#sometimes you have to slash and burn

[monaisme]

One Week Later- Chapter 14

This is the sequel to my one shot, “The Battle,” which can be found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027636

As it’s been more than a while, you can also find the rest of this story here… if you’d like to refresh your memory:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30168360

Please enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen

It was going to be such a good day. Peter had been so sure. He was feeling better... like honestly better than the day before. His headache was gone, his ribs were good (enough, but no one really needed to know differently), the gash in his leg was on its way to gone and by the end of day, he’d managed to choke down a full, albeit normal sized meal for dinner for the ultimate win. Yes, his temperature had crept up barely a bit toward the end of the day but his regular super-meds had taken care of that super quick and he’d been so hopeful that he’d be able to leave the med bay—and try to figure out what his new normal was going to look like.

He’d been discharged literal minutes earlier and then, of course, Peter, by his mere existence, had jinxed it all. Parker Luck ruined everything.  

“It is regrettable, Mr. Stark, but until we can be certain that Mr. Parker’s fever has fully resolved, we must deny access to her room. And I do understand that this is upsetting, but my job as her primary physician is to make sure Mrs. Parker receives the best possible care and as such...“

Mr. Stark sighed in sudden resignation. “I know, I know. I get it. Thank you, Dr. Bonwick. We’ll leave you to it, but please...” His voice trailed off.

Dr. Bonwick seemed to understand. “As I have been doing thus far, I will keep you up to date on her condition should any changes arise.” The man smiled sympathetically over Mr. Stark’s shoulder to address Peter, who stood awkwardly behind him. “I will also confer with Dr. Cho so as to schedule any follow up appointments in a manner that will allow for visits as soon as a full 48 hours without fever has passed... with your permission, of course?” He looked to Mr. Stark for that confirmation. 

Nodding tersely, Mr. Stark grunted out his thanks and turned toward Peter. “Alright, kid, let’s get out of here,” and guided Peter back towards him room at the end of the hall.

Peter didn’t say anything as he shuffled along. What could he say?

Mr. Stark, however, had some thoughts to share.

“What a jerk.” Mr. Stark blurted out as soon as the door to the med bay room closed.

Peter turned his back to Mr. Stark as he blinked back tears. “Be nice, Mr. Stark. He’s just making sure she doesn’t get worse, is all. I get it.”

“Yah, yah. I get it, too,” Mr. Stark huffed in frustration, “but that doesn’t change what I said. He should have said something sooner. I mean, you’d been here all day yesterday, too, for cryin’ out loud. Waiting until you were heading down the hall to say hi was not okay.”

Peter sniffled, and rubbed at his tired eyes, “Yeah, well, the fever was last night though, and he doesn’t have to be nice. He just has to be the best, right? And you said he is, so if that means he’s a,” Peter searched for a word, “...turd, then so be it. It’s whatever Aunt May needs, right? And you’ve got enough tech kickin’ around to make sure we can still see each other, even if it’s not in person.”

Peter could feel Mr. Stark’s eyes on his back. “Of course we do! Geez, kid. What kind of a genius do you take me for? Oh, and by the way, way to be the bigger person. Darn it, were you always this mature?”

Peter couldn’t help the choked laugh as he slid back into their familiar banter, “Well, between you and me, one of us had to be.”

Mr. Stark chuckled as he came up behind Peter and patted him tenderly on the shoulder. “You won’t hear an argument out of me. Now,” Mr. Stark stepped back and surveyed the room. “Let’s grab your stuff and get you out of here, shall we?”

Mr. Stark must have noticed Peter’s subtle nod, as he gripped his shoulder one last time. “Fantastic. I’ll go check the bathroom really quick while you grab those books Pep brought down... Oh! And I think she brought down one of her fancy blankets from the penthouse. Could you do a quick check for that, too? I’d rather we not leave it behind.”

Peter nodded again and waited as Mr. Stark’s footsteps receded into the small bathroom attached to his med bay room, then blinked slow, and pressed the heels of his hands hard into his eyes. “C’mon, Peter, pull it together. You can do this,” he muttered to himself. “Just get upstairs and you’ll be good... just get upstairs...”

Peter’s brief self-talk was immediately interrupted.

“Well, that took all of two seconds, bud. Congrats on not being disgusting. I’ve got your toothbrush and such ready to go.” Mr. Stark said as he stepped out of the private bathroom attached to Peter’s room, zipping up a travel bag. He’d obviously noticed that Peter hadn’t moved from his spot because he handed Peter the bag and manoeuvred around him. “Here, let me do a quick check before we go so no one has to run back down later. ‘kay?”

How could the man have so much energy after everything that had happened to him?

Peter had finally managed to convince Mr. Stark to sleep in his own bed last night (Did no one else noticed how exhausted Mr. Stark looked?) and so he hadn’t been privy to Peter’s marathon of nightmares, thank goodness for that small miracle. Besides, Peter and Mr. Stark had both figured that after a day filled with colouring books and board games with Morgan, plus an 80s movie marathon to entice Peter into taking much needed naps, that everyone would be ready for a good night’s rest so the next day could be fresh start for everyone—barring any other weird medical drama overnight.

Stupid fever.

That Peter had spent the eventual fever-free night thrashing about as he tried to fend off nightmare after nightmare of Thanos as the titan obliterated Queens and watched helplessly as Mr. Stark and Ben, and then May and Ben, and then Ben, and Ben, and forever Ben who was always reaching out for Peter, and always dying then disintegrating over and over and over again— well...

“Alrighty then, what do you think, Pete? Have we got everything before we head up to the penthouse?” Mr. Stark asked, arms full of faux fur and books and blissfully oblivious to Peter’s exhaustion as he scanned the med bay room one last time. “I almost couldn’t tell if you’d left anything behind or not with the mess you’d made of this bedding!”

Peter flushed with embarrassment. Mr. Stark didn’t need to know the real reason so Peter made a production of straightening the bedding, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Sorry. I think I was a little overheated last night, is all.” It seemed as good an excuse as any, until—

Mr. Stark took a good look at Peter, frowned, and dropped his pile of Peter stuff back on the bed. He came closer, pressing a gentle hand to Peter’s forehead. “Are you doing okay, Peter? You’re looking a little rough, now that I’m getting a good look at you but Lydie didn’t say anything more about a fever. And she wouldn’t have forgotten to mention it, would she? She’s generally on the ball with that sort of stuff. Huh. Maybe I should get her to—“

Peter stepped back and pushed the hand away. “No. Last night was fine. Can we just go? Please?” Was he whining?

But Mr. Stark pushed. “Relax, kid. It’ll only take a minute... and ease your old man’s mind.”

“Really, Mr. Stark.” Now, Peter tried not to sound too snappish as he interrupted what was most likely going to be another freak out by his mentor. “I’m fine! I promise. I was just warm from too many blankets.”

Mr. Stark blinked, trying to figure out how to react to the dramatic shift in mood, but Peter was backtracking before Mr. Stark could do or even say anything. “Shi—I mean shoot! I’m sorry,” Peter couldn’t contain his frustrated sigh, “I didn’t have the best sleep last night. Okay?” He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself. “Please? All I really want is to take a shower and get all of this adhesive gunk off of me and then maybe try to talk to Aunt May a bit if she’s awake before I lie down in my own bed.” Peter rubbed at the site of the IV that had been taken out only minutes before for effect.

Looking both worried and unsure, Mr. Stark made his decision and moved toward the door, “Yeah, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can let this go, bud. You can razz me for overreacting later. For now, let me grab her and—“  

Peter couldn’t bear it a moment longer. He’d never done well in the med bay—like, ever. And he’d only be able to ignore the fact that his Aunt May was down the hall alone for so long all because Dr. Bonwick had refused Peter’s request to visit, which was totally understandable, but still pure torture. And if he couldn’t see her... hug her... hold her hand, then at least he should be allowed to hide away and catch his breath... or try—just like with all the other stress Peter was being made to deal with. His frustration bubbled over into anger. “I SAID NO! JUST LISTEN TO ME! JUST—“ Peter realized he was losing it and caught himself, too late. He released the breath he’d apparently been holding and dropped his head into his hands in defeat. In contrast to only a moment before, he whispered a plaintive plea, “just stop.”  

Mr. Stark froze in his tracks, only putting his hands up in surrender. “Peter?”

Peter couldn’t help himself and looked up at the sound of his name, mouth agape and stunned at his own outburst as Mr. Stark approached with the caution of one approaching a wounded animal. “Kid?”  

Peter could only shake his head in horror as the words tumbled out of his mouth, “I am so sorry, Mr. Stark. It was such a good day yesterday and I don’t- I don’t know—I didn’t mean—I—I—” He dropped his head in his hands again and groaned in defeat. “crap.”

Way to keep it together, Peter. Idiot.

The room was silent, neither of them knowing exactly what to say after what may have been the most horrifically mortifying moments of Peter’s adolescent life, until Mr. Stark took a few deep breaths and cleared his throat. “So,” he finally spoke, “Is this just about the May stuff or is there something else running around in that head of yours?”

Peter couldn’t bring himself to speak, averted his eyes.

“Pete. You’ve got to give me something.”

Still, he remained silent.

Mr. Stark waited patiently for all of ten seconds before he wrapped a gentle hand around Peter’s wrist and led him to sit on the chair still stationed between their hospital beds. Crouching before Peter, his knees popping on his way down, Mr. Stark tried again. “Can you please look at me?”

Peter could barely manage to shake his head, ‘no.’

Mr. Stark gave Peter’s knee a gentle squeeze. “Can you at least tell me why?”

That inquiry brought on a slightly more vigorous headshake ‘no.’

Mr. Stark shifted a little, then muttered a quiet “ah, screw it” before plopping down, cross-legged onto the floor in front of the boy. “There. Now. If you’re not going to talk—or even look at me, would you at least be okay with my offering a thought or two?”

Maybe Mr. Stark had seen Peter’s barely discernible shoulder shrug, maybe not, but he plugged along as though he had. “I know that you know that me and May were talking, even before the snap...”

Peter cringed.

Mr. Stark ignored it and went on, “And I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but she mentioned your tendency to blame yourself for things waaaaay beyond your control. I’m pretty sure I witnessed some of that myself, if I stop and think back to when I was still being a dumbass.” Mr. Stark paused. “Regardless, you know that the fever was beyond your control, right? Even if it’s not what kept you up last night.”

Peter clenched his jaw to keep from disagreeing.

“Huh. I for sure thought you’d argue with me on that one, even if you were lying. Your aunt may also have mentioned that you were stubborn like your uncle and that once you get a thought in your head, it takes something like divine intervention to get it out of there.”

Peter found himself scrutinizing a particular tile just to the right of Mr. Stark’s knee. Aside from the whole calling him out thing, hearing Mr. Stark speaking of Ben was... disorienting? And he couldn’t...

“If you don’t want to talk right now, that’s fine.” Mr. Stark assured him. “I will remind you that now that all of the world ending garbage has been taken care of, we’ve got all the time and resources we need to work on all of it, okay?”

Peter scowled.

“And you’ve also got a whole load of people who care about you... more than you know and will be around whenever you need us. I can name some of them if you need me to.”

Peter’s frown softened and his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment.

“Perfect, I’m glad we’ve come to a consensus on all of that. Now,” Mr. Stark gave Peter’s knee a gentle pat and moved onto his next thought as he stood up from the floor. “How’s about we get upstairs, get you into a shower and then snuggle up on the couch. I’ll have FRIDAY queue up ‘A New Hope’ for once you’ve spoken with May and then we can get our nerd on. No need for you to hide away and get lost in your head all over again. Alright? Sound like a plan?”

Peter stayed sat in the chair and contemplated. Maybe hiding away wasn’t what he wanted to do, after all? Getting lost in a galaxy far, far away, with Mr. Stark and... maybe Morgan?

Before he could say anything, Mr. Stark straightened one last time. “C’mon, kid,” the man grabbed Pepper’s blanket and the books. “Let’s get you upstairs before the Missus thinks we’ve been kidnapped or something,” Mr. Stark pulled Peter close then pulled him out the door and down the hallway to the elevator they both knew FRIDAY would deliver to Mr. Stark without needing to press anything. “I’ll get Happy to double check the room later on when he gets in... sound like a plan?”  

Peter nodded, still embarrassed by his emotional outburst, but feeling better for having sorted things out.

“Good show, now are you ready for a movie marathon like no oth—“

Whatever Mr. Stark was going to say was cut off by the elevator doors gliding open to reveal Happy, who choked and paled as he looked at the two before him.  With zero subtlety, the man rushed to hide a bouquet of flowers behind his back. “Um, what are... I mean—“ he cleared his throat nervously. “I thought you guys would be upstairs already. Was everything okay? Peter?” Happy did a quick scan of the boy. “You’re good, right?”

Peter nodded, too emphatically. “Yeah, we were just...um.” Peter trailed off, not wanting to actually tell Happy what had delayed the two.

Mr. Stark figured it out pretty fast though. “We were just making sure we’d grabbed everything before heading up.” Mr. Stark smirked and shifted to sneak a peek behind the man. “We probably missed a crayon or two from yesterday, though, if you felt like taking a gander later... after you’re done with whatever down here? Hey, Hap?”

Happy gulped as his eyes tracked from Mr. Stark, to Peter, and then to Mr. Stark again. “Yeah... I can, uh... I can do that?”

Mr. Stark grinned big. “You’re good, though, right? I would be safe in assuming that those flowers you’re trying to hide mean you aren’t here for a check up then?”

Happy cheeks reddened. “No... I mean, yeah. I’m good.”

Mr. Stark was revelling in Happy’s obvious discomfort. “So then...”

Lydie poked her head around the corner. “Oh! Peter! Mr. Stark! What are you two still doing here?”

Peter just shrugged. “We were trying to leave but we ran into Happy and...”

“Well, then, off you go.” Lydie interrupted shooing them away. “You may have been released, but you know that you’d be best served to take it easy for a few more days, Peter. And you, Mr. Stark, don’t think you’re not in my crosshairs, too.”  

Mr. Stark wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and immediately steered him back toward the still open elevator doors. “We’re goin’, we’re goin’...” Mr Stark grumbled. “I can tell when we’re not wanted.”

The two turned to face the hallway as the doors slid closed, giving Peter barely a second to wave awkwardly at Happy and Lydie standing together in the hall.

Neither said anything for a moment, when Peter cleared his throat and spoke, “Um, Mr. Stark? Not that it’s any of my business, but how long have Lydie and Happy been dating?”

A shocked inhale had Mr. Stark choking on his spit for a literal half-minute before he could speak again. “Lydie and Happy?!” Mr. Stark just chuckled. “Geez, kid, Let’s get you upstairs so we can have a chat.”

The elevator moved upward toward the penthouse.

Peter, feeling awkward in the silence, spoke up. “It looked like a nice bouquet at least...” and then Peter realized something. “Wait a minute... Mr. Stark? Did that bouquet have all of Aunt May’s favourites in it?”

Mr. Stark smiled big. “Let’s save this one for home, okay, kid?”

Yeah. This one was going to be a doozy.

[alexlwrites]

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you’ve never seen each other before.

Enters fuckboy Jungkook who disappears after your night together, not knowing how much he was about to regret that choice.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I’m truly sorry for this sad excuse of an update.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲, 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

(<<< part one)

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again” Jane’s voice rang through the phone as you walked down the streets towards your desired coffee spot.

You also couldn’t believe you were doing that again. You tried your best to live your life with no regrets, but men made it very hard.

“Have you seen him since he fled the crime scene?”

“Stop calling it a crime scene” you snapped.

“Well, have you?”

Your silence was enough of an answer. No, you had not seen or heard from Jungkook since he ran away from your bedroom in the dead of night, leaving behind only the smell of cologne and, funnily enough, a single sock. When you woke up that day to an empty bed, sheets crumbled and a mattress indented on the side where he had slept, all you could muster was a tired sigh of disappointment. 

And to be completely honest, you were disappointed with yourself, not Jungkook. You expected nothing less than a quick escape of him. But you should’ve known better than to hope for anything. Despite everything, you were still an idealist at heart and you thought that maybe just this once…

You shook your head obstinately. You had learned early on that no good would come from moping around for men who would never once feel any regret for their thoughtless actions and if your pain were to be always one sided, then it was better not to feel any at all. Not to dwell on it, move on, learn from it and be better. Or be worse, sometimes, as self-improvement was not always your goal.

Sometimes, you chose to listen to the tiny revengeful angel on your shoulder - who kind of sounded like Taylor Swift - that screamed for violence and vindication.

As your failed relationships started to pile up, you did reach a point where you had to wonder if you were the problem, as it was the canonical event of all 20 something women. But observation, therapy, critical thinking and hereditary pettiness brought you to the decision that it was not, in fact, your fault. At least not all of it. 

With that in mind, you left only the smallest of time slots in your booked and busy schedule to ponder and grieve over the fickle nature of boys’ interests. You had better, more important things to do, such as mindlessly scroll through Minecraft/AITA videos and save pilates routines that you were never gonna do. 

Still, in an experience intrinsically feminine, you allowed yourself a little treat to cope with the slight burn of despondency in the back of your mind. 

And so you directed yourself to the bougie coffee house near campus, hoping to drown your sorrows with an aggressively sweet and overly caffeinated drink. 

“You should slash his tires”

“Jane, please, we have talked about this.”

“You should totally slash his fucking tires!"

"Saying it louder is not gonna make me agree with you! Jane…"

Suddenly your eyes found Jungkook's across the room filled to the brim with depressed, financially irresponsible students, making you pause and hold back the urge to curl your lips in distaste. It bothered you that even with scared eyes as big as saucers and hunched shoulders to appear smaller, Jungkook still managed to look good. 

But you knew better than to let him know how much his presence and pretty face annoyed you. Boys like Jungkook only cared about having an impact on people’s life, very rarely caring if it was good or bad. He wanted a reaction out of you and you learned better than to give those away so carelessly.

So you frowned and looked away, the words practiced on your lips as you said “Some guy is staring at me.”

Jane laughed loudly on the phone “You’re a psycho, you know that?”

“I don’t know who it is, Jane, some dude” you stole a quick glance at him, finding vengeful glee at his shocked expression.

“Send me a pic of his reaction, I’m posting it on TikTok.”

You continued playing your part, ignoring your sister’s interruptions as you usually did “Of course I’m carrying a taser, Jane, I’m not an animal…”

“I’ll give you 5 bucks to tase him.”

“You know what, this coffee is not even worth the visual harassment, God I hate men…”

You walked out of the coffee house, hand empty but with a fulfilled sick sense of accomplishment as you stepped out into the street with a shit-eating grin.

“I hope you know what you’re doing” Jane said and you could hear the smile in her voice. Out of your two sisters, Jane was never the one to tell you to not do something, preferring to let you make your own mistakes.

And boy, did you. 

You left your big, beautiful, tattooed mistake behind you, ready to move on to something less prone to disappointment, such as fictional men and your Stardew Valley husband “Dont worry” you told your sister “I don’t.”.

—

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asked, left eye twitching slightly at your unbothered expression.

After your confusing exit from the coffee shop and a good amount of jabs from his friends, Jungkook had to hunt you down across campus, finding you sitting under a tree with a book in your hands, looking way too peaceful for someone who just had humiliated him.

You looked down at your book with an arched eyebrow “Kegels, clearly. Why?”

“No, I mean…” Jungkook’s frustration was rising by the second, the vein on his neck jumping out “Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”

You frowned.

 “Do I know you?” you asked, face doubtful.

“We have classes together?”

You blinked, impassive.

“We went on a date?”

A head shake.

“We slept together!”

“Nope, can’t say it rings any bells.”

That’s it. Jungkook was actually convinced you were clinically insane. 

“How can you not remember?”

“How can I remember something that never happened?”

“But it did! You’re crazy! I chased you for weeks!”

You smiled, a trap.

“So, you're, like, in love with me?” you ask, tone condescending. 

Jungkook scoffed and you weren’t sure if it was at the idea of love or loving you. “No, of course not.”

“So in this dream scenario of yours, we had sex but we weren’t together?”

“Trust me, this” he gestured between the two of you “is no dream scenario.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer” you crossed your arms in front you, defensive “Let me get this straight. You, allegedly, chased me for weeks, but don’t really like me. Then, we had casual, out-of-relationship sex and then what? You banged my head against the headboard so hard I completely forgot about it? Your story is full of holes, my dude.”

You had to fight back the urge to smirk, energy spiking from feeding off of Jungkook’s stupefied confusion.

Nail in the coffin, you shrugged, turning your eyes back to your book “Maybe you weren’t that memorable and my mind deleted you like a childhood trauma.”

A slight left eye spasm was all the reaction you got at first, evolving to the pursing of pouty lips and the clenching of fists.

“You are insane” he said at last after seconds of turning clogs in his barely filled mind.

“Finally you said something true.”

Jungkook was equally bewildered and furious. He didn’t know what your deal was or what you were getting out of this, but your refusal to admit you had sex pissed him off deeply considering how much time and effort he put into getting you together.

“Also, I have to ask” you continued, clearly not done with your pursuit of driving him up the wall “what was your goal with this conversation? Chasing me for weeks to then sleep with me and then come here and tell me you’re not actually interested in me, but being upset when I don’t remember something that didn’t happen… What’s the point?”

Jungkook paused. Truly, he didn’t have much of an end goal in mind, actions fueled only by a bruised ego and a childish, borderline pathological need to prove himself.

When he didn’t answer, you stood up and gathered your things, keeping your head down to hide your poorly concealed satisfaction “I’ll let you ponder on that” you said “Don’t worry about reaching out with an answer, though.”

Finally, you looked up at him, face masked with faux awkwardness. “Anyway. Nice to meet you, I guess? No, actually, not really, this was weird as shit. You seem to have some things to figure out. Get help and take care, my dude.”

And so you left, leaving behind only a cloud of your bergamot perfume and a perplexed Jungkook blinking owlishly. 

There was a sudden influx of thoughts rushing through his usually much less busy mind, the general tone of confusion ringing amongst humiliation and frustration.

When Jungkook first set his greedy eyes on you, he had an inkling that you’d be a handful and in the beginning, you truly were. You took pleasure in making everything much more difficult for him, running from his presence like the plague and approaching the whole subject of him like one would the subject of warts - reluctantly and with caution.

And if he were honest, he wasn’t too sure on why he insisted, but one would be surprised at how far Jungkook would escalate things out of spite and resentment.

It was that same sick combination of flavors that drove him insane for weeks, moving him to pester you until you gave him a chance. And he took it, lord, did he take it.

That night, he made every possible effort to please you, cloaked in his best, non-ranch stained clothes and best non-arrogant behavior.

And when morning came and he opened up his eyes before you did, tired out from the epitome of his bestest behavior, there was a moment of quiet as he watched you eyelids flutter delicately, soft arm draped lightly over his waist.

The night before had been… Fun, he thought, even before you had reached your bedroom. You were weird and used a bunch of words he didn’t know, but you also made him laugh and listened to him babbling about his interest without once looking bored, even going as far as asking questions about his farfetched MCU theories.

And despite your many (too many to count, insurmountable really) differences, you had… Chemistry, one could call it. Thick chemistry, palpable tension, pushing you towards each other despite your previous attempts to go the other way.

But no amount of chemistry could break Jungkook’s routine as inertia pushed him out of your bed, practiced steps light as feathers as he escaped your apartment with one last look to your sleeping form and somehow one less sock on his feet.

And as he left, there was an undiagnosed pounding in his heart he tried to chalk off as the result of his Dorito and monster drink based diet, but his eyes kept flashing back to where you rested even when he was miles away.

He tried to make sense of your persistent presence in the back of his mind. You were cool, he’d give you that. Hot too. But it didn’t matter how your body fit his like they were manufactured together or how your passive aggressive way of flirting (or insulting, he had a hard time telling them apart with you) never failed to steal a snort from his lips. And yeah, it was kind of nice when you called him cute everytime he didn’t understand something you said. It brought a blush to his cheeks and wild butterflies to his stomach, because… Well, no one had ever called him cute after middle school. Hot? Yes. Sexy? Once a week. Biggest dick ever? Yes, both meanings.

But not cute. And deep down, under layers of aggressively oversized shirts and muscles… Jungkook kind of liked being cute.

Jungkook shook that thought away. Despite all that, you were a point he had to make.

And he did! Point proven and undisputed, up until you looked at him like he was a silly little kid throwing a tantrum (which he kind of was) and questioned him and his sanity,

But Jungkook was obstinate and, even more, the sorest of losers. He had proven himself once and would again! He was a man on a mission, he decided, watching you walk away from him while mouthing the words “I’ll pray for you!”. And the mission was to either send you into a psychiatric hospital or get you back into his bed.

And if the butterflies in his stomach fluttered excitedly at that second prospect, he didn’t allow himself to ponder on it for a single second.

°•. ✿ .•°

[Taglist: @artsxpe ; @010op10 ; @ladysandy ; @707sblog ; @notvantaes ; @borahaeb1ch ; @akshstudios ; @beautyiisterror ; @lovelycammy ; @mushysunrise-deactivated2022030 ; @hani0407]

My taglists are open! Click here to be added <3

[Permanent taglist: @imknewattis ; @dreamamubarak ; @onlythebest-106 ;@betysotelo18 ; @havetaeminforbreakfast ; @uno7 ; @chimchimmarie ; @anaya123world ; @junecat18 ]

[del-thetiredwriter]

There's so much we can do with that Cheater Daemon x wife reader AU

Like Daemon witnessing his wife's burning hatred towards him. She didn't express it in front of him rather it's other actions that prove her hatred

He saw his wife in a storeroom, holding a knife to rip off and slash multiple cuts on a portrait with his face in it. She didn't care that her palm is bleeding from gripping the knife too hard, she's just focusing on saying how he's such a pathetic trash,how ugly he is despite his beautiful face and basically disfiguring the entire portrait. When he asked her about her bandaged hand afterwards,she just said it was an accident while she's walking and none of his business at all

He read her diary full of her regrets for marrying him as well as her hateful words towards his entire existence,even a list of men she should've had married instead of him,Criston Cole was on the list and even the fact he might be into his own niece. Hell she's even planning on how to push him towards Rhaenyra so that she can freely escape him. She even wrote that she rather died or killed by him than suffering by living with him

She even had a conversation with Criston Cole about how terrible her husband is and the knight just listened to it all,he knows how the Targaryens are,he did work for them after all Criston Cole maybe Daemon's potential love rival

Sometimes Reader even pretended Daemon didn't exist,just ignore him and how in her sleep,she sometimes say other men's names except Daemon,it was never his name that came out of her lips when she was sleeping

Part1 , part2

Well these are great ideas. And like you said we have so much material to use. And I did a little work from the things you said. It’s like a part 2.1?

——————————————————————————

Daemon sighed. Visersy would rarely see your brother this thoughtful and sad? Seeing, Visersy clapped him on the shoulder.

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing." replied Little Brother.

“Come on Daemon, you can't fool me. Come on, talk to me. What's your problem?”

The white-haired prince sighed.

"My wife. It's just that my wife has been a little weird lately?"

"Strange? your wife? Y/n? You are kidding."

Visersy handed Daemon a glass of wine.

"Yes. She’s been acting really weird lately. Recently I saw her in the storeroom with a knife in her hand, injuring herself..."

.

“The gods gave you outer beauty, but there is nothing left for your character!” You shouted and added another cut to the portrait.

"Damn you!" And one more cut...

While you were combing your hair in front of the mirror, you heard that damn voice. “My wife~” your beloved husband hugged you from behind. You tried to ignore him.

"What happened to your hand?" ' he asked in a worried but also angry voice. He held your bandaged hand.

"Nothing. I fell while walking, That's all." You pulled your hand back.

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure."

.

“…I won't even talk about what was written in her diary!” Daemon took a harsh sip from his goblet.

“But seriously, how can she compare me to those damn knights! Moreover, her conversation with that guy yesterday! I will kill that guy!”

Visersy nodded understandingly.

"What am I going to do with this woman? She acts as if I don't exist!"

Daemon groaned. Visersy patted his brother on the back.

"What can I say? You reap what you sow.”

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Onychophora

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Onychophora is a phylum of long, soft-bodied, many-legged animals. They are commonly called Velvet Worms due to their velvety texture, and the human propensity for calling any small animal with a long body a worm. Onychophora is the only animal phylum in which every extant (non-extinct) member is fully terrestrial.

Onychophorans are predators, preying on other invertebrates which they catch by spraying an adhesive, glue-like slime. This slime can also be used to deter predators. They will target slime at the limbs of their prey, and have even been observed targeting the fangs of spiders. The slime is stretchy, with high tensile strength, and forms a net-like structure when sprayed. It takes about 24 days to replenish an exhausted slime repository, so they will eat their dried slime when they can.

Onychophoran legs are called oncopods, lobopods, or “stub feet”. They can have from 13 to as many as 43 pairs of feet, depending on species. Their legs are hollow and have no joints, instead being moved by the hydrostatic pressure of their fluid contents. Each foot has a pair of tiny chitin claws which they use to gain their footing on uneven terrain. They sense the world via a pair of antennae, the numerous papillae covering their bodies, and a pair of simple eyes, though there are some blind species. Their mouth is surrounded by sensitive lips, and their chitin jaws, used for chewing up prey, look similar to their claws. On either side of their mouth are the oral papillae, openings containing their slime glands. Unlike their relatives, the tardigrades and arthropods, they do not have a rigid exoskeleton, restricting them to habitats with high humidity. They are also nocturnal hunters, and shy away from light, leading them to be most active on rainy nights. Onychophorans have two sexes. Females are usually larger than males, and sometimes have more legs. In most species the males will secrete a pheromone from their many “armpits” to attract females. Mating procedures differ between species. Some species are live-bearing, and some are egg-laying. The oldest known fossil Onychophoran, Antennipatus, is known from the Late Carboniferous.

Propaganda under the cut:

The little orange guy in my avatar is a velvet worm!

Some species can spray their slime up to a foot away, though their accuracy gets worse with distance.

Apparently, velvet worm slime tastes "slightly bitter and at the same time somewhat astringent.” Don’t ask how biologists know that.

It is hard to evaluate all velvet worms due to their nocturnal nature and low population densities, but of the few species that have been evaluated, all are near threatened to critically endangered. Main threats come from habitat loss due to industrialisation, draining of wetlands, and slash-and-burn agriculture. Many species naturally have low population densities and small geographic ranges, so a small disturbance of ecosystem can lead to the extinction of entire species. Populations are also threatened by collection for universities or research institutes.

While most countries offer little to no protection for their velvet worms, Tasmania is unique for having its own velvet worm conservation plan and one region of forest dedicated to preserving the endangered Blind Velvet Worm, Leucopatus anophthalmus (seen in the 3rd image).

Onychophoran’s stub feet allow them to be sneaky ambush predators which hunt only at night. They move slowly and quietly, with their body raised off the ground. They only use their claws when needed for climbing, otherwise they walk softly on the pads of their feet. They are often able to get so close to their prey that they can gently touch them with their antennae to assess their size and nutritional value before the prey is alerted.

Onychophorans have small but complex brains, and are thus capable of sophisticated social interaction. Some species live and hunt in packs, acting in aggression and territoriality towards velvet worms not in their own group. After a kill, the dominant female always feeds first, followed in turn by the other females, then males, then the young. High-ranking individuals will chase and bite subordinates who climb on them, but will allow juveniles to climb on their backs without aggression.

Somft

[namazunomegami]

Mélange

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x gn!reader

Synopsis: Sometimes humans are not above animals. Sometimes they burn to fulfill the same basic needs and not strive for more in the moment. A full belly, safety, procreation. What happens when all three of them need to be satisfied? Tinged with spice. Under the influence of an unknown substance.

CW: aphrodisiac, dubcon, slight somnophilia, feral and animalistic Yuta, he has cannibalistic thoughts, licking, lovebites, scratching, biting, slight pain, handjob, premature ejaculation, fingering, Reader can feel Yuta’s ring during fingering, slight dacryphilia if you squint, implied multiple rounds, porn with feelings, good old unprotected sex + creampie, both Reader and Yuta are ultra possessive in their own toxic way <33

WC: 3.6k

Credits: my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading this mess and doing a bit of rework on the tenses <33 the cannibalcore pics are from pinterest

Song rec: needles and pins by deftones and gibson girl by ethel cain both give a nice vibe to the fic as we slowly transition from Yuta's POV to Reader's POV

A/N: Can't believe I'm posting my first one shot here 🥹 After so many unsuccessful attempts to wrap up multichaptered fics, at least, this one messy smut got finished. My first ever finished fic 🥹 And the first to get completed in a relatively short time. Yes, a week is a short time for me. And happy holidays to y’all, this is gonna be the last fic in this year so expect only shitposts from me from now on lmao.

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

Minors do not interact or else I'm gonna go apeshit, also a seperate warning for heavy dark content as usual. If there's anything mentioned in the tags that you're not comfortable with, this is not your fic.

Many sorcerers envy the title of special grade. Yuta thinks these people deserve a separate Naraka in Hell. They don’t realize the immense responsibility, they can’t fathom the challenges, the danger of the missions. The threat those curses pose. They only care about the power he carries.

During today’s mission, Yuta realized he’s not entirely an unstoppable force. Even someone like him is weak to certain fighting styles, he can’t counter everything with his wide range of copied techniques. This curse’s grade was well deserved. Whenever the katana slashed deep into it’s skin, a strange kind of gas was emitted from the wounds. Though he eventually exorcised the curse, he did breathe in the weird, sweet-smelling substance. The scent was hard to resist, it felt like the perfect mixture of all his favorite smells, inviting and comforting. However, he trusted his body to withstand the temptation, reinforced to near perfection with cursed energy and the usage of reversed cursed technique.

There was no problem until he finished reporting back to the higher ups and was on the way home. Maybe it was just the fatigue, the late summer heat, the humidity of the night but something made him feel weird. Almost sick. A thin veil of sweat glistened on his skin, his cheeks, ears and upper body were flushed. His chest was heaving, a burning, aching sensation tormented him between his legs, throbbing with a synced rhythm to his heartbeat. All his thoughts narrowed down to one single, inherently primal thing. A need. A hunger.

Shame and confusion swelled inside his chest. How can he lose his composure? How can he want it so badly? If he wasn’t so wired for monogamy, he would have fucked anyone who moved. And with every passing minute the feeling was getting worse. Descending slowly to the brink of madness. Hell, he was close to wheezing and growling like a rabid dog. He already had no patience to find the right key to the door. He could break that shit, he definitely could. He had no idea why, but he could stop himself from doing that. Maybe the insane price to get it fixed.

But the comfort of his home isn’t helping him. He can’t calm down, he can’t unwind. On the contrary, everything intensifies the strange urge in him to act territorial. But it’s only natural when he grew up feeling like he didn’t have anything he could call his own, whether it’s a material possession or a person. Every comprehensible thought vanished from his head. Leaving only the instincts. The need to claim. He immediately goes to the bedroom, not even bothering to have a quick shower or a light meal.

He gazes at your sleeping form, unknowing and peaceful. Innocent and vulnerable like a newborn lamb and he’s… he wouldn’t compare himself to a wolf, he’s a more vicious predator than that, all starved and keen on capturing its prey. Your limbs are thrown in every direction on the mattress, a thin, silk blanket barely concealing your body, but you’re hugging a some of it to your chest. Like you’re missing him, finding solace in the way the material is touching you. The windows are wide open, hoping that the night air can cool you down.

Yuta caught himself almost drooling at the sight. He can’t stop himself, he can’t fight the shameless thoughts plaguing him. The need, the want is stronger than what he deems right in the moment. His steps are quiet, that part of the floor that normally creaks is now completely silent. He looms over you, like a sinful, ungodly spirit, your very own kanashibari that’s bound to you. His weight is pressing down on the mattress ever so slightly, caging your form between his arms. He breathes in the smell of your freshly showered skin. A mixture of heady vanilla, milk and honey. He mindlessly licks a stripe up your thigh, wanting to taste you, to bite you, to tear out a big chunk of your flesh with his teeth to satisfy this torturous hunger he feels for you. More than anything he wants to devour you. Completely. Have you all for himself. The thought alone makes his dick so hard it’s outright painful.

He ascends towards your hips, leaving soft yet wet kisses that make you twitch in your sleep. Yuta swears that he’s more sensitive to all stimuli, his senses are working at their maximum capacity. He’s able to feel every morsel, every particle of you. The soft peach fuzz, the bumps, the ridges of your stretch marks, their pearl-like glistening texture flowing on the surface of your skin like a river. The material of your shorts, loose and thin, he can feel the seams on the band of your underwear through the fabric. Where the bones bend, where flesh folds. Your smell. Not just from the shower gel and the laundry detergent but your natural scent, so strong he believes it’s some kind of weird pheromone that’s driving him wild. To the point he almost considers nudging his nose between your legs, just like dogs do when they smell blood there.

Maybe it’s not entirely wrong to claim you this way. He can spare you from this more primal side of him, you won’t get to see it and despise him for it. It’s enough if he deals with the shame alone, self-deprecation is his ultimate talent afterall. But that can wait until after he finished soothing this excruciating itch. Because now the last remnant of his resolve goes out the window.

He pulls up your shirt all the way up to your chest. His shirt to be exact. It makes his heart flutter, a piece of him enveloping you, makes the boundaries between your sense of selves blend and blur. The thought of you using his stuff as your own feels so right, so promising.

He practically glues his face to the expanse of your stomach. The flesh is so soft between his teeth, feels so good to bite on it, so easy to suck on it until the skin turns a deep purple.

And maybe… maybe he can lower his crotch onto your knees. Just a little. Just for a little friction…

You stir, opening your eyes slowly, tiredness and confusion are still heavy on your expression. And then you feel teeth nipping at your stomach, fingers digging into the dips of your hips firmly, some wetness here and there along your leg.

Your first response is fear.

You start to squirm and fuss, kicking your legs up in the air, not even thinking about who’s doing this to you until Yuta grips your shoulders and pushes you back into the sheets, keeping you still by the weight of his own body, shushing you. You can feel his nails penetrating the skin, branding the crescent Moon itself into your flesh.

“It’s me, don’t panic.”

You’d recognize this voice anywhere, but you blinked a few times just to clear your vision. The striking white of his coat is easy to spot, even in the dimly lit darkness of the room.

“Yuta…?”

Your voice is an ode, a blessing. Even when it’s hoarse and faint after waking up. He bends down and kisses your temple, nuzzling into your hairline, breathing in your scent. His body feels oddly warm, almost overly so, radiating through you. Through your spine, to the very center of your being and that’s when you notice that you’re a little bit… hot and bothered. What has he done to you while you were asleep?

“I’m so sorry…” he whispers an apology. But his voice is just… it’s like his mind is not entirely here. Something is hurting him and he’s trying to conceal it. Barely. You can hear his voice is hitched from the deep breath he takes, in a futile affort to calm himself. “Have you been sleeping for long?”

He asks you for the sake of it, there’s no genuine interest behind it. Even if you were sleeping for hours, it wouldn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop. He genuinely feels like he’ll die if he can’t get it out of his system. He snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, listening to the rhythm of life coursing through your veins. The thought of puncturing your jugular with his teeth is so irresistible. He must do it… It’ll drive him insane if he won’t.

“N-not really.” your answer is weak, all your strength is used to move your arm freely, trying to locate your phone on the bedside table. The light coming from the screen almost blinds you as you’re checking the time. “I went to bed about… half an hour ago.”

He dips his fingers right into the hollow dips between your ribs, he kneads the skin in a way that has his nails slightly scratching you. And then you realize that you’re almost entirely topless.

He traps your earlobe with his teeth, sucking on the soft tissue.

“Y-Yuta…” your voice is more reprimanding that you want it to be. But your patience is starting to run thin. You want to know what the fuck is wrong with him, he never did anything like this before. Even if he’s horny as hell he would ask for your permission because that’s the way he is.

Instead of giving you an answer he bites your neck. Hard. It hurts, it makes you yelp. Shit, that’s gonna leave a mark. And he growls, just like a wild animal.

You squirm, you jolt, trying to get away from the source of your pain with a prolonged hiss. Only one hand of his is enough to stop you from fussing while the other fondles your chest. Your nipple is caught between his fingers, he twists it slightly. You can’t see it getting red, hard and swollen. His moves are awkward and tactless, but somehow they help with soothing the sharp pain in your neck. Your tensed body eases up a little.

He kicks the inner side of your knee with his own, creating a little space in between them, then forces your legs apart with one smooth movement. As he tries to settle right under your core, you feel him brushing the apex of your thigh.

He’s so painfully hard.

You’re sure he can read the instinctual reactions of your body. The rush of adrenaline, your pulse, how your heart is almost breaking your ribs with every beat. You’re getting more and more aware of your surroundings because you have no idea what will happen to you. He pins your wrists down on the bed. He doesn’t want you to escape.

What has gotten into him? Where’s your shy and gentle man, your sweet little angel? The one who needs so much guidance, who gets so awkward about his lack of experience compared to you. The one you need to encourage to talk about what he likes since you won’t judge him for it. Well, angels shouldn’t be benevolent and sweet, right? They’re the soldiers of god after all. And the depth of his psyche is still very much a mystery to you…

“I don’t want to hurt you… I just need you.”

He has no control over his own thoughts, everything on his mind gets blabbered out. Not just that he needs you, but that he wants to fuck you (he rarely uses that word so you’re even more baffled), that he wants to eat you up, bite for bite, digest you so nobody else can have you.

It sounds devoted yet utterly terrifying.

“You’re-“

He’s scary. Well, you knew this prior to crawling into his life. What people thought about him, one rumor more unhinged than the other and you have no idea how much truth there was to them. Everyone has some sort of admiration, respect for him or repulsion of him. You just tend to forget sometimes, how malicious his cursed energy feels, how his eyes never reflect the light, looking outright dead. But it’s all so contradictory to his personality… you know that you’re dear to him, he’s willing to risk everything for his friends, he’s so starved for connection, to carve himself a place within people’s hearts. You blamed the whole phenomenon on Rika. And you took pride in yourself, for taming a monster.

“I feel so…” he suspires, trying his best to contain himself. “… weird.”

And he’s a kind monster indeed, even now, controlling his impulses as he humps your thigh like a feral dog.

“I don’t know if I’m able to hold back, so I need to know….”

His voice is desperate, almost a plea. He’s afraid of himself too. With the last bit of his sanity, he wants to make sure that it’s alright for you, whatever he has in store for you.

You don’t protest.

His lips crash into yours in a violent, hungry kiss. Your teeth clang together, he shoves his entire tongue in your mouth. He grabs the hem of your shorts, peeling off anything that covers you below the waist. You hear the fabric tear. It’s the same with his own clothes too, in a few blinks of your eyes he’s already stark naked.

He takes your hand, pulls it towards him, you can feel him in your palm. So hot, hard and swollen to the touch. He closes your fingers around him and his hips start moving back and forth, fucking himself into your grip. You smear the precum along his length with your fingertips, squeezing lightly when you feel the base. It has him moaning, breathily, more vocal than he usually is. He’s so sensitive, his pace quickens and his voice is thinner, almost like a whimper.

And he groans. Unexpectedly. It bursts deep from his throat. You feel his cum pooling in your palm. Though you may be surprised, you don’t make a big deal about it. You search for tissues on the bedside table to clean your hand like nothing happened.

“Feelin’ okay?”

Your voice is calming, tender, it warms his heart but the mere sight of his cum on your hand makes the blood rush to his dick again.

You sit up to caress his face. You open your mouth to question him, but he won’t let you start your aftercare routine.

“It’s… not enough.”

He grabs your thigh, hooking your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to your naked core. Your back falls onto the mattress again.

“I’ll take care of you.”

It’s a promise, you’re sure of it.

His fingertips sink into your folds, relief ripples through him when he finds them already wet. He goes all out on you, his thumb circles your clit and two fingers dip in at your entrance, waiting to loosen you up so they can be pushed inside. His nails gently caress your inner thigh, it’s a tickling sensation, goosebumps dot your skin, a sigh dies on your lips. Treating it as a sign, his fingers start stretching your walls. They curl and curl inside you to the point of the cold band of his ring touching your folds, your essence soiling the stainless metal. The symbol of the haunting spirit of his first love. Childish love that it is, unserious, all just a game. The promises… the word forever holds no weight. Or maybe it does but they have no idea how hard it is to maintain those vows.

Can you ever compare to Rika in his eyes? Have the same effect over him? You don’t dare to talk about it just yet. No, the nature of your relationship is not the same. Childhood love is not like adult love, you just want some reassurance. You want to feel important.

And your reassurance is soaking that wretched finger with your juices. Make that wretched ring yours. He spreads his fingers inside you, scissoring you apart, eagerly working to prepare you. You’re holding onto the sheets and the pillows desperately, your body feels so volatile you might as well float away.

When he pulls out you feel hollow, incomplete. But he won’t keep you waiting long. The head of his cock feels like salvation. Scorching hot and wet with the mixed arousal. And he completes you with one smooth thrust. You’re whole, fulfilled, a merged existence worth suffering over. He’s throbbing deep within your walls, pulsating through your nerves. You can’t tell if the noise coming out of him is a moan, a whine, or a growl, you only know that it’s bordering on bestial. Filled with need, an ache, coupled with something beyond your comprehension.

He drills into you, there’s so much strength and resilience in him, it almost makes you scared. But something else also swells inside your chest. An unknown kind of excitement, a thrill, it makes you feverish, wired. The dissonance between his absolutely feral state and the fact that he’d never hurt you. Or maybe he would, in a way that you’d like it. Nobody could bite through your throat with such force that your windpipe breaks, only him, him and no one else.

He holds you at the back of your pelvic bone, lifts you up in an utterly perfect angle. You mewl him that it feels so good, so perfect, so raw. You love this feeling so much. You get completely lost and immersed in it.

“…it?”

His voice is faint yet his broken self-worth shines through it. Poor soul… You didn’t pay attention to his most important desire. He’s a parasite living off of your kind words, but nothing can make him as blissful as knowing you love him, despite everything he despises about himself. And you’ll feed him. Prove it to him that he matters more than the things he does to you.

“Oh Yuta, my sweet…” the rest of the sentence gets stuck in your throat as you open your arms and he crashes into your embrace like a lost, lonely puppy. You hug him tightly, brushing through his locks with a free hand. The sweat makes the strands stick together. “Of course I love you, don’t be silly.”

He might as well have been a puppy in his previous life. And now your words eased his guilt about his temporary condition. He gained your forgiveness.

What he does next is much more instinctual. He folds you in half, where your knees bend, is pressed right against his traps, your heels graze the middle of his back. Now his thrusts have weight, uncovering spots that even you had no idea that existed inside of you. Tears of joy prickle in your eyes, calling upon whatever deity’s name you can think of, off the top of your head. You can swear his pace increases at the sight. It’s so intense a broken cry erupts from your throat.

He thrusts right into a sweet spot, which has you melting and trembling. Please is the only word your lips can form. At this point, you couldn’t care less about the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together or the squelching noises that make the whole act sloppy, shameless and primal, you only want to reach  your peak, and you’re not far from it as you’re clenching around him with a rhythm that you have no control over.

It crashes, it ruptures, sudden, sharp and hot like an electric spark. A scream empties your lungs, but Yuta muffles it with sealing his mouth onto yours. You feel yourself getting filled as you’re convulsing around his length.

After he fucks you through your orgasm you feel yourself shaking, your whole body is limp, numb, drifting slowly to sleep. You’re both soaked in sweat, your bodies stick together but there’s a need to bond further in each other’s embrace. You plant a kiss between his locks, praising him, telling him you love him. Satisfaction clouds your mind, like a soft, pillowy pink mist.

However, his cock is still not soft.

“I have no idea what has gotten into you.” you tell him, marveling, as you’re still catching on your breath. “I like it though, but you owe me an explanation.”

He handles you gently, like you’re some precious thing, made from glass, fragile. Your body is like a ragdoll’s, he has you lying on your stomach, lazily, flatly, you might as well fuse together with the mattress. Calloused fingers are drawing nonfigurative shapes on your shoulder blades.

“I’ll tell you right after we finish.”

Your blood runs cold for a moment.

“Again? Yuta, for the love of god I’m exhausted.” you whine.

He apologetically kisses your spine.

“Just this one, okay? Please? I’ll do all the work, I’ll make it quick. You only need to relax, you can sleep even.”

You want to tell him that sounds a little bit creepy, but you don’t have the strength to talk. He kisses the two shallow dimples right above your tailbone. His gaze lingers on your folds, admiring how red and swollen you are.

“If you manage to make me cum again, you deserve a fucking award.” you comment, face nuzzled into the pillow, your voice is obviously snarky.

You can feel teeth sinking into the flesh of your asscheek. The mark that is burning on your neck found it’s pair. He presses down your overly sensitive clit with his thumb, balancing the pain out with pleasure. But it gets overstimulated so easily, you feel the need to bite the pillow.

You brace yourself with a deep breath through your nose. You’re going to pay him back next time, you promise yourself that you’ll make a begging, crying mess out of him, and the thought makes you chuckle.

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You find out König's birthday is coming up.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI, Arousal (does that count as a warning?)

Word count: 2.9k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there. Smut.

A/n: ok, ya'll go feral for domestic Konig. Honestly same though. I love a slow burn because I want to watch you guys suffer! Mwhahahahaha. I hope you guys enjoy.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three:

Over a week, you and König fell into a comfortable routine. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush around him. Every morning, one of you would wake the other and greet each other with a kiss. You'd be lying if you said you didn't look forward to it. Konig made an effort not to be too forceful with his affection, but he can't help it sometimes. 

“König! I have to work, move!” You giggled.

He currently had your arms pinned to your sides tightly. He held you down on the couch as his face inched closer to yours. 

“No, one more kiss Liebe.” 

“I gave you so many!” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“One more before I go.” He looked at you sadly. 

“It's just the grocery store König, you'll live.” 

He looked at you with the sweetest puppy dog eyes he could muster. You gave in and pecked his lips quickly. He chased your lips as you pulled away, capturing them once again before releasing you. You sat up and pouted at him as he put on his mask. He waved to you cheekily before leaving. All the laughing made your bladder urge you to go. You walked into the bathroom and did your business. As you washed your hands something on the edge of the sink caught your eye. His dog tags were there, probably placed there this morning. You picked them up curiously. They had just his name König, no last name. Was that his real name? His company and date of birth were also on there. It read October 4th. Your eyes widened. His birthday was in a couple of days, why didn't he tell you? 

You rushed out of the bathroom and to your computer to make a note on your calendar. You knew Konig was a private person, he barely talked about his childhood or any family he might have. You didn't pry for these things, he would tell you in his own time. But his birthday?! That was unacceptable. You decided to plan a little surprise for him, an intimate surprise party. Honestly, he didn't seem like the type to celebrate his birthday. Now that you are here, that's gonna change. 

You sat at the dining room table doing a little bit of research on what you could do for him. You got lost in researching cute little decorations and food, you jumped when the door opened. You quickly changed tabs and pretended to be writing. Königset the groceries down on the table and took off his mask. You looked up at him and smiled. He walked around the table and put his phone and wallet on the table while kissing your cheek. You got up to help him put the groceries away eyeing his phone. You didn't know how to get him to leave you for a couple of hours to execute the surprise, but you had an idea. After the food was put away he went to his room. You moved quickly grabbing his phone. It was a flip phone, you didn't know those still existed. His most used contact was you, but under that two other names popped up. Ghost, and Soap. Military names... You decided to take Soap's number down, too intimidated by the name Ghost to ask him. You hoped this person could help you out. You put his phone back in the same spot he placed it and sat down inconspicuously. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You said goodnight to König with a kiss and closed your door. Sitting on the edge of your nest you nervously composed your text to whoever soap was. 

'Hello, Soap! I know this is weird but I'm König's Omega. I got your number from his phone. I have a favor to ask you if you're up for it. I hope this isn't too unprofessional for him.'

You sent the text, immediately placing your phone down to try to forget about it. You brainstormed other ideas in case this one didn't work out. Your phone buzzed and you gasped quietly. You picked up your phone and looked at the notification, Soap had texted you back.

'Definitely weird to hear from you lol. I hoped to meet you in real life before we spoke but this is ok as well. What kind of favor?'

'I'm sorry about that. The reason I'm contacting you is because König's Birthday is in a few days on October 4th. I was hoping that someone can get him out of the house for a few hours while I set up his surprise. He never leaves my side, so I just need some time. He doesn't seem to have any friends outside of work so...'

'I see, that's no problem love. It takes him about an hour and a half to get to the base. So I'll make him come in for something little. That should give you about 3 to 4 hours.' He responded.

'Omg, that would be great! Thank you so so so much! I'll be sure to get you something when we meet Soap.'

'You're welcome. I could already tell you're a sweetheart doing something like this for the colonal'

'You flatter me :)' 

You went to bed that night proud of yourself. The plan was underway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was hard keeping König out of the loop. He was over your shoulder constantly interested in things you were doing. He almost caught you ordering a cake. You planned to have an at-home movie night for him. You'd have to get snacks, the cake, and balloons, as well as make the pillow fort. You made a meticulous list of what to buy at every store and your walking path to optimize time. Making the pillow fort was gonna take the longest. You were gonna make a nest inside and invite him into it. You haven't let him into your bedroom nest officially but you'd like to soon, this could be a good introduction to that. When the day came around Soap warned you that König might be a little upset on the day. He explicitly told his soldiers not to contact him while he was on leave. 

Pissed was an understatement. König was fuming. He tried to hide it from you but his scent was so sour it was hard for you to be in the room. 

“What's wrong Alpha?” He rushed through the apartment almost stomping. 

“Nothing Schatz.” He responded shortly. 

You almost felt bad making him this upset. You hoped it would be worth it. König told you he would be gone for a couple of hours and promptly left. You looked out the window, watching him get into the car and drive off. You texted Soap asking for the all-clear. 

'Is he on his way?' 

'Yes, he's gonna kill me. I told him that he needed to come in but it was only for some paperwork Ghost could've done.' 

' I'll tell him that it was all me and to let you off the hook. I'm gonna bake you something you like cookies?' 

'Love them.' 

'Good.'

You grabbed your bag and headed out the door. The first stop was to get his gift. You wanted to get him something he needed but also something sentimental. You landed on a leather briefcase. Although he was on leave, there were still things he needed to sign off on as a corporal. His documents were always splayed out on the table only to be messily placed in a folder. The shop that makes them does hand embroidery. You requested them to put your's and Konig's initials' on it with a heart in the middle. It was in a beautiful font on the front corner of the bag. The bag pick up was fast as it was only a ten-minute walk. Next was the party store. You weren't going to overdo it with the decor but you wanted it to be a little festive. It took you a little while to pick out things but you eventually settled on simple green balloons and a happy birthday banner. You also got a box and wrapping paper for your gift. 

You checked the time a little over an hour went by so far. König has to be close to the base by now. Soap will text you when he's on his way back. The next and last stop was the grocery store. You were gonna make him a classic American dinner, save for the red dye 40. Burgers and American-style fries were the way to go since you were sure you wouldn't be able to find much American food in Amsterdam. As you were gathering the ingredients Soap texted you. 

'König is on his way home. I couldn't convince him that he should stay for a few more minutes. It should take him 2 hours because of traffic.'

'Shit ok, thanks for the heads up. I appreciate you Soap.'

'No problem, Love. Take pictures for ghost and I please.'

'Of course.'

You practically ran through the grocery store to pick up the last items and checked out. When you got home you were sweaty and out of breath. You had two hours to cook, set up the fort, wrap his gift, and decorate. You had your work cut out for you. You didn't bother putting the groceries away, placing them on the kitchen counter, and running to your room. You grabbed extra blankets that you didn't use for your nest and put them in the living room. You hung a sheet with thumbtacks and lined it with pillows. The fort didn't take as long as you thought it would. You chalked it up to your nesting skills. You hung some fairy lights on the inside making sure you still had a good view of the TV. You went to the dining room table and began wrapping the briefcase. you brought a simple brown paper with moons on it. After you finished you started blowing up balloons. After you blew up a few balloons you froze. 

The Cake! How could you forget! You called the bakery telling them you were on your way. You checked the time. You only had an hour left. You left the door unlocked and power walked down the street. You kept checking the time watching the clock run down. It took you seven minutes to get to the bakery. They handed you the cake and you power walked back to the apartment careful not to bump the cake. You placed the cake in the fridge and preheated the oven before blowing up more balloons. You had forty minutes left and you still had to cook. Once you were satisfied with the amount of balloons you placed the fries in the oven and started making the burgers. You had 25 minutes left. 

While the burgers were cooking you got the toppings ready and took the cake out placing it on the table. The burgers were cooked you assembled them on a plate and piled fries on the side. You made very American concoctions of condiments. Mayo and ketchup, ranch and mustard, ketchup and ranch. You placed the plates on the table. You ran to change into PJs and turn the lights down. You found some candles to use on the table making the mood romantic. Movement outside caught your eye. You pulled the curtain back seeing König's car pulling into a parking space. You glanced around once more making sure everything was in order. You stood near the dining room table waiting for him to open the door. The key turned and in walked a very annoyed-looking König. 

“Surprise!” You said sheepishly.

König's eyes widened. He had his sniper hood on but promptly took it off. He looked around at the decorations and then toward the table. 

“You...Schatz, what is this?” 

“Your birthday party! Happy birthday Konig.” 

König closed the door slowly his eyes taking in everything you set up for him. He had an unreadable expression on his face making you a bit nervous. 

“Do you like it?” You asked.

König's face dropped. He covered his face with both of his hands. He tried to hold back the tears but they fell anyway. You grabbed his arms trying to soothe him. 

“Oh no! I'm sorry Alpha please don't cry. Did I do something wrong?”

König chuckled through his sobs. “No Schatz. I'm just...very surprised.”

He pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, Omega.”

You hugged him back. “Why are you crying, König?”

“I've never celebrated my birthday. My parents never did anything for me. This is a nice surprise.”

“Come, let's eat.” You guide him to the table.

His plate had a bigger burger with more fries. He sat down the tears still dropping occasionally. 

“Don't be mad at Soap.” You said. König looked up and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You know Soap? How?”

“Well, I had to find a way to get you out of the house for a few hours so I kinda got his number from your phone and convinced him to make you come into work for something stupid so I had time to set this all up.” You said without taking a breath.

“Wow, what a plan liebe.” He chuckled.

“You didn't have to do all this for me.” He said

“I know, but I wanted to. So please let Soap off the hook colonel? ” You smiled. 

“Sure liebe.” 

The two of you ate as he asked you about your sneaky plans to make this happen and how he suspected nothing. After you were done you cut him a slice of cake and sent him to change into PJs. You formally invited him into the fort you built making sure he was cozy. 

“Ok so we have a few options, but I also wanted to surprise you with the movie. Pick a number between one and five.”

“Hmm, four.” 

“Ok close your eyes.” He covered them and you searched for the movie. He chose 'V for Vendetta'. Once the movie was on you told him he could look. 

“What is this?” He asked

“V for Vendetta. I love this movie.”

“I have never seen it.”

“Good, you're in for a treat.”

You cuddled him tightly in the nest fort. He fed you your slice of cake so you wouldn't have to move. Suddenly you gasped and grabbed the remote to pause the movie. 

“Ugh, I forgot again! My brain is all over the place today.” 

You ran to your room and grabbed his birthday present. back in the fort, you gave it to him. 

“Happy Birthday Alpha.” 

“This is too much Liebe.” 

“Just open it!”

He tore the paper and opened the box, taking care not to make a mess. When he saw the briefcase his lips parted slightly taking in the detail you added to it. The urge to cry was overwhelming to him but he held it back. 

“I don't deserve you.” He said.

“No, you deserve more.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down into the nest resting his cheek against your forehead.

“How can I thank you?”

“There's no repayment for a birthday gift König.”

“There will be for you.”

“No no, it's not my birthday.” You insisted. 

“I don't care.” He gave you a stubborn look.

“König-”

“Be quiet, I won't say it again.” He said sternly.

You nodded. When he put his foot down it was extremely difficult for you to defy him. The Apex rarely used his authority over you like that but you supposed he didn't know how to simply accept someone doing something nice for him. Despite his stern tone he caressed for face giving you sweet kisses on your cheek and forehead. You smiled and leaned into him. You hit play on the movie holding him until you both fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stirred awake feeling weight on your waist. You looked back seeing König sleeping form. He almost looked boyish, hair messy, and a König's until he woke up naturally before moving, not wanting to wake him from his peace-filled rest. It didn't take long before König's eyes fluttered open. You turned to his and smiled. He kissed you deeply. You returned the kiss with passion, his tongue slipped into your mouth licking yours playfully. When he pulled away s a string of saliva was connecting the two of you. 

“Good morning to you too.” You giggled.

You sat up and stretched. You cleaned up the fort a bit from last night putting his gift in his room. He followed you around sleepily trying to help you tidy up. After you finished you went back into the nest fort and turned the TV on. König followed you in, collapsing beside you. 

He grabbed your hips pulling your ass against him. His hand trailed up your front resting loosely around your neck. König has been keeping his sexual urges at bay, his resolve was starting to chip away every day. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing against your scent glands. You shivered and clenched your legs together. You tried not to let his ministrations get to you but it was proving difficult when he knew exactly how to get you going. 

König pressed a kiss to your scent gland and you moaned softly. Encouraged by the small gasps and moans you gave him, he nibbled and licked the same spot.

“König...” He stopped.

He pulled back and smiled. “Sorry, Liebe.” He got up and headed to the bathroom to shower. 

He left you with a hot face and a puddle in between your legs. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: I hope all the tags worked

@that-fangirl-1106 @itsryuken @midwesternwitchery @hiken-no-stark @rouge-swears @the-chaotic-cow @a-gay-cryptid @wybwtjmiadz @somanyminidragons @tizylish @smutslutsposts @y2katsuki @thychuvaluswife @gxdsmonsters

[nyarumie]

hey axia ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

enjoy the start of your semester, before uni gets crazy!! I loved your previous works, so I'll just slip into your inbox while the requests are open:3

What do you think would make Hoshina blush, or like, properly flustered?!

(be it headcanon, scenario, or whatever else you feel like, if anything:))

have a great day 🔆

Heart in Your Hands

hoshina soshiro x reader — fluff, comfort, they're both deeply in love, (god me when), short and sweet, established relationship

Author's Reply: Hi, thank you anon! I hope this work caters well to your request; finally got the time to work on something (which hopefully helps with my writer's block)

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! Please view my pinned and masterlist too (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Trying to get Soshiro to blush is definitely rarer than a blue moon. Trust me, even his own platoon of talented rookies tried catching him off-guard — it's just near impossible!

Keyword: Near impossible. That's where you enter the picture.

As a Platoon Leader, you do your best to be a figure of inspiration to your officers, thus keeping up your facade of a strict mentor; but honestly—you’re not fooling anyone, you're totally a softie! Despite your personal ‘no-distractions-during-work’ policy, obvious signs of your feelings for the Vice Captain naturally slip out occasionally. Still, you refuse to get your relationship in the way of your work.

Behind closed doors lie the reserved intimacy and affection you held for him. He won't ever admit it, but he sometimes pushes himself too hard, hard enough to have scars and calluses all over his hands from his intense training, and you can only imagine how tight and desperate his grip is on his personalized close combat weapon.

He’s always desperate to prove his worth, desperate to keep the only thing that gives meaning to his existence, and you know that your words are not enough to quell the distress behind each swing and slash of his blades.

That's why you do what you know will calm him best—love him just as fierce as he swings those blades of his.

You caught him training again one night, exhaustion evident on his form. The adrenaline coursing through his body has yet to be quenched, and you know you have to do your magic to get him to rest.

“Soshiro. You're here again. One more night of this and you’ll really strain your body.” you softly said, concern evident in your voice.

He stopped midway his slash, breath heaving as he turned to face you. “Can't rest easy when the rookie officers are a whole ‘nother level, dear. If I don't do this, I doubt I’ll be able to get even the slightest hit on No. 9.”

Sighing, you made your way to him. “Put your weapon down for a while, please? Let me at least do something for you.”

Doing as you asked, he kept them somewhere safe and curiously stood in front of you again. He gave you an inquisitive look, patiently waiting for what you're planning to do.

You took his hands and caressed them, slowly feeling the roughness and evidence of all the nights he's spent bruising himself up just to get even stronger. You move his hands so that his palms are facing you, his eyes widening at your next move.

He felt a soft, careful kiss touch each of his palms, followed by a kiss to each of his fingertips.

He thinks his ears are on fire with how hot it's burning.

“W-what are ya doing, dear? I haven't cleaned my hands up!”

You entwined your hands with his before he could even pull them away, thinking that he didn't like what you just did. “I’m sorry, did I make you uncomf— Oh.”

Oh, indeed. The sight that greeted you when you turned your face up to see him is… remarkable. You can't believe the Third Division’s Vice Captain would be blushing over his significant other tenderly kissing his rough, tired hands.

“Ya didn't have to do that… I know you love me plenty! And please stop gripping on my hands harder, ya aren't letting me turn away!”

You snort. “Of course I won't let you. This is a rare sight. Still, I didn't know something like that could get you severely flustered.” you said, a hint of pride in your tone.

“Told ya I haven't cleaned ‘em up. I was holdin’ those nasty blades moments ago.”

“Ah, excuses. Just say you liked the kisses more than you expected. I’ll let you off this one time and say it's just out of exhaustion.” you giggled.

Your expression turned soft and serious again, now hugging him. His arms wrapped around you, a tired sigh coming from him. “You do so much for me, ya know that? I thought I was gonna explode earlier. Don't know what I did to deserve ya.”

“Mhm, ‘Shiro. You have no idea how at a loss I am sometimes to do something for you. I want to shoulder at least a piece of your burden, want you to share your pain with me without worrying about whether I can take it. Because I will, just for you. I’ll hold your hand whatever happens and stand side by side with you. All I ask is that you take care of yourself.”

He let out a soft laugh of relief. “I should be sayin’ these things to you. I hope ya know how amazing you are to me.”

You both pulled away from the hug, him taking a hand of yours in his. “Let's get some rest. Don't wanna worry my princess over here.”

Smiling in content, you nod your head at him. “Thank you, Soshiro.”

[malusmagpie]

Dueling Fates.

Pairing: Anakin x Jedi!Fem Reader

Summary: Anakin really, really wants to win for once.

Warnings: 18+ definitely smut. Minors DNI or I’ll find you and bite you. Hatefucking (?), reader gets dominated, vulnerability, name calling, restraint, hair pulling, neck kisses, biting, honestly the works.

A/N: This is my first smut in years and i got a bit carried away with the lead up cuz im a sl*t for tension and foreplay and i had to cut it short but i’m pretty proud of this for my first time back. I’m sorry if i made any mistakes, i proofread but mistakes happen! Thanks for reading <3 Enjoy filthy Anakin.

Word count: 3.1K (I know it’s long I got excited.)

Anakin wasn’t a sore loser, not by his definition at least. He just knew he could do better. That’s why when he lost against you again in a sparring session something began to boil his blood. He stood up and stared at you for a moment, you knew what that look meant.

“Again.” He spoke sternly, not at all to your surprise. His lightsaber was still ignited and held in front of him with shaking, frustrated hands. His eyes were glazed over as if possessed by the idea of winning. This had been your third session together and prior to you two partnering up you had been training for 4 hours.

“I’ve been at this for hours I would much rather go eat than tend to your bruised ego, Skywalker.” You put your lightsaber in its rightful spot on your hip and looked up at him with your arms crossed.

It was true that Anakin rarely lost but almost every time he did, it was to you. If you had a scoreboard to keep track, it wouldn’t look good for him. You were older by two years and therefore had more experience. Not by much, but enough to make a difference. He was strong, big, and extremely quick with his reflexes but you were small, agile, and had levels of pattern recognition too high for him to catch you off guard. All his best traits came to your advantage and he hated it.

“Cut the bullshit. I know you’ve got one more in you.” He spoke, his eyes looked your tired frame up and down. You didn’t, in fact, have one more in you but you still agreed. Your legs were hurting in places you didn’t think they could and your arms were burning so badly they might as well have been dipped in lava.

“Fine.” You muttered as you neared him, taking your spot across from him at the training ring. You readied your lightsaber and the sound of it igniting filled your ears. His expressions were small, almost unnoticeable, but you could see how riled up he was in the small movements of his lip twitching and his eyes flickering from you to your lightsaber. You knew your mind wasn’t in it, your Master would have sent you to bed at the sight of you and you knew Obi-Wan wouldn’t encourage Anakin in the state he was in, as well.

A hint of something flashed across his face when you agreed and that settled the feeling you had, this would not be an easy one. The rivalry you two had was nothing more than friendly competition in the eyes of most but truth be told you were both too similar and stubborn, and it really did feel like you were truly enemies sometimes.

“Any day now, Y/L/N.” He spoke in that cocky tone that made you want to slash his head clean off his neck. You tightened your grip and swung first, the sound of your lightsabers clashing echoed through the large, now empty room. This was the best way to do it, offensive to start, swinging so he had the confidence that he could block your blows. Then when you began to feel even the slightest bit of exhaustion you’d play the defense, which was your specialty, until he spent himself. The rest? Too easy.

Your legs, while in pain, moved quickly. You dodged and rolled away from him multiple times. You enjoyed the feeling of him having to come to you, in the same way a dog owner experiences contentment when their dog obeys their commands.

You didn’t know what happened. You didn’t even know how it happened in the moment. He swung directly down your middle and you blocked him, pushing him back with a grunt. The noise he made in response was almost animalistic. It shocked you for just a fraction of a second but he swung and your block was delayed. He didn’t expect it and neither did you so when the swing connected to your leg you both froze. His reaction time, bless the Maker for it, was quick enough for him to stop before he melted your leg clean off but not quick enough to prevent it from grazing you.

You staggered back, retracting your lightsaber. Not a word left either of your mouths for a few seconds, though it felt more like a lifetime. The adrenaline was helping you feel less of the pain but it wasn’t fixing much.

“I didn’t think you’d connect.” You said through gritted teeth as your face contorted in pain. You dropped down on your ass to inspect the wound. “I didn’t think you’d fail to block.” He muttered as he rushed over to lean down next to you.

“I’ll get to a medic. Just leave me alone.” You nearly seethed at him. “I knew you weren’t the nicest sparring partner but I didn’t know you played dirty when you’re mad.” You pushed yourself off the ground, your injured leg bent at the knee as you hopped toward the exit of the training room.

Anakin narrowed his eyes as he walked next to you, not bothering to help due to your comment. “I don’t play dirty. Watch that loud mouth. It’ll be the reason you eat through a straw one day.” His hands were folded behind his back as he watched you struggle to get up the steps to get back into the temple.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and held on to the railing for dear life as you hopped up each step. You felt an arm slide across your back and under your armpit.

“I’ll show you dirty if you keep this up.” He muttered, it was barely audible but you heard it and decided the pain in your leg was far more important than his incessant rambling.

“Don’t touch me.” You seethed but you made no attempt to move away from him. He looked down at you and you got the reply of sweet silence. For once, he chose not to respond.

“The medical bay is in the opposite direction-“ You started. “No. It’s just a surface scratch. I can clean it out for you and avoid us both getting in trouble for training after hours when we should have been eating.” He said sternly and a laugh escaped your mouth followed by a short wince.

“You mean avoid yourself getting in trouble. I wouldn’t get in shit over this. You challenged me and hurt me.” You responded. He shook his head and continued walking over to the dormitories. You recognized the hallway he was walking down to be the boys sector. You decided to bite your tongue for the time being. The wound, while not dangerous, was painful and you wanted to save your energy for something more worth while.

He opened the door to his room and placed you down on the small chair by his desk before turning to close the door. He walked away from you to find medical supplies while you inspected the wound and poked the skin around it, wincing in pain.

“Do you enjoy hurting yourself or something?” He muttered as he returned to see you poking away at your sensitive skin. You dropped your hand and looked up at him, your eyes followed him as he kneeled in front of you. You’d rather die than admit it but he did look good on his knees. Again, you stuck with the cold shoulder response, it was easier when you didn’t argue with him. You averted your gaze fairly quickly when he looked up at you for a moment. You didn’t even feel his hands on your hips until he spoke.

“Up.” His hands rested on the waistband of your pants and you cocked an eyebrow. “No funny business.” You muttered as you raised your hips to allow him to get the pants off and have better access to your thigh.

“Only in your dreams.” He spoke with a level of confidence that made you want to scream and rip his hair out of his head, but still, you stayed fairly silent.

He cleaned and dressed your wound, his touch was softer than you’d expected apart from the moments you would flinch and he’d use a bit of strength to hold your leg in place. “You’re gonna need new pants.” He said, his face was close enough to your skin that you felt the air leave his mouth as he spoke and it immediately created goosebumps on your legs. It was clear he noticed it because he did it again. “What? Is it cold in here?” His low voice sent vibrations to your leg and they flared up in little bumps again. His eyes trailed up your leg and the rest of your body until they finally rested on your own eyes. There was a look in his eyes that you had never been able to pin point and he had it often when he’d speak to you.

“Give me my stuff. I think we’re done now.” You said with a look of annoyance blanketing your expression. He followed promptly with a ‘tsk’ and his low voice, almost a growl, spoke again. “I don’t think we are.” His grip on your thigh squeezed gently and you tried snapping your legs shut only to be met by the barrier of his stupid head.

“What’s your deal, Skywalker?” You ask, your eyes boring holes into his own. You never made a single effort to move away, something about him was entrancing. His thumbs traced circles on your inner thigh by your hips and your legs twitched. You could feel your heart in your throat as he stared you down with the same intensity at you. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips when he felt you get nervous.

“What’s yours?” He mused as his hands travelled up to your waist and he pulled you down from the chair to sit on his lap where he was kneeling on the floor. A soft gasp escaped your lips and you felt a hand push on the back of your neck. Your foreheads were touching now and it felt like all the oxygen in the room had some how disappeared. Your hands instinctively rested on his chest as you straddled him.

Your mind was moving too quickly for you to say anything and before you knew it you felt his lips press against yours. His hand moved from its place on your neck to bunch up your hair and he held it in a tight grip causing a gasp to leave your mouth again.

‘I’ll show you dirty.’ His words from earlier rang in your head and you felt yourself shiver. He pulled away from you and laid you down on the cold, hard floor.

“Anakin-“ You started and he climbed over top of you, caging you in with his arms. “Years. I’ve spent years resenting you for the way you make me feel. Years watching you strut about and walk around with the confidence of thinking you’re better than I am. I hate how you speak to me and I hate the way you act.” He spoke, his eyes never left yours and your eyebrows furrowed.

“If you hate me so much why are you on top of me?” You found enough air to finally say something, your words came out shaky and breathless. “There’s one thing I can do to make myself feel better than you.” Anakin’s head dipped toward your neck as he spoke, he licked a stripe up from the base of your neck to the bottom of your ear before biting on your earlobe.

Your body quivered again and he smiled against your ear when a yelp left your mouth at the feeling of teeth biting down. “I can make you look pathetic and desperate. Just like you look right now.” He whispered again, your cheeks reddened and a small whimper left your mouth as he bit down on your neck, leaving small kisses between each bite. You couldn’t speak, you could barely breathe but you liked it. Your hands reached around to tangle into his hair and you pulled him up to make eye contact with you before pushing your lips against his in a desperate manner, open mouths collided as his tongue slipped into yours. After all the years spent being at each others throat when this is what you’d always wanted, you didn’t hesitate to push it to where you needed it to go.

Your hands fumbled with his utility belt and he smiled before lifting a single arm from beside your head to undo it in a moments notice. He sat back on his heels and pulled your belt off, your robe and tunic promptly followed. Your bare skin shivered as you laid back on the tile floor in his room and he smiled down at you. “Too pretty for your own good.” He mumbled as he pulled your underwear from your body leaving you completely vulnerable while he was still clothed. Your hands went for his robe and he pinned them down above your head, his hair flopped over his forehead in a way that made him look absolutely delectable.

He shook his head and another ‘tsk’ followed before he ducked down and placed his mouth right on your nipple that had hardened from the cold floor and excitement. A moan escaped your mouth and you bit down on your lip to stifle it. His eyes flickered open and he looked directly into your own, eye contact was definitely something he enjoyed. His free hand grasped at your chin and his thumb pulled your lip from between your teeth. “Try and hide how good you feel again and you’ll regret it.” His voice was stern and it made your head spin. You nodded.

“Use your words.” He said again and your back arched a little as his mouth returned to your nipple. “Y-yes, Anakin.” Your breathless words came out almost unintelligible. “Louder.” He said and grazed his teeth over your hardened bud. “Yes, Anakin.” You said louder as the shock of the feeling engulfed you. He smiled against you and returned to his position of hovering above you.

His hand trailed down your body agonizingly slowly, stopping right where your pussy was. His fingers traced the outside and you squirmed beneath him. “Please..” You whispered and his eyes darted back to yours. “Please what?” He spoke with his fingers still tormenting you, dancing around where you needed them the most. “Please, Anakin.” You whimpered and he smiled. “So fucking pretty when you say my name.” His mused, his voice almost came out as a low hum as his fingers finally slid up and down between your folds, picking up the juices that had collected. He pushed his lubricated fingers against your swollen clit and started to rub small, slow, circles against it. Your entire body jerked and he let go of your hands to press your hips down, your tailbone pushed against the tile and you winced causing your eyes to squeeze shut. You felt his fingers stop and instead felt a hand push your cheeks together causing your eyes to snap open, the smell of your pussy wafted toward your nose and a moan escaped your lips.

“Look at me. Don’t close your fucking eyes.” Anakin said, pushing your face to the side and letting go. His hand reached back down between your legs and he slipped two fingers into you. A yelp escaped you as he began to slide in and out, curling his fingers upward. Your eyes didn’t dare leave his as he continued to graze against the top wall. Your legs squeezed and his body kept them from closing. “Open those legs.” He seethed and removed his other hand from holding you down to push your leg back down before returning to its spot on your hips. You pulled your legs apart and he continued to stare into your eyes. He ducked down and his tongue pushed against your clit as he fingered you.

“Y-yes.. Please..” You moaned as he began to flick his tongue against the nerve endings. He still hadn’t broken eye contact and you felt a knot begin to form in your stomach, your legs began to shake as well. His mouth moved away from you but his hand continued to defile your hole. “You cum when I say so, you desperate, needy girl.” He spat and slowly returned to licking away at your clit. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched loudly in your throat. Your cheeks and ears burned at the words that fell through his lips.

“Yes, Anakin.” You said through your moans. You began clenching your pussy to hold back but that made the feelings even more amplified. Your breathing began to get heavier and heavier as you tried to take your mind somewhere else to keep yourself from going against his words but it was nearly impossible when you were forced to stare directly at him. He went on for what felt like an eternity before whispering against you. “Now.” He said and the vibrations of his voice made your entire body convulse as you let yourself go. You whimpered and squirmed while he held you in place. The knot in your stomach unraveled and warmth spread through your whole body, you couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut as you whimpered his name like it was the only word you knew. He pulled his fingers out and used your robe to wipe them off, his mouth followed shortly. He threw your clothes back at you and stood up.

“You can go now.” He said with a hint of a triumphant smile gracing his features. You sat up and immediately began to put the clothes back on, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable for your liking. When you stood up he grabbed you by your arm and pulled you toward him as he stared down at you with a firm grip on your bicep.

“Watch that wound and come back tomorrow.” He said with a voice that would have made any innocent bystander believe that nothing had happened in the last ten minutes. He placed a surprisingly gentle kiss on your head and his free hand moved your hair from your face.

You simply nodded and mumbled a quick, “Yes, Anakin.” before ducking out of his room and speed walking back to your own quarters, praying nobody saw you and suspected anything. You knew exactly how proud and cocky he looked as you left, you didn’t even need to look back at him. You felt like the dog obeying commands now and you really liked it, too.

PART TWO HERE YA NASTIES

@likeavillian24

[recreationalfanfics]

Hi there, can you please do Yandere Thor, Poseidon, Loki and possibly Hercules to Female Yoriichi Reader? The creator of the Sun Breathing and the other Breathing Forms, who always has a solemn expression and is known as the Strongest Demon Slayer to ever exist (She has access to the Transparent World and can use the Selfless State) but despite this she’s incredibly humble seeing herself as just another human and not even special, despite her extraordinary skills

Yoriichi gave Muzan such severe PTSD from 400 YEARS ago that his Upper Moons will go through his trauma just from seeing TANJIRO (And it’s STILL severely traumatic to him 😂)

Or

Yandere Shiva, Loki, Buddha and Hercules with Female Tengen Uzui Reader from KNY? How do you think they would react to Reader calling herself ‘Goddess of Festivals/Flashiness’ and calling others (Even GODS) ‘Trash’ and having 3 HUSBANDS 💀

Sorry if this is a lot! I just think Demon Slayer Characters are super cool, especially the Hashiras (The Swordsmith Village Arc is going to be released sometime in April! 🥹🤩)

Thor, Poseidon, and Loki + Fem! Yoriichi Tsugikuni! Reader:

One of these three gods stands on one side of the arena, their grand entrance causing a ruckus of enthusiastic roars and cheers from the side of the gods while the humans side shook with terror. They look at the other side, confident and ready to see the pitiful mortal that Brunhilde had served to them on a silver platter. It was a woman.

She makes no flashy entrance, her clothes are rather average, and her face does not seem scared but nor does it seem too cocky. Her (e/c) eyes are serene and her (h/c) hair was rather average looking. She was a regular looking human, nothing special. Aside from the strange looking birthmark on her left eye.

"AND IF YOU LOOK OVER FOLKS, THE NEXT FOOL WHO WILL BE CHALLENGING THE GODS IS A SWORDSWOMAN WHO DOMINATED THE SENGOKU ERA-"

"Please." The (h/c) haired woman interrupts, Heimdall goes silent and so does everyone else, unsheathing her sword, she looks at Heimdall with a composed look on her face, it was not unkind, "I do not need such an introduction. I am a human like the rest of my kind."

She then gets into her defensive stance and narrows her eyes at her divine opponent.

"And I shall do whatever it takes to save them."

The god you're against either glares at you, smiles at you, or raises an eyebrow at you. Either way, Heimdall recovers his voice:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, (Y/N) (L/N), THE SUN BREATHING SWORD ARTIST AND MOTHER OF ALL BREATHING METHODS. NIGHTMARE OF MUZAN KIBUTSUJI AND THE STRONGEST HASHIRA HUMANITY HAS KNOWN!"

"So that's who you are," the God thinks to himself as you maintain unbreakable eye contact, "that hardly matters."

Yandere! Thor:

- Thor doesn't think much of you when you step into the arena, not because you're a human, but because he has yet to see you fight. You seem unfazed by him but he doesn't truly know that for sure. You are not unattractive but you're nothing special in his eyes.

- What a fool he was, because the moment the battle begins, he sees that you aren't just beautiful, you're absolutely heavenly. When you take your first breath, you take away his as large solar fires soon appear around you and you make your attack.

"What is this?" He asks himself in his head, using his Mjölnir to block another close sneak attack blow from your sword. The clashing of your weapon and his own makes his heart do flips in his chest, "Why...why do I feel like this?"

You then decided to be bold and you quickly, nearly teleported with the speed you were going, appear in front of him and your eyes glint, reflecting off your blade as you try to slash him. His eyes soften when they see you and his blood thirsty smile softens as your eyes lock onto his. There was fire in your eyes...no...the sun itself glowed in them. Powerful, burning, yet composed.

"What has she done to me?" He thinks, and you're not sure if it's from the intensity of the battle but his cheeks appear to be dusted the lightest color of pink.

- Your fight ends in a draw, the both of are so tired that you neither of you can move a muscle. Both God's and Humans are shocked at the results but Thor couldn't be happier.

- He just found his soulmate, he thinks to himself as you try to use your sword to get up and fight him again. His smile turns into a loving one as you struggle to get close to him, not that he can judge since he can also barely move, and he loves it! In fact, he now knows that he loves you.

- You will be his! You have to be, surely you were created to match him in power and strength because you were meant to be with him. After being fixed up and bandaged, he must seek you out, he must find you!

- Since then, the God of Thunder has been keeping his eye on you, his beautiful Sun. How you appear unreadable at first but if someone truly read you, truly attempted to understand what a complex and beautiful person you are like Thor has; they can see that you're more than a human...You're humble, you're kind, and you're dutiful. Honorable like him and share the same values, this only seals your fate to him even more.

- Odin notices how during other God's battles that his son scans the human's side, his eyes desperately searching for someone in the crowd. Thor knows for a fact that you always come to watch your fellow Human's matches in person and when his eyes land on you, that adrenaline kicks in and Loki and Odin stare at him as a smile grows on his face.

- He does this every match, but even then, the time between matches is too long for him to see you again. He searches for you, Brunhilde having to confront him as she reminds him that the HUMAN champions reside here but he ignores her the moment he sees you walk down the hallway. He follows you quickly like how the moon chases the sun.

- You turn and see him and you politely bow your head to him. He frowns a bit in dissaproval, how could you bow your head to him as if he were a stranger, surely you had to feel the same feelings he was after your battle. How you two danced a brutal yet beautiful dance of life and death. You stare at each other for a bit before you muster a kind yet small smile, "I look forward to our rematch." and as a result, he nods with his usual stoic demeanor and you turn and walk to your room. Yes, he can't wait for your rematch either.

- Because one the day it takes place, Heimdall shocks everyone with his newest announcement.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE FIRST RAGNAROK REMATCH OF THR GOD OF THUNDER VS. THE LADY OF THE SUN. EXCEPT, THE CONDITIONS ARE DIFFERENT THIS TIME."

- You don't like the way the red-haired God smiles at you, it feels smug and ominous, and you paitently wait to hear this last minute change.

"IN THE CASE THAT OUR ESTEEMED PRINCE OF ASGARD WINS, HE HAS REQUESTED THAT INSTEAD OF SENDING (Y/N) TO NIFLHIEM THAT SHE IS TO BELONG TO HIM INSTEAD."

- You look at Brunhilde, who looks away shamefully and can not meet your gaze, and then you look at Thor. Who looks a lot more motivated to beat you this time.

Yandere! Poseidon:

- He wanted to roll his eyes when you interrupted him. What right did you have to act so humble? You're a human, what could you possibly have to be humble about? Being a mere ant he steps on on a daily basis?

- Fine, if you want a wake up call, he'll give you one. He waits for you to strike, it wouldn't hurt to give you an advantage since there's no way something as insignificant as you can beat him. Until you grip your nichirin blade and take a deep breath, suddenly the water arena evaporates into steam as intense flames surround you...no, not mere flames. It felt like the sun itself.

- You use the steam to sneak and attack the God, whose now even more annoyed than ever. Smoke and mirrors, that's all it was. Poseidon REFUSES to allow you to think you have an advantage and tries to kill you with his strongest attacks but even then, its not enough.

A draw, your battle ended in a draw. He can't believe it, as he kneels down on one leg bleeding and holding onto his trident for support as you pant heavily on the other side, your throat burning but you still have the bright gaze in your eyes, the eyes of someone who just humbled a God. He was in denial at first, then he was angry. Destroying everything in sight at the humiliation he faced at your hand. He knew you two were set for a rematch BUT HE NEEDED VENGANCE FOR HIS SCORNED PRIDE NOW. Looking for you all around heaven, he threatened and interrogated many of your human allies and located you inside the greenhouse. It was bright and beautiful day as always, but it did little to improve his mood. The only thing that could is your dead body at his feet, evidence that you were just as every bit of a failure as the rest of humanity.

However he stops when he sees you. The artful way you practice your sword. The calm rise and fall of your chest all perfectly timed to enhance your fighting style and your moves, the same ones you used to tie with him, slowed down and filled with grace and strength. His heart makes his brain forget that you are human, the thing he detested the most in this life, and his anger is replaced with something else. Respect? Admiration?

No, it was none of those things.

In fact, it was something more passionate. More shameful in the eyes of gods. Something that you will soon find is worth than his anger.

- He observes you a lot more from then on. You aren't sure why since last you checked, he had looked down on you like you were the dirt beneath his feet, but you come here at the exact same time on the exact same day, and so does he.

- You don't speak to him, he wants you too. Haven't you humiliated him enough already? apparently not since you didn't even glance at him as you trained and he knows damn well you see him.

- "What are you?" He finally asks as he pushes down his broken pride. You stare at him, your solemn face broken when he asked you that question. "You are not a human," He explains, "You can't be. Humans are not meant to be...to be so..." he pauses and looks down, to any normal person, he looks pissed and like he's gonna attack but you only raise an eyebrow. W-was he being shy?

- "Beautiful." He finally answers, and for a brief moment that stoicism breaks in shock at his words. "You can not be a human. You are too beautiful. Humans can not be beautiful." It takes you a while to find your voice but when you do, you merely keep your composure: "Humans are many things, Lord Poseidon. We are strong, we are compassionate, and, yes, we can be beautiful."

- No, he thinks to himself, humans are not beautiful. This is a fact he's known for a long, long time. Yet, you were a human and here he was, admiring you every day and watching you in utter awe. Only you, he decides. Humans are not beautiful, only you are.

- He hates how humble you are, he absolutely despises it. Do you not have any respect for yourself? How can you allow yourself to think that you're anything like those worthless worms who snivel and beg pathetically at the feet of the gods. He believes there has been a mistake in the universe, he believes you're insulting yourself when you downplay your status and feats. Can't you see? They're beneath you! Humanity is beneath you! He has to fix this. He has to fix you.

- The day of your rematch with Poseidon, neither of you are seen. The gods search for him and the Valkyries try to rummage through your room and found only one shocking clue. A letter left on your bed written by Poseidon, who believes that deciding the fate of Humanity was beneath him and how he had more important matters involving you. He sits next to your unconscious sleeping form on his bed, his fingers in your hair as you sleep so beautifully. You needed to learn to take more pride in yourself, to be taken away from the shackles of humility humanity put on you, and Poseidon was more than happy to teach you how.

Yandere! Loki:

- He was rather unimpressed with your entrance and appearance, honestly. A smirk on his face as he looks you up and down, you certainly weren't wrong when you said you were a human, for that's what was before him. A measly average human.

- Honestly, he feels rather insulted and that this fight isn't gonna be as exciting as he had hoped. That wasn't fair! Every other God got fun humans but him! Oh well, at least he has an excuse to torture a human and humiliate them in front of everyone~

- Summoning his own weapons, he just tilts his head: "You know, interrupting Heimdall was a little dramatic don't you think? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you secretly put yourself on a pedastal."/ "I do not, I just merely am stating a fact. I am a human who bleeds just like the rest of humanity."/ Loki then smiles: "I'm so happy you think that! Because you're gonna die like the rest of them!"

- His attack is planned in his head, first a chain wraps around you and his other blade will slit your throat and soon, you'll suffer as- "I never said we bled easily." Your voice is right behind him. He looks over his shoulder and reacts in time but when you breathe, he can't act fast enough before of the display of a divine light that surrounds you now. You slice his shoulder and it burns, he holds it and glares at you. You drew first blood, but he'll make sure you don't get lucky again.

- Until you both are exaughsted from the battle and it ends in a tie. Loki feels himself growing weak and his last sight before losing consciousness is you. Surprisingly, when he wakes up, the first thing he sees is you as well. Sitting next to him, bandages on your wounds and a book in your hands. You notice from the corner of your eyes that he is awake.

- You apologize instantly for his wounds, despite the fact it is a literal fight to the death. In fact, your exact words to him are: "I aimed all of my attacks to kill swiftly, it was not my intention to make you suffer like the demons who have met my blade. In our next battle, I will make sure to be strong enough to kill you properly and respectfully."

- He isn't sure what to think of this, what to think of you. But it makes him smile for some reason, maybe he smiles at your foolishness for thinking you could kill HIM (you were close but he blames it on fortune), or maybe he smiles because it's very rare that someone honors him, a God of mischief and trickery, the same way they'd honor more noble gods like his uncle and cousin. Or maybe it was the smile you gave him...yes, that was it. It was your smile that sealed your fate.

- Loki can now be found wherever you are, like an annoying stray who keeps coming back to the hand that fed him once. Maybe he wants to annoy you, maybe he wants to flirt. Anything just to see you change that serious boring look on your face...maybe smile for him, yeah? He just hasn't been able to get it out of his mind.

- But, nah, you're too boring. That's his little pet name for you "His Boring Little Mortal", he'll complain about you but if anyone else was to speak ill, God or Human, he becomes indignant and reminds them of your good traits like your nobility and how you held yourself in battle.

- He's honestly the same when he's a yandere, as I said before, but the key major difference is that all it takes is one miniscule thing and suddenly, he comes more possessive. More protective and more suffocating. Like, he's watching you during a Ragngarok match and you smile at someone. To others, it might not be a big deal but to him, it very much is. Because it wasn't fair, YOUR SMILE BELONGED TO HIM. NOT TO ANYONE ELSE. TO HIM. YOU SMILED AT HIM FIRST SO IT'S HIS! YOU ARE HIS.

You lost the battle.

Your nobility, your humbleness, and your kindness wasn't enough to match the God of Deciet's wit and cunning. Your on both your knees, coughing up blood and unable to move your body as you hear the loud chain rattling of his weapons. You can hear the humans behind you begging you to get up, urging you to fight but you can't, your heart's strength was there but your body's was not. You feel ashamed but at least you can die knowing you did your best. Loki looks down at you, his hands at his sides, and his face stoic in a very unsettling manner. All he has to do is kill you, all he has to do is-"

"...I don't want too." He frowns, crossing his arms and looking the other way. You look at him in shock as the God's outrage as well as the humans. "LOKI, WHAT TREACHERY IS THIS!?" One of Odin's crows, well, crowed loudly.

Loki stuck out his tounge before shrugging, "I don't know, I mean, what am I winning? A step closer to humanity's destruction? We're gods! I want a something else! A prize~" He says slyly. The gods outrage once more before Zeus sighs, knowing nothing can be simple with the green haired god and tiredly asked him, "Fine, what prize must we give you if you kill (Y/n) (L/n)?" Zeus asked, making Loki grin wolfishly.

The arena becomes quiet and Loki kneels in front of you, cupping your face in his hands and tilting your head. What a cute face you're making, so confused and ready to die. He wonders what face you would make if he just...

Kissed you passionately, pressing his lips to your blood covered ones and shocking you and both audiences of mortals and immortals. You don't kiss him back, you don't even have time to think before he pulls away from you and looks at you with half lidded eyes.

Yes, that face is so much cuter on you. He wonders what other faces you could make.

But first, he has to answer the question Zeus asked him, "Why, the only prize that matters to me of course!~"

"(Y/n) (L/n), the Sun Hashira herself!"

[50shadesofrossi]

Ruining You

Ser Harwin Strong x Female Reader

Summary: You’re Viserys’ eldest daughter, the blood of the dragon running thick. You have a temper, and it seems Harwin is the only one brave enough to tame it despite your mutual loathing

Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff, swearing and depictions of violence

A/N: Holy shit. This was originally 13k words but in the last thousand the plot went a bit haywire and the writing was bleh so I deleted that and just fixed a few things to make it where it is now. I sincerely apologise if this isn’t what you thought when I originally posted the idea, it did kind of run away on me but at the same time, I lowkey love it. Enjoy, this 12k fic :)

Rage boils deep within your veins, the bubbles extremely close to spilling over. Your father always said you and your sister Rhaenyra share the blood of the dragon, especially the hot temperament, though he underestimated just how ferocious you can get, even as a child. 

You feel every emotion with such a raw intensity that sometimes you don't know what to do, or how to deal with it and it explodes, consuming you whole and turning you into someone entirely different. Your alter ego, as your uncle Daemon calls it. 

Much like now, wildfire blazing within your eyes, steam simmering out of your ears and blood spilling into your mouth from grinding your teeth so hard. It takes every ounce of strength to not erupt, destroy anything in your path and embarrass your father further. 

"Are you even listening to me?!" Viserys yells from the throne, his voice echoing down the great hall for all to hear. 

No, you're not listening to him, too busy trying to direct your anger elsewhere, direct it at someone else. Pain flares up your arms, wrapping around like a snake as your nails dig into your palms. 

Viserys calls your name and almost stumbles back in response to your attention flickering up to him. "Is that all, your grace?" You grit. 

The small group of occupants cease breathing. Viserys sighs exasperatedly, gesturing for your dismissal. Without hesitation you spin on your heel, marching your way out of the hall and toward the fastest exit out of the Keep, away from prying eyes. 

Servants, lords and ladies all evacuate the premises, steering clear of your path of destruction as you make your way toward the back of the gardens, your secret area you call it. Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heeled boots clipping the ground. 

You barely make it in time, rounding the large tree and searching for your hidden blade. The steel glints under the sunlight, ringing as it slashes through the air and makes contact with the already-exposed bark. Bits fly everywhere with each swing, your bottled-up rage slowly leaking out. 

You don't hear the person approach, nor do you feel the eyes watching you intently, silent and observing. To say the knight is used to your outbursts is an understatement. You never fail to remind him of who you're descendant from, the unyielding anger and raw emotions of a Targaryen. 

A dragon. 

"Fuck!" You scream angrily, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and your knees buckling. You hit the earth harshly, staining your dress, not that you care at this moment. 

The sword falls from your grip, landing amongst the dirt. 

"I half expected you to climb atop your dragon and burn King's Landing to the ground," the knight muses from behind you, making himself known and slowly approaching you like a rabid animal. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing him away and hoping to awaken from this horrible nightmare. You hear the debris snap under his weight with each step closer, reigniting your hatred. 

With precision, despite the dress, you come to your feet and whirl around, your hand having grasped your blade in the process. "And you best believe I'd burn you first, you fucking snitch." You seethe, pointing the end toward him. 

"Princess-" he starts, daring to place his foot down and inch himself closer. 

"Unless you want to be choking on your blood Ser Harwin," you address him. "I'd stand down and leave me be." 

Harwin swallows thickly, an inkling of fear rolling down his spine. "It wasn't me," he starts off carefully, deciding to keep his distance. "I never told anyone, certainly not your father or mine. But to be truthful, I'm glad someone else did." 

"Liar," you approach him with purpose, resting the point of the blade on his knitted tunic. "You have the most to gain by staying on his good side, being rewarded with his favour; Commander of the Gold Cloaks." He holds your eye, his fingers twitching. "My uncle is bound to screw up eventually and when that happens, you'll slide right into his position. All you heirs are the same." 

"Princess," he tries again. 

"Breakbones." 

His jaw flexes. You've struck a nerve, a nerve you love to hit. "Don't," he warns. 

"Go guard your honourable princess, and leave me alone. I'm in no tolerable mood." You indicate your younger sister, Rhaenyra. 

Harwin breathes steadily through his nose, ignoring the fact that you're trying to get under his skin, to piss him off like you are. It's almost routine by now, especially when you're this riled up. 

"And so you plan to torture the tree? With that flimsy sword, which by the way, will shatter the moment it meets real steel." 

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling harshly. Harwin makes a split-second decision, one that he's sure will land him as food for your dragon. He knocks your sword away, the unexpected force causing you to stumble back and blink up at him. 

"Never take your eyes off your opponent." 

Confusion begins to overlap your previous state, your fingers twisting for a better grip on the handle of your sword that now is by your side. "What are you-" 

"Who taught you to wield a sword?" You don't answer. Harwin speaks your name, a different kind of fire burning within you. "Who taught you?" He presses, his tone firm, as though he talks to a child. 

"Ser Criston Cole." 

"Ser Criston Cole," he drawls, almost in disbelief. "Of fucking course." He mumbles to himself. His own kind of anger sparks, his skin crawling at the thought of the two of you alone. "And let me guess, you begged and pleaded with him to teach you how to defend yourself because you know that going outside the Red Keep is a stupid fucking idea." 

He should slap himself for speaking so indirectly, informally to you, his princess. Yet, he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. 

During your nights, you spend them down in Flea Bottom, or anywhere that's not the Red Keep, spreading your wings and soaring. You hate being holed up, being monitored and being expected to carry out duties you never asked for, never wanted. Even as a child, you wished you of been born to a low-born family, even a lady and lord would be better than King Viserys' firstborn. 

When your mother and brother passed, Viserys was prepared to bake you his heir, but you declined. You could think of nothing worse, having seen the stress and duty your father must endure on a day-to-day basis. You know Rhaenyra will be a better Queen. 

Not to mention, you wish to marry for love. As childish and dreamer-like for you to want, you gave up fighting years ago. 

On most of your escapades, Harwin finds you, and ultimately drags you back to the safety of the Keep. He's the only knight that you know of, that's caught you, leading you to believe he is responsible for reporting it to your father. Hence why you were abruptly dragged from your chambers this morning. 

"And you think you can do better? Ser Criston at least understands that I'll do as I please, not try and reprimand me at every given chance." You lower your voice. "And watch yourself, Ser Harwin, I'm still your princess, no matter how much you hate it." 

Regret flashes in his eyes before it's gone. "Then let's see what you've learnt." 

Harwin draws his sword, knowing damn well he could be executed for doing so. But at this moment, you're both too wound up to differentiate between what's right and wrong. A habit, of the both of you. 

You flinch at the large sword, deep down knowing Harwin would never jeopardise you, never put you in harm's way or risk hurting you. You lift your chin, swallowing the lump in your throat and raising your sword. 

He watches in amusement, allowing you a heartbeat before he attacks, bringing his sword down. You block with ease, unprepared for how light it is. He's pulling all his strength back. You push the sword away, moving around and keeping your footwork light, smirking. 

"Is something funny?" Harwin raises an unimpressed brow, his eyes never leaving you. 

You bite back a smile at his clear agitation. "No." 

He grunts, striking again. Your reflexes move before you think, blocking and attempting to counterattack yourself, refusing to show your frustration. He's still clearly overpowering you and much more experienced. 

You silently pray for those that meet the end of Harwin's fury. 

"Tell me, Princess" he starts, a loud ringing vibrating into the area as your swords clash. "Has Ser Criston taught you hand-to-hand combat, or how to escape someone's grip?" 

The question takes you off guard, your head tilting as you try to remember. Harwin uses the moment to smack your sword out of your hand, his own dropping for your safety and his arms wrapping around you. 

You cease breathing, the constricted in your throat and your heart skipping a beat. An arm gently presses against your throat, Harwin having put you in a controlled headlock, your back flush with his front. 

Your lips part, your fingers instinctively digging into his arm. Heat crawls up your neck, blood pounding in your ear. You know this is a training exercise, but you can't help in feeling so safe in his arms. Your muscles automatically relax, your adrenaline calms and your breath slowly comes back to you with each second. 

You should hate the situation you're in. Granted, if it was any other person you'd be kicking up a shit storm and preparing to have them fed to your dragon but it's not just anyone. It's Harwin, and that makes you hate him more. 

Hate him for having this effect on you, for consuming your thoughts and imprinting himself amongst your dreams. Though you know he's not to blame, it's yourself. 

For falling so profoundly, and irrevocably in love with him. 

"No doubt, you could handle yourself in an armed fight but what if they get the upper hand, like I did just now, and you're left with close combat, or even worse, they grab you like this," Harwin says to you, his voice thickening with an emotion you can't quite place. "How do you get out?" 

You shake with nerves, at the thought of your escape plan. It's stupid, and it might not work and fuck everything up. Though it could work, and once again, fuck it all up. You push the insecurities down, knowing that he's trying to teach you a life lesson, even if you don't want to hear it. 

You twist your head, his grip not being tight in any way, and find his lips with ease, capturing them. Harwin falters, his arms opening and allowing you the opportunity to slip through and distance yourself from him. 

"That's how." You lick your lips, drawing the taste of him into your mouth. 

Harwin studies you with a deep look of something, mixed with unhinged anger and fear. He doesn't say anything, even as he quickly reaches for his sword, sheathing it against his hip and holding your eye for a moment longer. 

"One day," he croaks. "You're going to wake up and find yourself all alone." And with that, he turns his back on you. 

You watch him leave, shakily bringing the pads of your fingers to your lips, brushing them tenderly. You feel humiliated, shameful and disgusted. You also feel lighter, having finally answered your own question; his lips are soft and the taste of his breakfast still lingers. 

"I already am." You whisper to yourself, biting your finger to keep the tears at bay, the anger subsided.

The sun begins its descent from the highest point in the sky before you arrive back at your quarters, dismissing your maids in exchange for silence. You sit atop a lounge on the windowsill, breathing the fresher air from the high distance, ignoring the crestfallen ache in your heart. 

You knew something like this would happen, that Harwin would reject you and push you away. It's part of the reason why you hate him because you know you can't have him. Your father would never allow it, as his firstborn. He'd see to it that you marry a beneficial house, to further strengthen your sister's claim to the throne since you turned away from it. 

It doesn't make it any easier, or any less hard. You've spent almost every day in each other's presence, in either passing or company. You've known him since he was a boy. Uncoordinated and lanky, until he grew and filled out into the man he is today. 

"I don't know what you've done, but I'd steer clear from father," Rhaenyra bursts inside, speaking before seeing you. She calls for you when you don't respond, hoping she'll leave. 

She doesn't. 

Rhaenyra perches herself beside you, brushing a strand of your curly hair behind your ear. "What's happened?" 

"Ser Harwin told father of my nightly adventures." 

Rhaenyra frowns, gazing out the window. "It wasn't him, it was Ser Criston," you gape at her, shifting to lean your back against the wall, mirroring your sister. "He said as much when Ser Harwin confronted him about teaching you how to wield a sword, and the two go into it." 

"Shit," you murmur, leaning your head back. 

"I assume he came from seeing you, with how riled up he was. Never seen him so angry." 

She looks at you expectantly. "I kissed him." Her eyes widen. "To prove a point! He asked me how I'd escape from a headlock, and I kissed him, to distract him. It worked because he let go of me." 

"Makes sense," Rhaenyra nods, referring to his destructive path. "What was it like?" 

You glance at her, a small smile ghosting your lips. "It was only brief, but they are smooth, the complete opposite of him." 

You both giggle, dismissing the fact that you dishonoured not only yourself but Harwin. For a few minutes, you sit in silence, relishing in the company of your sister. These moments are rare, as of late, with her newfound responsibilities. 

"Are you going to listen to father?" 

You stare at her, the answer shining in your lilac eyes. "What do you think." 

-

Harwin surrounds himself with his fellow gold cloaks, in an attempt to enjoy his night off. They laugh and joke, spilling their alcohol and losing their hands on woman's bodies. 

He finishes his drink rather frustratedly, slamming it on the counter accidentally. He can't get the stupid fucking kiss out of his head, replaying the scene over and over. 

The way your body moulded to his own, your smaller frame engulfed and your erratic heart pounding against his arm. How he divulged himself and allowed his nose to brush your hair, inhaling your scent and losing his control. 

And fuck, when you leant up and kissed him, he couldn't help but respond. His restraint snapped at that moment, and if it weren't for you slipping out and distancing yourself-he doesn't want to imagine what he would have done.

From your first meeting, he knew he'd grow up to love you, your hot-headed temperament and stubborn wilfulness. Before he arrived in Kings Landing, his father had drilled into him how to act, how the royal family would act, yet there you stood, unaware of his presence as you yelled profanities into the sky. Not to mention, when you caught him gawking, asked him, the fuck are you looking at?

Your first words ever spoken to him. 

He sighs dramatically, rubbing his face and deciding to leave, knowing that drinking his problems away won't solve anything. The cool air nips at him through his woollen clothes, his dark cape swaying behind him as he makes his way back to the Keep. 

Approaching the gates, he hears a rustle, pausing to make sure his senses aren't clouded. "Fucking shit," Harwin immediately reaches for his sword, keeping his hand on the hilt whilst cautiously making his way closer to the whispered profanities. 

He watches you, straightening your clothes and checking to make sure the coast is clear before you walk off toward the city. He raises a brow at the choice of clothes; black pants and a shirt, with a jacket that is a size too big and a cloak to hide your white hair. Though nothing can cover the deep lilac of your eyes. 

He makes the hasty decision to follow you, keeping his distance yet being close enough to protect you should anything happen. Harwin smiles to himself, knowing this is the perfect opportunity to teach you a lesson. 

If it's so easy for him to sneak up behind you, imagine someone else, with impure intentions. 

He follows you for some time, a small part of him enjoying the look of awe and joy at the sights. Each night you leave, you try to explore new parts of the city, learning about your folk. Harwin must admit, not many royals would do so, preferring to stick to the comforts of the Keep.

The moon is high in the sky, shining down and revealing clear paths as you steer left and right, nowhere in particular yet taking note of each turn. You may be reckless, but you're not stupid. 

Harwin chooses this moment to make his move, observing the way you slip steadily down the passageway and pause at the sound of water lapping against the walls. He creeps out, covering your mouth and pulling you to him, stepping out of the light and into the darkness. 

You scream against his gloved hand, thrashing wildly and reaching for your concealed knife when, "and just like that princess, I've killed you. Or worse, knocked you out and used you for my pleasantries. How many times must I tell you until you get it through your thick skull that this isn't safe." 

You stop, your heart thundering and your adrenaline pumping. You close your eyes, subconsciously leaning further into Harwin. He hesitantly removes his hand, waiting for the explosion. 

"I could have killed you," you murmur, the weight of the blade heavy in your hand. You were prepared to stab him in the kidney. The thought of harming him destroys you. "I could have killed you, all because of your stupidity!" You whirl around, still touching him. 

"My stupidity?" He repeats. 

"Yes!" You fire, glaring up at him. "All to teach me a lesson, when I'm not stupid! Have you ever thought that maybe I just don't give a fuck? I know it's not safe, why do you think I sneak around and blend in." You pause, avoiding his gaze and staring at the Strong house crest on his chest. "This is the only time I feel normal, where my existence is insignificant." 

"Princess, no one asks to be born into their roles, to be born rich or poor," he starts, remembering all the times you spoke of wishing to be someone other than a princess, other than Viserys' firstborn. "But it's our duty to push through, to become what we're meant to be; Lord of Harrenhal, and Princess, of the seven kingdoms." 

Your emotions are high and twisted, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you squeeze your eyes shut to keep them at bay. "I didn't want to be a Queen, I sure as hell don't want to be a princess. I just want to be someone's wife, someone's mother. Someone's greatest love. Is that so hard?" 

You can't control the words, the heartfelt words that shatter Harwin. Suddenly, he understands you. He knows you. He says your name, softly, bringing his hand to your chin and tilting it up. Forcing you to look at him. 

Harwin wipes at your cheek with his thumb, tenderly caressing the flesh and relishing in the feel of you in his hand. So small and frail. So exposed. He opens his mouth to say more when the sound of metal armour clanging together draws his attention elsewhere. 

"Shit." He curses. 

He has nowhere to move to. The path spans over a hundred metres, with a wall on one side and the water's edge on the other. He couldn't even go to a corner. Solutions run through his mind, the sound of guards nearing causing him to do the first thing that pops up. 

"Sorry, Princess." He mumbles, pushing you against the concrete wall and covering the majority of your body with his, with no space left between you. Your brows furrow in confusion, question flashing in your eyes. 

Harwin does what he's always wanted to do: press his lips to yours. 

You squeak, given no time to prepare, your eyes wide in surprise. Only twelve hours ago, he was looking at you with utter hatred and disgust for you doing the same thing. The blade clatters against the ground.

The gold cloaks walk past without an issue, chuckling at the two of you but paying no mind. Harwin keeps his lips firmly against you, hating having to put you in this situation. 

When they become a dot in the distance, does he pull away, searching your eyes. "You kissed me back," you refer to earlier. That was your first kiss, this you never realised Harwin had responded. Your eyes harden, your lips pursing as you inhale as much air as possible before being your hand up and slapping him. His head snaps to the side at the sheer force, shock yet understandable written on his face. 

He doesn't respond, the words unable to form in his mouth. He swallows thickly, his jaw taut. He deserved that. He dares look at you again, his chest rising rapidly and the air crackling. 

You push off the wall, shaking your head in disbelief and attempting to round him. Your shoulder clashes with his when he turns to grab your upper arm, halting you. You glare up at him, opening your mouth to hurtle harsh words at him. Harwin moves first, pulling you back to him and claiming your lips. 

You're not even given a chance to respond before he pulls back, his face still close and his breath fanning your cheeks. He looks at you with hunger, lust and want. Realisation dawns on you; he's just as conflicted as you are. 

Your heart tugs you forward, your hands gripping his tunic and meeting him halfway. Harwin's hands cup the sides of your head. 

He devours you, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease and his hands sliding to the base of your neck and head, titling you up to give more access. You whimper, grappling with his tunic as if he could suddenly move away from you.

He doesn't, shifting to have your back against the wall again, his apparent hard-on pressing into you. Your lungs ache with release, the lack of oxygen making you lightheaded yet desperate for more. 

Slowly and reluctantly, you part, his forehead resting on yours. Your lips are evidently swollen, the taste of him still lingering as he peppers you softly, not quite wanting to stop. 

"Harwin," you whisper, gliding your hands up to his cheeks, running the pads of your fingers over his beard and around his features. 

"I know." 

He could be executed for this, you could be disowned. But gods, does it feel right. Right to be in his hold, to be desired and kissed. You never want to stop. 

"Fuck I know." He repeats, lower. 

You nuzzle each other, refusing to leave the comfort of one another's warmth and touch, despite that nagging thought tugging in the back of your mind. Harwin murmurs that he needs to return you to the Keep, reluctantly standing straighter and removing himself from you.

You follow him in silence, sticking close and for once, not giving him grief. A step up from your usual nights out. 

You soon arrive, pausing before you part and he enters through the main gates whilst you scamper up your hidden passageway. "I know it wasn't you, who told my father." You start. "It was wrong of me to accuse you, and I hope one day you can forgive my insolence, and accept my apology." 

"Of course, Princess. It is known for spoilt children to lash out when they don't receive what they want," he begins to walk back with a teasing smirk. 

You narrow your eyes, watching him for a heartbeat longer and then turning to disappear yourself. The journey back to your quarters is always short, your footsteps light as you work to not attract attention to yourself. 

Heaving the door open, you stop dead in your tracks at the sight of your father standing in your room. "Father-"

"Where have you been?" He says in a low, deadly voice. 

"Taking a walk," 

"Don't lie to me!" Viserys yells. 

The room falls silent. You stare at one another, refusing to break contact. "What will it take for you to listen to me?" 

You think over your choice of words. Is it wise to mention that you wish to marry for love? That you wish he'd allow for you to leave this godforsaken city and be elsewhere, anywhere. Be with Harwin. 

"I wish-" you choke, refusing to look at him as you lay yourself bare. "I wish to marry of my own free will." 

Silence. More silence, his fury-ignited eyes never leaving you, even as you brave the idea to glance up. "No." 

"What-"

"You refused me in naming you heir, you will not refuse me in arranging a marriage for you. That, I can not accept." You gape at him, horror and sickness twisting deep within you. "Take this as your punishment for disobeying me." 

"You can't do this!" You yell at his retreated figure, anger surfacing and exploding. 

"Yes, I can." Viserys ends the argument, storming out of your quarters and forcibly shutting your door. You release a blood-curdling scream, frustration and betrayal gnawing at you. 

You grab the closest object, a cup, and hurtle it across the room. It clangs every time it meets the ground, the metal ringing dying down when it rolls to a stop. Your chest heaves, your jaw clenching and unclenching as you grasp for some control, to leash your emotions. 

You can't. 

You want to hurt your father, hurt him like he's hurt you. There's only one way you know how, leaving you to quickly exit your room through the hidden passageway, navigating down unfamiliar tunnels. 

When you were younger, you explored them all, yet there is only a small handful you use, mainly for your adventures outside the Keep. 

You basically float over the ground, your steps carefully placed despite your fast pace, eager to arrive at your destination. You reach the door, knocking quickly but firmly, making sure you don't arouse the Hand of the King, or his younger son. 

"Princess?" Harwin questions, glancing beyond you. "Is everything alright?" 

You say nothing, surging forward and claiming his lips. Harwin can only raise his brows in surprise, at both your forwardness and boldness, your hands resting on his chest to walk him backward, closing the door swiftly behind you. 

"What was that for?" He presses, distancing himself from you. He doesn't want to think of the penalty if you were found at this very moment. "Hmm?" 

You nibble your lip, holding his gaze even though you'd rather burn for the next words that come out. "I need you." 

The room falls silent, only the crackle of the fire is enough from keeping it dark and noiseless. Harwin studies you, not quite believing you. "You need me?" He approaches, agonisingly slow. "I find that very interesting, since only an hour or so ago, you were quite content." 

He stands before you, his fingers coming under your chin and leaning your head up. He observes you, enjoying watching you squirm. "The truth, now." He knows you're lying, or at the very least, not entirely honest. 

"I am telling the truth-" Harwin changes his grip, pulling you close to him by your chin. You almost collapse. He murmurs your name, the sound rolling down your back on waves. His eyes glint with a challenge, daring you to protest. Your neck heats up. "I could find little sleep, and my," you stop, wishing for the floor to open and swallow you hole. Harwin raises a brow. 

"My fingers were insufficient."

You don't realise, that the previous fire of wrath has simmered down, laying dormant. A different burn ravages your body. 

A wicked smile pulls at the corner of Harwin's mouth, his demeanour shifting. "Was that so hard?" His voice holding a certain husk, that you've never heard. 

His thumb brushes your smooth skin, braving the course of your lips. You release a small breath you didn't realise you were holding and your mouth parts. Harwin drags your bottom lip down, enjoying your compliance. 

"You need me to soothe that ache, Princess?" He tortures you, his mouth ghosting you yet inching up every time you try to close the gap. 

"Please," you're not sure what you're begging for, the words just tumbling out. You close your eyes in frustration, his breath fanning you. 

He finally relents, coming down on your mouth heavily. You barely have a moment to properly respond, his fingers tightening on your chin and his free hand coming to the base of your neck, keeping you steady as he takes your breath. 

"This is all you needed," he pulls a hairsbreadth away, his nose pressing onto the side of yours. "Someone to dominate you, leave you powerless." He realises, looking over your wanton state. 

Your hands fist his shirt, desperation clear on your face. He smiles softly, abruptly pulling back and creating a well-spaced distance from you. You feel as if a cold bucket of water has been poured over you, watching as he takes a seat by the fire. 

"Go to bed, Princess." 

You gape at him, fury bubbling to the surface. "Harwin," you start, taking a tentative step forward. 

"What you are asking for, is treason. The fucking death penalty." 

You flare up. "So is kissing me! What is going a little further?" 

"We are talking about your virtue." He raises his voice, momentarily forgetting about his whereabouts. Gods above, should someone come knocking. "That would be despicable of me, to take something that belongs to your husband." 

You frown, coming to stand before him, the sudden rush of heat inflicting goosebumps. "It should be mine to give away, not his to take." 

He looks up at you, his curls dishevelled and unruly. He wears a worn shirt, the casual appearance causing your stomach to twist. What you would give, to share days where you are laid bare with each other, to see the other side of Harwin, the improper side of him. 

"I trust you, Harwin," you begin, standing between his legs. "I want it to be you. No one else but you, who sees me, and touches me." You hoist a leg over his lap, moving to straddle his lap, your knees digging into the edge of the cushion. 

Instinctively, Harwin's hands come to your waist, keeping you situated. He battles with his morals, his body and heart reacting completely opposite to his mind. If you were a low-born, he'd have fucked you back in the passageway, without a care of onlookers. 

But your status halts him. 

You say his name again, caressing his jaw, your nails scraping through his beard. He doesn't break contact, his palms wandering along your side, moving with a mind of their own. It's plain to see, how much he wants you, how much you want each other. 

Painstakingly obvious. 

You swallow nervously, inching down to press a gentle kiss on the underside of his jaw, allowing time for him to push you off should he really not want to continue. You wouldn't ask that of him. His fingers flex into your flesh, his head angling up slightly. 

A ghost of a smirk plants itself over your lips, a sudden arrogance blooming at his reaction, at his heavier breath intake. You travel to his neck, feeling the urge to nibble lightly, Harwin rolling your hips into him reflexively. 

You gasp into his skin at the sudden pleasure, the seam of your pants pulling tightly over your clit. Harwin groans lowly, both at your mouth finding his sweet spot and your hips rutting into him. A sinister thought crosses his mind. 

Effortlessly he hoists you up, placing you over his thigh. You sit back in confusion, your initial reaction being that he wants to stop, until he speaks. "You say you use your fingers," your slightly wide eyes are enough of a confirmation. "Then use me. Get yourself off using me." 

Your lips part, your eyes searching his. He smiles reassuringly, dragging your hips over his thigh. "Take your pleasure, Princess." 

Your head drops into the crevice of his shoulder, an airy moan escaping you at the new sensation. Naturally, you begin to move on your own, a hand snaking up the other side of his head to thread through his curls, using him as leverage. 

Harwin jolts his leg up, the action bringing a new wave of pleasure through you. You whimper into his shoulder, your mind reminding you how improper this is, how a woman takes no pleasure from laying with a man yet your body ignores every lesson you've ever been taught. 

A low pressure builds, your thighs starting to shake and your movements quickening. Harwin makes the split decision to help, driving your hips down and over, the new motion brings you to your release. 

You pant against him, squeezing your eyes shut as he continues to move you gently, drawing your orgasm out. Slowly he comes to a stop, allowing you a moment to really comprehend what's happening before he shifts in a way that he can plant a kiss on your head.

"Was that good?" 

You nod, a familiar heat rising in your cheeks. Gods that felt fucking magical, and he barely did anything. You can only imagine how his cock will feel. 

He chuckles lightly, coaxing you to sit back and reveal your pretty face. He drags the backs of his fingers down your cheek, memorising each fine detail. Deep down, a small part of him fears this will be the last he'll ever see of it. 

In one movement, Harwin stands and gingerly lowers you onto the fur rug in front of the fire, the flames dancing dangerously close. He knows how much you love the heat. 

You gaze up at him, allowing him the opportunity to worship you. His large hands slip under your shirt, dragging the material as he roams every inch of your side. You arch your back and raise your arms, allowing easier access to glide the shirt off. 

Goosebumps erupt under his hardened callouses, his fingers interlocking with yours once he moves up your arms and allows the shirt to bunch above your head. "Keep them here," he murmurs, capturing your lips. 

You figure he means your hands, nodding against his mouth. His tongue invades your mouth, his breath becoming your own and his fingers flexing at the sheer taste of you. You have no idea how much power you wield over him. 

His hands begin their descent, grazing your flesh and finding solace on your breasts, his mouth following suit. You grab onto the edge of the fur rug, gripping it firmly. 

His tongue flicks your erect nipple, his teeth meeting the tender flesh. He nips and sucks around the area, a hand paying attention to your other breast, careful to administer equally. You gasp and writhe under him, unaware that he could bring you any pleasure from this. 

Eventually, he moves on, stopping at your waistline. He flickers up to you, a silent ask of permission in his eyes. You give an airy yes, anticipation gnawing at you. Harwin pulls your pants and undergarment in one motion, the cool air causing you to jump. 

He laughs softly, grinning at your nakedness, at the way your skin glows under the firelight. Right now, you're all his, his to take, to touch and love. His mind captures this moment, storing it away for a time when he plans on replaying it over and over. 

"How do you feel, Princess, knowing you're about to be my dessert." 

Your eyes brows raise at the comment, unsure of his hidden innuendo. A dark part of Harwin relishes in the fact that it's him, that gets to taint you. That he's the one to open the gates to a whole new world of pleasure. He plans on ruining you for any other man. 

"What are you doing?" You ask more in curiousness than fear. Of all your lessons, the Septas never mentioned a man putting his head between your legs. 

"I'm dining on my Princess, is that alright with you?" A dark glint shines in his eyes from between your thighs, his beard grazing your soft flesh. You whimper, biting your lip and giving him the go-ahead. 

You suck in a deep breath at the first contact of his tongue, your body seizing. Fuck. You throw your head back in a silent moan, Harwin's mouth ravaging you. His tongue explores your folds and clit, emitting all pitches of sounds from you. 

Suddenly his hands snake around your thighs and grip you thoroughly, spreading them further around his head and giving him easier access. You squeal at the feeling of his tongue entering you, pumping in and out. 

"Harwin," your knuckles have since turned white. 

This is a high you never thought you could experience, the intensity hitting you like a wave. The combination of his tongue, his lips and his beard is enough to drive you over. Of course, Harwin intends for you to be fully prepared, momentarily coming up to gauge your reaction as he pushes a finger into you. 

You release a deep groan at the intrusion, the pleasure brewing. He takes his time, moving in and out of you, slowly adding a second finger at the same time his thumb rubs your clit. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to do anything but writhe under his hand. Gods you wish you could put your arms down and grab him, show him how good he's making you feel. Harwin spreads his fingers carefully, intently studying your reaction. He wants you prepped as best as possible, wanting your first-time pain-free. 

With all these motions and pleasantries you fall over the edge, calling out his name. Harwin continues his movements for a second longer before removing his hand, allowing you to come down from your high. 

He skims over you, capturing your lips and emptying your lungs. You instantly wrap your arms around him, eager to keep him close. He grinds himself into you, allowing you a moment to feel how hard he is. 

You lick your lips whilst you watch him undress, tossing his clothes somewhere before diving straight back down to you. You barely get a chance to admire his hard-earned body, instead running your fingers deep into his back muscles. 

"Give me your hand," he guides it down, wrapping it firmly around his cock. You suppress a giggle at his involuntarily deep groan. "This is what you do to me," he says your name. "This, and so much more. You have no idea the kind of control that's in your favour." 

You can't help but smirk. You leave your hand wrapped around him, a little unsure of what to do. "You take the lead, whenever you're ready." Oh. He means for you to put him in. 

You glance down, hesitantly gliding to the tip, drawing it closer. "Can you help?" You have no fucking idea what you're doing. 

His hand envelops your own, guiding it to you and nudging your opening. You suck in a deep breath, flickering up to his own deep blue eyes. He leaves you to your own devices, gritting his teeth at every inch. 

The feeling is unlike anything you've ever experienced. For the time being, it's uncomfortable and unnatural, your body's initial reaction to close your legs and get him out of you. But you don't, removing your hand and granting Harwin the opportunity to ease in. 

"Harwin." You grunt, clawing at his shoulders. 

"You're doing so well, taking me so well." He praises, finally stopping once he's filled you. As time passes, your body begins to relax, climatizing to having his cock stretch you open. 

"Move, please move." You strain, wanting this first part to be over with. 

He does, slowly rocking out and in, the slight pain shifting to pleasure, your deep breaths becoming short. You have no idea what to do besides lay here, wrapped around Harwin as he thrusts into you, restraining himself from fucking you into the rug. 

That will be for later. 

For now, he intends on showing you a softer, gentler side of him, one where he tenderly brings you to release.

He fists the fur beside your head, his other hand on your hip as he steadily moves within you, your back arching slightly when he reaches parts of you, you never thought he'd reach. 

You bring a hand to his face, brushing a part of his curls back and revealing his prominent features, trying desperately to hold contact. 

He uses the hold on your hip as leverage, lifting your hips ever so little when he ruts into you, eliciting all frequencies of sounds from you. Your walls begin to clench around him, alerting him of your impending orgasm. 

Slipping his hand over, Harwin teases your clit, eager to really please you. With this being your first time, your climax quite quickly, Harwin's name falling from your lips. 

You gasp at his sudden eviction, a small part of you wondering if that was it. Harwin soon answers, scooping you up off the ground and planting you beside the fire, your front pressing against the wall. Thankfully the fire leaves it warm. 

"Harwin, what are you-oh fuck!" You cry out at his sudden intrusion, entering from behind. 

Harwin leaves no space between you, your legs spread to give him better access and a hand weaving through your hair and pulling your head to the side. "You wanted this, Princess, and you'll take it." He grunts into your ear, his thrusts hitting sharply. "But don't worry, you'll find yourself soon enjoying it." 

You almost flutter around him, the words sinking in and leaving you in a hot and bothered state. His guttural voice mixed with those cold, demeaning words. 

In a way, he's not wrong, the new position causing all sorts of pleasures to tremble through your body; your nipples grazing the stone, his cock hammering into you and his dominant hands manoeuvring you like a whore. 

You snake an arm around, cupping the back of his head, keeping him close. With your cheek melted into the stone wall, his breath moulds with your own, your lips dangerously near, yet not touching. You close your eyes, enjoying the brutal fucking and not to mention, Harwin's own grunting and groaning. 

It brings you joy to know that he finds great pleasure in you. 

"You have no idea what you've just done, allowing me the honour to be the first to have my way with you. It wasn't a smart move Princess because I intend to ruin you," it's as though his own words spur him on, harshly rutting into you and carving you into the wall. You can do nothing but take it, and endure his treatment. 

You wouldn't have it any other way.

"I intend on breaking you in to my cock, destroying all hope for you to ever enjoy someone else." He lowers his voice almost menacingly. "No one will ever fuck you like I am." 

You attempt a nod, knowing he's correct. As fucked up as it seems, you know that only Harwin can bring you to these highs. He's the only one you'll ever allow to treat you this way. Like an object, a vacant hole. 

You know your close, your legs beginning to shake and your breath quickening. "Harwin, please," you whimper, once again not entirely sure what you're pleading for. 

Whatever it is, you know he can grant it. 

Somehow he hits a deeper angle, leaving you to cry out clenching around him. He falters for a second, close to spilling over himself. He so desperately wants to, but he's holding out. With the new tempo, you crumble, spilling around Harwin as he continues to thrust into you. 

You whine against him, the overwhelming pleasure causing tears to prick in the corners of your eyes. He doesn't stop, only slowing as he whirls you around, picking you up by your thighs and clamping them to his waist. 

"Gods," you moan airily, his cock ramming against your sensitive walls. 

"The seven won't help you here." He muses, observing your expressions. 

Amazingly enough, Harwin increases his tempo, similar to before. You choke, pawing at his chest. "Harwin I can't," 

"Yes you can, hey," he cups your jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. "One more, be a good girl and give me one more, you can do it." 

You bite your lip at the pain beginning to throb, your body exhausted and to be honest, your pussy used. His dark eyes watch you, a hand coming down to press against your clit, helping in relieve that pressure building once again. 

He groans your name, his other hand moving to brace against the skirting around the fireplace. With his strength and subconscious force, he breaks the corner of it. You barely react to the stone crumbling at his feet, more focused on climaxing for a third and final time. 

He swallows your scream, the rush of you around him enough to bring him over, spilling his seed deep. You lean your head back, your chest heaving and no doubt your back scratched. You feel content, Harwin slumping into your shoulder, nuzzling your flesh. 

"I never imagined it would feel like that," you say more to yourself, your fingers threading through his sweaty curls. 

Harwin lifts his head. "It's never like that, Princess." 

-

The wild winds blast through your hair, your dragon's head blocking the majority from hitting you smack bang on your chest. At this height, the force is unimaginable. 

You slowly begin your descent, dreading the moment you land and go back to reality, your cruel reality. In these last few months, you were made to follow your sister during her tour, allowing the lords to put themselves forward for your hand, alongside Rhaenyra. 

You scowled the entire time. A cold, blank sheet was over your face, your eyes narrowed and dark. You could burn your father for the agony he's put you through, refusing your one ask of him. He's strained his relationship with you. 

As more and more days pass, you ponder the thought of running away, denouncing your blood and flying off into the distance, far from this heartache. 

You know it's foolish, that you must uphold your duty, but fuck duty. 

Your dragon lands smoothly, his large frame dwarfing you once you climb down, your hand brushing against his scales and his head. He growls softly, leaning into your palm and hoping to draw this time out. He's missed you, much like the dark-haired knight that only just received word of your arrival. 

You and your sister returned in the night, and since dawn you've been up in the skies, forgetting the situation at hand for a while longer. 

You gesture for the dragon keepers to guide your dragon back into his nest, turning swiftly and making your way up to the Keep. Eyes watch you, studying you with every step. Since your last conversation with your father, you've turned into a cold little bitch. 

It's the only way you know to protect yourself. 

Your steel gaze burns through anyone who makes contact, challenging them to speak their mind. You know of the rumours that spread, how you've turned down every suitor, how your attitude has changed and you are no longer the nice Princess. 

You don't notice the deep blue eyes following your every move through the courtyard, studying your behaviour. A part of you wonders how your first interaction would be, having not spoken a word to him since that night.

After he helped you dress, you snuck back into your room riddled with guilt. Suppose you came to your senses, realising exactly what you'd just done. But somewhere, you didn't care, you still don't. The next day you prepared yourself to send him away, should he come looking, but he never did. 

And then you left, following your sister around Westeros. 

"Have you seen him?" Rhaenyra sidles up to you, accompanying you to your quarters where you must prepare for the large feast. Your father has organised a large gathering where he can personally meet both of your suitors. 

"No." You answer plainly. 

You confessed the incident to Rhaenyra, trusting her to keep it to herself. She has and is more excited for the two of you to speak than you are. 

"We should have you dressed your best tonight, show him what he's had a taste of, and what he's no doubt missing." 

You roll your eyes, looping an arm through hers. She's been your rock through the whole ideal with your father, understanding both sides, yet gravitating towards yours. 

Rhaenyra takes the opportunity to order your ladies as she sees fit, demanding your hair be styled up to accentuate your chest and collarbone, as the dress she picks is an off-the-shoulder. The black and red material falls to the floor, the sleeves being a cape, tying to the bodice only at the shoulder and leaving your arms to be either hidden or shown. 

The dress plunges down your breasts, opting for a revealing look, courtesy of Rhaenyra. She finishes it off with a dragon-like necklace, alluding to the animal protecting your neck. Throughout the design, scales to represent your house has been embroidered, making it one of a kind. 

Your sister's dress is similar, in the revealing sense. The both of you are definitely pushing your father's buttons, and you have no care. 

The hours past by swiftly, and soon it's time to present yourselves. You walk side by side to the great hall, an anxious tug pulling within your stomach. You can't help but wonder how the evening will play out, and just what will happen with Harwin. 

The great doors swing open, Rhaenyra being introduced first as she's the heir, and you second. Your heart rate quickens with each step, hundreds of eyes staring. You debate whether to search for his, your pace faltering as you connect. 

Gods be fucking damned, he looks divine. 

Your mouth dries at his black attire, at his curls being pulled back and revealing his defined features. It seems he's had a similar thought, dressing his best. 

So many words portray through your eyes, so many thoughts and emotions. His jaw flexes as you draw near, his seat being close to the high table. The rest of the room fades, his gaze agonisingly slowly moving down your body, images of your naked figure coming to mind. 

He pauses at your breasts, subconsciously moistening his lips before he flickers up to your face. He inhales sharply. These past months have done you justice, or you've simply become a woman since he had his share of you. 

Your exchange doesn't go unnoticed, by both of your fathers. 

Rounding the high table, you opt to take your seat, unlike Rhaenyra who greets Viserys before joining you. Neither of you bothered for Alicent, who flares daggers at you in particular. She normally leaves you alone, yet since the altercation with your father, she guns for the both of you. 

You keep silent through the speech, given by your father, focusing on the detail of the cloth before you. A burning sensation spreads through you, almost like a sixth sense, sensing a pair of eyes boring into your skull. 

You clench your jaw, preparing to scare them off when you pause. It's Harwin, unable to keep his eyes off you. Your skin heats up, your thighs pressing together. Fuck, the effect he has on you. 

Viserys takes his seat, the people either beginning to eat or taking to the dance floor, music filling the air. You decide to eat, keeping your attention locked on your plate, desperate to finish it before you go looking for Harwin. You want answers, and one way or another you'll get them. 

At some stage a young lordling braves the high table, asking for your hand. You pause your chewing, your eyes venomous. "As you can see, my lord, I have yet to finish my meal," you gesture to the full plate. 

The boy's cheeks redden, and quickly he excuses himself.  You scoff, resuming your meal with your eyes scouring the hall. You watch the people dance, eventually ditching your plate and leaning back in your chair, your eyes narrowing at Harwin's empty place beside his brother.

You find him amongst the crowd, his attention on a young maiden. Or so you thought, until his gaze flickers up to you, before averting again.

He wants to play that game.

Rising, you round the high table and descend the small flight of stairs, accepting the first person to offer a dance and joining everyone else. At first, you attempt to pay attention to your partner, your bodies moving in partial sync across the floor.

It's not until you spin outward, that you notice Harwin, now with a different girl.

With each movement, you glance over at him, a shadow of annoyance covering you as you realise he refuses to acknowledge you.

You inhale deeply, deciding to ignore your heart's biggest ache and try to enjoy your time without him. You switch partners, losing sight of Harwin as the night progresses. You've lost sense of yourself, spinning and moving to the flow of the music, changing partners every so often that you have no idea who each one is. Your cheeks are warm, your eyes alight. You haven't had this much fun in a while, the suitors flocking to you for a chance to dance. 

Your current partner twirls you around, his grip firm and unwavering. For the first time, he matches you, each movement sturdy and confidence clear in his steps. He makes for a great dance partner. You can't help but laugh as he draws you to him, only to raise his arm over your head and redirect you. 

His hand slips from yours, signalling a partner change, and you spin to stop in someone's chest. You instinctively brace yourself on his chest, an apology on your lips as you glance up. "Ser Harwin," you breathe his name. 

"Princess," he curtly acknowledges. 

His chest tightens at your appearance, wide and excited eyes, wisps of hair falling from their place and framing your face. Not to mention, your delicate hands still pressed to him, leaving only a splinter of a gap between you. 

You follow his gaze, realisation dawning. You go to remove yourself from him, when his own hands cover yours, gently plucking them off his chest. You expect him to let go, throw you aside and move on, but he doesn't. 

Harwin grasps your hands, leading you into the next dance. You follow him, lost within the depths of his blue eyes, so many words threatening to tumble out. You move fluently, matching his pace. 

"Harwin," you say lowly, unsure of how to proceed. 

"Don't." Your brows furrow, your chests pressing together as you both move in. "Just don't say anything." 

You scoff. "You expect us to dance in silence?" He says nothing, despite the electricity sparking around you. "I've been gone for months and this is how treat me?" 

"What do you want me to say?" He grits. 

"Anything!" You say a little loudly, breaking contact to stare at his house emblem stitched to his chest. You sigh, closing your eyes. "Why didn't you come to see me?" 

"My apologies, Princess, I didn't realise I was your lap dog." 

You snap up to him. Fire burns within your hard stare. "What is your problem? Why are you like this?" 

He raises an eyebrow, extending you away from his body, only to snap you back to him. You collide with his chest harshly, flashbacks of that night coming to your forefront. Reminders of how easily he dominates you. 

"Are you so dense, Princess, that you can't see your actions have consequences." 

You gape at him, matching his hard levelled glare. "Careful Ser, anyone else and I'd have their head." Normally, Harwin would never dare speak so freely, yet at this moment the mere presence of you sets him alight. He grunts in response to your warning. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply to keep the dragon at bay. The last thing anyone needs is for you to boil over and explode. "What actions are you speaking of?" 

You honestly have no idea what he's referring to. "Ahh, so you're ignorant as well. Tell me again why you came to me that night, why you begged," 

"I did not beg!" You almost growl. Fuck he makes you angry, almost rivalling your father at this moment. Your veins simmer, your stomach twisting in rage. "I told you why-" 

"I don't believe you." Harwin cuts you off. He lowers his face, so close to your own. His breath bares down on you, his lips dangerously near, yet Harwin's movements are calculated. There's no warmth in his eyes. "I think someone got angry at daddy, and decided to get back at him using me." 

You freeze. You never expected him to say that, to call you out. "Harwin," you start, desperation filling you. You need to explain yourself, to make him understand. 

Betrayal flashes across him, his back straightening. "Good evening, princess." He spits out your title, removing himself from you entirely. 

"Harwin," you choke, reaching for him when a figure steps in front of you. You barely give the man a glance before you intend on following the knight. 

"If I may, Princess?" 

You ignore the man offering his hand for a dance, staring off at Harwin as he makes his way through the crowd and exits the hall. Distress floods you, your body shaking as you fight the urge to heave. 

You feel sick. 

"Sister, are you alright?" Rhaenyra notices, immediately coming to your side. You can't say anything, darting between her and where Harwin just left. She nods in understanding. "Go, I'll tell father you're feeling ill."

You squeeze her hand gratefully, before making your way toward a different exit, with a plan of cutting him off. You have vague ideas of where he would go. With everyone in the hall, it leaves the corridors vacant. 

Picking your dress up at the knees, you pick up a run, your shoes hitting the floor lightly as you intend on making minimal noise. Blood roars in your ears, your heart pumping erratically.

You round corners, desperate to slip out of the Keep before anyone realises. Finally, you enter the gardens, stopping when you spot Harwin storming his way toward you, unaware of your presence. 

You step into his view, flinching as he stops dead in his tracks. He goes to speak, but you beat him to it. "I am to speak, and you are going to listen." You raise a finger, keeping him rooted whilst you close the distance. 

You stand dangerously close, your chest heaving and your hair falling to your shoulders. "Yes, I came to you because I was furious because I knew that it'd destroy my father much as he'd done to me. He asked what it would take to contain me, and I voiced a marriage of my own free will. He refused." Harwin stands rigid, his fingers flexing at his sides. "But I came to you-"

"Because you knew I'd do it. You took advantage of my affections for you, you used me!" Harwin raises his voice, his emotions controlling him. You deny it, trying to explain yourself when he talks over you. "You have no idea how I felt the next morning when my own gold cloaks told me that the King was to select your hand. You shattered me," you close your eyes at the sound of your name leaving his lips with such pain, tears building. 

"Yet you have such a fucking hold on me that I stupidly offered my hand." 

Your eyes fly open, meeting his own despite the darkness. The bright moon shines down, lighting the area as best as possible. "You," you drawl, comprehending his words. 

"Yes, and I had to endure your father and his court's laughter." 

"But your his Hands son-first born son! Heir to Harrenhal!" 

He chuckles darkly. "Exactly, all I have to offer you is a half-burnt castle, courtesy of your ancestors." 

You can't fathom that your father didn't even consider Harwin, that he belittled him. He has no idea what he's done. 

"Harwin," he shivers. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. What my father did is cruel," 

"A trait that runs in the family." 

A tear slides down your cheek, defeat seeping in. It seems no matter what you say, Harwin refuses to hear. After a heartbeat of silence, Harwin moves to round you, pausing at your palm coming into contact with his chest. The feel of him sends a shiver down your spine. 

Harwin slides your hand off as if you've burnt him, continuing on his path. An intense wave of pain surges through you, obliterating every part of you without remorse. Your chin trembles, your mind steaming at you to stop him, to fuck the protocols and policies. 

You open your mouth to call out, to tell him the truth but it falls short in your throat, lodged well. You fear for what happens when you lay yourself bare, what he'll say and do. 

"I'm in love with you." 

Harwin completely seizes, as if he was close to falling off a cliff. 

"I came to you, because deep down I knew my father would never approve, especially of us marrying." With each word Harwin approaches you, his body weightless. "So I decided that before I became caged and forced into a dull marriage, that I'd take control and choose who takes my virtue. That I'd lay with the man that I love, even if it were for a night." 

Harwin stands directly behind you, his front pressing against your back, his breath on your neck. "If you're lying to me," 

You turn to face him. "You think I'd allow anyone to treat me like a whore?" 

A flicker of understanding passes between you. How he manoeuvred you, how he controlled you like a puppet and fucked you against the wall without mercy. 

"What do you know of being a whore?" 

You tilt your head, standing on your toes to brush his cheek. "I know I'd let you do whatever you want, so long as it pleases you." 

Harwin inhales sharply, his body itching for you. He murmurs your name, his voice trembling and his restraint slipping. He allows his fingers to loosely hang off your hips, drawing you closer. 

Your mouth ghosts his, the temptation seeping in. You move your arms to his neck, threading your hands through his hair. Harwin groans, his hooded eyes burning through you, his control snapping. 

He captures your lips, his grip on you tightening and his palms travelling every inch of your back, one of them ending up in your hair, the other on your neck. You whimper softly, Harwin using the opportunity to slip in his tongue and ravage you properly. 

You're powerless against him, the lack of oxygen having its effect on your brain. You feel him move you backward, directing you through the garden until you stand flush to a wall, out of sight. Harwin found this hidden spot behind the bushes when he was a young lad, oft venturing here as he grew older to escape his reality. 

He skims down the skirt of your dress, lifting it to cup your pussy. You whine, pulling apart to lean your head into the brick. Harwin smirks at your state, his palm moving in circular motions. 

"Your drenched Princess. How long have you been like this?" He taunts you. 

"Since I laid eyes on you," you answer airily.

Harwin hums in satisfaction, removing your undergarment and tapping the inside of your thigh to signal you step out of it. A chill shudders down your spine in realisation; Harwin plans on having you against this wall, where anyone could easily happen upon you. 

"Hold this," he refers to your skirts, bunching the front into your stomach. You do as he says, biting your lip as he works to remove himself. 

Harwin pauses, his cock hard and throbbing in his hand. "Tell me you want this," he rasps.

"I want you to fuck me." 

A cold smile tugs at his lips, "as my princess commands." 

He nudges into you, giving you a moment before he slides all the way in. You tense, having only had him months ago and nothing since. It doesn't exactly hurt, it feels uncomfortable, like he should be there but he is. 

You grapple with his shoulders, hissing once he reaches the hilt, filling you with every inch of him that you can take. He shudders at your walls clenching around him. 

Slowly he eases out and in, working you to a steady rhythm as to make sure he won't hurt you, that you've accustomed to him. You have. 

He slams his hand onto the wall beside your head at the same time his hips rut into you. Your mouth opens in a silent groan, your forehead pressing against Harwin's as he intends to watch you. 

Each thrust is intentional, his cock hitting as deep as possible and his slow but hard movements driving you crazy. Your whimpers and small sounds spur him on, a hand on your hip to help leverage him into you. 

Though he's fucked you before, you still have no idea what to do, not wanting to just stand here and take his brutal pace. You remember how it felt to have your legs around his waist, how he was able to hit deep angles and completely fill you. 

Lifting a leg up, you hook your ankle around his waist, Harwin instantly shifting. His hand glides down to your thigh, keeping it locked to him and his hips drive deeper into you. 

You begin to feel that burn within your abdomen, brewing with each thrust, especially as he switches to almost completely vacating you before he hits home. You cry out, Harwin instantly covering your mouth. 

"Quiet Princess, otherwise this ends very quickly." Harwin grunts, referring to someone potentially finding you. 

You attempt to nod. He doesn't exactly trust your control, keeping his palm where it is as he continues to piston out of you, his heavy pants signalling how close he's getting. 

You dig your heel into his lower back, so close to falling over the edge, desperate for him to follow. Harwin glides his hand from your thigh to your clit, paying particular attention to the bundle of nerves and the added sensation being enough for you to climax. 

Your moan is muffled, Harwin's hips faltering at the feeling of you gushing around him. His own restraint slips, his cock ramming into you one last time, his seed spilling. His head falls to your shoulder, his hand slipping from your mouth to rest on the side of your head. 

Your chest heaves, a slight sense of fatigue threatening to wash over you. "I hate you, with every fibre of my being." He whispers into your skin, his lips grazing your exposed collarbone. 

"I know." You reply, your mouth dry as you run a caressing hand over his hair. You don't know what to do from this point onward, whether you and Harwin go your separate ways or you fight for him. 

It ultimately falls on him.

"I would burn this fucking city to the ground for you," you murmur, wanting him to comprehend just how much he plagues you, how much he wields you, how nothing else matters in this lifetime but him. Hesitantly, Harwin lifts his head, unprepared for the serious glint in your eye. "Don't give up on me, not yet."

"Then don't leave me." 

Your lilac eyes shine with fire and determination. "Never. I love you too much," he looks away, releasing a heavy breath as though he doesn't believe you. "Hey," you grab his face, forcing him to meet your stare. "I have loved you, since I was a girl. You, are why I hate my status. If I were a lower-born daughter, we could have wed a long time ago, without the burden of our duties." 

"Show me," his words are barely audible, but you catch them. Show me.

Steadily you lower your leg from his waist, ignoring the slight irritation from your hips and sudden blood flow. His soft cock slips from you, hanging limp. Pushing down the nerves that erupt along your body, you sink to your knees, glancing up at him through your lashes. 

A flicker of surprise passes over Harwin. He didn't exactly mean this. Though he'd be stupid to pass up the opportunity. 

"You're the only man I'll get on my knees for," you quip, tentatively wrapping your fingers around his cock. 

Harwin hisses at the contact, his hand bracing himself against the wall. You allow instinct to take over, cautiously pumping him, studying Harwin's reactions. His lips part, his breath becoming heavy with each glide, his cock hardening under your touch. 

"Am I doing it right?" You ask nervously, unsure of what else you could be doing to him. 

"Princess," he grits, his fingers curling into a fist above you. "You keep that up and I won't be able to last." 

Your cheeks flare at his comment, your thumb brushing over his inflamed head. Harwin grunts under your ministrations, his other hand flexing as he withholds the urge to grip your hair. 

"Can you teach me, how to use my mouth?" 

Harwin's eyes fly open, instantly finding your own. "You don't have to, what your doing is just fine." 

"But I want to," you pause your movements, looking up at him expectantly. "Either teach me or I'll learn myself." 

His eyebrows rise to his hairline. "You are a determined thing, aren't you?" You scowl, gently tightening your grip on him. "Alright alright," he repeats, his body stiffening. "Put it in, and for the love of the seven, don't use your teeth." 

A wicked grin spreads across your face, setting Harwin on edge as you take him into your mouth, inwardly cringing for a moment. Harwin shudders, his hip's reflexively jutting forward. 

"Just," he pants, at the mere feeling of his cock inhabiting your mouth. "Move like you were before, and use your tongue." 

Your brows furrow slightly, hesitantly gliding along his cock and back down, dragging your tongue on his underside. He groans, his hand coming to your hair and threading it. How he so desperately wishes to face fuck you, but he won't. Not until you're his. 

You bob your head, following Harwin's instructions as he guides you to bring him to a climax, his leverage on your head allowing him to gingerly rut his hips into you. "Good girl," he murmurs, his eyes closing in pleasure. 

An idea flickers, your tongue swirling around his swollen head and your hand wrapping around the base of him, a small smirk threatening to spread as Harwin stammers. 

You feel powerful, knowing that your mere mouth can bring Harwin to this state, his moral restraint close to breaking like the chains kept around your dragon. 

Harwin calls your name, his cock twitching in your mouth. He's close, dangerously close and he fears that if you don't stop, he won't pull out in time. You remember how he felt you near your climax the night he disappeared between your thighs, sucking gently on your clit to bring you over. 

You wonder if the same applies to him. 

You move to his tip, gently sucking. Harwin cries out at the unexpected sensation, forcing his hips forward and ultimately thrusting his cock further into your mouth as he shatters. 

You squeak, his seed filling your mouth and slipping down your throat. You can't help but cringe at the taste, pulling off him to wipe your mouth. 

Slowly raising, you observe Harwin's state, as he comes down from his high. He releases a heavy breath, his senses clearing. A sense of pride runs through you, for being able to please him as he did to you. 

Being with a man, is not at all what the Septas told you. 

Harwin grabs the underside of your jaw, pulling you up to him. You fist his jacket, a small moan escaping you when his tongue slips in. He doesn't care that he can taste himself. 

He steals your breath, your lungs aching and that familiar burn searing through your abdomen. He reluctantly pulls back, his forehead leaning on yours, his lips feathering you, refusing to completely stop. 

"Harwin," you whisper, your hands sliding to his neck, playing aimlessly with his loose curls. "What are our next moves?" 

"Hmm?" He hums absentmindedly, too lost in the feeling of your cheek against his. He nuzzles you, an act of intimacy that even fucking you couldn't compare to. 

You chuckle, deciding to leave it and enjoy the moment, as much as the two of you should plan out the next steps. 

"You're mine," he says lowly, his gravelly voice sending chills down your spine. "And I'm yours." 

You nod, a smile gracing your lips. "You've ruined me for anyone else."

Tag List: @iwillboilyourteeth @sageshorrorblog @gibbsgirl7 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @missusnora @jdm-traash @happynerdtale @westeros-needs-me @killthedarkthoughts @stardustdragon9 @my-watch-begins @ietss @znanaworm @fulla02

[ataliagold]

But My Heart Is Just A Little Boy

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: Teen (swearing)

W/C: 2012

Tags: Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington has dyscalculia, Steve Harrington has self esteem issues, Steve Harrington needs a hug, fluff, light angst, DnD, Mike and Dustin are a little mean here

Notes: Just slowly posting some of my AO3 stuff here as well :) Title from Rattlesnake by Jack Van Cleaf.

___

Steve joining in on Eddie’s campaign was supposed to be a nice surprise for his boyfriend.

And it was; Eddie’s face had lit up with joy when Steve had walked in and sat down with the kids around the table. Steve had taken the dice Dustin had loaned him and lined them up in front of him, from the D4 (the funny triangle one) up to the D20 (the one with heaps of sides, Steve reminded himself.)

If he kept them in that order it would help him pick the right dice quickly, he’d decided.

Because he wanted this to go to perfectly.

Eddie had been asking him to join in on a game for months, but Steve had so far refused, only coming along sometimes to watch quietly. There were parts of it that piqued his interest – namely the combat and the creatures Eddie planted into the game, because some of them were so damn cool even if Steve wouldn’t readily admit it out loud. A small part of him, a much younger part that had loved fairy tales and stories about knights and dragons and sword fights before his father had confiscated those books, deeming them too childish, watched with a quiet giddiness as the kids battled all manner of beasts.

But much of the game was so complicated - there were so many numbers, and Steve had no idea how Eddie and the kids managed to keep track of everything, how they added dice values together so damn quickly and kept track of a seemingly endless list of stats and bonuses and modifiers, whatever the hell they were.

Eddie knew about his difficulty with numbers. He’d seen the way Steve had to count with his fingers, how it took him far too fucking long to do a simple equation, how he stood in Melvald’s staring at the price of something just trying to make the numbers make sense so they wouldn’t blow their grocery budget.

And Eddie was patient, always. But D&D was Eddie’s realm, his place to shine, and Steve was so worried about holding him back and ruining the game every time he had to pause to add two fucking dice together.

Finally, he’d caved. Secretly, with Dustin’s help, he’d put a character sheet together. He’d made a paladin because Dustin had told him it suited him. Steve made him strong and lawful good, just like the knights he used to read about as a little boy. Dustin had rolled his eyes a little at that but Steve had been quite proud of what he’d put together.

Plus, Dustin had promised to help him with the math.

But here Steve was, well over an hour into the campaign, and he was struggling.

Cheeks burning, he turned to Dustin yet again.

“Wait, which one am I rolling?” he whispered.

Dustin rolled his eyes. The kid had been patient at first, but it was beginning to wear thin.

Steve was beginning to wear thin.

“The D10, Steve,” Dustin hissed.

“Right,” Steve nodded, grabbing for one of the dice.

“That’s the D8, Steve,” Mike said wearily.

Steve’s cheeks flushed even hotter, and he grabbed the other dice, rolling it quickly.

“Ahhh...seven,” Steve announced.

“You slash at the goblin, your blade cutting deep into its chest, the creature gurgling and reeling backwards…” Eddie leant over the table, giving a dramatic recount of events.

Steve smiled, unable to help it. His boyfriend was having such a good time, and even if Steve wasn’t enjoying himself so much, well, that was ok. He could do this, for Eddie.

“…but it scrabbles back to its feet, weak but alive,” Eddie finishes.

Mike groaned and slapped the table.

“It has to be almost dead,” Lucas announced.

“Yeah, but there’s still four others,” Mike pointed out.

“This one must be on two hit points or less,” Will surmised.

How did he know that? Steve frowned, let the kids talk amongst themselves. His gaze wandered over to Eddie, watching him lean back in his chair, eyes shining. He shot a wink at Steve when he caught him looking, then frowned a little, obviously noticing Steve wasn’t looking all that comfortable.

You ok? He mouthed at him.

Steve nodded quickly.

But he felt small.

Grow the fuck up, you’re fine.

“…Steve!” Mike groaned.

Steve’s attention snapped back to the kids. “What?”

“Stop staring at Eddie and tell us how many hit points you’ve got left.”

“Um…” Steve glanced down at the piece of paper in front of him. He’d scribbled some numbers down like Dustin had told him to every time his character had taken damage, but there were a lot of numbers there and he wasn’t sure they all actually related to his hit points…

“Give it here,” Dustin snatched the paper from him impatiently, peering down at it.

Steve waited while Dustin assessed his work, the feeling vaguely reminiscent of being back in school, his teachers reading over his work with a disappointed shake of their heads.

“This can’t be right, Steve,” Dustin sighed. “It says you’re on twelve hit points…is that a twelve? Your writing’s messy.”

Steve nodded. “Yours isn’t much better, pea-brain,” he mumbled, just to shoot something back at the kid.

Dustin narrowed his eyes at him. “You must have less than that because of the damage you took in the last round. You’re probably down to…eight at the most, by now.”

“Just make it eight, then,” Steve grumbled.

“Eight it is, big boy,” Eddie agreed.

“It doesn’t work like that, though,” Mike huffed. “You actually have to keep track of this stuff Steve, there’s no point playing if you just make the numbers up.”

“It doesn’t matter, really,” Will tried to intervene quietly. “It can just be eight.”

Dustin picked up his pencil, drawing some columns on Steve’s paper. “Ok, so just use this one column to keep track of damage, don’t write all over the page. There’s your total hit points at the top, and every time you take damage, write it down under there, ok? And then just take it off the total. Simple.”

Like it was that fucking easy. Maybe for them, it was. They didn’t get every number mixed up in their brain, they didn’t stare at a single digit trying to put some numeric value behind it and coming up with zilch.

Dustin was trying to help, Steve knew. But his tone of voice was so fucking condescending that it had Steve squirming in his seat, wishing he was anywhere else.

He felt Eddie’s eyes on him.

“Come sit by me, Stevie, I’ll help you keep track.” Eddie said gently.

“You’ll just go easy on him, and that’s not fair!” Mike whined.

“Can it, Wheeler,” Eddie snapped at him.

“Just because he can’t do basic math.”

“Right, you get to roll with disadvantage now, just for that,” Eddie told him smugly.

Mike was retorting with something, but Steve didn’t hear it.

His pulse was thumping in his ears, his cheeks on fire. The years were stripped from him, the sensitive child he’d tucked away inside a long time ago forced to the surface.

“Look, just carry on without me,” Steve muttered, and stood up quick enough that his chair scraped on the floor.

“Steve -” Dustin started, but Steve was finished, striding towards the stairs and blinking back tears.

He wasn’t going to cry in front of the kids, not over a fucking game, not over something his boyfriend loved so much.

But they were coming faster than he could blink them back as he headed out of Mike’s stuffy basement and out to the driveway, the cold night air caressing his flushed face.

This was supposed to have been a treat for Eddie. It was supposed to be fun, and Steve had ruined the night by being fucking stupid.

A tear tracked down his cheek , Steve losing the battle against them. He’d just drive home, he decided. Steve had come straight from work that day, so Eddie had come separately in his van, he wouldn’t be inconvenienced.

And then they could finish their game in peace, without having to treat Steve like a five-year-old.

He was getting in the driver’s seat when Eddie ran to him, both hands reaching for him.

“Stevie…” Eddie murmured softly.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled, dragging his sleeve across his face, smudging the tears there.

“Why? The kids were being assholes, I’ve already yelled at them.”

Steve shook his head. “I was just slowing everyone down, they were getting frustrated, I get it.”

“No, sweetheart, they were being rude,” Eddie corrected him. “Especially Wheeler.” Eddie brushed his thumbs across Steve’s cheeks, crouching down beside the open driver’s door. “I’ve told them to pull their heads in. Do you…do you want to come back inside?”

“Eds…” Steve leant into his hands a little. “I’m no good at it. I really wanted to try, for you, and I’m so sorry I ruined it, but there’s too many numbers and I can’t keep track of everything and it takes me so fucking long and it’s embarrassing because I can’t even keep up with a bunch of kids, and I just feel like I’m back at school again.”

Eddie cupped his cheeks again, tilting Steve’s head to look at him. “Hey. You haven’t ruined anything, they did. I’m so happy you came along tonight, because I know you did it for me. But look, D&D doesn’t have to be your thing -”

“But -”

“It doesn’t,” Eddie cut in. “Just like…your balls in laundry basket games aren’t mine. But I like hanging around while you and Wayne watch them, and I love how excited you get about it, and how you sit there with that fucking pretty smile…”

Steve huffed out a small laugh, and Eddie grabbed his wrist to press a kiss to the inside of it.

“But I don’t know what’s going on most of the time,” Eddie continued. “It makes you happy, and that’s enough for me. So, I don’t want you to feel like you have to play D&D just for me if it’s not something you enjoy. It’s more than enough that you listen to my ideas, that you help me write -”

“I don’t really,” Steve said quietly.

“You do! Or have you forgotten who came up with that fucking amazing twist with the elven prince?”

“I got it from a movie,” Steve argued.

“So? I didn’t think of it, and it had the little shrimps completely stumped.”

Steve managed a small smile. “I do like some of the stories,” he admitted quietly. “But I think…I just wanna go home, ok? You can carry on.”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m gonna get them to pack up in there. I’ll drop them home, then follow you back, ok?”

“Steve?” came Dustin’s voice from behind Eddie, small and hesitant.

Steve quickly straightened up in his seat, wiping a hand across his face.

“Yeah, buddy?” he replied, his voice a little hoarse.

“I’m…I’m sorry. That we weren’t more patient. It’s ok if you struggle with numbers, and we should’ve helped more.”

“It’s ok, Dusty,” Steve told him.

Eddie frowned, reached down to squeeze Steve’s hand, then turned to Dustin. “It isn’t ok,” he argued. “But it was nice of you to apologize.”

Dustin nodded. “If you want to try again sometime, I promise I’ll help more. I…I really liked having you play.”

“Thanks,” Steve managed.

“Tell Wheeler to start crafting his apology too,” Eddie said firmly, still cradling Steve’s hand in his own. “Otherwise he’s rolling with disadvantage for the whole next session.”

Dustin’s eyes widened a little before he nodded.

After packing up, the kids waited sheepishly by Eddie’s van. Eddie stayed crouched next to Steve a moment longer.

“Go home, get comfy on the couch, and pick out any movie you want to watch, ok?” Eddie murmured to him. “When I get home I’m gonna order us some pizza, and I’m gonna cuddle the shit out of you, understand?”

Steve laughed softly. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

___

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Soulmate Aus

Requested: No

Warnings: Discrimination based on tattoos and brief description of kidnapping

Ghost - His scars as tattoos

Twisted and burned flesh blooming into roses along your chest, deep cuts and gaping holes turned into pitch black stars that shone on your skin, drawing all sorts of attention that you hated to have on you. The whispers that follow after in your shadow leave you nauseous and uneasy. Marks, given to you by your soulmate. Barbed wire in a slash across your throat, stitch like markings on either side of your mouth like a permanent smile, thorny vines and skulls and knives littered throughout your body. That wasn’t even speaking to what might be on your back, too afraid to ask anyone or try and even maneuver to see it in a mirror.

Making friends was hard, making money even harder. They said you scared people, that you looked unprofessional. But you managed, you got by. Found work in the back of a butcher shop, so far removed from the customer service section that no one would ever even catch a glimpse of you. Straight to work then straight home, maybe a chat or two with one of your gruffer co-workers, those just as covered in tattoos as you were. Those who got it, who understood you in a way no one else seemed to.

It was in one of those conversations that you got invited out for drinks, something you regretted accepting as soon as the words had left your mouth. But it was too late, your friends already abuzz with excitement at you joining them. Assuring your that this joint was filled with people like yourself.

And they didn’t lie. Every glance you took of the place revealed someone who appeared to be in a similar state to yourself. A man with a black dagger going over his eye, little blood droplets making a trail like tears down to his chin. A woman with snakes peaking all around her hairline, their tails curving along her jaw and intertwining on her chin and down her neck. Most you couldn’t make out except for giant globs of black ink painting their face. It was reassuring, putting you at real ease for the first time in a long time. Relaxed enough to have a drink, then another, then another, laughing along with some corny joke the bartender was telling when a big man sat beside you, some surgical mask over the lower half of his face, the hood of his jacket over the upper half. But it revealed just enough for you to make eye contact with him when he glanced your way, feeling the world shift beneath you and crumble away.

Soap - Colorblind until you touch your soulmate

Shades of grey. White and black, sometimes you think you might be seeing colors, something just a hint different then the usual monochrome of your existence but you turn your head….and it’s nothing, just more of the same. It was fine when you were younger, when everyone your age saw things the same way. When you were, in this sense, just like everyone else. But things changed, you got older. Your classmates changed, met their people. People who became friends, family, lovers. Their closest confidants. Their soulmates.

And you were left behind, drifting further and further from the people who you, at one point, might have called your friends. Unable to escape their giggles and whispers of seeing color, the wonder in their voice when they described how vibrant everything seemed, that shift in their eyes. And then afterwards, getting to know the person that held that other half of their soul, it was almost as emotional for them all. But you, you were left without that.

For a time you could convince yourself that it could still happen, that you could find that person, that you would be able to see what your peers did. Eventually.

But time moved, it changed, and your vision stayed the same. Unable to witness the beautiful colors of the flowers that line your driveway, the shimmering scales of fish in the pet shop, the color of a soulmate’s eyes.

You gave up after a few years after secondary school. Defeated and broken down, chipped away at by your school mate’s whispers about how you still hadn’t met your soulmate, the only one in your grade that hadn’t. You convinced yourself that you didn’t have a soulmate. That you were just one soul, not intertwined with anyone.

Or maybe they were dead.

That was the thought that haunted you, no matter how much you tried to tell yourself that it was just you. That you were different. Or that maybe you just hadn’t met them yet. It would keep you up at night, nightmares of a faceless person reaching out to you, only to fall short, darkness swallowing them whole, drifting farther and farther away no matter how much you ran after it. Always just out of reach.

It was one of those nights when you decided to take a walk, shaking hands shoved into your coat pockets and neck slick with sweat, just wandering aimlessly when you bumped shoulders with some guy you hadn’t even seen til last second.

“Ey, watch where you’re-” He started, only to stop, anger leaking into worry. “Oi, you okay?”

“Piss off-” You snapped in return, whipping around to face the man, only to freeze, eyes locked onto his, both of your pupils’ widening, visions shifting. “What….what fucking color is that?” You whisper when the grey of his irises shifted to something vibrant, bordering on overwhelming.

“Been told that they’re something called blue.” He breathed.

Gaz - His name on your wrist

Gaz.

The name written on your wrist, messy chicken scratch that resembled scribbles more than actual writing. It was confused for dozens upon dozens of other names growing up, but this one. Gaz. It resounded in your skull in a way none of the other nicer or more normal sounding ones did. It rolled off your tongue, appeared in your dreams, a whisper in your ear that just wouldn’t fade away.

Gaz.

For someone with such an unusual name, he was certainly hard to find. Everywhere you went, everywhere your friends and family went, they asked if they ever heard of anybody named Gaz, only to come up with zilch. Nada. Nothing. A needle in a haystack but it seemed the needle grew legs and ran away, or maybe even just got dropped into a wormhole somewhere. It was an unhealthy and depressing thought but it was what came to mind when you became overwhelmed with it, consumed by thoughts of an elusive soulmate that you might not be finding just because you keep getting stuck on what you think his name is instead of any of the other possibilities that it could be. It was days like this that you wanted to find your soulmate just to strangle them for their shitty handwriting that would brand you for your entire life. Written on your flesh in a deep black.

Gaz.

It was during one of these times where one of your friends asked to set you up on a blind date. A cousin of theirs, good looking they’d said. Sweet guy in the military, on break for now. If nothing else, he’d make for a good shag to take your mind off of the whole soulmate ideal. It was with great reluctance that you accepted, dressed in a semi formal/semi casual outfit for a date at a place that was a few steps above a Maccy’s but nothing michelin star worthy. Not too formal, not too casual.

And the guy was nice, introducing himself as Kyle. Shook your hand and pulled out your chair for you, letting you set the pace for the date. Made you laugh, his eyes sparkling at every chuckle you couldn’t contain. He seemed too good to be true, and you agreed to a second date despite the name inked onto your wrist.

A second date led to a third led to movie nights led to slow kisses under the sheets led to moving in together led to meeting his friends, his brothers in arms. Where, for the first time, you heard them shout his callsign.

Gaz.

Hearing it from someone else was sweeter than any of the times you’d whisper it to yourself at night.

Alejandro - The first words he says to you written on your wrist

“Now what’s a beautiful thing like you doing here all alone?”

Possibly the blandest soulmate question anyone could ever have written on their arm, looping cursive that was on the edge of appearing just a little hard to leave. The question itself may be awfully common but the handwriting was not. It was something you liked about your soulmate, tracing the letter with your thumb over and over and over until you were sure you could perfectly write out every elegant letter with your eyes closed.

It was what you were doing now, scared and curled up into a ball after being kidnapped by some drug lord or other. No matter how much you tried to plead that they had the wrong person, that you didn’t even know who they were, it didn’t matter. They snatched you up all the same, tossing you in this grimy cell and leaving you on your lonesome. You were scared, terrified. You wondered if you’d die before you even had the chance to meet your soulmate, all because they nabbed the wrong person.

It felt like weeks, but surely must have only been days, before you saw another person again, hazy, on the brink of a sleep you weren’t sure you were going to wake up from. Your eyes were heavy, so much so that they almost didn’t have the power to open again when the door slammed open, the rushing of feet following, the whoosh of fabric as someone knelt beside you and pressed their fingers to your throat, checking for your pulse.

“Now what’s a beautiful thing like you doing here all alone?” A voice whispered, an arm curving under your knees and another cradling the back of your head, a warm body pressing against you, offering you the first real source of comfort you’d had since you were taken.

“I think I’m dying of thirst.” You mumble, voice a shaky slur. So out of it that you didn’t feel the man pause for a moment before gripping you tighter.

“Probably, Amor.” He says, voice more strained now. There were more sounds now, more stomping and heavy doors slamming. It was hurting your head. “But we’ll fix you right up. Get something for you to drink.” He says, his voice fading for a moment before he said “I’m Alejandro, by the way.”

You weren’t sure the babble that left your mouth before you passed out was any sort of comprehendable to him.

[arieswritez]

me & you; i do | perfect fiance!mark x lovesick gn!reader

cw; DARK CONTENT!! MDNI! rape, drugging, cucking, non-con bondage, gun play, death threats, degradation, cum play, manipulation, blackmail, sacrilegion (?), religious trauma, non-con filming, somnophilia, the graysons are normal™ (aka nolan never tried to murder mark el oh el), one (1) mention of undereating due to stress, breeding mention (more or so in a petplay context), so, petplay (if you squint), unspecified genitals for reader, this one's crazy nasty sorry xx

about; you & mark are perfect for each other. newly engaged, the two of you are starting your perfect, little lives. you've moved in together. you're looking into buying a home once the two of you marry. of building a home. unfortunately, his job interferes with your picture perfect fantasy. (3.6k words)

each day you wake next to mark is a good one.

you find yourself waking before he does just to have enough time to analyze his features: softened with sleep.

does he know he sleeps with his mouth open? is he embarrassed when he comes to, and finds crusted spit from where he'd been drooling on his side? does he find his hair - sticking out at every angle - annoying to style in the mornings?

you wish he knew. and you wish he wasn't embarrassed. or annoyed. because to you: mark is absolutely perfect.

mark is divine.

you've known it for a very long time. and it's been something that many have pointed out to you: you were built to worship. you knew it early in childhood: when you'd kneel in corners until your blood pooled, dark and tender. when you'd walk in the downpour and beg for mercy. when the wooden crosses above your bedroom door burned into your retinas: so much so, that to this day, you swear you still see their silhouette before you fall asleep.

mark is worth worshipping. and you make it so he feels that way. each morning, you sneak out of bed hours before he does. you brush your teeth and slash water on your face, you make sure to spritz on some soft perfume/cologne and slip back into bed. refreshed. watching.

he lays on his side: eyes closed in blissful sleep, but still, eyes on you. always, always, always. and your stomach feels fuzzy with the feeling that your worship is reciprocated. even subconsciously. you watch as mark's shoulders slowly go up and down with his breathing.

you don't know how long you watch.

long enough for him to stir.

you and him play this little game each and every day. a little tango, as to say. but you're the only one dancing. because, when mark stirs, he hums sleepily, then he slowly cracks his eyes open before letting out a loud yawn. you've memorizes his route. stir. hum. open. yawn.

stir: gives you enough time to wriggle into a flattering sleeping position (mirroring him. hands folded beneath your head, lips parted).

hum: you snap your eyes shut.

now, you assume, his open. your heart races with anticipation.

yawn. a stretch that moves him closer. a wet press of a kiss against your forehead. and you pretend to fuss at first when he peppers your face with kisses. playfully pressing the palm of your hand against his face. but you don't want him to stop. you want him to keep going. forever, and ever. ever and ever, and ever and ever. and sometimes, you wish you didn't have to play coy. because you know he'll have to crawl out of bed. because you'll have to face the day.

you'll have to wait. countdown every second, minute, hour until you see him again. but you play your part in your daily routine. and he murmurs, good morning, and rolls out of bed. and when the door to the adjoined bathroom shuts: your eyes snap open. wide awake. and stare at the indent he's left on your now empty, cold bed.

superhero life is hard.

you knew what you were getting yourself into. you knew. still, it doesn't calm the knotting in your stomach when mark comes home later than usual. when he's gone for days and no one will tell you where he's gone. not even cecil. well, specially not cecil.

but the two of you are engaged now. you deserve to know.

it's not fair.

it's not.

and you spend days in the grayson household, hoping his parents have heard something from him.

nothing.

you can hardly sleep.

you wish you could.

every waking moment is misery. a tightening in your chest. a paralysis in your stomach. a seizing anxiety so great it threatens to make you sick. you try to swallow it down, but the lump forms anyway, and your eyes grow tired of checking your phone for messages or missed phone calls from him.

nothing.

zero.

nada.

you can hardly eat.

you wish you could.

you love the graysons' cooking.

debbie's bibimbap got more delicious each time she made it and nolan's chili was to die for. but everything tasted bland without mark there.

you couldn't make light conversation and laugh alongside him as debbie talked about how mischievous he was as a child.

it's not the same.

you find yourself picking at the food. wishing mark was next to you, his hand on your leg, acting as if he wasn't tracing patterns over your clothing beneath the table. you touch yourself, instead, as debbie's usually exciting stories begin to sound more and more like background noise.

you try to concentrate.

no.

it's not the same.

a break-through in the form of a vision.

you hardly believe it's him.

your bed shifts with the weight of a body, crawling, softly, slowly, as not to rouse you. your eyes snap open, unaware of when you'd passed out from exhaustion. you're sure your eyes are swollen from all the crying. and you don't dare speak, less your voice is hoarse from un-use.

you wish you would've known. you wish someone would've warned you. then, you realize, you only have yourself to blame. you should've been awaiting his return: polished and pretty, presentable. not a shell of a person.

not this pathetic thing, who's eyes immediately fly open. who's lower lip quivers with emotion. who lunges towards an exhausted mark, who welcomes you with open arms and a soft, hey.

a muffled laugh.

your stomach twists.

you don't know why.

is it you?

it's you.

he's seen through the facade. finally, he's seen through the facade you've put on for him all these years. through college: the chance meeting that wasn't really chance. the re-occurring running into each other that you'd carefully put together. your likes, that so happened to be his likes. your friends, who so happened to be his friends.

it took one mistake.

one moment of weakness. of distress for your facade to crumble.

a laugh.

he's laughing at you. at how pathetic you are.

you're sure of it.

you find your tears dry as you hook your chin over his shoulder, listening to his voice in your ear, sounding so far away now that you know. your fingers curl into his worn shirt - he's changed out of suit. . when did he? why hadn't you noticed? idiot. idiot.idiot. - and you hope your grip isn't so hard to give away your panic.

your anger.

at him.

at yourself.

you have to make sure this slip up isn't the end to you.

you have to find a way to make sure mark never, ever thinks about leaving your side.

not again.

mark's had a good childhood.

you've seen the pictures. changing seasons, and growth spurts. gummy smiles turned into slightly filled out smiles, some teeth missing. before they turned into broody looks at the camera. before, once again, they transformed into bright grins. a full set of teeth this time, of course.

you? not so much. which explains a couple things, maybe. but still, this explains a certain behavior that's more fitting for you than it should be for him.

despite his superpowers, mark's paranoid. he's got motion sensitive lights and cameras out on the patio of your apartment. front and backyard. there's a ring door camera. cameras in the home. . even a few weapons locked away in a safe. you'd teased him about it once, finding it silly. saying, you do know you're the weapon, right?

but despite all your teasing, you found it cute: how mark was taking every precaution in the world to make sure nothing ever hurt you. his protectiveness was one of the many things you loved about him.

you also found it annoying.

you found it inconvenient.

so you knew you had to do something about those. you had to make sure nothing got in the middle of your plan.

as the world knows him: invincible, they would've never imagined him to be malleable. an intimidating figure, capable of destroying enemies 10x stronger and bigger, no, malleable wasn't something that the public would describe him as.

but they didn't know him as you did.

they didn't know a goddamn thing.

mark wasn't intimidating. not to you. he took everything you gave him without worry. without a care in the world or a question. he was too kind to hurt your feelings. which is why he doesn't say anything when his drink tastes funny.

you had a taste yourself, from the spoon. too salty. still, he doesn't even pull a face.

the two of you are watching television on the couch. . just some new horror movie everyone's been raving about. it's his day off and you begged and begged to stay in. so, he stayed in.

you barely paid attention to the movie, disinterestedly listening to the protagonist's screams while you stared at mark through your peripheral vision as he took tentative sips of his drink. perhaps you added too much and the taste was obvious. maybe he wouldn't drink enough because it was nasty and it wouldn't do anything to him. maybe his powers made him build a tolerance and it wouldn't do jack shit at all but make him sick.

you fidgeted. your eyes flickering towards the tv. back to him. tv, mark.

tv, mark. tv.

mark: his head fell forward slightly before he caught himself.

tv. the corner of your lips quirked up.

mark. sway. tv. mark. tv. mark. tv.

mark: red illuminated the otherwise darkened living room, undoubtedly caused by a spray of blood, if the ear aching shriek of a character on the screen was anything to go by. not that it mattered much, as mark's head had lolled back, resting against the backrest of the couch.

out for the count.

perfect.

an awful sound.

an injured animal? a sob. a mewl. a squeal.

a cry of his name, soft, whispered: a secret. it's you. his vision swims when he opens his eyes. a wave of nausea as the room spins, tilted on it's axis. a piercing pain at his temples. then, the darkened edges of his vision begin to clear. the small pinprick in which he'd been seeing through expands until he can finally take in the entire room.

the first thing to become clear - or at least blurry, instead of pitch black - is you. you're on the couch, terrified, shaking, tears streaming down your face as you try to speak between babbles. mark realizes he's not next to you, head swimming, as if remembering being moved elsewhere, and now his body is making up for the vertigo the movement should've caused at the moment.

then, more of his vision returns. slowly, an oozing crawl of throbbing colors, the room illuminated a strange greyish blue (the television?). behind the couch, behind you, is a massive, masked man with his hand on your shoulder. more of his vision comes back. and there's another.

mark immediately thrashes, wanting to be near you. but he's bound. he won't budge. and his vision returns enough for him to realize he's bound to a chair: hands tied behind him in a thick rope. and his brain is far too mushy to do a goddamned thing about it.

he can barely let out a let them go, without a stream of saliva dripping from his lip.

someone - something? - speaks. maybe it's one person speaking. maybe the strangers speak in unison. the voices are jumbled together, identical, despite the changes in tone. a clear voice, an echo, a wave of sound, faint and booming all at once. as if. . harmonizing.

yes, that's exactly it.

a maddening, harmony. an echo of voices.

whatever it is, the sound is otherworldly.

his thoughts feel as if they're sliding on oil. he has to fight his failing senses in order to understand.

"i hope you're comfortable. you'll be there for a while.-i hOpE yOU'RE coMForTabLE. you'Ll be tHerE foR A whILE.-i hope you're comfortable. you'll be there for a while~"

mark thrashes again, despite the vertigo that wracks through him, and a massive mitt clamps down on his shoulder, squeezing, keeping him in place. there must be another man.

his head lolls to the side, confirming his suspicions. but this time. . his eyes catch sight of something strange.

off in the distance, is a blinking, red orb.

on and off.

off and on.

he doesn't know what it is.

or why it's trained directly on him.

but the echoing cry that comes from you drags him back down to reality.

mark helplessly watches as your clothes are torn off. as you're pinned by a large hand: smothering your face into the couch the two of you were just snuggled up on. mark thinks the stranger has his fingers inside you. your face screws up in pain. the stranger only begins shoving putting so much force into fucking you with his fingers that your body jerks back and forth.

"i'll - kih-ll - you-" mark manages to drawl, eyes rolling, head lolling, fists weakly clenching behind himself. if he tries, really tries to concentrate, he could be on them in a second. he just needs a minute, he just needs-

a hand closes around his jaw in a vice grip, forcing his head upwards. forcing your attention back towards your limp body. his vision swims. the whiplash blinding him for a second. his face is held so roughly his lips are smushed together, forced into a pout. if he were lucid enough, he'd be able to tell the moan you let out at seeing him like that was of pleasure, instead of a cry from pain. still, you manage to play it off with a sob.

something glints before mark's eyes, the item winking against the pale, barely there lighting of the television, close to your head. it takes a couple of blinks to realize it's. .

"be good, pretty boy, or you'll have to clean their brains off your walls-be goOD, pReTty boy, or yOu'lL hAVE tO CLEAN tHEIR bRAINs OFF yOUR waLlSS-be good, pretty boy, and you won't have to clean their brains off your walls~"

a gun. their finger's on the trigger.

and there's nothing mark can do.

he'll never be fast enough. not like this, anyway. and he's forced to watch. his face is held in place so hard his jaw aches. and when he tries to shut his eyes, their actions become so violent, he opens them back up just to slur at them, trying to get them to stop hurting you.

he's forced to watch as you're pinned down by a hand at your nape. as your underwear is shoved down and tangles at your ankles. as you cry out and babble. as these strange men drape their bulk onto your back and hump into you like savages.

he's forced to listen to the harmonizing voices, making bets on which one of them can make you cum. and mark has to concentrate on trying to hear your screams over their voices. over their sounds. over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. because if you're screaming: you're alive.

he's forced to watch as one guides his cock into your mouth. as they spit roast you. and your gags and retches are so loud in his overstimulated mind he flinches at each one, they might as well have been gunshots. like fireworks to a veteran.

they pinch your nose shut and force you to swallow their spunk. only pulling out once they're done and shoving your face into the mess when you cough up the slime.

the intruders threaten to fuck him. even undoing his bindings and bending him over the coffee table. they bring you down with him, over the coffee table so the two of you are face to face.

mark doesn't even know when he stopped fighting. a fist is in his hair. they mock you. they tell you they'll fuck mark if you don't beg them to cum inside you nicely.

if you don't beg to be bred like a bitch in heat.

and you're so sweet.

you're so kind when you don't need to be.

and they keep mark on his knees, bent over the coffee table, as you beg to be used over and over and over again. begging the strangers to leave mark alone.

they still shove mark's pants down, but he doesn't feel an unwelcome press against his ass, instead, he feels a rough hand close around his soft cock.

and the worst part is, mark finds himself twitching at the sound of your begging. he feels a breath next to his ear, flinches away from it, but a hand stops him from getting too far. the voice whispers, finally one now that it's close enough to really listen, "i'd put on a good show if i were you. i dont want you boring me when i watch this back."

mark knew he wasn't crazy. his vision might swim. nausea might wrack his body. but he's technically a celebrity now.

he's able to tell the flashing - off, on, off, on, off, on - of a blinking red light in his peripheral vision anytime.

one of the men gets on his knees right behind you, and mark can tell the moment he forces himself inside of you by the way you whimper.

mark doesn't know when he's started crying. . when tears began to roll down his face but he can taste it: intermingling against your lips when they force your heads together in a brutal kiss. your teeth clang against his, bite into his bottom lip, and he pulls his lips back in a snarl, angry, anguished, disgusted, when the hand pumping his cock starts to get him hard.

the two of you cry in unison. sobbing. then. . moaning.

whining.

harmonizing voices, echoing.

mark cums at the same time your rapist does. spattering across the floor, spraying some on the coffee table, as the stranger finishes deep inside your hole.

they shove mark to the side.

and he takes the beating with empty eyes.

he hardly feels it.

you should be catatonic.

but you still cry out and beg them not to kill him over the white noise in mark's ears.

when they relent, the last thing mark hears is the harmonizing voice saying, "don't come looking for us. we'll leak the video."

superhero life is hard.

you know that.

mark's meant to take a punch and then smile with blood stained teeth.

he does just that.

they're gone.

and despite the drugs, he tries to help you. he's still really fucked up on them but he manages to guide you to the bathroom, one arm placed around his shoulder and one of his arms around your waist.

he manages to draw a warm bath for the both of you. he slips into the water and sits behind you, kisses your wet shoulder as you sniffle and cry and pretend to flinch away from him.

mark mindlessly, numbly, follows your every command. when you tell him to help you wash up. when you lead his hands to your used holes and ask him to get rid of all their cum. to make sure you're not soiled from within.

mark wordlessly scrapes the cum out of you. he wipes wet hands across bite marks and scratch marks. his fingers drunkenly rake and dance across blooming contusions.

mark takes you to bed and lays you down.

the two of you are silent.

he's the first to speak.

the slurring is slowly getting better.

the panic's not yet set in. you're not sure it will tonight. maybe not even tomorrow. maybe not even a week from now. but it will.

he says, "i'll get a doctor from cecil. he'll check you out in the morning."

because, really. . what would everyone think of him if the compromising video leaks. if a headline drops reading:

invincible?

superhero lets significant other get gangraped.

no.

you won't go to a hospital.

he won't go to a hospital.

you both can't.

he gets into bed alongside you.

and for the first time, mark turns away from you. he gives you his back. vulnerable. tired. a trusting pup: sleeping belly up.

you sidle up behind him and feel him flinch. suck in a breath. he's drawn so tight he's shaking. but you hook your chin over his shoulder and shush him.

the panic sets in.

mark cries, sobs, retches, heaves until he exhausts himself. until he panics himself to sleep.

and you're glad he let you get this close.

you're glad he's tuckered himself out because, now, you can slip your hands into his clean underwear and make him cum again. you can convince him he came in his sleep, thinking about the rape of his significant other.

you can roll over once you finish and make a money transfer to a bank account for a job well done.

the two of you are bound by tragedy now. mark will never be the same. no one will get him like you do. no one will be able to understand why he is the way he is . . or why he does what he does. . without learning about you first.

it'll take time, but he'll learn to appreciate this night as the night that bound your souls together. as the night that showed him how important you are to him. how dependent. how weak. you've successfully planted the seed of making him feel guilty about leaving you alone. about not protecting you enough.

anxiety will grip him whenever he's away on a mission.

and just like you, he won't be able to think about anything, anyone, else.

his brain will blank, conjuring up only images of you.

he'll fidget and count the seconds, minutes, hours until he sees you again.

and the thought makes you so, so happy.

[suuuupernovaaa]

Taxi Cab

Hobie Brown x f!Reader

She would never hurt anyone. He would hurt anyone for her.

Before Hobie, nothing very eventful ever happened in my life. I grew up in a happy home, went to a good school, and decided to become an art teacher. I got good grades, I made life long friendships with people similar to me, and I kept my head down and minded my business.

Though it's been nearly half a year since he came rocketing into my life, I still can't put my finger what exactly drew Hobie to me. We don't have a lot in common. Where I am passive, Hobie is active and fierce. Where I am lenient, Hobie is harsh. Until Hobie, I had never listened to punk music, considered anarchy, or pierced a single thing on my body.

Well, I still haven't done the last one. Besides my ears. Needles are too much for me. Sometimes I get nervous that the spikes on Hobie's wardrobe are going to stick me.

Hobie is a force. He's dangerous, he's passionate, he's larger than life. Being near Hobie is addictive. He has a gravity around him that draws people in, but it tends to spit them out at much the same rate.

For some reason, I've been able to hang on. Sometimes it feels like clinging for dear life, until he reminds me how much he cares.

Even though he can do that in odd ways.

Like tonight.

Ever since I met Hobie, trouble seems to follow me around. I've been mugged twice, had my tires slashed, and even had to move because someone broke into my apartment and trashed the place.

My parents are becoming increasingly alarmed, only satisfied in the fact that Spider-Punk always seems to be nearby. They don't necessarily approve of Spider-Punk (I mean, most don't), but they do at least appreciate that he seems to be looking out for me.

Which is so weird! Hobie can't figure it out either, but he says Spider-Punk is a narcissistic asshole who only saves people to get attention for himself.

He might just be mad that I said I thought Spider-Punk seemed like he'd be cute, under the mask.

I was hoping my luck had turned around and I wouldn't need to run into Spider-Punk again for a while, but I guess that was just silly optimism. On my way to Hobie's with two large bags of groceries in hand, I'm stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk when a taxi cab crashes directly into a fire hydrant.

The fire hydrant lets loose a typhoon of water in my direction, and I scramble to the right to get out of the water, but it's too late. I'm soaked.

"Oi!" I hear the unmistakable sound of Hobie yelling. He was heading my direction after I told him the bags were getting heavy, and arrived just in time to witness the crash. He wrenches open the door of the car and pulls out the taxi driver. He seems unharmed, a little shaken up, with heavy bags under his eyes and a wobble in his step.

Drunk or high.

"You could've killed someone!" Hobie is shouting, looking over at me and then back at the driver. "I ought to kick your fucking arse." He pushes the man against the side of his cab as the water continues to spray. I drop the groceries, mostly ruined now, and approach Hobie.

The man is muttering something under his breath, and as I reach them, I can smell the liquor coming through his pores.

I grab Hobie's arm. "I'm okay. Come on."

"No, I saw it, he nearly killed you, Y/N. Just a few feet over, you'd be gone. Then I'd have to fuckin' kill him!" Hobie slams him against his car one more time, and I pull on his arm harder.

"But he didn't. The cops are on their way. Let's go. I need help carrying the groceries, and it's too cold for me to be all wet."

Hobie looks at me finally, really looks at me, and then with one more burning glance at the inebriated taxi driver, gruffly releases his collar and turns to me.

Effortlessly, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal-style, and I gasp. He strides with ease over to our drowned groceries, and bends down, picking them up in his hands.

"Jesus, have you been working out?" I ask.

His face is too tense for a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch. Despite my protests, he carries me into his building and up three flights of stairs, only setting me down once we are safe inside the walls of his apartment.

Without me asking, he goes into his room and brings out a pair of leggings I've left here before, and one of his t-shirts. I change in the bathroom, drying my hair as best I can with a towel, before going back to the kitchen to see what can be salvaged of the groceries.

"I think I can still do something with this! The bread is gone but, homemade bread crumbs aren't like, necessary. They're just fancy." I turn to see Hobie leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, still scowling. "Uh, or I can go to the store, if the homemade bread crumbs were like, important."

I let out a yelp of surprise when Hobie pushes himself off the counter and strides towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me to him for a rough, passionate kiss.

In moments, I meld into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as his fingers find their way into my hair, and his tongue enters my mouth.

This kiss feels different. Urgent, feverish, desperate. He holds me tightly, pressing me so close to him it feels like he wants us to be one person, like he would climb right into my skin.

I pull away for just a moment, gasping for breath. "Are you okay?" I say on an exhale.

Hobie stares down at me intensely, his hands still in my hair, his eyes wild and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he says flatly. "There's no limit to what I'd do."

I bring my hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, nodding. "I know, Hobie."

"I would have killed that man if you hadn't stopped me."

I know he's exaggerating to make a point, but a chill runs up my spine a the way he says it so calmly, with no hint of irony. I remember his chest heaving, the wild look in his eyes as he held that drunk man up against his own car.

He looked out for blood.

"I'm okay, Hobie. So are you."

"Move in with me. You hate that new place. Stay here."

We've only known each other six months. We're barely adults. I make no money as a new teacher and I honestly haven't figured out how Hobie seems to make so much money off the gigs he plays. It's too soon to move in together. It's not smart.

But I love him. And he loves me. We haven't said it yet, but I don't know that we need to. I can see it in his eyes, feel it while he holds me, taste it on his lips.

He loves me.

"Okay."

"Today. Like, we can get your stuff later, but don't sleep there anymore. Stay with me."

I nod and lean forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. His hands finally leave my hair, and wrap tightly around my shoulders. I listen to his heartbeat - rapid at first, but as we stand there, silently clinging to each other, it begins to slow down.

He's pressing soft kisses to the top of my head, humming quietly, and I've never felt more in love.

I've never felt more cared for, more loved in return, more safe.

Six months or sixty years. I don't think it matters.

[tojisun]

WIP: anniversary of an uninteresting event (re: deftones)

simon ghost riley x gn reader

!! angst // im genuinely sorry for how short this is, although unlike 'still your passenger', i would really love to finish this one :'<

simon comes home to an empty house.

the air isn’t stale – he’d have to thank mrs. bryne for helping with the maintenance of the space – but there is a weight that had settled in the crevices of this place which never left anymore. it stalks simon as he pads upstairs, quietly making his way to the dining table where he sags down on a chair in exhaustion. 

he blinks his weary eyes as he settles, trailing cautious gazes at the spotless marble countertops, trying, and failing, to accept the reason for their pristine conditions. 

simon knows the rooms would be worse: unruffled sheets with folded edges, clothes that are sealed in boxes, lightbulbs that are eternally burnt out. 

he breathes through his nose and pretends that it was not a ragged drag of air; pretends that his lungs aren’t choked up. simon’s always been good at that anyway – pretending to be okay. pretending to live. 

sometimes, the memories don’t let him go – haunting him with fervour, snaking their venomous tendrils around his neck until he’s choking on the agony swirling in him, the frostbite of his grief burning him with the memory of what had been. 

because sometimes, he forgets. 

why wouldn’t he? you were too young, too spirited, and his mind can’t wrap around the idea of your hurting. the reality of his broken heart–

you, dead and gone. too fast. too soon. 

today isn’t one of those days, however. simon remembers; the agony weighs down on him. drowns him.

he tries not to buckle at the strength of his pain, of his sorrow, but he breathes in the air in the house – not home, not anymore – and feels the emptiness slam into him. 

tears prickle the back of his eyes, slashing through the tender muscles until they’re slipping down his cheeks, staining his balaclava. his lips wobble, unable to clench down the sob, and simon crumbles then.

[blingblong55]

Perception- 141 x M!Reader

Based on a request

M!Reader, angst, mentions of blood,

The Gulag was the government agency in charge of the Soviet network of forced labour camps 

You are a well known member of Task Force 141. Although on field you are known for being the violent and viscous way you fight enemy soldiers, many on base don't really mind calling you names. In a way, you have become the freak of base. Ghost himself fears you at times, mainly because he has see you kill men with your bare hands and act as if it was nothing. He has seen the blood of the enemy dripping from your body and how you act as if it was normal. The team has so much respect for you though, they understand you are there for the mission, that you'd kill if it means to reach the goal.

Nothing really stands in your way when it comes to combat. But before you had become the man you are known as today, you were normal. A man of honour, never wanting to hurt anybody, no matter the circumstances.

----

What changed you, was 12 years ago, you were 2 years into your service when in a mission you were captured. Although the Soviet Union had fallen, Russia still held prisoners in infamous Gulag. You and a few of the other men who were also captured were tortured. Day and night was a living hell. The conditions were always horrible, men dying ever other hour due top weather and physical strength.

One night, you and three other men tried to escape, but because of a guard dog, you all failed. You fought back though, kicking, scratching and punching the guards. When one of the men saw you fight, he knew where they'd send you to next.

"глупый гребаный человек, думает, что может убежать от нас." a soldier spoke, some laughed as the other beat you senseless. They had broken your old self to the point that you just didn't care how you survived. For three hours straight every soldier that wanted to, would go and kick you, punch or even throw rocks at you.

Sometimes at night when you feel your most vulnerable, you feel for the cigar burns they left around your body. At times, you look in the mirror when you are shirtless, the deep scars that were scattered all over your body. Each touch took you back to the three years you were held in.

The winters were unbearable, at times, some of the men that would sustain injuries would die or have body parts be amputated. Others also died from hyperthermia, and somehow you survived the easy deaths.

On the night they sent you to a new part of the camp, they made sure to tattoo a symbol on your chest. A large skull a sword that pierced the top of it. All the prisoners were in cages, it ranged from the smallest of men to the biggest of all. You were well in your early 20's, so your shape was not so bad, even after all the days you spent without eating.

Once they clothed you properly, they threw you and a few other men into the fighting area/stage. Rich people watched from the stands as you all looked at them, you were all new. No one knew what the hell you were thrown in for.

Until you spotted the tools for fighting. And eerie sound came from speakers, the crowd clapped and cheered as soon as the prisoners started to fight each other. You, with some luck held a small dagger, a man much smaller than you sprinted to you, a sword on his hand.

If this was the way of getting out might as well fucking fight, you thought. You quickly dodged the man and soon stood behind him, you slashed his throat and took the sword from him. For hours on end, the smallest and even biggest of men fell to their demise. Blood was soaking the floor beneath you. Only 10 men survived from 50. You being lucky number 3.

And for many nights the routine was the same. Get beaten to sleep, trapped into a cage and wake up early, eat little to nothing and by sundown fight for your life.

In your time of fighting, you learned a few tricks, go for both weak and big. You did things you aren't proud to ever admit. You killed more men than any of the task force ever dared to do.

One night as you slept another prisoner escaped his cage, you woke up to being held by a knife at your throat.

"ты убил моего гребаного брата" the man spoke. (Translation: you killed my fucking brother)

"этот слабый ублюдок на это наткнулся" you answered coldly. (Translation: this weak bastard stumbled upon it)

"Я убью тебя" (Translation: I'll kill you)

"Нет, если я убью тебя первым" and thats when you grabbed the knife from him, stabbing him in the eye and then his throat. Before the guards came, you threw the night far from your cage and pretended to sleep. (Translation: Not if I kill you first)

----

You still have nightmares about it, but they aren't ever too bad. This mission that you were on though was a hard one. You and the rest of your team were captured. Price took the situation under control, trying to make negotiations with the enemy. In your years since being freed from the gulag, you hadn't spoke Russian or even heard it until tonight.

"Говорю тебе, сегодня вечером мы договоримся об этом, а завтра они проснутся мертвыми." the soldier said from the other room. (Translation: I'm telling you, we'll settle this tonight, and tomorrow they'll wake up dead.)

Your blood ran cold. Your breathing started to get out of control, you looked around the room, none of the other men knew what they had said. Gaz was the one who noticed your shift in behaviour, "Mate, whats wrong?" he whispered which caused all the other to look at you.

"I won't die, not by fucking Russians." your hands slowly shaking, you tried to steady your breathing, and thats when you realised you were back in a cage. You knew you were trapped, but it was as if you were young again, fighting every night for a spot to live.

"What does that mean?" Soap asked.

"Nothin'" you answered. You have to escape, you can't live like that anymore. You looked around the room and saw a poster, the same kind that was at every fight. You started to feel dizzy, and thats when Ghost noticed it, you were having a panic attack.

"Price, we have to get him out, now."

One look at Price understood why, Ghost shifted closer to you, he positioned himself in a way that would help him rub your back.

"s'alright mate, I won't let that shit happen twice." Ghost knew about what happened to you years ago, he accidentally found the files Laswell and you worked hard to bury. But not once did he push to know more, at times when you felt comfortable, you would open up, and he'd listen to the stories of those days.

But you couldn't listen, you didn't really understand the words that came out of his mouth when he tried to reassure you. Your hands digging at your skin, trying to feel your skin brought some good.

"Gaz, you untie me, and I'll untie you." Price ordered, soon the two men were up. They untied Soap, who untied Ghost. And he knew you best, so he opted to untie you once the Russians were taken down.

And once your eyes met Price, Ghost and Gaz untied you, Soap holding close as they all comforted you. Your breathing was starting to go back to normal. But still, the memories and the horror that place brought you were no fun.

The constant nights where you wished to just end your life, that maybe I'd be best if you die by your own hands and not by someone else's, especially not in front of the all the wealthy people who would watch the fight as if it was a sport.

The memories will forever stick to you and the regret you carry is who makes you the soldier you are today.

-----

A/N: I wanted this to be longer, but my ideas ran out, sorry

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Tags: @xweirdo101x