, his uncaring eyes shifted from the model on the page towards you “No we don- Oh uh sorry miss, um how, which one do you need?” 

His attitude shifted as you smiled and motioned towards the shelf behind him “I just need that curry in the red box” he turned to the shelf, quickly turning back, curry in hand as he gave a smirk “So are you seeing anyone?”

He suddenly grabbed your hand, nearly snatching you in if it wasn’t for Kira’s hand reeling you back. Your back connected with his chest “She’s glady taken.” he hissed at the employee, which caused him to release his grip from you.

“Uh, sorry about that,” the employee stammered, avoiding Kira’s glare as he bagged all the items and muttered the final amount. The blonde’s furry was radiant as you stood next to him, taking the bags as he handed the money to the man.

You hadn’t even bothered to look back at the disheveled man as there was a soft click before you felt the hand of your blonde softly run from your shoulder to the center of your back, motioning you towards the car.

“Let’s get home to make dinner”

Jolyne Cujoh:

-She is cool-headed, so she thinks; She inherited her fathers glare, whether she admits to it or not. It appears more often than she thinks; especially when someone attempts to mess with her love.

She isn’t possessive by any means, it wasn’t like she had zero faith in you or your ability to protect yourself; however she knew the dangers within the prison. With many stand users present there was not a chance she would allow you to be harmed.

“Jolyne do you think you have any spare paper by chance? I’m working on a small project!” you said with your angelic smile, unaware by the fact that you nearly blinded Foo and Hermes with your sweetness.

“Huh, oh um, I’m pretty sure I do…” Jolyne mumbled as she thought to herself, looking away in fear of being blinded as well. However she caught a glance of a group of women glaring at your oblivious form, their eyes flickered with resentment of somesorts.

Her eyes snapped back to your figure as you blinked at the duel-haired girl waiting for her answer “Yeah I do, It’s in my cell. You can stay here while I go get it” she said as you waved her off “No, No I’ll come with!” 

Jolyne hesitated for a moment, debating whether to let you tag along. She could feel the weight of the women’s stares lingering on her, but she was curious about the connection you seemed to have. “Fine, but just stay close,” she reluctantly agreed, leading the way toward her cell. 

As you walked, the atmosphere shifted. The tension from the group of women seemed to cling to the air, thickening it with unspoken judgments. Jolyne could sense their disdain, but she shook it off, focusing instead on your presence as you both began ascending the staircase. 

“Just try to keep up,” she said, glancing back at you with a half-smirk that masked her unease. Your smile plastered on your face, jogging up the staircase you hadn’t realized someone had placed marbles down.

Your smile faltered as you felt gravity take you backwards, at least until you felt a rope wrap around your waist and brought you forward. Connecting you to your lover, instinctively your arms wrapped around her figure.

“Look who’s fallen like a-” Her sentence was cut off as she glanced at Jolyne, her eyes in a deep furrow. Jolyne stood there, arms holding you steady, lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to keep her expression neutral despite the tension in the air. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not in the mood for your commentary right now,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with frustration. The air was thick with unspoken challenges and past grievances. 

“Fine,” the other girl huffed, rolling her eyes, despite the tone, fear was embedded. “But you can’t just walk around acting like you own the place. It’s embarrassing.” With that, Jolyne narrowed her eyes, determination igniting in her gaze. 

“And what if I do? Better than just standing there judging, right?”

Diego Brando:

-Diego would have no reason to worry about those who want his attention, yours however? He won’t tolerate any nonsense your way, he’s not above flashing his teeth or nails to scurry them away.

His eyes narrowed as you conversed with another competitor, nothing harmful per say, though he did despise how their eyes trailed away from your face to your body. Diego watched closely, a low growl reverberating in his throat as the other competitor leaned a little too close for comfort. 

You could feel the tension radiating from him, a protective energy that both amused and exasperated you. It wasn’t as if Diego was feet away from you both, no, he was standing directly next to you "Hey, I’m just talking," you said, trying to keep the mood light as you gestured between yourself and the intruder. 

“It’s harmless.” The rider dismissed. But Diego clearly had a different interpretation, his jaw tightening as he folded his arms. “Yeah, well some people don’t get that,” he replied, his voice low and edged with frustration. You shot him a glance, rolling your eyes at his overprotectiveness, but there was a flicker of warmth in your chest. 

“I can handle myself, you know.” He huffed, his gaze still locked on the competitor, who seemed to be oblivious to the storm brewing. “Doesn't mean I won't step in if I have to.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed yet slightly irritated by his possessiveness. 

“Thanks, but I think I got this.” Diego's demeanor softened a bit, though you could still see his frustration lingering. He wanted to ensure no one took advantage of you, and while it was kind, you yearned to be seen for more than just someone needing protection. 

“Fine," he conceded, but his stance didn't relax. "Just… be careful.” As the competitor continued to chatter, you caught a glimpse of Diego's fierce loyalty. It was both comforting and intimidating, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far he’d go to keep you safe.

It had seemed your question would be answered sooner rather than later. The competitor, with much courage—or perhaps stupidity—wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he leaned in, his smug grin only dropping as the face of a utahraptor appeared out of nowhere.

His screams echoed out to the sky as Diego bolted after him, displaying a set of sharp teeth and feral hisses that sent shivers down your spine. You stood rooted to the spot, your horses whinnying nervously at the sudden commotion. “There goes our directions…” you muttered, watching in disbelief as the scene unfolded.

Gyro Zeppeli:

-Despite being completely confident in your ability to defend yourself, he would never mind using his steel balls if the occasion asked for them. Especially if they couldn’t catch the hint after some time.

Gyro and Johnny were a duo way before you’d entered their lives, with you worming your way into the heart of Gyro. Though that did not stop them from pursuing the mystery of the corpse.

Their business acquired them to enter the tavern, which you understood and opted to stay outside with the horses and keep an eye out for enemy’s. Not wanting to be surrounded by wasted men and women with a bit of a lowered cleavage level.

“Hey there Sugar, what are ya’ doin here without a man by your side” lowering the newspaper you raised an eyebrow at the boldness of the clearly wasted man, you replied with a smirk, “Just keeping an eye on my companions. They’ve got their hands full inside.” The man leaned against the hitching post, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. 

“Seems like they might need a strong woman like you to pull them out of trouble.” You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “Trust me, they’re better off without me in there. I’ve seen how wild things can get in taverns like this.” You adjusted in your seat, keeping an eye on the door as you heard the raucous laughter and shouting coming from within. 

The man continued to chat, his slurred words slipping into tangents about heroics and adventures. You glanced down the street, lost in thought about Gyro and Johnny before feeling a harsh tug, “Hey, you should come in! It’s more fun with company,” he urged, stumbling slightly. 

Your instinct told you to keep your distance, as you spotted Johnny’s familiar silhouette emerging from the tavern door, followed closely by Gyro, who looked a touch frazzled. You smiled and stood up, “Looks like my men are back. I should really make sure they’re not getting themselves into trouble.” 

As you started walking towards them, you could hear the drunken man shout after you, but his words faded into the background as you focused on the duo “Hey, so how was th-” your words were cut off as a heavy weight attached itself to your waist.

Nearly taking you down, glancing down there the man was; rubbing his face into your thigh as you tried to kick him off with no luck. "Get off!" you repeated, this time louder and more forceful.

Just as you felt yourself leaning to one side, trying to regain your balance, you noticed Gyro striding towards you, his expression a mix of irritation and concern. 

A sharp whisk was heard as you snapped your head back to the drunken man "What do you think you're doing?" Gyro's voice was sharp as he reached down to grab the man by the shoulder, lifting him away from you with surprising strength. 

The drunken man stumbled back, dazed and confused, mumbling incoherently. "Thank you," you said, trying to catch your breath, though your heart still raced from the encounter. You shot a grateful glance at Gyro, who seemed unfazed, his expression still hard as he glared at the man. 

"Just stay close," he replied, his tone softer now, almost protective. You nodded, determined not to let that happen again. You hadn’t even noticed how Gyro retrieved his steel ball before placing it back to its holder.

[pookalicious-hq]

Midnight Love || ch. 3 - white ferrari

Paige Bueckers x Uconnwbb!reader

previous: ch.2 - golden || next: .4 - april || masterlist

a/n: not proofread sorry baes <3

now playing: slow dancing in the dark by joji

She was sat on her bed, the passing clouds cast fleeting shadows over her room, enveloping her in a familiar wave of frustration. Throughout (Y/n)'s life, there had been countless instances where she wished she could freeze time, if only for a moment. In her experience, time never seemed to align in her favour; nothing ever happened at the 'right time,' and she often had to work tirelessly to make things happen. Unfortunately, her life hadn't witnessed any miracles yet, and there seemed to be no signs of any on the horizon to rescue her.

Currently, the clock displayed 5:47 PM.

A river of clothing continued to spill out of (Y/n)’s wardrobe, forming several piles scattered across her floor. Various textures and colours now adorned every crevice of her room. What started as simple 'yes,' 'no,' and 'maybe' piles quickly multiplied into categories like 'yes-if-the-weather-stays-nice' or 'maybe-but-it-would-look-better-if-my-hair-was-up'. Defeated, (Y/n) slumped from her bed to the floor. Choosing an outfit wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly in this context.

5:50 PM

Now would’ve been the perfect moment for her first miracle.

As she stared at the chaotic array of clothing before her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping in. It wasn't just the prospect of selecting the right outfit; it was the nagging uncertainty about the evening itself, looming on the horizon like an unanswered question. After all, it wasn't like she was getting dressed up for media day, it was just the rest of the team. She found herself second-guessing the decision to go at all. With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) pushed herself off the floor, resolving to make a decision one way or another. As she stood there amidst the scattered clothes, (Y/n) tried to rack her brain for what had compelled her to agree to this outing in the first place.

***That morning

"And good Lord, right then and there, I wished I could’ve just gotten killed earlier on when I was in that shark tank because my mom appeared, mad as hell, and was ready to slap the shit outta me-”

Absentmindedly, (Y/n) hummed in agreement as her eyes scanned the fully stocked shelves. The aroma of freshly baked bread from the nearby bakery section wafted through the air, making (Y/n)'s stomach growl in protest at its emptiness. For the past four aisles, KK had been recounting her so-called horrifying dream from the night before, all from inside their shopping cart. While the first 30 seconds had been captivating, (Y/n) soon realized that KK was far from done. This dream had been so 'emotionally and mentally impactful' that KK felt compelled to act out her car chase scene, resulting in her abandoning the cart. After the fateful crash, the two found themselves with a worker trailing them from behind, ready to intervene with KK’s boisterous antics if needed.

The restock of the week was greatly needed. With the pantry, kitchen, and fruit bowl left with nothing but dust, both girls’ moods had increasingly deteriorated from the day before. As KK continued to recount her experience, (Y/n) was left with the task of finding what they needed. “Mhmm, sounds traumatic speaking of that. What else do we need?”

KK gave her a look. “Yeah, it was. Thank you for your consideration.”

 “Always for you. But you didn’t answer my question—what else do we need?”

Realizing that KK couldn’t wring out any more sympathy from (Y/n), she shifted her focus from recounting her painful nightmare to recalling the items on the grocery list she conveniently left at home—a detail she kept from the older girl.

“Uh, okay damn. I think like… meat?” 

The cart suddenly jerked to a halt, catching KK off guard. She lurched forward, instinctively steadying herself on the shopping cart. The harsh fluorescent lighting overhead felt too intense for the early morning, casting stark shadows across the aisles. 

KK turned around to face her roommate, ready to berate her for the sudden maneuver. However, the words of distaste dissolved on her tongue as she beheld (Y/n)'s expression. The older girl stood before her, eyes closed, brows furrowed in the middle, teetering between disbelief and strained patience. KK would be grateful to come out of this conversation unscathed.

(Y/n)'s tone was short, “KK.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

With a deep inhale, (Y/n) gripped the shopping cart, her fingers tightening around the metal handle as she suppressed the urge to vent her frustration. Swallowing back all the profanities that came to mind, she managed a strained smile. 

“What type of meat?”

“You know, like, bruschetta… maybe some bacon-”

“Maybe?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, her patience waning.

KK chuckled, the sound bouncing off the fluorescent-lit aisles. “Nah, just kidding. We definitely need bacon. And also… Oh shit… Ice?”

(Y/n) blinked, the abrupt shift in conversation catching her off guard. “...Ice? KK, are you good? Because last time I checked, you were the one who brought up meat in the first place.”

In response, KK stood up from her position in the shopping cart, the metal rattling as she shifted her weight. “No look, it’s Ice.”

Following KK’s gaze, she then spotted Ice Brady in the next aisle. The 6’3 forward struggled to fit numerous bags of chips into her shopping basket, her arms stretched to their limits.

With a resigned sigh, (Y/n) began to maneuver the cart containing KK towards Ice's location. The wheels squeaked in protest against the linoleum floor, the rhythmic sound echoing in the bustling store. Despite her being a D1 athlete, she found herself growing weary of playing the role of chauffeur for her friend. Yet, as she glanced at KK’s expectant expression, she knew there was no escaping it.

“Ice Brady," KK sang, her arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture as the cart rolled to a stop. The spectacle drew the attention of nearby shoppers, who paused to witness the unfolding scene, transfixed by the unexpected drama. "Would you care for some assistance today?"

Ice, caught off guard by the flamboyant greeting, turned her attention from the bags of chips to KK's infectious smile. Amusement danced in her eyes as she surveyed the scene before her. With a nod of acknowledgment to (Y/n), who was still navigating the cart into a suitable parking spot, Ice responded, "I mean, if you hopped out of the cart, I could put my stuff in, but I wouldn’t want to trouble your highness."

“Oh!” KK’s hands came together in childish glee, pleased by Ice’s answer, “How considerate of you, but it's alright, I’ve been feeling courteous today.”

“So now you’re feeling ‘courteous’?” (Y/n) deadpanned as she made her way around the shopping cart across from Ice. As KK made her stellar attempt to climb out of the cart gracefully, (Y/n) stood behind her to help lift her out, “I’ve literally been pushing you around all morning, babes.” 

She then made her way over toward ice to give assistance with the various chip bags enough to feed a family for christmas dinner. 

“So,” KK started her smile towards Ice, selectively choosing to ignore her roommate’s comment “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Y’know, working had to feed the kids, and all that. You guys sure eat a lot” 

“Wait,” KK gaped, “This is all for us?”

“Have you checked the group chat?” Ice questioned. In fact, they had not. Though she had been added days prior, (Y/n) had decided to keep her distance from that group chat. The two girls turned to look at each other, proceeded by KK quickly checking her phone.

Soon enough, her eyes ignited from within. “Hell yeah, party time,” she sang.

“K, you’re being dramatic, it’s literally just the team,” Ice laughed.

“Theres a hangout tonight?” (Y/n) questioned, her stomach forming knots at the thought of being in a room with all of the UConn Women’s Basketball team.

“Yup, everyone, including you two, are coming over."

(Y/n) glanced between KK and Ice, her expression shifting to one of mild apprehension. "Do I have a choice?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of resignation.

Both KK and Ice exchanged a knowing look before simultaneously replying, "Nope."

6:15 pm

During her first official collegiate-level game freshman year, (Y/n) led her team to a resounding victory, later that night earning her the coveted title of 'The People’s Princess' of the NCAA.

Beneath the blaring lights of the stadium, (Y/n) was radiant. It was a moment she had long envisioned, the culmination of years of relentless dedication and unwavering determination. With her eyes gleaming and her words flowing with confidence, she effortlessly captivated the reporter and everyone in attendance. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the crowd, drawing them in with her infectious smile and undeniable talent.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/n)'s reputation soared to new heights. However, amidst the high, a subtle unease began to gnaw at her. She quickly realized that the pedestal on which she had been placed came with its own set of challenges.

Despite her remarkable achievements on the court, she found herself confined by the weight of expectations. The public's perception of her became increasingly polarized, with praise often overshadowed by harsh criticism. She was both celebrated and scrutinized for her gentle demeanour, her commanding presence, and even her choice of attire.

The constant contrast between adoration and disdain left her feeling unsettled, she was constantly walking on a tightrope between two worlds. Over time, she became acutely aware of the need to separate her on-court persona from her everyday life, a process that had equally drained but benefited her.

Yet, as she immersed herself deeper into the complexities of her newfound fame, (Y/n) couldn't shake the nagging feeling that appearance had become everything.  In a world where perception was predominant, she grappled with the notion that her worth was measured not by her character or accomplishments, but by the image she projected to the world.

All this to say that unfortunately, (Y/n) had been second-guessing tonight’s event over and over again.  Only two individuals had truly seen beyond the facade she meticulously maintained: KK and, in a distant past, Paige.

As (Y/n)'s life flashed before her eyes, her gaze fixed on the door before her, its weathered surface worn by years of use. The soft hum of chatter from beyond the door drifted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of pizza and anticipation that hung in the hallway. Each groove in the wood seemed to whisper secrets, a silent witness to her inner turmoil.

She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edges of the doorframe. The cool touch of the wood against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, a tangible reminder of the reality awaiting her on the other side. What would they think of her? Did she look presentable enough? Doubts gnawed at her confidence, threatening to unravel the facade she had carefully constructed.

With a steadying exhale, (Y/n) pushed open the door, crossing the threshold into the unknown. The soft click of the latch echoed in her ears, signaling her descent into the realm of uncertainty.

The scene unfolded before her, intimate and genuine, a tapestry woven with the bonds of teammates. The UConn Women’s Basketball team occupied every corner of Ice’s condo, their laughter mingling with the warmth of the confined space. Despite the inviting atmosphere, (Y/n) couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder in this vibrant gathering.

With each step forward, (Y/n) sensed the weight of her decision. The events of this evening would undoubtedly shape her relationship with the team for the rest of the year.

Luckily, no one had noticed her entrance yet. As (Y/n) scanned the room, she searched for KK among the multitude of bodies, most of them towering over her. Despite her efforts, KK remained elusive. Frustration etched her features as uncertainty gnawed at her. She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror, regarding herself with unease.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Lost in her inner turmoil, (Y/n) failed to notice the door behind her slowly swinging open.

As the door swung shut, the breeze proceeded to cause a shift among her hair. Shoving away all distractions, (Y/n) straightened her back, took a deep breath and prepared for her next step further into the house.

“You gonna move? Or do you need help, princess?” Paige's voice cut through the air, shattering (Y/n)'s concentration. All prior thoughts dissolved from her mind at those words, her focus instantly shifting to the unexpected encounter with Paige.

Despite the familiarity of seeing Paige's face plastered on banners around UConn, the proximity still rattled her. She had thought she'd grown accustomed to it, but the reality of facing Paige in person was an entirely different experience.

She had an image to maintain, (Y/n) wouldn’t shy away at simple words anymore.

With a subtle steeling of her resolve, she turned to face the taller girl, meeting Paige's gaze head-on. Though she found herself looking up at Paige, she refused to give any ground in their exchange.

The tension between them crackled in the air, each word laden with unspoken history and unresolved emotions. (Y/n)'s jaw tightened, but she refused to let Paige see any hint of vulnerability. She squared her shoulders and held Paige's gaze with unwavering determination.

"No need for assistance, thanks," (Y/n) replied evenly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling inside her. "I can handle myself just fine."

Paige chuckled, taking a step closer to her. "Of course you can, Your Highness," she quipped, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "But it wouldn't hurt to let someone lend a hand every now and then."

(Y/n) bristled at the implication but forced herself to remain composed. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied curtly, stepping aside to let Paige pass.

Paige's lips quirked into a knowing smirk, but she didn't press the issue further. 

While Paige moved past her, (Y/n) couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the air. Despite her best efforts to maintain her facade of confidence, there was a vulnerability in her interactions with Paige that she couldn't seem to shake.

As (Y/n) made her way further into the room, she found herself enveloped in a warm atmosphere. Smiles greeted her from every direction, genuine and welcoming, easing the tension that had knotted in her stomach.

“Damn, girl, I was just about to check if you had been kidnapped! What took you so long.” Exclaimed KK as she searched every inch of (Y/n). The younger girl’s gaze soon turned towards Paige suspiciously suddenly recounting the day prior, eyes snapping back and fourth. But then quieter KK added, “Hm, okay, I see, I see…”

A chorus of laughter bubbled up around them at KK’s dramatic statement, the sound infectious and light-hearted. (Y/n) couldn't help but smile in response, the weight of earlier uncertainties melting away in the warmth of their acceptance.

Any lingering tension between them dissipated in the face of the group's genuine warmth, replaced by a sense of belonging and shared purpose.

After making her rounds, (Y/n) went to sit by the couch, where a mini circle had formed as the team watched Azzi and Aubrey in their death match of Mario Cart. The room was filled with the rhythmic clicking of controllers and the occasional whoops and groans as players navigated their virtual karts through the colourful tracks. Azzi and Aubrey were locked in intense concentration, their eyes glued to the screen as they jostled for the lead. The competitive banter between them added to the lively atmosphere, punctuated by bursts of laughter and playful teasing from the rest of the team. (Y/n) leaned back, taking in the scene with a contented smile.

As the night progressed, (Y/n) found herself settling in, enjoying the easy connection of the team. Their genuine willingness to engage with her put her at ease, dispelling any lingering apprehension. After wrapping up a conversation with Ashlyn about her cats back at home, (Y/n) decided to take a brief respite. She excused herself and made her way to the kitchen, feeling a headache creeping in as result of the loud atmosphere. 

The cool touch of the glass along her fingers was well welcomed as (Y/n) took a sip of water. From her position in the kitchen, she had a comforting view of the apartment. As her gaze swept from Azzi and Aubrey fighting about wins and losses, to KK and Aaliyah filming their third tiktok of the night, her eyes landed on Paige. 

Obviously, people change as they grow up. Physically, Paige was taller. Her dark blond roots peaked out like a halo. But, the space between them seemed to grow as well. 

With a sigh, she turned to grab another sip of water. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, hummed with activity. The tiled floor gleamed underfoot, a testament to the cleanliness maintained in the shared space.

Unfortunately, right as she turned, she bumped into the one and only Nika Muhl.

“Oh, shit,” (Y/n) jumped, the water in her glass sloshing dangerously close to the brim.

Before she could react, the collision resulted in the water spilling on Nika, the droplets now flowing from Nika’s shirt onto the tiles below. (Y/n)'s heart sank at the sight

“I’m so sorry, let me help you,” she stammered, scrambling for a nearby towel, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Nika waved off (Y/n)'s apology with a chuckle, her easygoing demeanour putting her at ease. "Don’t worry about it, (Y/n). Accidents happen." Nika took the towel she offered and dabbed at her shirt, trying to contain the spill.

(Y/n) winced, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to, I was just lost in thought."

Nika leaned against the counter, a small smile playing on her lips. "No harm done. Do you want to talk about whatever was on your mind?"

(Y/n) hesitated, not wanting to burden Nika with her concerns. But Nika's warm gaze encouraged her to speak up. "Yeah, I'm just trying to find my place with the team, you know? Sometimes it feels like I'm still the new kid."

Nika nodded in understanding, crossing her arms casually. "I get that. But trust me, (Y/n), you fit right in. Everyone likes you."

(Y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest at Nika's words, and she couldn't help but blush. "Thanks, Nika. That means a lot."

Nika chuckled, nudging (Y/n) playfully. "Hey, don't mention it. And you know what? Even Paige couldn't stop talking about how excited she was when she found out you were joining."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Paige. "Really?"

Nika nodded, a knowing smile on her face. "Yep, really. It seems you’re quite the People’s Princess, (Y/n)."

Feeling a mix of emotions, (Y/n) leaned against the counter beside Nika, both of them watching the group outside the kitchen enjoying themselves. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

 However, (Y/n)'s attention was soon drawn to the sight of everyone getting up and preparing to leave. "Where is everyone going?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Nika followed her gaze, her expression turning playful. "I guess it’s about that time now.” Nika then stood up to trail the team out of the apartment. “Team tradition."

Now playing: white ferrari by frank ocean

The night enveloped the surroundings in a tranquil embrace, casting a serene aura over the playground. The soft glow of the moon and stars illuminated the path ahead, casting gentle shadows on the playground equipment.

Amidst the laughter of her companions, (Y/n) found herself immersed in the peaceful ambiance of the night. As she followed behind the group, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and distant city lights.

With each step, (Y/n) felt a weight lifting from her shoulders, replaced by a quiet sense of serenity. She took in the sight of her newfound teammates friends ahead, their silhouettes dancing against the night sky, and allowed herself to be relax the moment, grateful for the new joys she would encounter with this team.

As they made their way onto the playground, the flash of red and blue metal bars pierced the air, bringing back memories of a time when playing D1 basketball was just a distant dream.

Following close behind, (Y/n) ended her destination at a swing set that shone silver and gold against the night sky. The chains groaned in response of her weight, their link rattling together, forming a melody long forgotten. As her world slowly swung on an axis, (Y/n) couldn’t help but finally be at ease. 

As (Y/n) allowed herself to sink into the comforting rhythm of the swing, she became aware of a presence nearby. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Paige making her way towards the swing set, her silhouette cutting through the darkness like a shadow. Despite the tension that often lingered between them, there was something oddly comforting about Paige's proximity in that moment. With a silent invitation, (Y/n) watched as Paige settled onto the swing beside her, the chains creaking softly in protest under their combined weight.

For a moment, there was only the soft whip of the wind that passed by (Y/n)’s ears, occasionally broken by the rattling chains and the laughter that drifted from the playground. Though things between the two girls were complicated, (Y/n) missed their time together. 

With a sigh, her eyes searched the distant lights above. Her mind filled in the blanks and connected the dots of the stars in the skies. Unbeknownst to (Y/n), Paige had been doing the same since she arrived.

“Ursa Major,” Paige murmured, the name of the constellation unintentionally slipping from her lips.

At the sudden break in the comforting silence, (Y/n) glanced over to her, giving her full attention. 

"Is it still your favorite?" Paige asked, her voice soft with genuine curiosity, her gaze falling to the side to find (Y/n)’s surprised expression within the darkness.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) spoke softly, her mind filled with the countless nights they searched the sky together. An unexplainable wave of yearning and sadness washed over her senses, “it is.”

Paige then turned her attention back to the sky above, all while (Y/n) was still processing the fact that she remembered her favourite constellation.

“You still remember?” (Y/n) asked, the question slipping from her mind out to the world before she could stop herself.

Paige felt her blood rush scarlet. “Yeah, you know… how could I forget?”

Paige’s answer stunned her. She assumed that since they parted ways, Paige would’ve also tried to erase the memories from her mind. For (Y/n), it had been too much to remember.

Paige's response  lingered in the air, the weight of its meaning hanging heavy between them.

Paige hesitated, her gaze searching (Y/n)'s face for any sign of recognition. "Do you ever miss it?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/n)'s heart skipped a beat at the question, her mind racing as she struggled to find the right words. "Miss what?" she replied, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft glow of the stars.

Paige's gaze softened. "Us," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

A whirlwind of emotions swept through (Y/n) at Paige's question. Her chest tightened, and her breath caught in her throat. The weight of their shared history pressed down on her, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure.

Yet, amid the turmoil of conflicting emotions, a flicker of longing ignited within her.

Everyday.

She wanted to respond.

I’ve never stopped missing us. 

She hadn’t expected such a question from Paige. Though she had been hoping, deep down, she knew that Paige might not have the same space for her in her world. After all, a sun doesn’t need a moon to survive.

Over time, their dynamic had shifted, revealing that (Y/n) relied more on Paige than the other way around. But those words brought into question whether (Y/n) had been wrong about them all along.

Her eyes swept to the side to meet Paige’s expectant gaze, her eyes reflecting the silver moonlight.

“Always.”

Neither Paige nor (Y/n) had been expecting the answer to be spoken. At the revelation, the corners of Paige’s lips curved into the slightest smile. 

As soon as the conversation started, silence drifted between them, The two girls drifted back into their quiet comfort. Only now, they both shared the same information. Possibilities of the upcoming sprung up into (Y/n)’s mind. Things would be different then she expected, but maybe that was a good thing.

(Deleted scene)

“Nah, Paige is occupied at the moment,” KK laughed, her voice carrying over the chatter of the group. With a deft swing from the monkey bars, she landed next to Aaliyah, where her phone was propped up to capture their talents. As they continued their antics, the live chat exploded with questions about (Y/n) after the idea of getting Paige on the stream was quickly shut down.

“Damn,” Aaliyah murmured, her eyes scanning the flood of messages, “y’all really love her, don’t you?”

A chorus of affirmative responses flooded the chat. Meanwhile, Azzi's voice cut through the background noise, calling both Aaliyah and KK over to witness her latest feat on the monkey bars. With a shared grin, the two girls left their spot, drawn by Azzi's infectious energy.

In the darkness of the night, the bottom right corner of the screen was illuminated just enough to make ou two silhouettes together on a swing set. The descovery sparked a flurry of speculation in the chat. Messages scrolled rapidly as viewers attempted to decipher the identities of the mysterious figures. Within moments, messages began pouring out as Paige and (Y/n) were finally identified.

(Y/n) and Paige: Sparks Fly on Live Stream

Fans were treated to an unexpected sight during teammate KK Arnold's recent live stream, as basketball stars (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers made a joint appearance. Their presence together immediately set social media abuzz, with fans reigniting dating rumors that have followed the pair for years. Despite both athletes maintaining silence on the matter, the resurgence of speculation has divided fans, with some eagerly shipping the duo while others advocate for their privacy. As (Y/n) and Paige continue to focus on their careers, fans remain captivated by the possibility of a romantic connection between the two athletes.

a/n: yuhh chapter two done! sorry for the wait, it's been a tough week lmao! anyways, im begging you PLEASE LISTEN TO WHITE FERRARI WHILE READING THE NIGHT SCENE ITS SO GOOD

anyways, thanks for all the love and support you guys are the best, loving all the comments <333

also for future chapters, does anyone live in seattle? cuz mc is gonna be from there and i need a highschool that was good at basketball or just one in general. LOVE YALL SO MUCH SEE YOU NEXT TIME

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