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gurugirl · 6 months ago

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DILF | older!harry

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Summary: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

A/N: This was requested + this! Also, please think before you judge Y/n. She is very bold and confident in this. Maybe even a little pushy but Harry likes it (even if at first he doesn't give that impression). Also he's single so this isn't cheatrry!

Word Count: 6,580

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light)

. .

"That one. Total dilf. He looks grumpy. Bet you can't crack him."

Y/n laughed at her friend and looked down at her red-painted nails before narrowing her gaze on the attractive older man who was seated at the corner of the bar alone. He was nursing a whisky and he did look rather sullen. Unapproachable even.

"Why him?"

"Because he's hot. And I'm curious to see if you can get him to smile at least," Warren raised her brows, "I dare you."

Y/n tilted her head and assessed him. He was nice and big, taking up a decent amount of space at the bar, broad shoulders and back hunched as he leaned his muscular forearms on the wood of the bar top. Meaty hands placed on either side of his lowball glass. Thick brown waves on top of his head with a bit of silver coming in at the temples. But the handsome features on his face really set him apart. His granite jawline gave way to stubble that stretched over his skin and shaded in the spaces around his pink lips.

If she could "crack" him she wasn't sure she'd want just a smile. He looked yummy enough to eat.

Drinking down the last of her martini she pointed at Warren and then Tara, "Fine. Give me twenty minutes and I'll have him eating from the palm of my hand."

Tara laughed, "If you say so…"

She placed her heeled feet down on the floor and brushed her hands over her dress, "Oh, I do say so. Just watch and learn, ladies."

Y/n wasn't quite that confident, but she wasn't about to say no to dare. And she could hold her own when it came to flirting. She liked getting a little attention and if she could garner this one's interest it might be fun.

She sauntered up to the bar behind the man and noticed the way his t-shirt stretched over his lats and tapered loosely down at his waist. The guy was fit. And lucky her, there was an open stool next to him.

Sliding onto the seat she waved at the bartender to order another drink. She'd need all the courage she could get, in whatever form she could get it.

Tapping her long nails on the lacquered wood she felt nerves thrumming through veins before turning toward the man finally. He hadn't seemed to take note of her yet, which honestly was unusual in most cases. Maybe she thought too highly of herself but men tended to notice her right away. She appreciated the challenge, though.

Reaching her hand into his space to greet him, she pushed down her nerves to sound steady as she spoke, "I'm Y/n."

She watched his brow furrow as he turned to look at her hand and then up at her eyes, his expression, which she expected would soften once he looked at her, was unamused. A single light overhead lit the tops of their heads as a shadow cast over the side of his face and he didn't make a move to shake her hand, "And I'm old enough to be your dad."

A surprised scoff fell from her lips as she moved her hand away from him. She wiggled in her seat and crossed her leg over her thigh toward him, gulping down the initial rejection with as much grace as she could muster, "I think you're jumping to conclusions about my intentions. But so what if you're older than me? I don't mind. We're both adults, right?"

An unimpressed grunt rumbled from his throat before he took another sip of his whisky and he looked away from her toward the TV that hung not far away from where they sat.

The bartender placed her olive martini down on the bar in front of her, "It'll be on Y/n Y/l/n. I already have an open tab."

A sip of the salty drink felt warm down her throat. So he was going to be a bit tough to crack. She turned to look at her friends who were grinning in her direction.

Straightening her back to feel more confident she tried again, "So you're not gonna tell me your name even?"

Without looking at her, he licked his lips and ticked his jaw, "Y/n, I think it's past your bedtime."

She smiled at that. He'd said her name, which meant he'd been listening, "My bedtime is whenever I say it is, not when some grouchy stranger says."

He puffed out an amused laugh through his nose, "I am a stranger. Which means you should be cautious, little girl. Your dad didn't teach you about things like that?" He turned to look down at her again, and that time she saw the soft green color of his eyes as the light hit his face just right.

But now she was really determined. She smiled brightly at him and let her eyes coast over his tattooed arm and then back up to his face, "Are you telling me you're dangerous?"

He still didn't smile as he shook his head like he was surprised by her gall, "Do your parents know what you're up to tonight?"

"I'm 24. Graduated from college, live on my own, pay my bills, have a full-time job. You seem to be awfully worried about my parents. I can take care of myself just fine."

Just then another person sat down next to the man Y/n was trying to whittle away at. He poked his elbow at him, "Who's this?"

"Don't know. Someone who's about to go back to her table with her little girlfriends."

Biting her lip she traced the rim of her martini glass with her fingertip, keeping her eyes set on the handsome tattooed one, "Not even a smile. Just one? Please?"

"Like I already said, I'm way too old for you."

The other man leaned over and reached to tap Y/n's shoulder, "Hey. Forget about Harry, here. You can bring me home with you if you're looking for a daddy tonight."

She frowned and looked him up and down to asses. He was late 40s perhaps, wearing a local band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a backward cap to make himself appear a little more youthful. "No thanks. You'd know if I was interested in you."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at her retort. She was definitely too young but he liked her spunk.

"Now, Harry…" she said his name slowly as she leaned a little closer, "I've got your name thanks to your friend. Can I have a smile?"

"Why?" He stared down at her, the caress of his gaze felt infinite and she found her skin convecting in its wake. He might be hard to crack but this one would be worth it, she determined.

She sighed and slid her finger dangerously close to his wrist as he looked down at her nail and watched her trail it near his arm, "I just hoped to see you smile is all. Too handsome to have such a sour scowl on your face."

"And you're hardly old enough to be so confident to walk up to a strange man at a bar."

She laughed and tilted her head, "You planning on doing something bad to me, Harry?"

And that. That pulled a reaction out of him that spread over his features slowly as he shook his head in disbelief, "Darlin', you wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her eyes widened slightly. Now she was definitely not giving up. Y/n wasn't one to fail and Harry might be making her work hard for it but she couldn't imagine it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

"Is that a challenge or something?" She softly scraped her nail over his tattooed wrist and Harry watched her red nail work over his skin.

His resolve was fading fast. She could tell he wasn't going to keep denying her. And why should he? If he was single, which he appeared to be, what was the harm in having a little fun with someone younger? Y/n didn't mind. And he certainly shouldn't either.

"If it were a challenge you'd know it. Lots of other guys here, Y/n. Go enjoy your night with someone closer to your own age."

She sighed in annoyance. But he hadn't moved his arm away from her and she was going to take that as a sign.

Dragging the toe of her shoe into his shin she grinned, "I don't want to enjoy my night with someone my own age. Not tonight anyway. I think you've convinced me that I need to test out this theory of yours. That you think I can't handle you. Cause I bet I can."

With his eyes piercing into hers, he took another sip of his drink. She thought she might have just convinced him to give her a smile at the very least because it looked like he was weighing his options. And if she could get him to smile she might have luck with the rest.

He tilted his chin upward for a moment, eyes aimed at the ceiling like he was calling on a higher power for strength, "Go back to your friends, Y/n. Any other man here would love to have your company."

"But you wouldn't love to have my company?"

"I mean… I'm still here," the other man raised his hand and leaned into Harry, "Honey we could have so much fun. Any man who'd turn you down is either battin' for the other team or more likely," he chuckled and pushed his shoulder into Harry's teasingly, "He can't get it up anymore."

Y/n's mouth dropped open at that and Harry turned to look at the man. She wished she could see the look on his face, "Sit the fuck back down, John. She already told you she's not interested in you."

"Yeah, and you're not interested in her so what's it matter to you? Look at her, Harry. Practically begging you. Young and bubbly… Tight—"

Harry's hand covered John's throat as he pushed him away, nearly making his stool topple over, "Get the fuck outta here. You had too much whisky tonight."

"Aww… come on Harry… I was just jokin'!"

She watched as he stood from his stool and looked down at John, "And you thought that was funny? You like making jokes about women like that?"

The man put his hands up in surrender, "I'm out. Here…" he threw a wad of cash on the bar top before he moved past Harry and then looked at Y/n, "My apologies if I offended you."

They watched as John left the bar quickly and then Harry sat back down before he waved at the bartender and signaled for the check, "Just the one whisky neat."

"You're leaving already? Night's still young, Harry."

He sucked at his teeth as he scraped his gaze over her face and down to her cleavage. She smiled when she watched the path his eyes had taken.

The bartender handed him the bill and Harry leaned over to pull his wallet from his back pocket.

She scooted closer to him, "You headed home?"

He nodded, but not necessarily in answer to her question, it was more of an appraisal kind of nod. He was still silent as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm sure John's a nice guy and all but he's not really my type. And I'm sure he was wrong about you."

That got his attention. Harry flicked his gaze back to hers, "Wrong about me?"

She smiled, "The part where he said you couldn't get it up. You're not that old. I'm sure you still can. Right?"

He clenched his jaw and breathed out of his nostrils like he couldn't believe she'd asked him such a thing. He handed the bartender his cash with a nod before he stood up from his stool.

"Huh. Since you're so quiet about it maybe he was right," she goaded, pressing her lips together to flatten her smile as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Harry placed a palm down on the bar top next to her hand and leaned over her, "You're out of your depth here, Y/n."

"Now, you don't really know that do you? Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're awfully pushy. Not used to hearing no, are you?"

Y/n watched as the edge of his mouth lifted in amusement and she widened her eyes and pointed, "You're almost smiling."

He shook his head and looked around the bar before pinning his gaze back to hers, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. But your luck has run out with me, princess."

Harry stood to his full height and Y/n decided to try one last time, "So it's true then. What he said."

He stopped and turned to look back at her, a slow burning heat behind his gaze, "Couldn't be further from the truth."

She smiled and slid off her stool to stand in front of him. His height was impressive, "Prove it."

The line of his jaw hardened, turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. His eyes simmered as he weighed his options. Finally, a hint of a smile stretched over his mouth. A small one, but still.

"I don't need to prove anything to silly little girls."

"Good thing I'm not a silly little girl. I'm a grown woman, Harry."

Y/n knew she was pushing it. She'd never needed to throw herself at any man before. But because of that, she wasn't used to rejection either. Maybe it was a good lesson for her ego. She knew her big fault was how entitled she could act sometimes. But that was partly thanks to how she was raised. It's better to act like a man to get what you want in life, her dad told her. And so far, that had been true. Some women balked at her confidence and her bold attitude. She wasn't demure or sweet enough. And men would often refer to her as a bitch or say that she was trying too hard.

She'd work on her ego another time. But right now? She was focused on winning this battle.

"What do you want with someone like me anyway? Hm? I'm old, Y/n. What's in it for you?"

Blinking her eyes she shook her head, "You're not old, first of all. Secondly, you're really attractive. It doesn't need to go much deeper than that, does it? I just think you're handsome. And I do kind of like a challenge."

"I can see that you like a challenge. It's the only reason I haven't walked out that door yet. Kind of relentless."

She smiled, "So it's working?"

Another half-smile worked its way up his mouth as he laughed in disbelief, "Are you surprised that it is?"

His pupils coasted over her figure and then back up to her face. The warmth of his gaze singed her skin like an open flame.

"I guess I just didn't know how difficult it'd be with you."

He licked his lips, "Difficult. You have no idea. But looks like you're about to find out. Go tell your friends what's going on. Meet me out front."

Y/n watched him turn and walk away. She was shocked. For a minute she thought he wasn't going to go for it at all.

Shaking off the sudden surprise of having gotten to him she settled up with the bartender and then stopped at the table with her friends. They were just about to give her condolences for having oversold her ability but she interrupted. "He's waiting for me outside. Location is on. Don't wait up!"

Harry was leaning against a black car in the parking lot when she stepped out of the doors. The moment he saw her he pushed himself off the car and opened the passenger door for her.

It was going to be tricky to maintain the kind of confidence she'd been feigning with him up until then but there was no part of her that didn't want to find out what he could show her.

She watched as Harry sat down in the driver's seat and started up his car. He took up too much space in the seat. His big hand wrapped around the leather steering wheel while his other encased the shift stick. Even the way he drove was turning her on.

She was pleased that she'd wormed her way under his skin and that he'd given in. She'd try her best to make it worth his while. Reaching across the console she put her hand on his thigh and he glanced down quickly before setting his gaze back on the road.

Now, Harry had slept with younger women a couple of times. He generally preferred someone closer to his age because he liked the confidence and experience that came with age. Women in their 20s were often in a different stage of life and that was fine –normal even, but it just usually wasn't a match for him. Not sexually and not mentally.

But Y/n was unusually confident for being so young. Persistent. He liked it, he couldn't lie. Whether or not she really had much else going for her beyond confidence, he guessed he'd find out. Well, she was very cute too. She did have that in her favor.

And Y/n at least seemed like she knew what she wanted. It was flattering as well. Being approached by such a pretty young thing. He figured the moment he told her to go back to her friends she'd give up but she was just fiery enough that she wasn't deterred.

When she ran her nail over his wrist he knew he was screwed. She was just close enough that he could smell her perfume and then she nudged her shoe into his shin and all he could think about was that she really wanted to be shown a good time and if anyone could it was him.

Harry knew his way around a woman's body. They were all different and he liked finding all the buttons and things that made them purr. In his experience, though, the younger the woman, the less she knew her own body. He didn't know if Y/n was just talking a big game but he was about to find out.

He stayed quiet as she ran her hand down his thigh and he shifted as the car accelerated past the green light. He'd see if she'd do anything with her hand but maybe she'd just pet at him like a novelty toy. He didn't expect—

"This is okay?" She asked him, her tone sultry as she palmed at his crotch.

He licked his lips, "Have at it."

His cock fattened up nicely with not much effort on her part. Proof that he definitely could get it up. Plucking at his button she looked from his face to her fingers as she leaned further over the console to reach her hand into his open pants to help him with the awkward angle of his dick. He seemed to appreciate that as he shifted under her palm.

Rubbing over his heather grey briefs she peeled down the elastic band the slightest to get a peek. The dark shade of pink on his tip matched the muted raspberry of his lips. She slid the pad of her middle finger over the slit and he softly inhaled through his teeth.

She wouldn't be able to give him roadhead like she wanted. It was impossible with the stick shift in the way. But she could wrap her fingers around his shaft and feel him under her palm until they got wherever they were going.

"Mmm… It's so big, Harry. Knew you would be. Might be the biggest I've seen in person. Can't tell yet, though. Have to wait to see when we've got these off."

Harry pushed a laughed breath through his nose. She was a bold thing. Her assertiveness was a turn-on. He didn't like meek and shy. Not when it came to sex.

When she spit into her palm and smeared it down his length, the best she could, he parted his lips and stepped on the gas. She was already exceeding any expectations he had for her. Maybe she'd prove him wrong.

Her nail scraped the underside of him and she moaned, "Really want it in my mouth."

He gulped harshly and ticked his jaw, "Just be patient. I'll let you put it in your mouth soon enough."

"And where are we going? Your place?"

He nodded, "Just a few minutes away."

She squeezed around him and pulled upward slowly. She knew already, he was well above average and she was going to have to work to give him a proper blowy.

His house was a one story, the driveway at the front with a garage attached. He lifted his hand and pushed on a device that was clinging to his sun visor and the garage door began to open. There was a covered motorcycle along the back wall and then the garage door closed after he shut off the engine.

She moved her hand away and unbuckled herself as he got out. When she reached down to pick up her little purse she realized her panties were already wet. She grinned as she stepped out, adjusting her dress before closing the door, and then followed behind him as he led her into a dark hallway.

When he turned on the lights she took it all in. Hardwood floors led into a dining area and then a kitchen. Hung on the walls were photos of himself with two children and then more framed photos with just the kids.

"Do you have kids?"

"I do. Boy and a girl. 7 and 10."

"You're not married are you?"

He laughed, "If I were you'd have known. Wouldn't have been out in the first place if I had a wife waiting for me at home."

She nodded as he turned on the kitchen light and pulled out two glasses before filling them with water.

"Divorced?"

Handing her a glass he squinted, "Yes."

She took a sip. He was a man of few words she'd gathered. She looked around the kitchen. Wood cabinets, an outdated laminate countertop, stainless steel appliances. The space could use some updating but it was large and he had a big pantry.

Sitting the glass down on the counter she watched him closely. His pants were still unbuttoned. She eyed the space at his crotch as he placed his own glass down next to hers.

"It's not gonna suck itself."

She laughed and looked up at him. He had a genuine smile on his face that time. The first real smile she'd seen from him all night. A healthy row of clean teeth, a dimple…

"Hmm… I think you're right. Let's see what we've got…"

She moved in front of him and placed her hands on his pants to push them away but before she could inch them down he wrapped his meaty hand around the back of her neck and drew her into his chest. His mouth was warm and soft. His tongue tasted like the whisky he'd been drinking.

Letting go of his pants she held onto his biceps as he used his free hand to push her hips against his. Still nice and hard. He ran his tongue over her lips and she moaned into his mouth. He worked his warm lips down to her jaw and then he licked upward on her neck, the wet patch was cool on her skin from the air in the kitchen. He did it again and her knees almost gave out. She hadn't been licked like that before.

He kissed over her clavicle and then drew his tongue over her flesh. Her heart was thrumming quickly and she squeezed his strong arms when he rutted against her.

"You good at sucking cock, Y/n?" He pushed his nose against her jawline and the hot breath from his words scattered over the skin on her neck.

"I want to be," she spoke breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as he mawed at her throat.

He parted from her neck and looked down at her, half-lidded gaze and spit-slicked lips, "Go on."

Instantly she dropped to her knees as her fingers worked deftly at pulling his pants down and then his underwear. She'd sucked a handful of dicks so she knew a couple of moves.

Getting her hand around his thick shaft proved to be a small challenge. To say he was thick… understatement. Long too. His tip was smooth, mushroomed with ridges along the length that she hoped she'd get to feel later on. His was the kind of cock that women dreamed of.

Looking up at him she licked her palm and used her spit to pump him slowly. Another glob over his tip for good measure. Then she pressed a kiss to the base of him, just over his sac, and screwed her eyes upward to watch his expression as she licked his balls, one side at a time. She wound her tongue all around to wet him before sucking at one side, pulling it into her mouth and he let out a ragged breath, his dark pupils spreading inky until the soft green had almost vanished.

He liked it.

She worked around the other side, sucking him in again and swirling her tongue softly underneath the tender bits. He gripped the counter behind himself.

Pulling off she straightened her back and licked upward, feeling every delicious thick ridge along his shaft until her tongue met his smooth crown. Laving every crevice of his tip, she dipped her tongue into his slit and then ran it under the frenulum before she wetted every inch of his glans.

Her mouth was watering when she parted her lips around him and flitted her gaze upward. He was watching her with a slack jaw as she took him a little deeper. He cradled the back of her head and moaned.

"Just suck the tip…."

She blinked up at him and pulled her lips just over the lip, swirling and suckling around him like he wanted.

"Fuck. Just like that." His hand at the back of her head was easy. He didn't push or pull. It was more like a pleased gesture as his fingertips flexed around her skull gently.

Y/n would have liked to have gone deeper. Wanted to show him her best work. But he seemed rather happy with what she was doing.

She bobbed a couple of times, only to slide her lips back to his tip. Her pace was slow when she began to stroke his length with a little twisting motion.

He was big. She knew she could take more but in a way, she was grateful that that was all he was asking for.

A groan fell from his chest and he bucked forward, his cock slipping down her tongue and she sucked, drawing more of him in as she moved her hands away.

"Goddamnit, you're good."

She took that as permission to go deeper. Relaxing her jaw she closed her eyes and held her breath, pushing down to her limit. She filled her throat with his cock the best she could and gurgled around his tip.

He coughed out a moan and then thumbed at her cheek, "Alright, that's good."

She pulled off of him. His heavy cock aimed right at her face when she sat back on her knees and looked up at him, "I can do better than that."

He laughed and put his hand out for her to take, helping her stand up, "I bet you can. Come on."

Harry kept her hand in his as he led her to his bedroom. It was just past the dark living space and he turned on a floor lamp on the opposite side of the room from the bed. When he turned back toward her he cupped her face and kissed her again.

She pressed her hand into his warm, hard chest and he reached around the back of her dress to pull the zipper downward, his fingers dragging down her skin as he went. His touch sent a tremor down her spine as continued kissing her wetly.

He stepped back, helping her out of her dress until it fell to the floor. His eyes raked over her body and he smoothed his hands over her hips and up to her bra-covered breasts. He stepped in closer, walking her backward toward his bed. He put his hands back on her hips and nudged her to sit before he reached down to lift her leg up by her calf, removing her heels, one at a time.

Y/n's thong was drenched. She stared at him while he placed her shoes side by side at the foot of the bed and then he placed his big palms on her thighs, pushing her legs open, "Lie back."

She let her back hit the mattress as Harry got to his knees on the floor. An arm reached under her thigh as he spread her apart and then she felt her panties being pulled at until her her wet pusslips were right in his face. He groaned and felt a hand slide up the inside of her thigh. He pressed his mouth over her mons and looked up at her before he opened his mouth wide and drew his tongue through her crease making her gasp.

"Get your bra off."

She pushed herself up slightly and worked at the clasp of her bra between moans as Harry continued licking at her pussy. When she pulled her arm through the flimsy material he lifted his head and reached around her back, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed and he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!"

Y/n's finger and her long nails pushed into Harry's hair and scraped at his scalp as he licked and pulled at each nipple. He buried his face between her tits and let out a low sound, like he was murmuring something to her but only her breasts were allowed to hear it.

When he sunk back down he pushed at her so she'd lie back and he started in on her clit, one hand holding her panties to the side as he devoured her glistening cunt.

She kept feeling like she was going to slide off the edge of the bed but Harry's grip on her kept her still. His tongue and his lips were magic as he drew her to her end. She yanked at his hair and babbled his name on repeat as her spine bowed off the bed when she came.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavy when she felt her body being pushed upward. She popped her eyes open and watched him roll a condom over his shaft before he kneed back up onto the bed next to her. He was stark naked. His body was insane. Thick muscle and masculine everything. Tattoos scatter over his arms and chest.

Fuck, she muttered under her breath.

"Flip over, for me," his deep voice was husky as he motioned toward her to move.

She rolled to her stomach and she felt his fingers slide between the band of her panties and her hips as he pulled them down her legs.

"Ass up a little. I want to see all of you, Y/n."

She grinned and turned to look at him over her shoulder as she lifted her hips and spread her thighs. His lips were parted as he grabbed her ass and squeezed, making her cheeks spread apart. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and then dipped in, kissing her pussy from behind before licking upward over her ass.

She squealed quietly and bit her lip, still watching him behind her as he lifted, a lopsided grin on his face. He gazed at her as he fisted the base of his cock and slid the head up and down her soaked folds before he tipped his hips to push in just the tip.

"Gorgeous. Gonna look even better wrapped around cock. You like anal?"

"Never tried it."

He licked his lips and pressed his lips together as he looked at the spot where his dick was pressed against her cunt, "Figured. S'alright. Pussy's my favorite anyway."

"We could try… if you want."

He looked back into her eyes, a cocky smile on his face, "Your little hole would need to be trained. And that takes time. So, there will be no anal tonight. Not gonna try and hurt you. But that's a cute thought."

He canted his hips inward, eyes on hers and her mouth dropped open when she felt her entrance splitting open for him. She was tight, but so slick, it only took a few slow thrusts until he was buried in with a low grunt. He pulled back and then pushed his entire length into the hilt.

"Fuck—fuck!" She cried and stuffed her face into the blankets.

"Too much?"

"No! It's so good. You're just so big…" She began to send her hips back against him and Harry slowly fucked in to match her pace. His eyes were everywhere. On her puss getting split open on his cock, the curve of her lower back, the swell of her ass.

He just knew she'd look so sweet with her ass stuffed too, but good things like that couldn't be rushed which was a shame.

Every thrust was gushy wet. Y/n bubbled out small moans every time his dick brushed deep into her guts. It was better than she imagined. The way he filled her to the brim was going to turn into an addiction. She'd never slept with any man that had her wanting seconds before they'd even finished.

"Oh my god…" she mewled into the comforter.

"Fuck, I know, baby…"

She fit him like a glove, it was perfect. He went in a little faster, balls thudding against her skin rhythmically making her bounce forward as she spread around his girth. When he ground in she arched her back deeply and let out a soft groan, her hands fisted at the blanket and Harry reached around and smeared his fingertips over her clit.

It had her panting and pushing into him feverishly. She'd needed the friction on her throbbing button and he'd found it easily, thick, rough fingerprints slicking back and forth as he rutted in and in. It sent electrical sparks over her limbs.

"Like that? Needs her clit touched? Shit baby, act like you've never been touched by a man right here before…" he plucked at her like he was playing the guitar and she began to fade, her moans getting caught in her chest.

He could feel her walls tightening around him as he drove in deep.

"Fuck, Harry— fuck!"

He grinned as he watched her shudder, "Give it up, Y/n. There you go…"

She began to pulse around him, a constant stream of nonsense falling from her lips as he stroked against her channel and pushed deep into her tummy, his fingers still working her clit with ease.

Just as her body had tipped and oxygen returned to her lungs he pulled out and she felt him taking her hips and turning her around to her back. Harry grabbed her ankles and lifted until each was settled over his shoulders and pushed back inside of her, cock drilling down to her core making her teeth chatter at the way he split her down the middle.

Harry leaned over her, cock buried deep as she watched her pretty face twist up with pleasure. Plapping into her, her tits wobbled as his balls tightened against his body. The harder he plunged in, the more her legs shook. Soon, her ankles had slipped down and her feet hit the mattress as he continued drilling into her. His face was flushed hot, lips parted, muscles tensed.

Reaching up to his neck she smoothed her fingers over his warm skin and he lowered his chest down to hers and kissed her. That filthy tongue ran over her lips and he sloppily sipped at her between sucking at her lips. Her brain had turned to jelly.

She felt his hand on her outer thigh squeezing and brushing as he fucked down into her. "Mmm… fuck, Y/n, m'gonna come…"

He trembled over her, thick thighs pressed down and flexed as he rutted in and in and in, and then… he stilled. A deep, guttural moan vibrated through his chest down into hers.

She sighed when she felt him throbbing, pumping into his condom. Her fingers caressed the muscles over his back and she gasped when he bucked in harshly, once more as he emptied the last of his come into the rubber wrapped around his cock.

He slowed his kisses until they were lazy little pecks and then he looked down at her, his chest heaving. She was already grinning up at him.

"What?"

She blinked her eyes, "That was fun."

He puffed out a breath, "I guess that's a good way to describe it."

Harry was a gentleman as he pulled out slowly and helped her off the bed and led her to his bathroom. He helped her clean up and listened to her tell him about her job —just reminding him that she was an adult after he commented on her being so young again.

When she picked her dress up off the floor and started to step into it, Harry frowned, "What are you doing?"

She stopped and raised her brows. "Getting dressed. Was gonna call an Uber. I'm sure you don't want a stranger in your house all night," she laughed.

Harry pulled at her hand, making her drop her dress, "What kind of men have you been hanging out with that let you leave in an Uber at 2 am? You'll stay here."

She opened her mouth and then closed it in surprise before tilting her head in confusion, "Really? I just assumed—"

"You'll stay the night here. There's no way in hell you're getting an Uber at this time of night. It's dangerous."

She grinned and shrugged, "Well then… can I have a shirt or something to sleep in?"

He placed his warm hands on her hips, "You can have a t-shirt if you like. I prefer to sleep naked myself."

"Oh yeah? I usually do too as a matter of fact."

He held her out in his arms and eyed her naked frame, "Looks like we're both good to go then. We'll get you sorted in the morning. I'll give you a ride home then."

"I think you just want to keep me here with you," she chuckled.

Harry shook his head and released her hips before he popped her on the bottom with his palm. She bleated out a laugh.

"Get your ass in bed before I change my mind."

"Yes, sir."

. .

→ PART 2 ←

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solardrop · 11 months ago

Text

silver.

aaron hotchner x reader.

summary: hotch really doesn't think getting old is sexy. tags: fluff. a suggestive line here or there but nothing crazy. age gap (reader in their 30s, hotch is 57). jack mentioned. i think this could be read as gn!reader but i could be wrong. just short and cute. word count: 1.0k a/n: last fics rules still apply. be nice to me! when i look up photos of hair dying on pinterest i get rainbow haired e-boys so accept this haircut photo <3 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

Your name echoes across the house when Aaron yells for you from the bathroom. Once you enter the space you're greeted by his hair spiked in every which way, covered in a brownish-black goop. His thick hands are gloved and hold a small black toothbrush-like applicator.

"Sweetheart, can you check if I missed a spot?" Aaron hands you the brush and tray of inky black dye. You make a show of rolling your eyes and pouting back at him in the mirror and you take the items from him.

"I forgot it was that time of month that you decided to cover up all your sexy.." you sigh.

"Really," he scoffs, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, "I thought all the sexy was gone when I shaved.'

You almost teared up remembering the loss of his beard. A case off the grid forced him to grow one out for a few weeks. You understandably jumped his bones upon seeing the new look when he returned. The extra hair provided some out-of-this-world sensations for your softest parts that you would never forget. Only for the wicked man to shave all of it after two days, citing the "professional dress code" of the FBI as the culprit.

You snap a latex glove onto your hand, "Shush and bend over, big guy."

He smiles and kneels to face you, his rough hands gripping the fat of your thighs. You slowly worked around his head, dabbing bits of dye in bare spots. Your fingers rake through the inky black mass on his head, gently massaging his scalp. Aaron hums and thanks you under his breath.

"Do you know why I started dying my hair so consistently?"

"To torture me?"

"No," he huffs," when Jack was about... eight? I had taken him on this trip with a couple of his friends and their fathers, it was fun, but at the end of the whole thing Jack pointed at the grays starting to grow out on my hairline and turned to his friends and said-"

"Baby no...."

"'Guys look! My daddy is sooo old!'"

You clamp your lips shut to hold in your laughter. You didn't want to embarrass him further, especially with the deep red flush rising up the nape of his neck.

"Oh honey Jack was still a baby then... kids are insane you know that"

" I do, and I know. I laughed it off. I know he didn't really mean anything by it, but I didn't know if he felt like the odd one out for having an old dad.." Aaron runs his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. "And now I don't want you to feel out of place either."

You pause at that. In the few years you and Hotch have been together, never has he shown any insecurity about the difference in age between you. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now if you had anything to do with it. You slicked his hair back with your hands and placed the clear complimentary shower cap in the box on his head, snickering at how silly he looked. Once you slide the slimy gloves off you set the timer on your phone and grasp the face of the man you loved so dearly, forcing him to rest his chin on your stomach and look into your eyes.

"You have less than thirty minutes to explain to me why you think I'd care about you looking old"

"you're young-"

"I'm in my thirties-"

"you're younger," he corrects "than me by quite a bit. All your friends have other young people to share their life and first experiences with. Meanwhile, you're stuck with a sixty-year-old-"

"You're fifty-seven-" Your eyes roll.

"a fifty-seven-year-old with a sassy kid turned angsty teenager for a child." he sighs, "Sweetheart I just don't want you to ever look at me and feel a loss."

You take a moment to scan his face. Despite the stupid shower cap mushrooming around his head, his face showed no amusement when he spoke. The sweet, shy smile he always sported around you was gone, replaced with a grimace and furrowed brow.

"Aaron I have never felt more loved, accepted, and safe than I have with you. I know you know that," you say.

He nods, pressing a quick peck to your belly button before looking at you. His eyes search yours for a moment of hesitation or change in resolve. but you stand your ground.

"The only thing I worry about with you on my arm is fighting off all the homewreckers."

He wheezes a laugh at this. Eventually having to stand up before he smears the dark dye all over you. He always does this. Laughs and acts like he wouldn't have crowds of people stop to fawn over his beauty if he let them.

"Remember that neighbor at the old apartment who would only stop by with cookies when she knew you were home?"

"Or the time Jack's classmate profiled their teacher's crush on you?"

"Don't even get me started on that detective JJ keeps telling me about from years ago in New Mexico. The male detective."

He smiles at you sheepishly, "You've made your point."

"If you want to dye your hair or shave to make yourself happy I think you should," you whisper, "but Aar I love every version of you possible"

You press your lips to his cheek before you continue, "You are the most beautiful, devastatingly sexy old man out. And I will still throw myself at you in public if you decide to finally ditch the box dye."

He smiles at you fully now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. He slides his lips against yours, grinning into the kiss before he pulls away to thank you.

"Maybe after this starts to grow out I'll see how I feel about the silver again." He looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He turns his head every which way to peek at the processing strands under the shower cap.

"Think about the beard too damn it.." you mumble. You begin to wander out of the bathroom when he yells for you again.

"Oh and sweetheart one more thing," you turn to look at him, confused when he stifles a laugh, "will you still think I'm sexy if I start balding like my father?"

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #aaron hotch x reader #mine

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blacksapphirecookies · 15 days ago

Text

ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴄᴇɪᴛ

ᴀɴᴏɴ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ : ʜɪɪ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ! ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ (ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴀʙʟʏ) ᴅᴏ ʜᴄꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜱᴍᴄ ɢꜰ ᴏʀ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ ᴀᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ + ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ꜱᴀᴘᴘʜɪʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ꜱᴇᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ? ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʙᴇ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪᴅᴍ!

^᪲ ⁞ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ : ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ ᴍɪʟᴋ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ / ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ : ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ : ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ( ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴀɢ ᴡɪꜱᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ )

ᴀ / ɴ : ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ. ʙᴇꜱɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ, ᴀɴᴏɴ ! ^^ OH my god i wrote like a whole story instead of writing the headcanons. JUST SKIP TO THE NEXT DIVIDER TO SEE THE ACTUAL HEADCANONS CAUSE IM NOT REMOVING WHAT I WROTE

this is longer than what I wanted it to be and that's my fault 😭

I could really see Shadow Milk either having a significant other, in this case- being a spouse, they would match his energy completely or they'll act the complete opposite of him. It's not like it would matter though, he'll still be headover heels for you regardless on how you act because you're his!

The best way that I could imagine the Beast of Deceit having a spouse is from an arranged marriage that the witches did at the start of your creation.

He quite literally picked you from the start, having you at his side even before he wasn't corrupted and placed into that godforsaken tree.

Having the two of you together before your husband's eventual capture makes a bit more sense due to how he doesn't exactly have the best way with friendships / relationships with other cookies without them being for his own benefit.

You weren't some tool to be used or pawn to shift into position whenever he wanted when he came back to ' achieve ' you. You were his balance, his obsession, his tether.

While Shadow Milk Cookie was trapped inside of the Silver Tree with the other Beast Cookies as punishment, you were with him. Not in the literal sense though, just hidden within the Farie Kingdom and under a new identity ( cool right !? )

The witches, due to the fear of having to deal with another huge panic around the world they created, chose to ' kill ' you off, deeming that you were also involved in the massive destruction that was caused that faithful day.

Their main goal was to keep the two of you away from eachother completely, aware of what might happen if your husband were to somehow get back in contact with you. Though, it seemed like their plan failed considering that as the Silver Tree grew weaker, so were the bounds of his power.

With the arrival of White Lily Cookie, and later Pure Vanilla Cookie and his friends, it ended up becoming clear to you that the seal's power was beginning to fade slowly, allowing your husband to communicate with you. At first, this was though slight visions of blue eyes appearing in your visions whenever you stared out in the distance for too long.

The visions only seemed to get worse overtime, now being more solid than translucent like before.

You can still remember the absolute shock that your being felt when you were jumpscared by your husband's.. spirt? You couldn't tell at first due to how it would fade when you stared at him for too long.

You turned sharply, breathcatching as a figure emerged from the haze, vague and shimmering like a memory half-remembered. The faint glow of blue eyes pierced the gloom, steady and unblinking. " You're here, " you whispered, voice barely more than a breath. The figure stepped closer, the outline of Shadow Milk Cookie materializing through the lingering shadows. His form was still intangible, shifting at the edges like smoke caught in a draft, but his blue-toned eyes light filled the room with a quiet intensity that made your heartache. He didn't speak at first. Instead, he reached out, a ghostly blue hand hovering just inches from yours, trembling with the weight of centuries. The space between you was charged, taut like a wire stretched to breaking, but no matter the distance, you could feel the tether connecting you-fragile but unyielding. " You. . stayed. "

Oh, the joy Shadow Milk Cookie felt when he first interacted with you after his centuries of confinement-! You could feel it ripple across your very soul, like a tidal wave crashing through everything you'd built to survive his absence.

He didn't speak at first, most likely due to him not being completely sure about the new chance in his physical form.

No clever words. No honeyed lies. No deception.

When he did start speaking to you, however, the conversations between yall would last forever- with the two of you making up for lost time.

From this point on, it felt like the world around you two was disappearing. All of the worries of the world seemingly fade away into obscurity.

When your husband eventually escaped from the Silver Tree, with a new body and everything, he was quick to come to you.

I think he'll be the type to gossip about how HORRIBLE of an experience it was to be trapped in that wretched tree for eons on end to you. As well as have you extremely close to him while doing so.

Expect a lot of physical touch from this man.

Years without form, sensation, or closeness have made him a creature of touch. He'll constantly have a hand on you in some way-fingers brushing your arm, an arm around your waist, sitting so close he's basically in your lap.

Hell, he would even wrap you around in his strings and you wouldn't even mind.

He's extremely playful with you, this being shown by the constant amount of times he'll pull pranks on you. Shadow Milk is also heavy on making you stuff, usually being puppets or plushies of things you like.

If Shadow Milk was in a relationship, his love language would definitely be gift-giving.

He would first start by gifting you things small before spending hours making you something intricate when he finds you taking more interest in what he has in store for you.

Drawing random designs for costumes and writing scenes in his plays would also be a huge thing in this relationship of yours.

Since you are his wife, Shadow Milk doesn't mind spending a couple of hours within the Spire of Shadows, making a plushie of a cakehound that looks nearly identical for the real thing.

Speaking of the Spire of Shadows, the two of you would spend days on end just reading and analyzing books that you guys could never finish reading before his capture.

As much as he hates to admit it, this has to be the only part of him that seemed to stay with him after being deemed as a ' Beast Cookie '.

Don't get me wrong, he still kept his silliness and playfulness to a minimum when he was Blueberry Milk Cookie, but that has been bumped up to a ten.

Since he was trapped up in that tree for so long, he just can't stand to not have him with you for an extensive period of time.

Poor guy is just extremely touch-starved and that's something you don't mind fixing.

The amount of cuddling that you two endure in a single day with eachother is unprecedented.

Sometimes, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple Cookie will walk into Shadow Milk and you cuddle and just stare at them until they leave ( I'll get into their section in a second ).

If you aren't into cuddling that much, the two of you will just remain to holding hands and hugging often.

With Black Sapphire and Candy Apple Cookie, it’s safe to say that they were a bit confused when they first met you in person. It almost felt like Shadow Milk kept you a secret from them until they met you.

I like to imagine that Shadow Milk made Black Sapphire and Candy Apple his servants while he was still in the Silver Tree, doing so by corrousing them into coming near the tree and communicating to them at a distance.

So, when Shadow Milk goes and finds you within the Farie Kingdom while they were still technically living there, they were confused.

Especially Candy Apple Cookie.

She was absolutely livid when she first found out about your existance.

Her master randomly having some. . other cookie show up and take all of his wonderful and graceful attention away from her was a big no-no.

She made it her number one goal to avoid you at all cost and just envy you from the sidelines, gossiping about you with Black Sapphire whenever they were alone. Though, they did get caught once doing this by Shadow Milk Cookie, which led to some. . unconfidental punishments and rules being put in place.

Black Sapphire, on the other hand, was more accepting when the two of you first met. Yeah, he didn’t know you and what threat you could’ve potentially held for his boss, but he wasn’t sure if there was to begin with.

He had never seen Shadow Milk Cookie act this way towards anyone before and it almost felt unnatural for him.

Unlike how Candy Apple would avoid you, he would still communicate with you, being rather pleased to have a different personality around him besides ones that were just mainly consisting of chaos.

But, he’ll still keep the talking to a minimum, only communicating with you when he found appropriate.

Overtime, as the years went on with you four being located in the same spire, they eventually come to like you.

Candy Apple Cookie, as much as she hated it at first, actually began to bond with you on some stuff. I mean, you two both loved Shadow Milk Cookie, so that was a start, right?

Things between you and the apple-themed cookie only seemed to grow after she attempted to trick a group of cookies into going into the spire ( i wonder who ).

You were there for her when she had gotten herself beaten up, and you tended to her wounds without a care about how Candy Apple felt about you. This, and Shadow Milk's constant attempts to try and get her to act right around you, helped your ' friendship ' with her become less strained.

It would be a little weird for Candy Apple to still have a heavy crush on Shadow Milk while he has a wife, especially with her seeing his wife as a mother figure. So, I think that her being head over heels for him would eventually fade away or disappear completely, in respect for you two.

With you being her mother figure, this meant that Candy Apple Cookie no longer hides from you.

She's more talkative and playful around you, contrasting how she would act to you in the past.

It was odd to you at first, but you two would only talk about Shadow Milk Cookie when you two started talking.

Candy Apple would practically harass you into giving you more information about her boss, like you didn't know who he was like she did.

This kind of behavior from her did eventually fade away when she found out how serious the relationship you had with was.

Could see her pulling a bunch of pranks on other fairies back at the Faerie Kingdom together, laughing your butts off as they ran away confused and scared by the threat of ' getting crushed ' by the girl's apple hammer.

You try not to indulge in her chaotic antics, but you just can't help yourself !

Seeing the pure happiness on her face whenever she's able to scare someone out of their dough makes you happy.

The attention that she once gave to her master has shifted onto you, nearly always being at your side no matter where you went.

She was always Apple Faerie Cookie whenever she was with you, and that was something that you cherished about the girl.

Black Sapphire, as he grew to know you, doesn't exactly see you as a mother figure at first. It felt more like a transactional relationship at most.

The best way I could see you two getting close is by your personalities colliding in a certain way, though a portion of it did have to deal with how you were able to keep Candy Apple in check alongside him.

He sees you as the peacemaker around the spire and he's very appreciative to have you fill that spot.

The jewel-themed cookie is very fond of the way you and he will gossip about other cookies for days on end, with a cup of tea in front of you both.

He can't help but thank you for the constant slander that you give him about other cookies. It felt a tinch bit boring on his radio show lately, but you never fail to give him the motivation that he needs.

I don't know why but I could also see Black Sapphire's love language being quality time with anyone who comes off as a mother figure to him.

You two, with Candy Apple, will be in disguises and just shop together when your husband is busy, finding cool trinkets and clothes that you would bring back to the spire.

Back with your husband, he isn't exactly happy when he sees his servants becoming more attached to you. It was taking up time that you could've been spending with him !

However, as much as he wants to try and convince you that they were just there to serve him and you alone, he ultimately ends up failing due to how much you've grown to like the two servants he had.

Jealousy was a BIG thing for him.

So, with communication, you're able to split your time from Candy Apple and Black Sapphire with your husband once again.

I wouldn't exactly call you guys ' family ', since Shadow Milk doesn't exactly treat the two like his spawn for it to make sense. But, the title ' servant ' has turned more loose.

It's almost like with you around, the relationship Shadow Milk had with his servants had become more peaceful instead of just being purely about control. Yeah, they'll still answer to his bidding and be his partners in crime, but it no longer felt like that was always case.

If you considered his two lackeys ' family ' of any sorts, he'll bound to make changes with the way he acts towards them in order to make you happy.

Though, he does keep the way he used to act toward them still apparent whenever you're out of the picture.

Besides that, the four of you are a pretty decent ' family '.

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Woof, grrr, woof

No content warnings

Your trip to the vet turns up nothing. No microchips, and none of the staff recognize the wolf-dog. They’re the only vet in town too, and he looks too pristine to have come from another…

“You’re a weird little guy, huh?” you muse on the car ride to the pet store.

The vet office was kind enough to make a file for him, standing name “Buddy”. If you get to keep him, you’re definitely changing it. They also gave you a spare leash so that you wouldn’t have to leave him in the car while you shop.

It’s a pitifully flimsy thing, but the dog seems leashed trained and does tug. Could probably let him off it and he’d stay glued to your side.

The shopping is even weirder. He doesn’t seem very distracted by treats or food, only snaps at other dogs when they get into his personal space. Otherwise, he just stays right next to you, tongue occasionally lapping at your hanging fingers.

“Beautiful dog,” a man says to you. An older guy, rugged, looking at toys.

You shift. “Thank you.”

“Should really be feeding a beast like that a raw diet.”

“Raw diet?”

“What they get in the wild. All that processed shite ain’t good for ‘em.”

You thank him for the advice over the dog’s grumbling. A quick internet search on your phone reveals it’s not a bad idea, actually. Not too expensive either.

“Raw it is,” you muse.

He tilts his head, make a low “woof”. You scratch absently at his ears as you continue shopping. Let him pick toys - his favorite a squeaky grenade of all things that he refuses to put down. You get a big matching set of food and water bowls, a cushy dog bed, a parasite repellent. Even some dog pads in case he’s not house trained.

You stall in the leash aisle, a bit overwhelmed by the choices of leashes and collars and harnesses.

“How do you feel about pink…?”

Snort.

“Yeah didn’t think so. I didn’t like the rhinestones anyway. You’d probably end up eating one and shitting glitter.”

A long whine.

“Oh, sorry, is that embarrassing? Poor love.”

The gentlest scrape of big teeth at your knuckles. You chuckle and tap two fingers on his sandpaper tongue. His head jerks back, tongue flicking in offense.

“S’what you get, dummy.”

Shaking your head, turn back to the selection. The pup huffs, shakes his head, and noses at something lower. It’s a deep green - army, you think the shade is called - collar with a silver buckle instead of a snap clip.

“Not bad,” you muse. “Matches the whole woodsy vibe we’ve got going.”

You find the matching leash and harness set, dropping it in your cart. You receive several more compliments on your big gorgeous dog, though he refuses to let anyone pet him. You awkwardly make excuses that he’s a recent rescue and try to avoid further conversation.

The last stop is at the kiosk for a tag. You can’t just let him go without one, but you despise officially naming him “Buddy.”

You end up just putting your name, number, and address on there. A matte black heart engraved with silver.

“What do you think?” you ask, offering it for a sniff.

The dog doesn’t even pretend to be interested, just takes the opportunity to drag his tongue over your wrist again. You huff and wipe off on your pants.

“Gonna have to take another bath at this rate.”

You ignore his grumble - it’s uncanny at this point, how quick he is to respond - and guide him out to the car. He hops into the passenger seat, flops over into your lap first chance he gets. You have to nudge his snout away from your crotch again, but he seems satisfied with a hand smoothing over his head.

Home is warm when you arrive. You set up your new dog’s things, buckle him into his new collar, tag and all.

“There,” you coo, dropping smooches all over his head. “Look at how handsome you are, sweet boy! Can I have a kiss?”

You yelp as he barrels you over onto your back, well over 100 pounds of wolf-dog stretching over you. You turn your face away as he licks at your mouth, trying to get inside. You remember reading somewhere that that’s a wolf thing; just another tick in the “hybrid” box.

“Gross, gross! Nooooo,” you laugh, covering his snout. You squeal as his tongue flickers between two fingers. “Nasty boy! You’re so rude!!”

He finally lets you up with much coaxing, looking far too pleased with himself.

You make yourself dinner, providing your dog with scraps of chicken and unseasoned veggies based on your online reading. He seems happy with the offering, eats it all up with gusto.

As the evening comes, you stretch out on the couch. Finally feel brave enough to put on a scary movie now that you’ve got a big-ass deterrent.

Your dog even climbs up to cuddle, head on your chest while you hug him through scary parts. The really interesting part comes at the end, during the climax.

“Heeeeeere’s Johnny!”

Your new companion perks up, eyes on the screen.

“Oh? Is… is that your name? Is your name Johnny?”

His head snaps around to you, ears straight up and eyes bright.

“Johnny…” you croon, trying it out.

He makes a little “boof” noise and wriggles closer.

“Johnny baby,” you continue, grinning. “Johnny boy. John John the bon bon.”

It’s utter nonsense, but it makes his tail thump against the cushions, leaving slobbery kisses of excitement all over your neck and jaw.

“Alright alright!” you laugh, dropping a kiss on the top of his nose. “Johnny it is. Thank fuck I don’t have to come up with a name. Was thinking of calling you Philip or Simon or something.”

You yelp as he starts to make gagging sounds, nearly kicking him off the couch before it seems to subside.

“Good lord, bud,” you breathe as he grumbles and settles his head on your thigh, puffing out a big breath through his nose. “You’re gonna be a handful.”

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @mrs-starkgaryen @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you almost everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have rarely known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Blue Jay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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chiming-bluebells · 2 days ago

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༘⋆ ꙳ what’s in my satchel? . . . fantasy dr edition! ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚｡

˖˙ ᰋ ⋆ ˚ ⊹ യ *◞ ˚ ꕀ .*

is it cursed? is it enchanted? perhaps even haunted? who knows. i put a spell on it myself during one of my lessons in magical studies… you decide whether that’s a good or a bad thing.

MAGICAL SATCHEL ꕤ the appearance & its quirks.

my satchel in my fantasy dr is one of my most prized possessions; custom made by some of the most talented weavers in terabitia,, and brought with me everywhere.

it is woven with golden threads and crafted with the finest of indigo-stained velvets. it’s embroidered, intricately beaded with crystal gemstones and freshwater pearls, and decorated with gilded charms and tassels. also!! it chimes like tiny bells where it sways in my hand!! (i feel like a magical fairy)

as previously mentioned: it is enchanted. meaning: it is made to carry just about anything without running out of space or growing too heavy. perks of being a sorceress, i suppose.

the inside has multiple compartments for multiple purposes. let’s go over them!

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᨳ

i , FIRST COMPARTMENT ꕤ practical, anything i might need close at hand.

◞ silver dagger : not so much for protections sake, but more so for paying my respect and showing my gratitude. i was gifted the dagger by a sailor i had known in a previous life. i carry it with me everywhere.

◞ coin purse : for when i’m visiting the marketplace (i always make sure to buy at least one pomegranate)

◞ journal : i cannot go anywhere without carrying something to write or draw on. so, naturally, i have to bring my journal with me wherever i go.

◞ enchanted fountain pen : no ink needed. just intention and a little bit of belief.

◞ hip flask : filled with water (let’s hope)

◞ wrapped bonbons : i might’ve mentioned my sweet tooth once or twice before.

◞ map of terabitia & neighbouring kingdoms : i already know my kingdom like the back of my hand… but, you know, just in case!!

◞ lighter : you never know when you might need one.

◞ hand desinfectant : is the year currently 998 A.D. in my dr? yes. is hygiene still a thing in said dr? absolutely.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᨳ

ii , SECOND COMPARTMENT ꕤ anything beauty.

◞ seashell compact : containing tinted lip balm made from beeswax, rose petals, and honey. the gilded seashell compact was a gift from the merpeople of the sinking islands. the compact is also refillable!

◞ tiny glass vial of perfume : a perfume bottle carrying my favourite signature fragrance. portable and practical.

◞ hair comb : with sturdy metal teeth to brush through my tresses.

◞ folding mirror & powdered blush : cute. foldable. practical. every girl’s best friend. the compact also includes a powdered rosy blush and powder puff, for good measure.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᨳ

iii , THIRD COMPARTMENT ꕤ items of a sorceress on the go.

◞ deck of tarot cards : as adviced by kamaria. she wants me to practice using them whenever i have the chance.

◞ raw black tourmaline crystal : for protection.

◞ drawstring pouch : made out of silk and contains amethyst and clear quartz, labradorite and moonstone, and some dried wildflowers and herbs.

◞ tiny glass vial filled with moonwater : charged moonwater on the go.

◞ a golden key : but where does it lead? or does it even lead anywhere at all? that’s a secret just for me!

inspired by this post by @eddieisashifter !

#chiming ⊹ bluebells #lexi’s fantasy dr #lexi’s ⊹ realities #desired reality #reality shifter #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifter #shifters #shifting #quantum jumping #loassumption #law of assumption #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting diary #shifting motivation #shiftingrealities

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namelessgakusei · 29 days ago

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EP 3.2 Take aim

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent.

EP 3.1 This is how you shoot (prev.)

EP 3.3 And pull the trigger (cont.)

Synopsis: The lady reveals a bit of your past and the Vice President reveals Dante's. You get ambushed by the White Rabbit.

"Is that how you treat someone who graciously offered their lap for you to sleep on?"

"Did you graciously have to make the joke?" You snapped back with huff, with the crown of your head throbbing from the impact on Dante's chin. He only smirked and shrugged through his binds, "Hey, I can't pass off the opportunity served to me on a silver platter."

"Will you two please stop flirting and get us out of here already?" A familiar voice cuts in before you could maul Dante despite the situation.

"Enzo?" You turned to the other bound person in the room, although the broker only has a normal set of ropes tied around him, unlike the heavy, steel-like cuffs tied to the wall, around you two and Dante. Now that you noticed it, only you got your feet bound too. "Why are you here—?" You squinted in confusion.

You remember being caught in a trap last night, due to emotions getting the best out of the both of you, resulting in the current predicament. You got to say, that lady has a knack for riling people up. What you don't understand is the use of your adoptive father in this situation. Besides his connections, he's pretty useless in the fighting side of things.

Since you're also on the same boat, you might as well try to get the most out of things. You can't hear the engine but you can feel the movement, this vehicle's going fast, are you in a highway? There's a glass window across from where you three are being kept, if you could keep your balance, you might be able to get a decent view of the road.

"I see that you're awake." The lady speaks on the other side of the barrier, without even looking at you, busy trying on a new weapon. You nearly toppled from the gas still being in your system, but your back was supported by Dante's head before you could fall. "Yo, lady!"

"Not to be a backseat driver, but I'm pretty sure this violates the Geneva Convention of something." Dante barks after peeking his head from behind you. The walls are enforced, but with how there are spaces between the tiles, you don't reckon that it's for design purposes, there's something behind it. The rope connecting both you and Dante to the wall is heavy when you try to move, you can't escape this one from bending your limbs. Only Dante might be able to force these open. There's also an unidentified clump of metal at the far corner of the room, but it looked more like trash than something important.

The lady's voice made you glance at the front seat. "The Geneva Convention only applies to humans." She glares. You're on an unfamiliar road. There are only two of DARKCOM'S forces present, one as a driver including the lady. Her new weapons seem to be reacting to her wrist bands, you should probably aim for it once you're free. The driver is quiet, but you remember meeting eyes with him last night, he's the only one who wasn't grinning down at you two.

He looked remorseful.

At her words, Enzo enthusiastically crawled forwards with a hopeful smile, brandishing the ropes around his body in hopes of being freed. "I'm a human!"

You might be able to use him.

"In your case, I think the UN would understand." He faltered at that, and you slumped back to the floor with a sigh. Where are the others? You don't see Dante's amulet from the lady. Were you being transported separately? Where? Why? Why is DARKCOM here? Why now?

"This has gotta be the second-worst job you ever gave me." You yawned when Dante snapped at Enzo, not wanting to deal with whatever ruckus they'll get into again. You're still tired... This sucks. "Oh, you mean after the Raccoon City job?"

Ah, Raccoon City. That was fucked up if not for who you met along the way.

"Third-worst."

"God, I should've ran away with Leon when he offered." You groaned loudly.

Dante sounded scandalized at that, gasping loudly and scooting beside you with an offended expression. "Wha- hey!"

You smiled and turned to the DARKCOM members, cutting him off. "I think we started on the wrong foot, miss. Of course, we'll get angry when you suddenly barge in like that. You should've just told us what you want and we might've agreed on a resolution." Your change in attitude confuses the men behind you, shrugging to themselves over your action.

"Oh, right! I didn't see you yesterday night, sir. Only the lady came to get us after all. Are you perhaps the back-up?"

He twitched at that, focus momentarily taken away from the wheel. He looks jittery. His silence and small acknowledgement from the way he turned at you egged you on to continue.

"Or a newcomer?"

He glanced at the rearview mirror. He's fresh meat. Maybe that's why he looked guilty.

Having empathy is nice and all, but not in a job such as in DARKCOM. How did this guy got accepted? That is the elite force that deals with supernatural shit, not where you sympathize with your targets. But if you appeal to him, he's more likely to slip up than the lady. "I see! I hope you'll be gentler than her, we've been beaten up quite hard..." You sighed. "It really hurt. On top of that, we're called demons despite proving otherwise. Isn't it unfair? Don't you think so?" You put on the most pitiful voice and face you could, looking up at the mirror where the driver's also observing you, this time looking extremely conflicted. Does he have kids? You're fairly confident about how young you look. If you could sow discord—

You got pulled to the wall before you knew it, back slamming at the metal and nearly knocking you out from the force. Enzo gaped while Dante screamed at the sight, charging towards the lady, who also activated his restraints for him to be pulled back alongside you. Fuck that hurt.

"There's a reason why you're bound like that. We put on a helmet just in case you tried any more tricks. But, clearly the Hellblood's under your control." She sneered back at Dante. "Fucker kept removing it to the point of unrecognizable." Is that what that thing at the corner is?

"I know your games, (Y/N)." She narrowed her eyes on you. "Those questions weren't harmless, I know you're already plotting to escape."

"No shit, who wouldn't." You snarked back with a groan, the pain waking you up completely.

The lady frowned and crossed her arms, fully facing the three of you behind the glass. "It's a shame. I've read about you. Child of a former DARKCOM officer who had their whole family killed by demons. Logically, you should be on our side, fighting against the vermin who hurt you, and yet you're fraternizing with one." Tsk. What a way to dig up old memories. You're not that surprised that neither Enzo nor Dante knew, as the former only thought of you as a lost child and you already met the latter while living with your adoptive father. "You're one of them?!"

"I wouldn't be here with you if I was." You replied with an annoyed sigh.

Yet the lady kept babbling about setting you on the right path once you arrived at the headquarters. You bite a joke about getting brainwashed like her to avoid any more repercussions. While you appreciate a job offer, not at the expense of Dante. Though, he seems unphased at the situation, just struggling to get out of his binds. What kind of material are these made of? To think he can't brute force his way with this...

"I thought you're supposed to be the strongest demon hunter alive." You chuckled at his strained expression. He insists that the lady put something in him on that injection, that's why he's weaker than usual, but quickly adds up that he's already recovering with a huff. "I bet you wish that your Leon's here with you instead, huh?" Dante looked away with another huff, lightly tapping your thigh with his, but before you could complain about his sulking, you got the message.

You glanced up to see those two occupied, and turned to your side to signal him to get his boot closer. Upon getting both the buckles out, you two worked quietly to dismantle the cuffs from behind. The hope for escape was suddenly cut short when a voice boomed from a speaker. It's the Vice President, William Baines.

He praised Dante's abilities, not acknowledging either you or Enzo. Good, you could use that to focus on breaking free. Baines quotes that Lieutenant Arkham claims him to be part demon, which is something Dante immediately refutes, claiming that while he has abilities, it's just some weird mutation.

Arkham? Is that the lady's last name?

"Your mother and your brother, they're both killed by demons, is that right?" His statement made both you and Dante stop to look up at the speaker in apprehension. How do they know that? How much do they already know?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all have dead families and traumatic childhoods." Arkham mutters under her breath.

Both of you turned to your adoptive father, silently judging him for how much he revealed despite trying to convince you that he didn't talk. He eventually confessed that he did, but insisted that he's also a victim in this. Baines continued with a question about Dante's father, to which the young man replied that he hadn't met him with a conflicted expression. This is getting on your nerves, that man kept speaking about how he can still be saved if he proves his worth to God. You scoffed. Is he one of those crazy religious type of guys? Did DARKCOM turn into a cult?! Maybe you dodged the bullet with how you didn't end up with them instead.

Arkham cuts in and insisted that it's a waste of time to try and "save" Dante, suggesting that you're enough to take back with them, insisting that no matter what, Dante is a demon and an enemy. Baines corrects her, saying that while her passion is her strength, she needs to see the whole picture. Dante is an asset to fight off other demons. What?!

They plan to use Dante?! You swivel to his direction, worry crossing your features, but he only grinned in response, silently urging you to break free from your binds too. You expected this. Of course you'll consider using him if you're in their shoes too. Someone with supernatural abilities that's strong enough to fight off demons? Forget using unorthodox methods, he's a living one man army. But that's different. You're not one of them. And Dante's...

The vehicle comes to a stop, and when you looked up, it seems like there's traffic in front. The driver's comment about checking it out confirmed your suspicions, making you two hurry with jamming the buckles in the cuffs. "I've figured you out, Hellblood." What now?? Arkham's voice echoes from beyond the glass, her expression shooting daggers from the mirror. "I don't know what kind of pact you made with (Y/N) for you to come to their beck and call, but do you really think this whole jabbering moron act was going to work?"

Dante tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "Uh, maybe. What act are you talking about?"

"The one where you don't know you're a demon? You just happen to be walking around with half the key to Hell around your neck?" Key to what?!

"Key to hell?" Both you and Dante looked at her incredulously. "Whoa, woah, woah." He chuckles, "I think you've all got the wrong necklace, seriously."

"It's just some old family heirloom my mom gave me."

The moment he said that, a shockwave violently shook the vehicle, throwing you three against each other. Soon, more quakes appeared, and over the small window you can see from where you're at, debris from a destroyed building is falling straight to the road, damaging the cars around. The lady frantically contacted her squad, yelling over the speaker while looking around for the source of the bombings. She locked eyes at the perpetrator from above, one beyond your line of sight, but judging from her horrified expression, it ain't human.

Your car toppled over from an explosion after that.

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye @that-dumb-bitch @sleepykittycx @sidewalkenforcer

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc #dmc x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #devil may cry x reader insert #dmc x reader insert #gaku's works!

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year ago

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QUEEN’S THRONE. 18+

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

> the first image has no implication of readers skin tone, the picture itself has the feel of the fic!!

word count. 2041

summary. you have been feeling insecure and been nitpicking yourself apart. bucky notices and shows you how much he loves your body by asking you to sit on his face

warnings. 18+ only!! reader is feeling insecure within her body and weight, descriptions involving self doubts, little bit of body worship, cunnilingus, face sitting, bucky being a munch and cuming untouched. minors dni

based on this request

No one ever really prepares you for how difficult it is to like yourself, to find parts of your body you don't hate. To not tear yourself apart over things you deem ugly or heinous.

There's no manual you get for counteracting these doubts in your mind. You're supposed to trick yourself into thinking otherwise - to deceive the mistrust in your brain. But sometimes, the lies you tell yourself to feel better have no effect on you - the affirmations you repeat in rituals feeling like robotic words from self-help blogs.

You stand naked in front of the full-length mirror in your room, towel on the floor pooled around your ankles. Damp strings of hair collecting on your shoulders, the almost dry strands indicating the time you've stood looking at yourself.

The skin under your eyes soaked with tears, flesh sore and tender from the last near twenty minutes of picking yourself apart. Your gaze hones in on yourself in the mirror, looking at the reflection of your thighs, mindlessly staring at the chub you consider ugly.

Your eyes sadly trail up to your stomach, taking note of the wideness of your hips and patches of stretch marks that litter those areas. Seeing yourself in the reflection after a day of feeling bad about yourself was not a healthy coping mechanism, nor was it one you would encourage - but there was just something inside of you, something inside your brain telling you to nitpick your 'problem' areas.

It was like there was an evil little gremlin in your mind that made things worse for yourself. That made you give in to the doubts and insecurities - that made you believe them.

Sometimes, you had a better hold on that gremlin, quietening that voice with your own, but on others, like today, that was not the case. You had a difficult day, feeling like a sore thumb everywhere you went - feeling like you stood out in all the worst ways. But that was not the truth - the people you passed on the street were too preoccupied with their own spiral of doubt and shame to even notice your 'problem' areas.

But, right now, you had no space left for rationality - that loud, pitiful voice overshowing the logical parts of your brain.

You hear a light knock on the door, the sound snapping you out of thought.

"You've been in there a while. Everything okay?" your boyfriend, James, calls out, his tone soft.

You clear your throat and grab an oversized tee - throwing on the closest one you can find. "Yeah, out in a minute," you reply, evening your voice to avoid detection.

"Mind if I come in. Need to grab something," Bucky asks, words muffling behind the closed door.

You hesitate momentarily. "Okay."

The door opens, and Bucky steps into the room, eyes immediately landing on the back of you - head cocking to the side suspiciously. He picks up a t-shirt he pretended to need and walks around the bed to you on the other side - standing beside you as you look out the window.

"What you looking at?" he asks, subtly scoping you out.

"Just been looking at the moon," you lie, nodding to the silver crescent in the night sky.

Though he doesn't believe you, keeping his eyes on you as you try to redirect his attention. He extends his neck, reaching his head out to see more than just the side of your face - to see the giveaway he knew was there.

He twists you around more to look at him, making you show your face that you've been trying to hide. His eyes land on yours momentarily before you divert them away, turning from his gaze almost shamefully. He takes note of the sore under your eyes, how they look damp and swollen - how tired you look.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" he asks, worry evident in his voice. "What's the matter?" he repeats quieter, features softening as he looks at you.

"Nothing," you shrug, turning away from him. "Probably just tired," you partially lie.

He parts focus from you and begins to place together the pieces you weren't willing to share. He glances around the room until he lands on the mirror, the towel on the floor confirming his theory.

Poking his neck out, trying to meet your gaze again, he calls your name - trying to refocus you.

"You have to stop doing that to yourself," he murmurs, twisting you around to him for the final time. "You're so mean to yourself, and you don't deserve it," he softly shakes his head, reinforcing his words.

"I wasn't doing that," you reply, bottom lip beginning to tremble with your lie. "I don't do— I don't do that anymore."

His head tilts to the side, not believing you. "Honey," he coos, drawing out the term of endearment as he brings you in for a hug - wrapping you up in an embrace.

"I don't," you continue, voice almost breaking. "I don't," you repeat, shaking your head softly in the crook of his neck.

"Okay," he hums, brushing comforting strokes up your back, soothing you. "I know," he murmurs.

He holds you like that, large hands engulfing the middle of your back, caressing you with delicate touch and waiting for you to pull away.

"I'm sorry," you sniffle, backing away as you wipe your nose on your hand. "I'm being stupid," you shrug with a weak smile, self-depreciation creeping in.

Bucky shakes his head firmly, a soft furrow of his brows indicating his distaste for the topic. He extends his hands to your face, placing palms over your cheeks - stilling your face and making you look at him. "Stop it," he scolds, voice warm and gentle. His hands secure on your face, eyes boring into yours. "You have to stop doing that."

You sigh, a slow, uneasy exhale leaving your lips as if to steady yourself.

"I think you're perfect," he whispers, pressing a kiss onto your cheek - absorbing the tear from your skin. "I wish you could see it too."

His hands leave the placement on your cheeks, moving down to rest on your hips over your tee. One flesh, one metal sitting on the curve. He keeps his eyes locked on you, looking for signs of discomfort, only to find none - your gaze trusting and enamoured.

Bending at the knee in front of you and at eye level with your 'problem' areas, he glides his hands up your outer thighs - palms running over them intently. He keeps his eyes locked on your upper legs, watching the soft jiggle of the chub - utterly captivated by their beautiful shape.

He hesitantly runs his hands higher and towards your hips, forearms catching on the hem of your t-shirt, rising and revealing your bare pussy underneath. He inhales harshly, the lewd sight of you mere inches away from your face.

He presses soft kisses over your plump thighs, almost worshipping you - on his knees, kissing parts of you he adores most. He glances up to meet your gaze, your eyes already locked on him.

His kisses trail higher, lining up the crease between cunt and thigh, working up the cute swell of your tummy. "You're beautiful," he murmurs,

words muffling into your hip. "And so perfect."

You rake your fingers into his hair, softly stroking his scalp - all thoughts from earlier dissipating slowly, everything feeling inconsequential with your pretty boyfriend on his knees between your legs.

"Sit on my face," he mutters, pulling away from your stomach to look up at you. "I want you on my face."

Your half-lidden eyes fling open, shock almost slapping you across the face. "What?" you question, gently tugging Bucky's head away from your tummy. "No," you shake your head. "I'll hurt you."

He faintly chuckles as he stands, leaning back onto the mattress. "You won't," he smiles, resting his head on the pillows behind, getting comfortable. "Come on," he nods you over, beckoning you to your throne.

"I don't know," you reply sheepishly, glancing over him.

"You don't have to sit— just hover."

You step closer and kneel on the bed, pausing like you're debating yourself. "I don't want to squash you."

"You won't," he shakes his head, his expression eager. "Just... come on."

With a gentle sigh and a nod, you crawl up the bed, scooching along the mattress on your knees until you're beside his head. You grip the headboard for support as you lift a leg, placing it on the other side of his head, situating yourself in a hover over his face.

"I don't want to hurt you— please tell me if I do," you worry, lifting the hem of your t-shirt to get a better look at him below.

"Promise," he says lowly, placing his hands on the swell of your thighs, slowly guiding your pussy closer.

He lays his tongue flat against the slit of your cunt, an immediate pleased hum muffling into your folds. The warm contact of his tongue makes your thighs tremble and breath hitch, everything feeling new from this heightening position.

With light pressure, he swipes through your pussy lips, tongue lapping you in a leisure rhythm as the tip of his nose bumps at your clit.

His palms graze over your thighs, reaching up to the crease where he can get a hold of you and push you down onto his face. But you notice his pawing and swat his hands off - raising yourself back into a hover and lifting further away.

Bucky doesn't let you go far before he's pushing you back down, a firm grip on your waist keeping you still. "Stay," he muffles into your cunt, caressing it with slow, sloppy kisses.

He laps at your pussy, burying his tongue further into the wet warmth of you - repeated pleasure-filled groans vibrating against you as you give into the bliss. You finally allow yourself to enjoy the moment without doubt getting in the way - all worry slowly being replaced by euphoria as you sink further onto his face.

Meeting his gaze over the top of your pussy, he gives you a wink - the act like silent praise, him voicelessly applauding you for tuning out the voice in your head.

With one hand on the headboard, you dip the other down, circling the ache in your clit a few times before moving into the short, dark brown hairs at the top of his head. Tugging on his hair as if you're holding him there.

His grip on your waist trails down, moving back to the plush of your thighs where he squeezes - fingers digging into the doughy flesh. He holds you there, muffling moans against your folds as he coats the insides of his boxers in a sheen of his cum - the taste and feel of you alone, enough to send him over the edge.

You twist your neck, looking over your shoulder to the tented cock in his sweats, his head protruding through the wet patch of where he just came. A breath gets caught in your throat at the lewd image, and it all begins to feel like too much, all your senses consumed in the feeling.

With the knot tightening in your tummy, you feel yourself grow closer to the edge - the soft jerk of your hips indicating the closeness of your climax. Within moments, you're cuming on Bucky's tongue, whining broken and spluttered noises into the air.

He continues to hold you there, making out with your cunt through your orgasm - lapping up everything that seeped out. Letting you smear your juices on the bottom half of his face.

You lift your leg from the other side of his head, moving from his face and flopping backwards onto the bed. Laying heads and tails, completely spent.

But Bucky follows after you - not letting you get far. And before you have a second to process it, he's back between your legs, lips kissing at the soft plush of your inner thighs.

Poking his head up to look at you, he asks. "One more?"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader smut #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #winter soldier smut #marvel smut

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guess-my-next-obsession · 8 months ago

Text

the alchemy | v. the confession

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel find peace after a hard day, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.

chapter rating: E (18+ only, MINORS DNI, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), unprotected piv, joel has a filthy mouth, appearance of this man’s obvious breeding kink, angst to end it all--may contain some typos but i can’t be bothered to check)

wc: 4.4k

series masterlist | previous chapter

The waiting room of the doctor’s office you were interviewing at for a temp job as an administrative assistant while you awaited replies from more long-term positions was bleak and empty. The cold space was bright with overhead fluorescent lighting, the soft hum of a court TV show pairing horribly with the soft clacks of the receptionist’s keyboard. It was the perfect recipe for a headache, if your earlier conversation with your father hadn’t already given you one.

He’d been on your ass about keeping up with your chores, and though you admittedly had fallen behind on your end of the bargain, it wasn’t like you could tell him why you’d been too busy to chip in lately.

I’ve been busy falling in love with your good friend, dad didn’t seem like a good way to get yourself back into his good graces.

So, instead of prepping for your interview, you passive-aggressively tended to the sink full of dishes, only for him to switch gears and gripe that he didn’t mean you had to do them then and there.

Just another reason why you needed to start earning some money of your own so that you could find a small place and put some much needed distance between you and your father.

When the doctor and owner of the small practice finally called you back—twenty minutes past your agreed upon time—your head was pounding. If you hadn’t been so desperate to land a job, you might’ve slipped out at the five minute mark, but as it stood, you needed to see this shitty interview through.

For your sanity.

For some privacy.

For the potential to not have to sneak out every night just to see Joel.

JOEL

It had been a long fucking day.

Between the incessant ache in his lower back from yesterday’s job putting up drywall and the shipment of tile for his latest contract—a suburban couple’s renovation of their first home together—arriving cracked, he was desperate to get home and doze away on the couch with a cold beer.

Sarah was off at her friend’s house for the night, which meant he had the night to himself—unless you were able to sneak over and offer him some much welcomed company for the night.

But he wasn’t counting on that fact, not when your dad had been there to watch Sarah pack her overnight bag into Mrs. Jacobs’ silver minivan earlier that morning.

It didn’t stop him from hoping, nonetheless.

As he pulled his pickup into his driveway, Joel was surprised to find the exact person he’d been hoping to see sitting on the front step of his place. He hopped out of the truck with a newfound purpose and tried to tame the boyish grin creeping onto his face as he took you in. You looked more corporate than you usually did, a pair of slacks and a button-down blouse taking the place of your usual t-shirt and jeans, but you looked no less beautiful than you always did. A natural, effortless thing that had every nerve in his body alight with the need to get his hands on you.

“Hey,” you greeted him, a small smile lifting one corner of that mouth he loved so much.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, scanning the cul de sac as he stepped up onto his porch. “Dressed to impress, I see.”

You huffed out a small laugh and rolled your eyes as you stood, keeping a bit of distance between the two of you in case anyone happened to be watching. A fact that he loathed with every bone in his body.

“My key broke off in the front door,” you sighed, leaning against the wooden beam beside you. “My dad’s not going to be home until late tonight, and I didn’t feel like breaking in. Decided I’d slum it here until you got home.”

He stepped closer to you, his hand twitching with the urge to stroke his thumb over your cheek in hopes of turning your frown into one of those smiles he loved so much. “Need me to break in for ya?”

“You could,” you said, biting at your lip as you stared down at your nails. “Or we could go inside and you can help me forget about the shitty interview I just had.”

It was Joel’s turn to frown, despite the twitch he felt downstairs at the implication in your tone. “Didn’t get the job?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” you scoffed. “I don’t want it, though. The doctor was a total dick. Made some joke about finally having someone pretty behind the desk to greet him in the morning. I’d rather be broke and unemployed than have to work with that bullshit.”

“Want me to kick his ass?” Joel asked, reveling in the laugh his words earned.

“No.” You smiled, lifting your eyes to meet his as the tip of your tongue slid out to wet your bottom lip. “I have better stuff in mind for you.”

Joel’s brown arched, a smirk lighting up his face. “Oh, yeah? And what might that be, darlin’?”

“Let me in and I’ll show you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

As soon as Joel shut and locked the door behind him, you were pressing him against the wall.

Your lips found his ungracefully, but he didn’t seem to mind as he kissed you back with just as much unbridled need. It had been too long—three days now—since you’d gotten the chance to be truly alone with him. With Sarah at the house, the two of you had to be discreet and silent, and while it never hindered the pleasure you brought each other, it certainly dampened a bit of this passion you’d been yearning to feel.

Joel groaned as he slipped his hands over your hips to squeeze your ass through your trousers, pressing you tighter to his body. You bit at his lower lip and let your own hands travel, one to the nape of his neck and one down to palm at the bulge imprisoned by his jeans.

“Missed you all day, baby,” he said, his voice thick with desire as he guided you backwards towards the couch. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“Tell me what you were thinking about,” you panted, straddling his lap as he sat down and pulled you with him.

“Thought about the way you looked when you were ridin’ me a couple nights ago,” he said, nipping at your jawline. “How you had to cover your mouth to keep quiet. Fuck, I got hard just thinkin’ about the sounds you make. Been too goddamn long since I heard ‘em. You gonna let me hear ‘em today, baby?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you moaned, grinding yourself against him as he started to unbutton your blouse, kissing each bit of skin he exposed along the way.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, lathing his tongue over the swell of your breast as it sat pushed up by your bra. He peeled your shirt off your body and tossed it across the room before settling his big, warm hands on your waist, smoothing his rough palms across your smooth skin. “Wanna hear every fuckin’ thing.”

Your back arched as he lowered his mouth to your breast, kissing and nipping at you through the thin lace of your bra. With a skilled flick of his fingers behind your back, he had the bra unclasped and discarded on the floor along with your shirt, the cool air around you stiffening your nipples into sensitive peaks. He groaned as he palmed one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb stroking over the sensitive bud as he slowly lifted his eyes back to yours to watch your face crumple a bit with pleasure.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he whispered, shaking his head at you in reverence as he lowered his mouth to your nipple, kissing it softly. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you moaned, holding his head against your breast as he swirled and sucked at the bud before kissing his way over to the other. ”I need you inside me.”

Joel’s hands gripped you harder, pulling you closer. “Take me out and sit on it, then, honey. I ain’t stoppin’ what I’m doin’.”

Your limbs felt heavy and clumsy as you dropped your hands to his lap, as if you were drunk off Joel’s voice alone. You fumbled with his belt and the button of his jeans, undoing both with little grace as you scrambled to access the hard thickness straining beneath its rigid denim confines. Joel, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped lavishing your sensitive nipples with attention, alternating from sucking to nibbling to flicking at them with the tip of his tongue, all while his big hands restlessly stroked up and down the planes of your back.

“Stand up so I can take these off,” he ordered, tugging at the belt loops of your trousers. You obeyed immediately, letting him undo the button and slip your slacks and underwear off in one smooth motion before he shed himself of his own clothes, leaving him bare and beautiful in front of you. Joel was smiling as he tapped his lap with one hand and held your hip with the other. “Sit.”

You let out a soft keening sound at the rough, inviting tone of his voice, obeying once again. Joel watched your face as you straddled his lap, his eyes round with reverence and lips parting at the feeling of your soft palm wrapping around his pulsing girth.

“Fuck,” he hissed, biting his lip as his eyes fell to watch your hand pump him. “You got any idea what you do t’me, baby? Any fuckin’ clue how good y’feel?”

You replied with a hiss of your own as you flicked the tip of him along your seam, paying special attention to your swollen bundle of nerves. “Do you?”

Joel smiled for a half-second before his face crumpled into something dark and needy and absolutely sinful as you lined him up at your entrance, sinking down just enough to have his fat head inside you. He groaned at the tightness there, and you sighed at the delicious stretch of him making himself at home in the most precious of places.

“Always so tight,” he whispered, lifting his hands to your face as he pulled you down to him for a searing kiss. “So fuckin’ wet. Best fuckin’ pussy in the world.”

You smiled into the kiss and sank down further, relishing in the choked moan you tore from his chest. “And it belongs to you, Joel.”

“Shit,” he groaned, tossing his head back against the couch, giving you the perfect chance to press your lips against his pulse. Joel’s hands splayed across your hips, keeping you flush with his body for a moment while he gained his composure. “Tell me again.”

You grinded yourself against him, your clit rubbing against the patch of hair at his base and sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “My pussy’s all yours, Joel.”

He growled, lifting your hips just to drive his own forward, drilling in deep. “Again.”

You let out a cry, fingers leaving crescent moons in the meat of his shoulders as his head found that spot deep inside you with every rough thrust upwards. “You own me, Joel.”

“Own what?,” he growled, using your body as a toy as he plunged deep over and over and over. Your face was buried in the nook of his neck as you held onto his broad frame, breathing in the scent of sawdust and warm cologne and sweat—so masculine, so distinctly Joel.

“You own my pussy,” you cried, meeting his thrusts in harsh bounces, the room filling with the lewd slap of your ass meeting his thighs. “You own every fucking part of me, baby.”

Joel’s hand came down onto your ass with a sharp sting, the pain blending with pleasure and driving you closer to that delicious edge. “Good fuckin’ girl. This pussy’s all mine. You’re all fuckin’ mine, ain’t ya?”

“Fuck, yes!” You rode him without care of how you looked while doing it. It was animalistic and primal the way you needed him, the way your body reacted to even the slightest of touches. Joel shared that same inhibition, hands gripping and roaming and mouth spewing with filth.

“Wanna carve my name into this fuckin’ pussy and make it mine forever. Put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he groaned, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear as the two of you worked in tandem to achieve pure bliss. His words had you clenching, even when you hadn’t expected to want or like them as much as you did. “That what you want, baby? Want me to fuck my cum nice and deep ‘til it takes?”

“Fuck, yes!” you cried, your walls squeezing him like a vice grip. “Wanna have your baby, Joel!”

He growled, using one hand at the base of your neck to pull your face from his shoulder so that he could look into your eyes. “So fuckin’ beautiful, honey. You’d look so goddamn pretty with my baby inside you.”

“Fuck, Joel, I’m so close,” you moaned, face wrecked with pleasure as you leaned back on his lap, your hands perched on his thighs for leverage. Joel growled at the change in position, at the sight of your body sprawled out on top of him, at the bounce of your breasts in his eyeline.

“I’m gonna cum nice and deep,” he said, biting his bottom lip as he lowered his thumb to your clit, working it in perfect circles. “Gonna make you a mess and then clean it up with my tongue. S’that what you want?”

“Please,” you cried, too fucked out to say anything better.

“Gonna taste us together ‘til you beg me to stop,” he said, his own voice now shaky and rough as he approached his release. “Fuck, baby. I need you t’cum for me. I’m too fuckin’ close.”

You didn’t need any more motivation, your body seizing up and crumbling on top of him with the weight of your climax. Joel gathered you in his arms and held you close to his chest, pressing kisses against your temple as he buried himself deep and let you have every last drop of his release.

“Take it,” he murmured, fucking his cum deep into your pussy. “Take what’s yours, darlin’.”

“Jesus,” you sighed, circling your hips against his as your climax faded to a warm, tingling thing. ”You’re too fucking good at this.”

Joel laughed, soft and breathy, as he smoothed a hand up and down your back before letting it settle on your ass with a gentle squeeze. “Fuck, I love the shit out of you, you know that?”

You froze, not out of fear or panic, but just the sheer surprise of such a confession falling so casually from his lips. Joel seemed to realize it too, as his hand stilled in its ministrations across your heated skin.

“We can pretend I didn’t say that, if y’want,” Joel said, sounding much too shy and insecure for your taste.

You sat up enough to look at him, watching as he avoided your stare like a nervous little boy.

“Look at me, you beautiful man.” He obliged, carefully lifting his eyes to meet yours. You held his face in your hands, guiding him to your lips for three gentle, loving pecks. “I don’t want to pretend. I…love you, too. Fuck, I think I’ve always loved you, Joel.”

Joel’s smile dawned again, washing away every trace of hesitation that lingered before. He leaned in to kiss you again, this time slow and languid as if he’d be content to do this for the rest of his life. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this…happy. This settled before. Just want you t’know that.”

“Neither have I,” you murmured, your lips refusing to move too far from his.

JOEL

You stayed with him later than you probably should’ve. The afternoon light had faded into evening, but neither of you paid any mind to the passing of time. You fell asleep shortly after he fulfilled his promise of cleaning you up with his tongue, your face buried in the nook of his neck as he dozed with you on the sofa.

He woke up before you, eager to take his time in watching you sleep beside him. It had become a favorite pastime of his in the short month the two of you had spent together, waking up before you just to watch you breathe. He’d never felt this way in any of his previous relationships, so enamored and in love with a person, even in their most base state. It had always been a sort of begrudging kind of love with his exes, as if there was a large part of his biology that rejected their company for one reason or the next. He mostly just felt out of place in their company, like living with a stranger or a roommate that he fucked every now and again.

But there wasn’t a single part of him that felt that way about you. He loved every bit of you—the woman you showed him when you were awake, kind and thoughtful and determined, and the woman he held close when you were fast asleep, all soft curves and warm skin. Even Sarah seemed to accept you as a natural addition to their family, far more than she ever did with her own mother. That fact carried more weight than you knew, or perhaps you were keenly aware of the way they both felt for you and simply chose to accept it in stride. Either way, it was endearing.

He was just about to wake you up to thank you for existing here with him—with them—in the best way he knew how when a series of hurried knocks sounded on his front door. He’d saw the headlights of your father’s SUV pull into the driveway next door, and given your absence at home, he had no doubt that he would’ve strolled over, worried as all hell.

Joel gently coaxed you awake with a thumb brushing over your face, feeling a bit irritated that he had to interrupt your peace. Especially given the circumstance.

“Your dad’s at the door, baby,” he said, his voice gentle but urging. You bolted upright at the news, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as you scanned the room. “Go upstairs and I’ll send him back home.”

You muttered a sleepy okay, grabbed your clothes from the floor, and hurried upstairs to his bedroom while Joel threw on his own clothes and tried to look half-presentable. As if he hadn’t just spent the afternoon inside you.

When things looked to be back in order, he finally marched to the door and opened it, revealing your disheveled looking father. “Hey, everything alright?”

“Have you seen my daughter?” he asked, breezing past Joel and into the half-lit living room.

“No,” Joel lied, rubbing the back of his neck as he spotted your underwear halfway beneath the couch that you must’ve missed when fumbling for your clothes in the dark. “You wanna grab a couple beers and tell me what’s got you so riled up?”

Your father headed into the kitchen with a soft grunt, allowing Joel the opportunity to stuff your panties in his back pocket before taking a seat on the sofa. When he returned, he let out a sigh and settled into the recliner, combing a hand over his face.

“She isn’t home,” he said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. “She usually sends me a text when she’s gonna be out late.”

“She probably just forgot,” Joel said, his knee bouncing with anxiety. Lying had never come easy to him, but if there was any time to learn, it was now. “You tried textin’ her?”

“Yeah, nothin’,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel like she’s hiding something from me. A boyfriend, maybe. I’ve kept quiet about it, but I’ve heard her sneakin’ out in the dead of night. Her car always stays here, though, so she must be gettin’ picked up.” He fixed his attention on Joel. “You seen anything?”

Joel was quick to shake his head. A bit too quick. “No, I’m in bed early these days.”

“Well, keep an eye out if you can,” he said, ticking his jaw. “I’d like to know what she’s been up to. Makes no sense for her to hide things from me, but then again, it’s been a long time since we’ve been under the same roof like this.”

“She’s probably just settlin’ in, figurin’ things out,” Joel said, his fingers scratching at the label on his bottle. “No need to go and get yourself worked up over nothin’.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, downing the last of his beer. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Let me know if you hear anything.”

Joel stood to walk him to the door, only to watch as your father’s eyes landed on a familiar looking phone case laid face down on the coffee table.

“That’s her phone,” he said, his eyes narrowing at the object before lifting to Joel’s. “What’s her phone doin’ here?”

Joel struggled to make up a lie, his lips parting and closing over and over. “I, uh…”

“Joel,” he said, his tone harsher than before. “What’s my daughter’s phone doing here?”

Your father stepped closer, squaring his shoulders as he sized up his newfound enemy.

“I’m gonna give you two seconds to explain yourself before I go upstairs and take a look myself,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Listen—“

“Nope.” He shook his head, scoffing in anger as he turned to move towards the staircase. Joel rushed to block his path, setting a firm hand on his chest. “I suggest you move, Miller.”

“I suggest you don’t tell me what to do in my own house,” Joel said, his protective streak outweighing his anxiety. “You can either sit there and listen, or you can get the hell out. Either way, you ain’t goin’ upstairs.”

“You gonna stop me?” Your father stepped forward, daring Joel to make a move. He had half a mind to shove him back a step, but the sound of his bedroom door opening talked some much needed sense into him.

“Dad, stop,” you pleaded, the sound breaking Joel’s heart. “I’ll be home in a second. We can talk about this in private.”

“There’s no way in hell this is happening,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he turned to pace the living room. “You’re sneakin’ around with my daughter? And lyin’ to my face about it? For what, some hookup? Some sick fantasy of yours?”

“Dad!” You pushed past Joel to stand in front of him protectively. “It’s not a hookup or anything like that. Joel and I are together. We’re serious about each other.”

“He’s a decade older than you!” he shouted back, causing Joel to take the lead.

“She’s a grown woman,” Joel said. “Goddamn near twenty-five. You don’t think she’s old enough to make her own decisions yet?”

“She wasn’t twenty-five when you met her,” he returned.

“And I didn’t act on anything all that time,” Joel said.

“How long has this been goin’ on?” Your father turned to you, and Joel fought the urge to tell him to wipe the murderous look off his face.

“A month or so,” you said, meek and timid. “We were going to tell you.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “Joel was just sitting there lying to my face about you just needing time to settle in. All the while, he’s been the one you’ve been sneaking off with.”

“We were waiting until we knew what was happening—“

“Well that went to shit, didn’t it?” he said, shaking his head. “You know what? You wanna sneak around and lie to me, you wanna play house with him, then you can stay here. I’m not having a liar sleep under my roof.”

“Dad!”

“No!” he shouted. “You didn’t care how this would hurt me before, you don’t get to cry about it now. I’m goin’ out. You’ve got an hour to get your shit and leave my house. And you—“ He turned his attention to Joel. “You’re never going to be welcomed under my roof again. You’re dead to me. I don’t want to see your face again, you hear me?”

Joel didn’t reply, simply clenching his jaw as he reached a hand out to welcome you into his side, your tears staining his t-shirt as you buried your face in his neck.

“Fuckin’ sick,” your father said, stomping his way to the door and slamming it shut behind him.

In the tense silence that followed, Joel wanted nothing more than to go over and teach your father a lesson on how not to speak to you, but he was too preoccupied with holding you as you shook with tears.

“Baby,” he cooed, hugging you tight. “I’m so sorry. So fuckin’ sorry.”

“He was so…mean,” you sobbed, hugging him tight. “He’s never spoken to me like that. Like I wasn’t his daughter.”

“I know,” he murmured, smoothing his hand over your back. “I hate him for makin’ you cry like this.”

“I can’t believe…can’t believe this is real,” you said, peering up to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I was so happy just a few minutes ago.”

Joel cradled your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’ll be alright. He’ll come around, and if he doesn’t…well, he can go fuck himself.”

You nodded, though no part of him thought you believed what he’d said. No, you’d be torn up over this for days. Weeks, even. But through it all, he’d be there.

“Come on,” he said, holding your hand. “Let’s go get your things, and then we’ll come back, have a drink, and watch one of those romance movies you love so much until it hurts a little bit less, alright?”

You managed a soft, but broken smile and nodded. “Thank you for sticking up for me and being here. It’s more than most men would’ve done in your situation.”

“I love you,” he said, squeezing your hand. “That means I’m gonna always be here to stick up for you, alright? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller story #joel miller series #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #the alchemy

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bettystonewell · 3 months ago

Text

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 4

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k words

Chapter Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, language, Dean pre-gaming, fingering

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Sparks flew. Was that the crap everyone always spoke about? Because Dean kind of understood it now.

His body from head to toe was buzzing with excitement, and the closest thing he could liken it to was that blend of exhilarating and nerve-racking jitters he encountered during a fight. His fists flying and landing on another man (or monster) held the same principle as flint hitting tinder, didn’t it?

Yeah. That fit.

But while beating Dick, and any other brawl he’d experienced, required movement and forethought, this kiss was simple and far less complicated than any other he’d shared before.

His soulmate and her delicate lips touching his. Succulent and savouring, with just the right amount of wetness. Even making a soft squelch when his mouth pulled away from yours to get a good look at you.

Your hair was messy against the pillow. No longer knotted and clumped together, as it was three nights ago when he’d found you in the park. It picked up highlights from the lamp he always kept on in the corner of his room.

That same light, which made even the cheap steel of his shotgun on the wall sparkle like silver, now cast shadows over your injured shoulder and neck. They hid some of the fainter bruises while darkening the deeper punctures gathering around that perfectly rounded D, and sharp angles of the Winchester W.

The letters were more prominent now, but they failed to compare to your fully developed black eye.

“You better put some more ice on this today,” he said as his thumb swiped a gentle trail below the colourful ring.

Your smile was infectious, even with the injuries. Your fingers cupped his chin, twisting his head to inspect his own, left, right, then left again. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Yeah. The two of you made quite the impressive pair. Not just with the matching marks from Dick on your face, but by the way you’d fit into his life and not just his bed.

Not that any night moves had gone on - yet. Things had remained PG at second base. A little tongue and boob action here and there, but nothing more. He’d never push you to third because he needed to make sure this was what you both wanted. It didn’t hurt to know each other first, even if the process took place under his sheets. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and there was plenty of time.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Your fingers scratched through his stubble to gain his attention. “You’re spacing out again.”

With a cocked brow and a smirk, he lowered himself down to recapture your lips. He needed a bit of courage before he brought up the nitty gritty of your cycle and his suppressant taking. He’d been meaning to do it. The idea of his world with you in it was fast becoming more real as each extra hour he spent with you passed, but with it was the matter of claiming you, and all that entailed.

Nips from his teeth, licks by his tongue. One hand pushed through your hair while the other massaged every inch of your own baby-smooth skin below.

His elbows and knees balanced his upper half to hover above you, which was both a blessing and a curse. If he could feel his cock beginning to bear a life of its own on your leg, then you most likely did, too.

Fuck.

Dean rolled off to the side, bringing you with him to rest your head against his chest instead. He pulled the covers with you to drape them across your shoulder. Close and cosy, but away from his clear arousal, choosing it best to leave the pressure in his pants over putting it on you.

“I, ah, just need a sec,” he breathed through the grin plastered over his face.

If only you’d give him one.

Your hand patted his sternum, but your leg wrapped over his, bringing your knee close to his semi.

“Not that I’m complaining, sweetheart, but you’re making it hard for me here.”

“Pun intended?” You asked, earning yourself a light smack on your rear.

It was playful, but after what you’d been through, he regretted it, even though you didn’t seem to mind. And his hand remained, running soothing circles over the firm muscle and the fabric that covered it.

“I’m not that fragile,” you said all too knowingly.

“And I can’t wait to find that out for myself. When you’re ready.”

Your walk still held that awkward gait it had in the motel, but you insisted nothing was wrong, hiding every sigh and cringe behind a smile or bouts of small talk.

“Are you leaving that up to me, Doctor Winchester?” More pats from the tips of your fingers struck his chest with each syllable of his name.

“If it were up to me, you’d have seen one,” he leered. Google might’ve said an injury like yours took up to two weeks, but it wasn’t a medical professional. Neither was he.

“They’ll start asking questions,” you whispered.

“So? We lie. In case you didn’t know, I’m good at that. Comes with the job.”

Your quiet snort brought a smile to his lips. Humour always worked, until it didn’t…

“I noticed,” you said. But then you shook your head and your hair shuffled under his chin, bringing with it a fresh wave of your sweet omega scent that went straight to his groin.

How was he supposed to keep this up? (Or down rather.)

“I just want to forget it happened. The sooner his mark fades, the better.”

Dean couldn’t agree more, and he used that statement as his opening. “Did it hurt? The first time, I mean.” It wasn’t a very good one.

“No. But I got lost in the moment,” you said, lifting yourself up onto your elbow to look at him. “Have you ever?”

“Me? I guess I didn’t make myself clear on the ‘me being dangerous’ part, huh?” Dean brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen. “Sam met his soulmate, too. But a demon killed her.”

You had spent little time with Sammy to form any connection, but Dean still recognised the empathy and fear that dampened your eyes. Guilt, no doubt, setting in his. Would what happened to Jess be the deal breaker?

“Since we lost her, we’ve both been on suppressants, so I’ve been able to avoid my ruts and the risk of claiming anyone.”

“So, no sex at all?”

“I’m not a saint. I still hooked-up.” And this was not where he wanted the conversation to go. The last thing you needed to hear was how promiscuous he’d been. “But I avoided anything substantial.”

Okay. That was worse.

“Did you ever—” Sleep around? Have casual partners before you met Dick? What was he thinking? “I mean, was Richie the only guy or—”

“Don’t worry, you’re off the hook.” You chuckled. “There were others, but only the one claim. Well, two…” Your head lowered and your fingers played with the old shirt he’d worn to bed.

“Did you ever try for pups?”

“We did,” you said. “But nothing stuck. Just another thing to be thankful for.”

As much as it hurt him to see you sad again, Dean couldn’t agree more. He hated the thought of anyone growing up in that environment.

Not that your apartment was anything less than the apple pie life he admired. Out of all the homes he’d visited, yours had been better than most, and if it weren’t for mixtures of Dick amongst it, Dean could have lived there himself given the opportunity.

Well, perhaps in a different location. Moving your things into this room would be ideal.

But the idea of a guy such as Dick being a dad? Someone that hit his mate out of jealousy...

His father may have been shitty, and maybe he didn’t treat Dean and Sam the best. Giving a gun to a six-year-old was the wrong thing to do in Dean’s eyes, even if he’d enjoyed it back then. Neither was growing up on the road the way they did. At least John Winchester never struck them until they were adolescents.

As for Dean, he wasn’t ideal either, but claiming you meant no more suppressants and that meant the risk you’d conceive. He wasn’t stupid.

Was he okay with his hypothetical pups living in the bunker if he claimed you on your next cycle and knocked you up as well? It would be the safest place for them, whether he was actively hunting or not. But would that be enough?

Wait. Was he really more worried about the safety of your potential rugrats than he was over actually bringing them into existence?

“Dean?”

“Mmm?” His throat couldn’t produce much more sound than that. A lump had garnered there, having realised and accepted that his inner alpha was besotted to make you all round and heavy with his pup. Stupid instincts.

“If that’s a deal breaker for you, I’d understand.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’m an omega. My body is supposed to grow pups, but I don’t think it can. And I dunno what you want, but—”

His hand cupped your chin and with a gentle nudge, encouraged you to raise your head back up so you could see that he meant what he said next. “You know how I keep telling ya I’m dangerous?”

You nodded.

“It’s ‘cause I’m worried things I’ve pissed off could hurt those I care about, including you.” His lips curled upward. His newfound want may have been squashed before it had even festered, but he wouldn’t let that add more to the burden you’d already placed on yourself. “No pups means less people for me to protect. That’s not a bad thing. And I will protect you, if you’ll be mine.”

Your eyes twinkled under a layer of tears.

While he still held questions about your heat and how long he had before he could claim you, right now, he needed to get lost in you and encourage you to do the same. Even if it stayed above the belt.

That was all peachy, in theory, but over the course of the following week, Dean was sure having a hard time keeping things, well, not hard.

His inner alpha yearned for you to be his. Hell, he wanted you, too. However, he was so adamant about not going all the way with you until your body had healed that he had turned himself into the poster boy for that typical kid in a candy store. Forever looking, never relieving the perpetual aching that had made a home between his legs.

Your scent, your warmth, your touch. Everything about you drove him crazy, and while he loved every second he got to spend with you, on the seventh day since your arrival in the bunker, he needed to get himself spent before he took you out for the evening as he’d planned. There was only so much a man could take, let alone an alpha, and he didn’t want his knot ruining the night.

So when he found himself a moment in the garage alone, he couldn’t help but take care of things.

His firm grip pumped his dick at a furious pace, willing his impending orgasm to bust out as quickly as possible.

The pants he breathed bounced off the cement pylons and steel scaffolding. As did skin slapping against skin and his belt buckle jangling in the air. When he gave one final satisfying thrust to blow his load into the oil-rag he had on the ready, your name was on the tip of his tongue. The memory of your nipples hardening beneath his thumb in his mind.

It was risky, jacking off the way he had. Against Baby’s rear bumper where anyone could catch him by walking up the central stairs, but that had also been the thrill. What little there was of it.

Sam rarely ventured down here and you, he presumed, were still being occupied with him, making it the perfect opportunity for Dean to deal with his preparations in peace.

He grinned as he scrunched the evidence into his fist and threw it in the trash. There was no point trying to wash the thing, and he wouldn’t attempt to explain where it had come from if he got caught adding it to the machine.

He had a job to do though, and with his cock still out while he waited for the base to deflate enough to tuck it back comfortably into his pants, he twisted himself around to make sure he had everything he needed in the trunk.

Cooler of beer, blankets. He’d pre-gamed himself. Check, check, and check. Dean was on his way to being a fucking gentleman. He just hoped you wouldn’t see right through him.

When he’d finished preparing, he washed his hands, tucked still not-so-little Dean away and walked the halls in search of you, as predicted finding you with Sam in the library with a screen in front of each of you.

The taller sasquatch form of his brother typed on his keyboard, while your smaller omega frame stared, clicking here and there on the trackpad of Dean’s laptop.

His initial reaction to your furrowed brow had him wondering if he should have triple checked his search history before lending the machine to you, but as he moved closer, he recognised that familiar twang of sadness in your scent. It wasn’t good news.

“Hey.” He hopped up the wooden steps and made the beeline for you. His fingers, following their instincts to comfort your latest grievance, whatever it was, magnetised to your exposed shoulders.

Though the dress you wore gave his hands easy access to your supple flesh and his eyes a feast from above, he was careful to avoid the patches of skin that were still healing. His brief session in the garage may not have been enough to get him through the night though.

“So. What did you find?” he said, his tone conveying a ‘hit me’ attitude.

“He drained my bank account.” You stifled a sigh, but with Dean being as close as he was and hovering over you, not only heard it, but he caught the split second movement when your chest heaved. “He even racked up my credit card. Sam hacked into the records.”

“Does it say what he bought?” Did that really matter?

“Gift cards,” Sam said. His scowl meeting Dean as if he were the culprit.

Fucking Dick. The guy was smarter than they’d given him credit for. This was exactly the kind of thing Dean and Sam used to do before Charlie set them up with their forever balanced bank accounts. If that made them assholes, then what did it make Dick?

“You think you can hook her up to what we have?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Your head twisted to Dean first, seeking an explanation, but when he refused with a shrug, you directed your confused expression to Sam, who had resumed tapping away at his keyboard.

While you were distracted by gaining Sam’s attention, Dean leaned down so that his nose touched the shell of your ear and whispered, “How long have I known ya?”

Nothing could dampen his mood, even discovering Dick was more of a dick than you all had realised. It would seem his preparations for a date night had come at the perfect time.

“Eight days?” Your voice was just as perplexed as the last glance you’d given him had been.

“And how long have we been cooped up in the bunker?” he further asked.

You frowned, giving off a ‘what the hell kind of question is that,’ vibe. “A week. What’re you—”

“Too long to not have taken you out already.” His arms stretched, but both sets of fingers remained on your shoulders as he stepped to the side and looked at you expectantly.

“But my eye.”

Yes. That had worsened again. Now brandishing a deep purple ring around the top of the lid and below it, appearing painted on. It was a sight to see, but so was Dean’s.

“And? I’ve got one too,” he said, releasing you to hold out his hand for you to take.

“Yeah. That makes it worse. People are going to talk if we’re out in public looking like this together.”

“So. Let ‘em.” He shrugged. Though Dean could understand the embarrassment. He didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of some random Joe Citizen taking one look at him and thinking he was the alpha who’d caused your injuries. Especially when he had his own. “Besides, I’ve thought of that,” he said, and pulled you up himself.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Really?” you asked.

“Really,” he said, before shooting a look behind him. “Don’t wait up, Sammy!” he then chirped as his arm wrapped around your waist, escorting you past the ornamental blades and giant telescope thingy, through to the door in the back of the library.

He knew you were still waiting on any explanation, given you focused on him over the path he led you on, but he enjoyed humouring you. The element of a good surprise, emphasis on the good, was so few and far between in his life.

“Where we’re going is for me to know and you to find out, but I’ll let you choose the cuisine,” he said, decking his smirk with a wag of his brows. “Burgers or pizza?” That last part he trilled.

Whatever you chose was neither a win, nor a loss, but he’d judge you on what flavour or kind you selected. No soulmate of Dean Winchester would ever eat a plant-based burger - in his presence. They’d also never opt for pineapple on their pizza, he hoped.

Okay. These things weren’t exactly deal breakers. At least, not up there with the chance of your death at the hands of a demon extracting their revenge on him. Or you, with whatever drama you’d endured unsuccessfully making your ex-mate a baby-daddy.

There were shortcomings and insecurities-a-plenty. It was just lucky your choice in pizza toppings was enough in his eyes to make up for them. What could he say? He was simple, and it was the simple things in life, like pepperoni and cheese, that kiss and all the other sweet moments he’d shared with you.

He couldn’t be happier, though he sensed your mood was waning. Damn Dick and his thieving ass. The asswipe had ruined the scene Dean had been going for.

He had chosen the perfect spot. Somewhere secluded. In a small clearing, about twenty minutes away from the bunker, and his brother. With plenty of tree cover and soft ground to place the blankets down.

Baby’s low beams cast light over the setup, shining through the beer bottles and capturing the stray wisps of hair that fell around your face.

You were perfect. In fact, this whole situation was still perfect, and Dick had ruined nothing. Even the breeze nipping at Dean’s chin was a blessing in disguise.

He slid the empty pizza box out of the way so he could pull you into the space between his thighs. Flinging your legs over his thick one and bringing your rear right up against his crotch.

For now, his balls were alright with it. His inner alpha didn’t mind, either. It had the perfect view of Dick’s claim, and all it wanted to do was, well, that was better left unsaid. Using his teeth on your healing skin wasn’t quite what you needed at that moment.

He’d be wrong. Sort of.

“You okay?” his low voice rumbled from his torso to yours.

“Yeah.”

You may have nodded, but he caught the purse of your lips as they forced a smile. He had become more and more attuned to your sensitivities with each passing day, but even Sam or any other human, alpha, omega or beta could tell you weren’t being truthful.

“Omega?” he pressed further.

But you shook your head and moved your hand to brush over Dean’s initials, peeking out below your loose neckline. It was a distraction for sure. The ruffling of the pretty fabric wasn’t helping when it fanned your scent up to his nostrils.

He brought his hand down to cover yours. His long fingers spread out, touching the very edge of your mating gland and the fading puncture marks from dickwad’s jaw. It caused your breath to hitch and a faint shockwave to travel up his arm to the same patch of skin on his body.

That…was…interesting.

You must’ve thought so too if your scent was anything to go by. There was a definite spike in the almost constant state of arousal that followed you.

“Does that feel good?” It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched you there already. He had done so when cleaning your injuries in the motel. Right?

Well, no. His fingers had come close, but he’d been so meticulous about not adding any foreign material to your open wounds that only the fabric he used to clean them had pressed against your skin.

Earlier in the library, it had been the same. But now your chortle and a flash of a broader smile met his gaze, and he was damn confused.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s just stronger than I was expecting.”

“What is?”

“Our bond.” Your eyes lit up. “You haven’t claimed me, but it’s starting.”

What was starting exactly? Dean knew the logistics of claiming. He had to bite your mating gland when he came inside of you, but until that happened, he didn’t see how any bond could start. Yet here you were excited. And so was his inner alpha.

It clawed away at him again, scolding through snarls and odd commands like, ‘Scent her,’ ‘Kiss her on his mark,’ and all Dean could think was, ‘Seriously?’ because that was the last thing he’d ever thought of doing.

Not that he felt repulsed by you there. He just didn’t want to touch you anywhere near it until it healed completely and all traces of Dick were gone.

But what if the annoying beast in his head had a point?

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, greeting your questioning look with a smirk that made blue steel drop its panties. If the touch of his fingertips on that part of you had excited you the way he thought it had, he was going in for more.

“Dean?”

He swooped down to drag his lips over the faded bite, pulling them together to plant a not so chaste kiss there. Your mewl went straight to his cock, and while it was so damn worth it, his resolve was screwed.

The smell of your arousal only grew stronger, flooding his nostrils and mind with all things good and not so proper.

Would you protest if he moved lower to take your tit in his mouth?

Shit. Nope, nope. Abort, abort. Fucking abort. He needed to focus on the task at hand and think of something less lewd. It was a shame his libido didn’t get the message, because it asked, “When’s your next heat due again?” which, yeah, wasn’t what Dean had in mind. Not even close.

“It’s usually at the start of the season.”

“So we have another month? That about right?” he said between kisses and nips.

“Mm-hmm.”

Dean snickered into your neck at your sudden lack of coherency. He may have taken care of himself, not that it was apparent with the bulge forming in his pants, but as far as he was aware, you hadn’t done the same, and it was no wonder you were putty in his hands. “Don’t think I can wait that long to have you,” he drawled.

“You could have me now?”

He groaned and leaned back up to meet your eyes. “You’re not healed yet.” He’d seen the wince you’d made over one particularly rough speed hump. Dean had winced too - Baby’s rims had packed a beating - but that was before he noticed your discomfort.

God. If only he could have you. It was no longer a want to sink his knot into you. He needed to. But that stupid mother-fucking ‘but’ he had put on himself wouldn’t allow it, even as your thighs rolled against each other to seek friction.

“It’s fine, Dean.” You brought your hands up to splay over his firm chest, twisting and shuffling your body to face him better. “I told you I’m not fragile.” Your fingers headed straight for his right pectoral muscle and placing of your initials over his tattoo.

“I wasn’t doing over five when I hit that bump.”

“That was one time,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, but that ride was gentle. I might not be.” Dean raised his brows and flashed a feral smirk. “You want my knot that badly ‘mega?”

“It’s not just me.”

You had him there, more so when your hand dipped between you. Your fingers were inches from the defined outline on his leg when he caught them.

His dick twitched in protest, but he still pulled your arm away and wrapped it around his lower back instead, entangling his own with it. His grin widened at his antics, but then you melted into him and his cheeks burned at the stretch. He would definitely get used to this.

“Guess not,” he said. “But you ain’t getting in my pants tonight. ‘Specially not here.”

Frustration seeped out of your pores and Dean felt a pang of guilt.

It sounded cheesy for his liking, but this clearing was the last place he wanted your first time with him to be. He’d sooner fuck you in a sleazy motel with thin walls than on the lumpy ground you sat on where someone could come by.

Out here was better suited for a quick romp. With clothes on and prior knowledge of your body and how it ticked.

Here the air was cool and he could only imagine what it might do to an exposed breast or pair of opened legs. The shiver you’d give as it tickled your sensitive parts would be a sight to see.

While that was tempting, he needed to know you were somewhere comfy and warm when things got down to business, so for now, “Would you settle for my fingers, sweetheart?” he asked

That caught your attention, and he took your whimper as a yes.

His hand dipped down to slide along your thigh, caressing every portion of silky smooth skin as he moved closer to your core.

The way you opened up for him and the soft breaths you blew into his ear had him in his zone. But that warmth and wetness, when he slipped two fingers under one elastic waistband, had his cock screaming for attention at the same time. He couldn’t win.

“D…Alpha.”

It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear in the shower that night.

“Yeah?” he said with confidence against your neck.

His tongue swirled patterns over your mating gland and mimicked the movements of his padded thumb below. “You let me know if it gets too much, alright?” he warned, before his middle finger slid through your folds and into your slicked up entrance.

The come hither was slow for both your benefits. His motions contained as he familiarised himself with the right spot on luck alone. A mental note already in place for when he sealed the deal.

To his relief, you moaned. His deep alpha growl nipped at your throat in response as kisses and scent left a trail in their wake.

Screw Dick and any other. You were his. Dean would be yours. It was only a matter of time before he made his claim, marking you as such, and he couldn’t fucking wait.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Mm-hmm. I know I talked with someone about blue balls. Though when I read back over this myself, I’m trying to look past how quickly she trusts him and put it all down to, but they’re soulmates and it’s that getting to know you stage, rampant because it’s the omegaverse…

Things are heating up in here. I hope that didn’t disappoint. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover in this story - silly me lets her ideas get away with her (this started as a 9 chapter plan)… The first half covers dealing with the after affects of Dick and these two lovebirds learning and growing together. Just don’t get too comfortable with the fluff. Hints for the second half are littered throughout and in the tags

Chapter 5: Languishing 21/03

“Omega,” he rumbled into your ear.

“Alpha,” you purred back. Your smile, demure and telling, practically screamed at him to, ‘check this out,’ and boy did he.

Your core was so close, yet sheathed between your clothing and his, and when your eyes looked upon him, twinkling even in the dim lighting of the bunker’s night mode, his cock twitched in approval. He could get used to this kind of welcome.

“I missed you,” you said, before adding, “guys,” to the end when you noticed Sam watching you with interest.

To Dean’s disappointment, your legs unhooked themselves, and he set you on the floor again. Losing your weight made not only his arms empty, but his heart as well. His inner alpha growling in discontentment at the way you halted your affections around Sammy’s presence. Worse still, when you gave him a hug, too.

Oh yes - next chapter is their first time!

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iamgonnagetyouback · 5 months ago

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TINSELS, TAUNTS, AND TOM.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ T. RIDDLE

SUMMARY ৎ୭ ever since you decided to stay at hogwarts for christmas, you’ve been determined to make the slytherin common room feel festive. tom riddle, of course, has done nothing but criticize your efforts—until he’s the one stepping in when others taunt you

WARNINGS ಇ. reader may exhibit dangerous levels of stubbornness, some rude slytherins but tom defends you A/N ಇ. merry christmas, loves! hope it’s as magical as you are ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,614

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Snow blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts, but within the Slytherin common room, warmth flickered from the green-tinged flames in the fireplace. The space had a quiet charm to it—too quiet, in your opinion.

Most students had left for the holidays, save for a few Slytherins who preferred the quiet, or in Tom Riddle’s case, who preferred to brood in solitude. That left you with plenty of opportunity to act on a whim: transforming the stark, monochromatic room into something a bit more festive.

You looped garlands of silver and green around the ornate mantelpiece and placed charmed candles on every surface. Even the windowsills bore sprigs of enchanted holly that glimmered faintly under the dim light.

“I fail to understand why you’re bothering with this,” Tom said, perched in an armchair with a book in hand. His voice carried the kind of disinterest he reserved for things beneath his notice.

You flashed him a grin, not pausing as you draped mistletoe above the archway. “Because, Tom, not everyone enjoys lurking in a dark cave all winter. Some of us find joy in life.”

“Joy,” he echoed, as if testing a word in a foreign language. “A fleeting and frivolous emotion. But please, continue. Your nonsense is vaguely entertaining.”

“Your approval means everything to me,” you deadpanned, stringing silver tinsel across the doorway. “Truly, I don’t know how I’d carry on without it.”

His lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. “You’d manage, I’m sure.”

“Riddle, say, do you ever smile? Like, ever?”

Tom glanced up from his book, a slim brow arching with the kind of disdain that could shrivel a mandrake. “You do enough smiling for the both of us. Why should I bother?”

“Because,” you huffed, perched on a stool as you tried to untangle a particularly rebellious string of fairy lights, “it’s Christmas. Smiling is part of the package deal. Like eggnog or cozy sweaters or—”

“Or, apparently, turning the common room into some kind of… garish shrine to consumerism,” he cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You gave him a look, shaking the lights pointedly at him like a disappointed parent wielding a wooden spoon. “Garish shrine? These lights are enchanted to sparkle with the precise hue of Slytherin green. If anything, I’m showing house pride.”

“House pride,” he repeated dryly, his dark eyes trailing over the half-decorated room. Silver garlands draped the walls, enchanted snowflakes floated lazily in the air, and a miniature tree twinkled merrily on the table. “I’m sure Salazar Slytherin himself would be positively weeping with joy at the sight of… this.”

“Salazar could use some joy,” you shot back. “That man’s portrait looks like he’s smelled burnt toast for five centuries straight.”

Tom’s lips twitched—just for a moment—but he quickly hid it behind a derisive scoff. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” you said sweetly, finally hopping off the stool. You turned to him, hands on your hips. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Riddle. For someone who claims to hate Christmas decorations, you haven’t moved from that chair since I started.”

Despite his clipped tone, he hadn’t moved from his spot. He even turned a page in his book at a leisurely pace, as if to say he wasn’t paying attention—but you knew better.

“I’m merely here to witness the inevitable disaster,” he replied smoothly. “Someone needs to be on hand when you inevitably fall off that stool or set something on fire.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” you said with mock sincerity, clasping your hands dramatically to your chest. “My hero.”

He rolled his eyes, returning to his book, but not before you caught the faintest hint of amusement lingering on his face.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It wasn’t long before you had the entire common room glowing with soft, enchanted lights and sparkling decor. You were putting the finishing touches on the small Christmas tree when the door opened, and a group of boys from your house sauntered in.

“Well, well,” one of them drawled, his smirk as sharp as a serpent’s fang. “What do we have here? The little elf hard at work.”

You turned, unfazed. “If I’m an elf, what does that make you? Grinch incarnate?”

Another boy snickered, but the first one stepped closer, a sneer twisting his features. “Decorating the common room like a silly Hufflepuff. Who even cares for this drivel other than you?”

Before you could retort, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

“I do.”

The temperature seemed to drop, though the fire continued to crackle. Tom stood in the corner, his book closed, his eyes dark and calculating as they swept over the group.

The boy faltered. “Oh, come on, Riddle, you can’t actually—”

Tom took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “Do you believe I’m in the habit of tolerating insolence?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of an unspoken threat. “I suggest you leave before I find a reason to make your lives… unpleasant.”

The boys exchanged nervous glances, muttering under their breaths as they slunk out of the room.

Once they were gone, you exhaled and turned back to the tree, pretending the moment hadn’t affected you. “I had it under control, you know.”

“Clearly,” Tom said, crossing the room to stand beside you. “It was almost impressive how your wit compensated for your vulnerability.”

You glanced at him with a raised brow. “Vulnerability? Is that what you think? Don’t mistake me for someone who needs saving, Riddle.”

His lips twitched again, a ghost of amusement. “I wouldn’t dare. You’d likely bludgeon me with that wreath before I had the chance.”

“Exactly,” you replied, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Glad we understand each other.”

For a moment, silence settled between you, interrupted only by the crackling fire. Tom’s gaze drifted to the tree, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

“You did well,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “It looks… decent.”

“Decent?” you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours. “High praise coming from the great Tom Riddle. I might faint from the shock.”

“You’re intolerable.”

“And yet, here you are,” you pointed out, stepping back to admire the room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually like this.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. There was something unspoken in his eyes—something that almost felt like warmth, despite his many layers of cold detachment.

“Merry Christmas, Tom,” you said softly, breaking the spell.

He inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “Merry Christmas… though I still fail to see the point.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the festive room. “Oh, Tom. You’re hopeless.”

And maybe he was, but for a fleeting moment, as the glow of the Christmas lights reflected in his dark eyes, you thought he seemed just a little less so.

The two of you stood in the common room, the glow of the tree casting soft light on Tom's sharp features. You were tidying up the stray decorations while he lingered, his book long forgotten on the armchair.

“You know,” Tom began, his voice softer than usual, “you never told me why you didn’t go home for the holidays.”

You paused mid-step, your fingers brushing against a strand of tinsel. His tone lacked its usual edge—it wasn’t a demand but a genuine question.

Tilting your head, you offered a teasing smile. “What’s this, Riddle? Taking an interest in my personal life? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

He rolled his eyes, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed something deeper. “I’m merely observing. Most students jump at the chance to leave, yet here you are, inflicting this… merriment upon us.”

“Well,” you said, turning back to the decorations, “I could ask the same of you. Why stay here when you could haunt your local library or terrorize your neighbors?”

His lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t deflect, love.”

You sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “I suppose I could’ve gone home. But it didn’t seem worth it this year.”

“Why not?” he pressed, his voice quieter now.

You hesitated, considering brushing him off with another joke, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—unreadable, yet oddly expectant.

“I guess…” you started, your voice softening. “I didn’t want to leave you alone on Christmas.”

Tom blinked, visibly thrown. “You… what?”

You smirked, trying to lighten the moment despite the faint blush creeping up your neck. “Oh, come on, Tom. Imagine how utterly miserable you’d be without someone here to annoy you. I’m practically doing a public service.”

His expression remained stoic, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe even vulnerability. “That’s absurd. I don’t require company.”

You stepped closer, your smirk softening into something gentler. “You might not require it, but everyone deserves it. Even you.”

He looked away, the faintest pink dusting his pale cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re welcome,” you replied, grinning.

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the tree. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “You should’ve gone home.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “If I had, who would’ve kept you from turning this place into an even bigger dungeon?”

His lips twitched again, but this time, the amusement reached his eyes. “You overestimate your influence.”

“Do I?” you challenged, nudging him lightly.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his guarded mask slipping just enough to reveal something softer beneath. “Perhaps not.”

The warmth between you lingered, unspoken but undeniable, as the Christmas lights twinkled around you. For the first time, the cold, unyielding walls of the Slytherin common room felt like home.

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#tom riddle fluff #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #soft!tom riddle #slytherin boys #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you

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aventurineswife · 6 months ago

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kinda sad one, but aven waking up from a nightmare, then waking up to see reader missing from the spot on the bed next to him. he looks around (in panic poor baby :<) and finds reader on the balcony {work with me here-he has a fancy schmancy apartment with a balcony trust} and finds out reader had a sad dream and went out to look at scenery for comfort. they than comfort each other. end scene. {or not, whatever u wanna do <3}

-🪷🤍 anon {the princess of angst town, and also forgot the order of her emojis. ly and goodnight/evening/morning} :D

Shared Silhouettes of Sorrow

Summary: Aventurine wakes up from a haunting nightmare, heart racing and sweat beading his brow. Reaching out to the other side of the bed, he finds it empty. Panic floods his mind, memories of abandonment and betrayal surfacing. He scrambles to find you, only to discover you standing on the balcony, lost in thought. Turns out, you had a nightmare too, and sought solace in the quiet beauty of the city below. Together, you share your fears, offer comfort, and remind each other that some gambles—like love—are worth the risk.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff and Emotional Intimacy, Nightmares, Vulnerable Aventurine, Slow Emotional Healing.

Warnings: References to past trauma (slavery, loss, survivor’s guilt), Emotional vulnerability, Mild panic/anxiety descriptions, Some bittersweet undertones before comfort kicks in.

The night was quiet, but in Aventurine’s dreams, it was deafening.

Sandstorms roared through a scorched desert, the cries of his clan echoing in the void of his subconscious. His fingers clawed at empty air, reaching for a hand that always slipped away. Bloodied sand coated his skin, his name screamed through the chaos. The weight of chains—both real and metaphorical—bit into his wrists, dragging him into darkness.

He shot awake with a gasp, his body tense as if ready for a fight. His eyes darted wildly across the room, adjusting to the dim glow of the city lights spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows. His breaths came in shallow bursts, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Instinctively, he reached for you. His fingers brushed against cool sheets.

“[Name]?” Aventurine’s voice cracked, his usual confidence shattered by raw panic. His hand roamed over the empty space where you should have been, his pulse racing. He bolted upright, his mind conjuring worst-case scenarios faster than he could dismiss them.

Where are you?

Throwing off the silk duvet, Aventurine stumbled out of bed, his bare feet meeting the cold marble floor. His thoughts spiraled—had something happened? Had you left? His heart clenched at the idea, the gnawing fear of abandonment surging to the surface.

Then, faintly, he noticed the balcony door was slightly ajar.

With hurried steps, he crossed the expansive bedroom, his overcoat—discarded carelessly over a chair earlier—flapping as he grabbed it on the way. The chill night air greeted him as he stepped onto the balcony, the sprawling cityscape glittering like a galaxy beneath him.

There you were, standing near the railing. The faint outline of your figure was bathed in silver moonlight, your gaze distant as you stared at the horizon.

“[Name],” he called softly, relief washing over him like a tide.

You turned, startled, but your expression softened when you saw him. “Aventurine... Did I wake you?”

He shook his head, though the truth was evident in his disheveled appearance. He approached cautiously, his bare feet silent against the cold floor. Draping the overcoat around your shoulders, he settled beside you, his presence a quiet reassurance.

“Couldn’t find you,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant but seeking contact. “Thought… I thought you left.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and you quickly intertwined your hand with his. “I’m sorry. I had a bad dream and didn’t want to wake you. I just… needed some air.”

He nodded, though his jaw tightened. “What kind of dream?”

You hesitated, the vulnerability of sharing such things making your throat tighten. “It was about losing you,” you confessed, voice trembling. “I don’t remember the details, but it felt so real. I woke up, and I had to make sure… that everything was still here.”

Aventurine’s heart sank. For a moment, he didn’t speak, letting the weight of your words settle. Then, tentatively, he reached up to cup your cheek, turning your face to meet his gaze.

“I know that feeling,” he murmured, his tone unusually soft. “Waking up and feeling like… like you’ve lost something you can’t replace.” His lips quirked into a bittersweet smile, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “It’s the worst kind of gamble. The stakes are too high.”

You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his hand. “But we’re here now,” you whispered, searching his eyes. “That’s what matters, right?”

“Right,” Aventurine echoed, though his tone carried a quiet fragility. His free hand found yours again, his grip firm as if anchoring himself to you. “We’re here.”

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the city humming below as stars winked above. Aventurine’s fingers played absently with the edge of the overcoat draped over your shoulders, his mind still chasing the shadows of his own nightmare.

“What was your dream about?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Aventurine hesitated, his mask slipping just enough for you to glimpse the pain beneath. “Nothing worth remembering,” he said lightly, but his voice betrayed him. “Just ghosts of the past.”

You didn’t press, instead leaning your head against his shoulder. “They can’t hurt you anymore,” you said softly.

He let out a quiet laugh, though it held little humor. “Can’t they?” He paused, then sighed, resting his head against yours. “Maybe not while you’re here.”

Your fingers tightened around his. “I’m not going anywhere, Aventurine.”

He closed his eyes, letting the weight of your words sink in. For the first time in what felt like forever, the gambler allowed himself to believe in something certain.

“Neither am I.” he whispered, his voice carrying a quiet promise.

And as the night stretched on, the two of you sat together under the stars, finding solace in each other’s presence. For Aventurine, the city lights had never seemed so dim—or so comforting.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you

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dognonsense · 1 year ago

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Question...how do you make your patches? They seem so fuckin cool. I'm working on a vest and a jacket atm, and I'd like for them to be done by the time a pride fest rolls around next month.

Main technique I use for making patches nowadays is linocut. Its best suited for mass production of patches.

Make sure to remember your carving the mirror image so you have to flip all the text. Using tracing paper to flip the design is a good trick, as well as leaving graphite marks on side, then pressing that to the lino to leave the marks in the same spot. Another trick with pencil is to view what ur carving in negative space quickly, put a paper over your design and shade over it with pencil, darker marks will be where you haven't carved yet.

I use speedball fabric ink, it takes 1 week to set then will be fine to be washed. I have magenta, violet, turqouise, and white. They have a limited range of fabric colors at the store. I have seen gold and silver fabric paint for sale and I will investigate it one day.

I use a speedball roller, i find the smaller one to be better than the big one as I can be more precise and waste less ink.

I got a fancy handle for $40 but the screws fallen out so its broken now so just get some heavy books. I used to use a mug. Whats important is pushing your whole body weight into it.

I got a speedball carving tool with different heads I can swap out so I can cut into the lino at different deepness and widths. The heads are stored inside the tool since its hollow and has a screwable removable bottom. I use linocut or dollar store erasers for my carvings. Make sure to wash the ink off your linocuts after your done using them.

A thing to increase the lifespan of you're linocuts is to use wood glue, some cork or wood pieces, and glued the lino stamps onto them. I dont do that yet so my stamps fall appart from overuse sometime and because I cut way too deep into the lino since I hate chatter.

Chatter is the term for in linocutting when theres little messy lines and stuff. It makes the art more recognisably to be linocut. My work is very clean with no chatter which is why people don't notice its linocut usually. This is a stylistic choice, with diy styles having a lot of chatter can look really cool so experiment with leaving bits of extra uncarvered lino sticking out in ur stamp. I need to experiment and buy some more lino.

You can also use multiple linocut stamps together to make a patch. Some patches ive made have like 8 different stamps. Ive made a dog nonsense patch where each letter was their own eraser stamp. You can also use different colors between the different lino stamps on the same patch to add more color. An effect I like to do is first stamp it in color, then the next day I stamp it in white over the same spot but shifted to the right and down slightly. It makes the text have a cool border 3D effect I love doing.

If making a more detailed picture with colors, i reccomend hand painting patches. I use white fabric paint mixed with acrylics for color to get all the shades i need. Acrylic paint mixed with fabric softener works too.

If doing words and you dont want a unique font reccomend using letter stamps. If you want a unique font for that i recommend hand paint for individual or linocut for mass produce.

The positive of letter stamps is the font is neat and can be done quickly. I know from lending them to my roommate that they are very helpful if you have dyslexia and have trouble getting letters right.

A visual effect of the letter stamps is that have a nice boxy edge effect, its an imperfection that adds a personally touch to it. I have both lower and upper case stamps that I got from michaels. You can use a hair band or elastic to hold a bunch of letter stamps together to make a word stamp.

You can use other stamps than letters that you find at craft stores for example my racoon print is a craftstore stamp.

You can also find big plastic letter stencils at the dollar store that you can use to do lettering by filling in gaps with a sponge or or paintbrush. They make special paintbrushes just for using stencils.

You can also get plastic stencils in the shapes of things, i got some for children and use a horse stencil for my horse smoking weed patch. Easier than drawing a horse myself.

Another technique I use for more unique clean patches is gel plating. I haven't tried printing laserprint images with it as ive seen online a lot but I will try one day. What i personally do is use it to make imprints with chains and physical objects.

Another thing i use with gelplates are any stamps or linocuts that dont have words, or words ones that i fucked up with and forgot to mirror when carving. It flips mirror image twice with the gel plate so it goes back to being right again on the patch.

Another patch making technique is using foamboard cut into shapes glued onto cardboard. This is good for a quick test of a design and is very cheap to make. It will not hold under water so is more difficult to clean.

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snek-panini · 2 months ago

Text

March and April are always quiet bookbinding months for me, because I'm recovering from Binderary and this year I'm also in the market for a new printer. But I did take the time to make these very handsome fellows, and they're a new kind of project for me in a couple of ways. They're anthologies! With themes! Spaces Between is a collection of Good Omens ghost stories, and Roaming the Night is similar but with vampire and werewolf stories. They're both multi-author works and the stories within aren't affiliated beyond the fact that they're my favorites and mostly too short for case binds, but I think they came together really cohesively and I love them to bits.

More pics under the cut, including links to the stories at the end.

First, some individual photos. These are legal quartos, very nice to hold. That's marbled paper on the cover, though it is the lineco brand and I'm not sure if it's actually marbled or just printed. The text is silver foil htv. The spines and fore edges are book cloth. I had originally planned to do a more traditional 3/4 bind, with corner caps, but my marbled paper was a little too skinny to do the fore edge turn-in, and I've wanted to do a bind like this for a bit so this was an excellent opportunity. And it won't be the last time; I really like how they look and feel.

Spine view and top view. More silver foil, matching handmade endbands in red and black, and the same gray ribbon for the bookmark. I love making books in this pattern, where they're not a matched set but enough details are the same to make them feel like they go together.

Case in point, Roaming has the red cover with the gray paper for its endpapers, and Spaces has the gray cover with the red one for its endpapers. They're inverses of each other and I could not be more delighted with them.

Interiors for Roaming the Night. Vampires on the title page and werewolves in the table of contents. I couldn't decide between them so I incorporated them both. I'm trying to jazz up my ToC designs and this one turned out very well. Don't strain your eyes trying to read the titles; I've got links at the end to all but one of them.

Title page and Toc for Spaces Between. I wasn't originally going to have an image on the ToC for this one, but after I added one for Roaming I thought Spaces should have one too. And at least four of the stories in it involve a haunted building or structure, so a spooky key was definitely the way to go.

The titles for both books are my own invention; they are not named for any one story in the collections. I struggled with that a bit (I hate naming things, it's the hardest part of any creative project). I've done the whole "(Longest Story Title) and Other Stories" before and it's a fine approach, but given that there are multiple authors and they're not in sequence with each other it just didn't feel appropriate to elevate one writer's story over the others that way. I like what I settled on though, even if it was hard.

Typeset photos! They're pretty straightforward. I don't like to get too fancy on quarto typesets; I don't usually feel like there's enough space on the page. I've only just realized that the photos are both entanglednow stories, oops.

Another set of interiors that only fellow typesetters are going to think is neat. I finally figured out how to make Word put different headers in each section, so every story has its own title and author at the top of the page. I think this'll only be useful in anthologies, but I am very proud of myself and I think it looks very professional.

That's it for photos! Beyond this point are links to the stories, my reasons for loving them, and tags for the authors.

The stories included in Spaces Between are:

13 Days of Halloween (series by @entanglednow)--I always love entangled’s way with worldbuilding. Their stories always feel complete and lived-in and that’s a wonderful thing in fandom. Even though not every story in this series is an exact fit for the collection, I just couldn’t bring myself to leave any of them out. Filing Room 57 and A Friend in Need in particular have stuck with me for years.

Soaked (@racketghost)--a bit of a loose interpretation of the theme. There’s no ghost in it, nothing inexplicable and horrifying. The fear is entirely explicable and very sexy, in ways that the other stories here are not. But it absolutely nails the atmosphere. Spooky. Unnerving. It just so happens that it’s also playful. It’s a very interesting balance.

The Wrong Side of the Door (@holycatsandrabbits)--singularly unnerving. I love how the beginning so closely catches the feeling of sensational reality TV ghost hunters and then pulls the perfect shift and makes the horror real. I also love that in spite of our two leads professing how much they hate each other, they’d still run into a burning/haunted/otherwise terrible and dangerous building if the other was trapped inside. That’s devotion.

Last Crossing (also by holycatsandrabbits)--Atmosphere is everything to me in horror and Dannye always nails it. This is such an inventive premise, and it’s like I can see outlines of a bigger story; I want there to be more. Something about maritime disasters in particular resonates really hard for me and God the imagery in this one is so incredibly unnerving. I want to sink my teeth into it.

Haunted (@tawnyontumblr)--the one I went back and forth about including for the longest time. The ghosts in it are not real, are a manifestation of very old regrets, as opposed to the literal real ghosts in the others. But it’s a powerful story about accepting help when you need it, and about all the ways in which things can be haunted. And above all it feels like a horror movie, and even more importantly it’s my anthology and I wanted this in it. I am eating it up. Delicious.

the thirteenth night (@forineffablereasons)--I love how they’ve incorporated so many horror tropes into one story, and that the supernatural terrors retain their sense of menace even when the ones facing them are so strongly magical on their own. It’s still a believable threat even though they aren’t in an AU where everyone’s human. Brilliantly done, I love it.

The stories in Roaming the Night are:

In the Blood (entanglednow)--excellent character work, as always. There are no vampires in the Good Omens canon, but damned if this isn’t what they’d be like if there were. It’s also extremely sexy and has top-notch pining in spite of its relatively short length. I’ve always loved entangled's approach to unconventional sex practices and this is no exception. It was one of the first stories I thought of when I first conceptualized this anthology.

Love in the Wild (entanglednow)--love the trust on display between the characters. Again, they’ve got an unconventional relationship and they’ve had to adapt to that, and that willingness to make it work is the crux around which the whole story turns. The love is always there.

Night Walk (@snae-b)--I want this to be novel-length so badly. It’s got fantastic worldbuilding and I feel like I’m just getting glimpses of it from the other side of a curtain. Snae’s fic always has really unique settings, though usually their stories are much longer and often more overtly horror-focused. And I love how this one in particular preserves the forbidden relationship dynamic that’s so compelling in the Good Omens fandom. Delicious.

Food For Thought--tragically I can't link this one as it was a WorseOmens story and they removed all their fics at the end of last year. I had an offline backup saved or I wouldn't have been able to include it at all. You'll never see this, friend, and I know you must have had your reasons, but I know I'm not the only one who misses you and wishes you well.

Every Wolf Needs to Howl (tawnyowl)--another story that I knew from first conception had to be in this volume. The overwhelming majority of werewolf fics in this fandom are Werewolf Aziraphale, or Both Werewolves, or Oops All Porn. (Not that that’s a complaint. I just want some plot and character in my smut, and that’s where this fic delivers. And Werewolf Crowley is hot too.) It’s another star on the worldbuilding front; I’d read more chapters of this about the characters’ backgrounds and what it’s like living on the moors.

For Life (tawnyowl)--like a quarter of the GO werewolf fics of the right length for this book are Tawny’s. Thanks friend, please keep up the good work. Helping each other heal from trauma is always a compelling narrative, and again I would read more of this to find out about the world and watch the relationship develop. It’s got an interesting approach of shedding the “monster” identity by embracing it, using it to redefine the self. Both of our leads have done this and they’re using that experience to empathize with each other. And it’s hot. The communication and acceptance is hot and also the sex is hot. Both can be true at once.

Less Dark A Place (orphaned)--including this fic was almost an accident. I was looking for something to bump up the page count and accidentally found a gem. God it’s so compelling, it’s a tragedy that the author orphaned it, whoever they were. I’d love to read more about how their relationship changes and how they both handle the challenges that you know without a doubt they will face. This would have made an incredible novel-length work. Leaving them on the precipice is compelling in its own way though—they’re teetering on the edge of something new and scary and uncertain, which is a lot like how an intense new romance feels even in real life.

Doggone Batty (@kedreeva)--the reason I decided to do both werewolves and vampires in the same anthology. I love the asexual and aromantic approach to relationships. I’m asexual myself so I appreciate seeing those relationships done this well; they don’t need to do those things in order to want to be close. The relationship doesn’t even have room for that, it’s too full of other things for me to think about what it doesn't have. I love the hilarious misunderstandings in this fic, the bit where Aziraphale learns how to do a thing just because it’s fun (barking at a closed door like an idiot), the twist is ludicrous (compliment), and I want to give them both hugs and couch cuddles.

Phew! That's a lot of text. Hopefully tumblr doesn't get huffy with me for including too many links and tags.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #this is the longest book write-up i've ever done #i usually only show them to one or two authors though #and this one's going out to like seven people #that's a lot of people!#i had to get it right!

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