#wine red tears gold

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 1.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 4.6k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

this is for my 100 followers poll. it was supposed to be a oneshot but will be a mini series in 3 or 4 parts. this is my first time writing aegon and it will also be somewhat of a character study.

thank you for 100 followers and everyone who participated in the poll. love <3 thank you @randomdragonfires for beta reading, mwah mwah.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn

its been so long - the living tombstone • nobody - mitski

chapter specific warnings: awkward sex, p in v, virginity loss

Every day felt like a new restraint, a new button added to the collar choking around Aegon’s neck. He had done it– he had freed the realm of the false queen, his half-sister– and lost almost everything to do so. When did it end? When did he get to relax and run the realm as he saw fit, since they so intended to have them at the helm. He wore the conqueror’s crown, wielded his sword and bore his name and yet he couldn’t do as the conqueror actually did. Rule. He felt more like a dog than a dragon these days; but that was just a pattern in his life. They wanted him when they needed him and he was to shoulder their burdens as eldest son.

His grandsire kept breathing down his neck to secure another wife, another heir, another alliance brokered with another pompous house. 

“Listen to me, Aegon,” Otto began, his fingers laced together as he sat at his desk. He had summoned Aegon to the Tower of the Hand– he was summoning the King, rather than the King summoning him. Somehow, his council had let Otto weasel his way back into the position of Hand, Aegon’s mother in tears, pleading for it. There wasn’t anyone else fit for the job since Criston had died– and he was never really fit for it anyhow. “We must move quickly to provide you with a new wife. The realm won’t remain stable if we tarry in producing an heir for the throne.”

Aegon sat in the seat across from him, feeling more like a child than a King. He twisted the signet ring on his pinky finger. “It’s too soon. It would be an insult to Helaena.” he replied, not looking up at Otto. Helaena had only passed a few moons earlier and the wound was still fresh for all of them. Aegon never loved her like a wife– how could he, they were too different, too young– but he cared deeply for her as his sister and the mother of his children. Even thinking about taking another wife this soon felt like a betrayal. He would be like his father then.

A small huff and a rustling of papers was heard– Aegon was still too distracted by his signet ring, the thin light filtering through the half drawn blinds, causing a small glint off of the bronzed metal. He didn’t want to look up to see the expression on his grandsire’s face, he knew it was one of disappointment. Aegon couldn’t remember the last time that someone hadn’t looked at him with contempt, disappointment, melancholy. 

“You must understand. You have a duty to the realm–” 

“Fucking duty– don’t speak to me of it. I’ve done my duty for enough lifetimes. I let you put me on the throne and usurp my sister and look where that’s gotten us? Everyone is fucking dead, Otto. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Helaena, Aemond,” he paused for a moment, lifting his head up to meet the Hand’s gaze head on, “Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey– do I need to proceed? The majority of our bloodline is wiped out because of you and your ambition.”

Otto snorted, standing up from his desk slowly. He grabbed a decanter of wine, pouring them both a goblet. “You misunderstand. Everything I’ve done has been… for our family’s legacy– for the realm,” he placed the glass stopped back into the carafe, “Don’t you dare act as if I am not hurting for the loss of family– but war is war, boy. People die. It is unfortunate that… the ones close to us did. But we can’t live with our head in the clouds any longer, there is a realm to run and the crown comes with responsibilities. A wife and heir are one of those paramount responsibilities.”

“I have an heir. I still have one remaining child– Jaehaera is my heir. I deem it.” he spoke quickly, staring at the goblet of wine. He had reduced his intake of alcohol since the war ended– but the need for it was always there, always aching. He suddenly felt parched. Giving Otto a haughty stare, he took a sip from the glass, feeling his muscles instantly relax.

“Don’t be daft– have you so quickly forgotten what happened when the King last named a female heir?”

“It wasn’t that Rhaenyra was a woman, Otto. People would’ve learned to adjust if…” Aegon took another sip, clearing his throat, “If she hadn’t been infatuated with her freak of an uncle, you would’ve been able to control her easier, hm? It's always been you and mother behind the crown these past two decades– not me, nor my father.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Otto griped back, gripping his glass, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about. Rhaenyra–” he stopped, taking a breath, “Rhaenyra is dead. They’re all dead, you’re right. But there is still the whole of the Seven Kingdoms requiring a leader, especially now. A leader with a united front with a queen and babe. I won’t argue further on this matter.”

Aegon acquiesced. He would rather deal with Otto’s venomous viper tongue talking him into things he didn’t want to do now instead of his mother visiting him hours later in hysterics– he couldn’t bear it. Alicent was more of a mess now than ever. “Fine. I leave this in your very capable hands,” he stood up, swiping the whole jug of wine, “At least find me a pretty one.”

–

She was plain, unbelievably plain. Long, curled brown hair desperately in need of a trim, a poorly tailored dress that needed to be more fitted at the waist, stature too small and unremarkable to stand up to anyone of importance. Oh, and picked cuticles, the spots of red eking out from her nail beds. Mayhaps she and his mother would get along just jolly, then. She was to be his prospective wife and bear him more heirs. He wanted to shove it back in the council’s face and say he has an heir, his only living child, Jaehaera. Melancholy and withdrawn as she was, she was his heir.

The council disagreed, allowing Borros Baratheon to shove his last unwed daughter at him like a piece of meat that no one wanted.

Her eyes wafted up to glance at him, every move of hers uncertain, cautious. She was so deathly aware of each minute gesture, her posture having to be adjusted to straighten every few minutes. 

Lyanna Baratheon wasn’t of prominent knowledge and reputation like her sisters, aptly named ‘the Four Storms’ – she didn’t remind Aegon at all of a stag or a doe, but rather something more diminutive and easily killed, like a prey animal. Mayhaps a rabbit– it would be an apt description, as she had giant eyes, brown –almost black– in their hue, a shiny glaze over them as she stared at the ground. Every so often, their eyes would meet, brown to violet, and she would look apt as Aegon thought she was.

A rabbit begging for its life.

Borros Baratheon stood beside her, murmuring something into her ear. He was a boorish oaf of a man who couldn’t even read– Aegon wasn’t the brightest star in the sky when it came to matters of literature, that’d always been his brother’s realm, but atleast he could fucking read. He thought it quite hysterical that his house sigil was that of a Stag when Lord Borros reminded him more of a boar. Mayhaps he should change it. 

As he continued to whisper to his daughter, her expression went from sordid to panicked, then back to sordid. She wasn’t very good at masking her emotions– she would need to learn if she were to survive at the Keep. The tips of her fingers twitched slightly and she was obviously holding herself back from tearing into her nail beds. 

“Lord Borros,” Aegon broke the tension, “Perhaps I should show your daughter around the gardens while you speak with my grandsire. We have the most beautiful gardens here and I’d imagine that Storm’s End wouldn’t have something quite as grand,” he glazed over Borros’ blank stare, “due to the storms, of course.” 

Lord Baratheon adjusted his doublet, which was far too small for him— did the Stormlands not have a proper fucking tailor? — and nodded, “Yes, that would be amicable. It would do some good to familiarize yourself with one another before the wedding in a week’s time.” 

Aegon’s throat felt parched. He knew that they were speeding things along but he didn’t anticipate it to be this fast. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a nearby servant, he descended back to Lyanna, intent on whisking her away as quickly as possible. Not because he found her particularly interesting, rather the opposite, but he needed an excuse to get out of the room. The insistent thrum of his pulse in his neck was all too loud. His arm looped under Lyanna’s, “Come, my lady,” he hummed, trying to seem like he was somewhat collected and kingly and not on the edge of chugging the entire carafe of wine and smashing it over the next poor fucker’s head. “To the gardens.” 

He practically strung along the poor girl, who hurriedly agreed and tried her best to keep up. “Y-yes, your grace,” she mewled, her feet tapping on the ground at irregular rhythms as she hung onto Aegon’s arm, bouncing against the stone walkway toward the gardens, “King’s Landing is… very beautiful, my king– your subject must be very pleased.”

As they descended the cobbled steps down to the garden, Aegon eyed her warily, “Did your father tell you to say that?”

“N-no, not exactly–” 

“He did. Anyone with half of a brain and a working nose knows that this accursed city smells of shit. You shouldn’t lie, my lady. You’re quite bad at it,” he took a small breath as he looked at her expression– the poor thing was on the verge of tears. “You will get better in time,” he continued with a slightly softer tone, “This Keep is full of great liars and you don’t seem… too much like your father. I am sure you will pick up quickly. How old are you?”

“Nineteen, your grace.” 

Aegon resisted giving a derisive snort, instead uncorking the wine bottle and tossing the stopper into the grass, “You’re quite young, then,” he took a swig, feeling the bitter tasting liquid coat his mouth, “All the better for heirs. Or so I’m sure that we’ve both been told.” 

In truth, some would consider her a bit late in age to be married– but Aegon didn’t care as long as he wasn’t robbing the cradle like his father did to his mother, or Daemon to Rhaenyra. He was twenty-six himself and tried to remember what he was like when he was nineteen; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint an exact memory. It was mostly a blur.

“I am… hopeful to provide you with many healthy heirs, my king,” she replied, her words sounding rehearsed. She is as poor of an actress as she is a liar, then. She paused for a moment, looking at her hands, “I… do not wish to replace the late queen, her grace, Helaena– I merely wish to fulfill my duty to the realm and my family– I am terribly… sorry to hear about Helaena, my king. As well as your prince brothers. War is a terrible thing.”

Aegon blinked profusely a few times. Her words after her pause sounded genuine– mayhaps she is capable of thinking for herself. She seemed… softhearted, even if a bit naive. He regarded the bottle in his hand for a moment, swishing it around. No one had really apologized to him for his losses– the enumerable amount of them he’s gone through these past few years. They all bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet his gaze, as if their blood was all on his hands. Mayhaps it was. He swallowed, his mouth pursed in a thin line, “... War is indeed a terrible thing, my lady.”

They walked for a few hours around the garden, talking about various things. Aegon still found her quite boring and uninteresting to look at– she wasn’t ugly by any means, and could be considered pretty, but she was just so terribly plain that it bored him to tears. Her speech was all faux and he tried to eek out any genuineness to her words through different subjects– all to no avail. It seemed the sore subject of Aegon’s family was the only thing to break her from her carefully crafted script.

Eventually, they parted ways– for the better, he thought. She was a fine match, a fine age, a fine vessel for his seed to produce a royal heir and whatever other innocuous thing his grandsire needed from him. 

What a terribly dreadful life he’s let himself sink into.

That night, he drained two bottles of Dornish Red, falling much into the same state of mind he had when he was nineteen. Wandering to the Street of Silk, he whored and drank himself into a state of sloven mania.

In the midst of his drunken ramblings, he wondered if he could ever find someone who would truly love him or if his opportunity had already passed.

– 

The wedding followed in the timeline that Borros and Otto had set– as quickly as possible. The council dipped into the coffers to make it happen, it was to be an extravagant event, a new beginning for the realm. Artisans, fine bakers and cooks were all hired to make the wedding a facet, stringing up red, green, yellow and black banners, making dozens of delicate pastries and even cooking six turduckens to line the tables.

It was all lavish and opulent– and Lyanna could not feel more out of place. The past week at the Keep had been a whirlwind of planning, gown fittings, flower picking. Her sisters were there in attendance, speaking up more than she on what to pick. It was fine with her, as she couldn’t bring herself to care for it. The gaudiness of it all made her feel ill. 

She had only met with Aegon the one time, the first time. Lyanna felt she made a terrible impression— she was so nervous that day that she’d vomited twice that morning, all while her father screamed at her to get it right, to say exactly as he told her to. For the most part, she had done just that— played the perfect little puppet for him and said all those empty words that meant nothing. 

She was meant to see Aegon at least three more times before the wedding, as there were a few dinners arranged between their two families. He had been absent for all, his mother citing that he was unable to attend for various reasons but nothing overtly specific.

Alicent Hightower was a nice lady— she was warm to Lyanna, talking to her at the dinners when no one else had bothered. She was the person who Lyanna felt most comfortable with in the Keep and was grateful that she was to be her good-mother. Alicent was a bit frayed at the ends from the loss of her other children; she was haunted, her eyes constantly red-rimmed and murmuring prayers under her breath. 

The morning of the wedding, Lyanna was summoned to Alicent’s solar to get ready. 

She knocked on the door, “Your grace— it’s Lyanna.”

“Come in, my dear,” she called out, a maid opening the door to let her in. “How are you feeling this morn?” Alicent was perched on the settee when Lyanna came in, and immediately rushed over to her, taking the young girl’s hands in hers. 

“Quite nervous,” Lyanna responded, her hands quivering ever so slightly, even under the warm touch of Alicent. “May I speak plainly, your grace?” 

“Of course,” she ushered Lyanna to the loveseat and had the maid pour them both tea, then promptly shooed her out. “It’s just us now, speak your mind, sweetling.” 

“I-I am afraid that… Aegon will not like me. I fear I didn’t make a good first impression— he seemed quite bored of me.” 

Alicent took a sip of her tea, giving a small sigh. “I will do you the favor of not sugarcoating words and speak plainly like you have done with me. Aegon will not like you,” she pursed her lips into a thin line, twisting the signet ring on her finger, “Aegon is a creature of debauchery and sin— and you are a good, pious girl. You are like oil and water.” her brown eyes met Lyanna’s, her expression softening. The two women had a fast camaraderie, praying together each morning in the Sept. “You… may not love him, or even like him— but there is a duty upon you to fulfill. It is a burden we carry as women, my dear. We are always behest to the men in our lives,” she stopped, her eyes glazing over with a far-away look, “I don’t mean to be discouraging. You are a… good hearted young woman and I believe you can channel that into something positive as the Queen.” 

Lyanna felt her stomach quivering at Alicent’s words, her skin flushing. “I… appreciate your plain speech, your grace. I just… do not wish to displease him.”

Alicent’s mouth twitched at each end as if she were mulling something over. “It will be hard to please him, my dear. You are nothing like the women that usually please him,” she wiped a hand down her face, “You remind me so much of myself, Lyanna. Pushed into something you are… ill-suited for. You’re a sweet and kindhearted girl and I don’t wish for you to tear yourself apart on the inside and feel as if you’re not good enough for him– you are, you are too good for him, too pure, too-” Alicent took a measured breath, “You are not what he wants and you never will be, my dear. It will do you well to know that now rather than years later. There is always someone else in their eyes– women like you and I do what we can. I pray you will find things that keep you happy.”

Lyanna picked up her tea cup with trembling hands, taking a sip. There seemed to be more to Alicent’s words than them just being about Aegon– but she didn’t want to push it. Dipping her head, she thanked her good-mother-to-be once more.

– 

“Wake up, wake up!” a voice boomed, rousing Aegon from his haze as a carafe of cold water was poured on him. The girl latched to his cock like a leech let out a shrill scream and scrambled away.

“Fucking hell– who the fuck?” Aegon slurred, blinking profusely half a dozen times before his vision came into focus. It was one of the Kingsguard, one more behest to his grandsire than him– and his grandsire, Otto, who had the now empty container of water in hand.

“Wake up, you ingrate,” Otto growled, grabbing his grandson by his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet, smacking his cheek gently. “Your wedding is in two hours and you’re passed out in a whorehouse. You’re the king, for the Seven’s sake– I thought you left this debauchery behind, atleast have your whores at the keep instead of being in these pits of sin.” 

“You can put a number of different hats on a bear, you know,” Aegon slumped against the wall, “Many kinds of hats; a hood, a felted dante, a linen coif, a cowl, a straw hat, a jester’s garb– heh, that’d be quite funny–” 

“Is there a point to your drunken babbling, Aegon?”

“Yes, ah– you can put many types of hats on a bear and change its look but at the end of the day, its still just a fucking bear,” he straightened out his stained tunic, “Point being– you can stick a crown on my head, put a sword in my hand and put me through a war to keep me on that fucking throne but guess what, grandsire, I am still just a bear at the end of the day.”

Otto stared at him, brow furrowed. “You aren’t a bear, you’re a dragon and a king, so act like it. You are getting married in two hours and you look like a sloven mess. You’re lucky that Borros is as blind for power and recognition as he is or he would take his daughter back to Storm’s End and you’ll be stuck with the next best choice.” 

“That boring rube of a girl was my best choice? I must be fucked, then, either way.”

Otto and his Kingsguard dog dragged Aegon back to the keep, and observed while maids scrubbed him clean, red and raw. He was put in a nicely fit green suit, his House cloak strapped to his shoulders. It was a whirlwind of events that led up to the doors of the Sept being opened and Aegon ushered in.

His stomach churned and he felt sixteen again, forced to wed his sister. He remembered being hardly conscious throughout the ceremony, fumbling over his cloak and practically smothering Helaena in it.

He looked down the aisle at Lyanna, who was dressed in a pale yellow dress with long, flowing sleeves. She had a high collar with black lining and antler embroidery all over the garment. It was actually well fitted this time, likely thanks to his mother, and it turned out she actually had a figure, with plush hips and a well-endowed chest. Her brown hair was half up, half down with an assortment of intricate braids– it reminded him of how Rhaenyra used to wear her hair and he wondered who thought to style it like that, and he wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

As he walked down the aisle, he saw his mother in the front row– she was crying, thumbing a pendant in the shape of a Seven Pointed Star. 

The ceremony was a blur to him, as he put the cloak over her shoulders and sealed their union with a kiss– a chaste one. She tasted like lavender tea. As he pulled back, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed with tears, and he felt the familiar sting of tears in his own eyes.

The feast was much the same, as he drank himself into a numbing stupor. He only had one moment of clarity, as some of the rowdy guests began to poke and prod at Lyanna, talking about the bedding ceremony. She looked visibly uncomfortable, picking at her nail beds under the table. Something about the sight of her discomfort and pain stirred something in Aegon that he couldn’t name– maybe he was feeling sentimental from the alcohol, but a surge of possessiveness flowed through him. He wasn’t known to be possessive, much the opposite in fact. But the egregious actions of these men pawing at his wife– their fucking queen, mind them– making disgusting insinuations. If she were a whore, it’d be different– but she was so… innocent, so coerced in all of this just as he was, it felt wrong. 

Aegon snapped, slamming his cup down, “There won’t be any fucking bedding ceremony,” he growled, “My wife and I will be retiring to our chambers– alone. And if… any one of you lays another paw on her, you will lose it.”

Lyanna stared at Aegon, those huge brown eyes wide. Her lips were parted slightly as he once again strung her along the halls to his– no, their– chambers. She was shaking.

Once in their chambers, he let go of her, uncorking another bottle of wine and taking a swig. “I presume you think that this is where I will fuck you, hm? Stick my prick in you and make an heir and we will all live happily ever after like a child’s storybook.”

Lyanna stared down at her feet. “It… it would be… the duty of husband and wife to consummate–”

“Fuck duty! I’m not going to fuck some weepy eyed maiden because my old fuck grandsire said so. I don’t have need of you in that way.”

Her hands were trembling as she unlaced the back of her dress, her movements autonomous– she was doing what she thought she should be doing in this situation. She began to undress, slipping her gown off and leaving her in her silken shift, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. The sight of her body, soft, stirred something within him for a moment, like a spark trying to ignite kindling.

“We don’t have to do this, Lyanna,” he murmured, using her name for the first time. He put down the wine bottle. “We can wait.”

“N-no! Please, I want to– please,” Lyanna whispered, practically pleading for it, as if she wanted to get it over with. “Please.”

Aegon rubbed a hand down his face. “Get on the bed then. Lie on your stomach.”

She did as she was told, laying flat on the bed on her stomach. She clutched some pillows as a lifeline.

He knew he should warm her up, he knew that they should want to touch one another, he should want to see her face– but he didn’t. He couldn’t bear to look at her face, or touch her for longer than was necessary. He barely shimmied down his trousers before he began poking at her entrance with a half-hard cock, partially trying to give her a moment to get used to the sensations, and partially trying to find where he was supposed to stick it– he knew, of course, he’d fucked his way through King’s Landing and then some, but he hadn’t fucked many maidens, and especially not when he was blind drunk.

Eventually, he hit home and slid into her, his movements slow at first. He could hear her whimpers and knew they weren’t of pleasure. It reminded him of his wedding night with Helaena where they’d both cried– all the memories of that night came flooding back, causing him to falter.

Lyanna looked back at him, her eyes puffy and red, “I-Is it over?” 

Aegon swallowed sharply, cringing as he stared at her. The moment of arousal he had– purely from stimulation alone– was gone now, his half-hard erection deflating completely. “Fuck– yes, it’s over.” he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it in fact had hardly started before it was over– and not in the good way. He pulled out of her, taking in a deep breath as he walked to the water basin and soaked a cloth with warm water, offering it to her. “Wipe yourself– it will help with the… pain… and blood.” 

She took the cloth, wiping away the remnants of their half-fulfilled consummation. “I-I’m… sorry,” Lyanna whispered, sniffling, “I know I am not what you want.” 

His mouth was pulled into a thin line as he turned away. “You’re right. You aren’t.”

They fell into bed next to each other and Aegon’s mind was swimming as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He never wanted any of this– he just wanted to be a kid again with no responsibilities, with all of his siblings, even Rhaenyra– he would’ve… he would’ve been nicer to all of them, he wouldn’t of picked on Aemond, he would’ve gotten to know Rhaenyra better, he would’ve played with Helaena’s bugs, he would’ve taught Daeron all of the secrets of the castle. He would’ve told his grandsire to fuck off when they were to crown him and had Sunfyre char him to a crisp and given the crown to Rhaenyra.

He would’ve been loved then.

He just wanted to be loved.

[ceruleancattail]

Victims, been thinking about the self-aware au…

Welcome back

Tw: Yandere

Kalim x reader, Leona x reader, Jade x reader

I wonder how the boys will react to your repeated… absence from the game. Enthusiastically throwing open the door to Ramshackle door again and again, only to find no one but the darkness of their own shadow greeting them.

How tragic, truly.

How cruel of their beloved Prefect.

Once you log back in, it’ll be hard for you to keep Kalim off you. He’s immediately all over you, clutching at every inch of your body he could reach. Wrapping you in a tight embrace, fingers grabbing at the back of your shirt.

Burying his face into your torso, his words slurred with watery sobs, tears sinking deep into your clothes. Kalim’s beaming up at you through his tears, a shaky smile. He just can’t stay sad around you, prefect!

You are his sun, brighter than any jewel Kalim owns in the treasury. He was so lonely, while you were gone…

His grip tightens ever so slightly as he muses about the appeal of chaining you down with a collar of gold. Oh, isn’t that such a good idea? Before you could even get a word in, Kalim’s already dragging you off, chirping about how he’ll commission the best craftsmen in the Scalding Sands just for you. How pretty you’ll look, gold circlets around your neck and your limbs, sparkling like a thousand stars.

It’s all for sake, Y’know!

So you’ll never leave him like that ever again!

Leona isn’t as nice, unfortunately. His palm pressing into your shoulder, he shoves you towards the closest wall. Slamming you into that cold, hard surface as brutally as he can, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Both of his hands find themselves on either side of you, constraining you within his very own body. Leona’s form towers of you, casting your body into the darkness of shadow.

Just where have you been, herbivore?

Who have you been with, huh?

Someone better than him?

Leona fires question after question, the pitch of his voice dropping with each one. You were close enough to feel the heat wafting off him in waves, close feel the trembles of his throat as he growled. A dark, primal sound, clawing out of the very depths of Leona’s gut.

Tch, guess it doesn’t matter too much now, does it? The edge of his fangs brush against the base of your neck, digging their way into the plush of your skin ever so slowly. His breath wafts against your bare skin, stinging it with its heat.

Leona will just have to remind you who you truly belong to.

Jade holds you. Gently, softly even. His fingers caress yours slowly, rubbing small circles into your skin. Yet every touch of Jade’s sent shivers racing down towards your spine.

His fingers, his palm… every part of him as ice-cold, a deathly chill.

All this while, he’s muttering. Soft, velveted words that slip into your eardrums as smoothly as fine wine. You were gone quite awhile this time, perfect. Jade was ever so lonely, without you around, you know? Coming back to this doorstep day after day, dutifully waiting for your return… how cruel of you to play with his feelings like that, prefect.

His hold tightens at the drop of a hat, like the claws of a trap folding into itself. Seizing the poor individual who wandered into it. His fingers dig deep into your flesh, scarlet red crescents forming on your skin.

The fangs of an eel, slamming shut. Oh, don’t worry your silly little head, Jade has no intention of eating you. Does it hurt?

Your absence hurt him a million times more.

Now, what does he do to ensure you’ll stay this time, prefect?

[holyghostbelle]

Call the shots part two

Oliver quick x fem!reader

TW:DUBCON? DARK!OLIVER(it's literally him though so idk)slight reader x felix, but also oliver pinning over felix because no ones mentioning that??? reader and Oliver lowkey hate each other I guess, SMUT, ORAL(fem) (a/n, Thank you!!! thank you so much for the attention the last part received, I haven't written in forever and ever and salt burn just reeled me in like a fish. there's going to hopefully be a third part to this to end the lil series,/// wish men actually kissed like this gif 😔)

if you haven't read the first part to this click here!

my master list

The first time you had met Felix Catton you were eight, your first summer at the Saltburn estate and after meeting Venetia at an all girls private school you had been introduced to her older brother by one year. Felix was mesmerising, he was like a prophet, everyone loved him, and you felt yourself fall in love with him deeply, of course at first Venetia hated it, you were hers, you belonged to her. But years after spending summers while your own family spent summers in Venice and Paris for business you had become Felixs as well. No jealousy had become between either of them. You had lost your virginity to him, smoked your first cigarette with him, your first line of coke, your first shot. All of your firsts and now. 

None of your lasts.

The air was heavy with grief as the Cattons to give the farewell to their beloved. Tear-streaked faces and her eyes swollen, Elsebeth stands stoically, hands gripped with Venetias. The service wasn't beautiful, but nothing could live up to Felix.

You stand opposite Oliver, his face crumpled, gripping the white handkerchief from dinners ago. The room echoes with muted sobs, you stand in disbelief, the last you had seen Felix his gold wings loomed over you, and now they hung from his bed untouched.

His grave now laying in the estates graveyard, six feet under with people who he hadn't met, you run you hand over the temporary wooden cross, his bracelets hanging from the oak, you taste the tears on your cheeks and Venetia clutches at your arm, mascara running over her cheeks, just like yours.

It's raining and the Cattons and you throw Felix's rock in the river before returning to the house. Oliver stays behind and returns with muddy knees, his shirt see through. When Venetia excuses herself to her room that night, you find yourself wandering saltburn in the dark with a glass of deep red wine in your hand, all you can think about is Felix's swollen blue face lying in a pile of puke. There was no beauty in his death. 

Clad in a white night gown and Felix's jumper you find your self in his room.

It suffocates you with the smell of cigarettes and cologne. the smell of Felix prevalent in his sheets comforts you. closing your eyes you begin to believe he's still there.

Suddenly you hear a sloshing of water. Deciding that Oliver must be taking a bath you think to yourself, a few minutes go past and Oliver enters the room. He's clad in blue boxers and a red robe, you can hardly remember the timid boy with frameless glasses at the beginning of summer. Silently, you observe Oliver as he moves with a heaviness in his step.

“What are you doing in here?” you ask, you smooth down the covers with your hand, rings catching on a bare thread, the duvet is lumpy and you assume it's from the socks Felix would shed off in his sleep.

“I should ask you the same thing” He questions back.

“Felix was mine first, I saw you crying at the funeral. Like you had known him for years and it's been six months, pathetic really."

You stare at him as he bends to meet with you at eye level, he leans on to his knees with his hands as you turn from his glare. He feels the heat radiate from your cheeks. They're wet, his hand meets your face wiping the salty tears with the back of his hand, rough against your skin.

“Stop it, Stop it Oliver” you cry, your hand meets the small of his wrist pushing it away from your face. They fall to your lap, your gaze following.

And suddenly “Apologise to me” he orders, his thick fingers grip at your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You stare through your lashes, one eyebrow raised at him. 

“what? Sorry for what?” you question, your head tilts, hair following.

“Say sorry for being such a bitch to me, such a bad girl” he coos. His other hand stroking at the wetness of your face. 

And you whimper at him. It's so delicious, he feels himself harden.

His eyes darken, pulling his hand back. You begin to think he's going to leave but your face is smacked to the left. Heat rushing to your cheek. 

“ow, what the fuck Oliver” you clutch at it.

“I said apologise, tell me your so sorry for being a rude brat this summer, make me believe it”

“You're joking,” your eyes widen.

He grips at your chin again,you think it might bruise this time, and as your eyes meet you feel something you haven't felt in forever, fear. Your heart thumps against your chest.

“I'm so sorry that you think i’ve been a bitch to you this summer Oliver,” your chest heaves. Teeth gritting at him. 

Oliver, however, doesn't seem satisfied; his grip on your chin loosens only to be replaced by a vice-like hold on your hair.The room feels like a confined space, trapping you in a twisted dance.

“Again” he commands with venom. You feel the grip on your hair tighten and you are pulled back in submission, reminded of the bruise on your arm from him.

You hiss at him as he holds your head up by your hair. “ I'm sorry!” you sigh “im sorry ive been a rude bratty bitch, i'm really sorry” you comply and his hand once cruelly knotted in your hair loosens.

His head cocks to the side, cooing at your disgruntled face “ Got there in the end didn't we?” he smiles looking down upon the soft of your faces, smoothing your hair down.

You nod at him quickly, and your body stills, eyes flickering down, you refuse to hold gaze with him. He still stands above you. 

Lips trembling you stutter,“Venetia was right.” 

“Huh?” he interrogates, eyebrows rising, intriguing him.

"You really can make people do whatever you want," you murmur, a bitter realisation lingering in your words, the taste of  imbalance still fresh on your tongue. Oliver smirks, a perverse satisfaction radiates from his gaze upon your body. You squirm underneath him.

"Then kiss me," he commands, his tone laced with an arrogant confidence that sends shivers down your spine. It hangs in the air, an unspoken challenge that demands submission. He bends to meet you once again.

You push your morals aside. Leaning in and allowing your lips to meet his in a forced union. His hand cups around your neck and tightens as you murmur against his grip. He parts your knees with his own. The oak bed frame digging into the flesh of your thigh as he runs his cold hand against it. 

“Fuck” he grunts. Your breath catches as Oliver's grip tightens around your throat. In that moment, something shifts, and his lips crash onto yours. Oliver's lips mold against yours; it's cruel and leaves you breathless, but it's too harsh to feel like Felix, and the breathlessness makes you panic, not giddy. Oliver is every bit harsher than Felix and it reminds you of how fleeting of a memory he will be. His weight presses into you as you paw at his chest, mewling against him you breath against each other in open mouthed kisses , he licks up into your mouth, thumb pulling your bottom lip down and watching it bounce back in satisfaction he smirks as he peers down on your body hand gripping at your thighs you whine.

He pushes your white silk nightgown up over your hips revealing your pussy,  smiling to himself and dips a finger in your wetness.

‘Hate me and yet you're soaked’ he grins up to you, his cheeks just at your knees, eyes looking so sweet.

He bites and sucks into the succulent flesh of your thighs, you gasp as his lips meet your cunt and indulges himself in you. You mewl your juices dribbling down his chin and creating a wet trail on his face.

“Fucking slut, could Felix make you come?”he questions. 

You nod at him.

“how sweet, too bad ill fucking ruin him for you” his hands traces at your thighs wandering up to your hips,

“Actin’ all innocent under me now, i know what girls like you are like ,your a fucking tease is what you are”

He dives in once again and your hand grips at his hair, it's gotten longer. He's every bit rougher than Felix, choosing to pinch and suck rather than kiss. You gasp and whimper as he eats you like his last meal, hands tightening on his hair. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you moan, he smirks under your hold, hands grasping at your hips to pull you towards him, you hump at his face and he drinks you up like nectar, feeling the pressure build.

“Mmm, close Oli” you whine.

He goes everybit harder and faster than before, and you feel the pressure snap, you convulse under him. Moaning and overstimulated, you whimper as he laps you up.

 His head leaning against your thigh, he looks up at you, bright blue eyes smiling up at you. Realisation settles in.

"You alright?” he strokes the length of your arm. 

You look away from him, biting down on your lip before slipping the covers over your body, now cold in the ridiculously big house, he joins you in Felix's bed.

“yeah, no, I'm fine.” you smile at him. Laying down and turning your body away, you feel his hands snake around your waist, you close your eyes, you feel so dirty.

Guilt pools in your stomach.

The light filters through the dark curtains, a curse of being south facing. Oliver lies there cocking his head, you pull on the red robe, smoothing back your hair. as you scurry to the bathroom to wash your face. Hand on the golden door knob you hear something smashing to the marble floor. Your eyebrows furrow, the door swings open and the maid in front of you releases a guttural scream, the bathroom floor is filled with murky red water and your eyes meet hers. Venatias head floating out of the bath, her blood spilling over the bath. You fall backwards, hand clutching over your mouth, Oliver peeks his head round the corner, his eyes widened. You push the door closed. 

Eyes flickering to the floor. You swallow. “I think you should go back to your room Oliver.” your hand reaches out for his arm, “ i think it's best i tell Elsebeth”

He nods,you choke back tears. Flapping your hands over your face before calling an ambulance.

Oliver is gone, he left in the morning shortly after Venetias funeral, you assume James had paid him off. 

You pack your things, one week of summer left and then oxford university, you look into the room adjoining yours. Venetias, she won't be coming to Oxford with you and neither will Felix, you begin to wonder if you'll see Oliver and how best to avoid him, not wanting to get into the complications of things, hoping you would never run into him.

When your luggage is piled up by the main door, Elsebeth and James stand next to you, smiling. 

“You will join us for the ski trip this winter won't you, dear?”

You smile at her, head nodding “ Mum and Dad said they would be coming, i think it would be best if we all spend christmas together” 

James nods at you, “maybe we could share the chateau with you, there's loads of rooms” 

You smile “of course, i'll let them know, thank you for this summer, amid everything it was lovely” you hand clasps around Elsbeth's shoulder, but she pulls you in for a quick hug, James taking to patting you back. 

“Well, I'll message you how I get on at oxford. Gosh ten years have flown by havent they?”you laugh, eyes watering. “Well goodbye, I'll see you christmas.”

the next part

@callsignwidow (comment to be added to taglist)

[cherry-leclerc]

all i ever asked ☆ cl16

genre: tiny bit of childhood fluff, angst, childhood bestiesss, yearning

word count: 1.1k

There can only be room for two individuals on Valentine’s Day.

cherry here!... quick req, but my gift to you - HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY :)

inspired by this !

Forever and more, Charles promises as he wraps the flower ring he just made for you around your finger. That’s how long I’ll love for because I’m going to marry you when we grow older. Just you wait and see.

That’s impossible, you retort. We’re only 6. Years from now you’re going to forget all about me. Like that time you forgot my Valentine’s Day card!

He gasps sarcastically, shoulders drooping. 

It’ll be different. Pinky swear. 

-

They’ve all told you the exact same thing: You need to learn how to get to places on time. Especially if it’s something important.

Like the time you left buying Lando’s birthday cake for the last minute and showed up two hours late. Or when you promised George you would fix up a romantic setting for him and Carmen for their third year anniversary. 

And somehow, Charles was always there with you. He was the one who called the bakery as you pressed on the gas, dirty curses ringing through the air. He was the one who woke up at the rise of dawn to help you buy roses and champagne. It was just always him.

Which is why you could never - ever - make him wait.

“Wine?” the waitress politely offers as you nod. “It might help with the nerves, no?” 

You smile sheepishly. “Is it that obvious?” 

The girl shrugs with a sweet giggle. “We’re all a bit jittery on Valentine’s Day, but hopefully your significant other shows up soon, if not someone else will slide in and try to impress you.”

“Oh,” you laugh anxiously. “No, I…I don’t think so.” As soon as she leaves, the Monegasque rushes in, panting as if he just ran a 5k. You’re here? You wince. “I was able to get out early. Happy Valentine's Day by the way.”

A lopsided grin stretches across his lips. “Happy Valentine's Day.” A second ticks by before he abruptly hands you a red box. “I hope you like it.”

“Is it a mud cake?”

“First of all, I was 8. Second of all, I have a feeling this might be a whole lot better.”

Giddy with excitement, you rip the wrapping paper as his knee jerks up and down with anticipation. Shining back at you is a stunning gold bracelet, dainty - just the way you like it. He knows that. What’s wrong? Blinking rapidly, you shake your head as you snap the box shut. “Nothing.” Green eyes connect to yours. “I love it.”

With slight hesitance, he takes a sip of the red wine. “I knew you would.”

You don’t really remember when flower rings turned into high end jewelry. You don’t really remember when he stopped showing up, suddenly busy. The blossom rings were never the neatest, but you loved them as if they were. It proved to you that he spent time carving something simply because he wanted to. The gems only told you he walked into a store and picked the first one that caught his eye. 

“Since we’re already here…”

Your stomach drops, butterflies exploring your insides. This was it. This was the moment you saw coming from the moment he met her. His lips are moving but you’re not there. You feel pathetic when you feel yourself nodding along like an idiot. Why? Where did all his promises lie now? 

She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, he swooned as Pierre chuckled. It just makes sense. She makes me feel things I never knew existed. I’m going to get married to her, you’ll see.

“Charlotte-”

It’s as if someone punched you, leaving you like a wounded deer. His face pales - you’ve never been the kind to be able to hide your disappointment. He just never thought it would ever be aimed towards him.

“You know she loves you, right?” he questions eagerly as tears fill up your round eyes. What’s the purpose of you telling me that? The Monegasque winces. “But things have been getting out of control. You’ve seen the tabloids. They’re calling me a cheater. Fuck. They’re probably going to run with this meet up.”

You flinch. “You called me.”

“I know, I know I did, but I had to see you. This has always been our day.” A wet sob escapes past your puffy lips, hand immediately going in to muffle them. Even after everything, his reputation was always your priority. Red rimmed eyes check to see if anyone’s noticed as you tug your brows with a hurt look.

“Used to be.”

Charles stiffens, but continues nonetheless. “She suggested we stop seeing each other. Only for a while until everything dies down.” He tries to reach across the table towards you but you only scoot back further. You loved him - you always would. Which is what made things worse because you knew what he saw was a temporary thing, you viewed a formal goodbye. 

“Is this what you want?” you whisper meekly, shaky hands clutching onto the red box. He exhales.

“Charlotte is who I want.”

It was obvious from the beginning, but you foolishly dreamt about the unobtainable. You would’ve given it all up. You’d be the last one to let go of the rope if that meant he’d stay a part of your daily life. The one that needed him in it. 

The brunette looks away. “She’s my wife. I have to do this for her.” A beat. “But you’re my best friend. No one could ever change that.”

Everything felt like a fleeting moment when it came to him. His words held onto their end until he decided it wasn’t convenient enough anymore. It only would have been so much longer until he really hit you with the harsh reality - all good things must come to an end.

But you just couldn’t find the strength to hate him, even after everything. You hated that he was the only man you could ever picture loving because it was just so easy to do. 

“I have feelings, too, Charles.” His eyes narrow, staggered breath hitching. “It’s my fault.”

“No.” Large hands press against his lap as he taps anxiously. “Don’t ever think like that.”

With a sad whimper, you finally let yourself reach for his hand as he rapidly does the same. “You were so sweet when we were kids.” A wet laugh makes him lighten up. “But we’re not kids anymore and your sweetness belongs to someone else now.”

He could feel you slipping away and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He should’ve persisted with Charlotte to not be so cruel, to understand that you were a large factor of his life. How could you not be? You always traveled with him for karting, even if that just got you in deep trouble with your parents. You were the first to congratulate him when he got his F1 seat, something he had worked so hard for. Rosy lips form a thin line before curling into a forced smile.

“And I’ve accepted it.”

[daenysthedreamersblog]

STRANGERS

Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love

Freezer bride, your sweet divine

You devour like smoked bovine hide

How funny, I never considered myself tough

summary: you've won the hunger games, and ready to return home in peace, but president snow has other plans for you, and he won't take no for an answer.

pairings: president!coriolanus snow x district6!reader

warnings: MDNI!, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, power imbalance, coercion, heavy drinking, non-con male masturbation, non-con oral sex (m receiving), roses ( pls let me know if i forgot any!)

notes: im new at publishing on tumblr so pls be patient with me! also new at writing in second person POV so sorry for any mistakes! hope u enjoy! there will be more parts coming soon!

Blood splatters onto your face.

"Please," He mouthed underneath you, but the knife was plunging down anyways. You couldn’t hear it.

The crunch of a sternum bone.

Silence. Cold silence rang in your ears and you blinked climbing off of the body a distant boom rupturing around the arena, but you only felt to shake of it, the sudden vibrational change in the air. You looked around the sun blaring down onto you as you turned away from the dead boy, you stumble forward, knee giving out from under you before you collapsed to the ground rolling onto your back staring upward. The blood oozed from the wound on your leg, it stung, it stung harshly, but it was welcomed.

It was over. Everything. It was over and all you were met with was blood stained hands and silence. You could smell the rot forming in your soul.

Boots were pounding into the ground, surrounding you, guns pointing at your body. Hands wrapped around your biceps pulling you, dragging you out of purgatory and into the looming light ahead.

~

"Congratulations." He whispered placing the small crown on your head, a dainty gold thing, his hands lingering too long on a wisp of your hair. The games had cut off your tongue it seems words never rising to the surface. His hand was under you chin, "Smile. You've won." It felt like a command so the corners of your mouth tugged up as the camera flashed upon you, shaking hands with your esteemed president.

"Thank you." His jaw ticked at your slip, the lack of his title, but he shook your hand anyways as Lucky Flickerman’s crew zoomed in for their close up. The motions were clear, set into place as you read the prepared words off the telecom. If you could get through this then you could return home where it was simple and safe. You would be okay once the Capitol train dropped you off in District 6 where you can happily watch it all disappear forever.

A hand slid to the small of your back, your spine locking up as another photo flashed of the two of you. Your smile stumbled as his shoulder pressed into yours heat pouring off of him where your bodies collided.

You met his eyes, face half turned towards each other, and your cheeks burned with a flush.

The only good thing about winning was finally eating and drinking real food again.

You downed cups and flutes of any alcohol you could find shoved into your hands drowning out the sound of people talking, congratulating you. It was cruel really how when the film of a camera was replaced it sounded like small bones cracking, so your drank more. Why were they so thankful? They arranged for you to be there...they sent you to either die or kill for them. Because some great-great grand-whatever rebelled, so now you had to live with the consequences of someone else actions.

Your brain was beyond heavy, mouth no doubt stained red from the wine. One more day, one more day and you would be going home to die of hopefully natural causes some other time. One more day and you would be out of this hateful city, away from theses entitled, hateful people. You felt it then, the dryness in your throat, the angry water welling in your eyes. You set the empty cup down, stumbling away from the party silent tears beginning to unwarrantedly roll down your cheeks. You gripped the railing as you climbed the stairs towards the mansion doors needing to hide away from the world, and when you reached the top you pushed it open harshly. The heels of your shoes clicked on marble floor in an empty hallway, a door slamming shut behind you as you kept moving. The hallway was spinning like you were stuck in a concrete mixer turning and turning and turning.

You tripped over your foot catching yourself by throwing a hand out to the wall, collapsing onto a small cushioned bench. The groan left your mouth as you slid out of your shoes feet aching, you felt the long gash of the scar the District 2 tribute had given you. It was taking a while to fully close, the wound on you soul would never heal either it seemed.

More tears. More anger.

"You should be celebrating." The cold, calculating voice cut through the air.

You could only roll your head upward, too drunk, too ashamed to be afraid at the surprise. Fresh tears rolled down your cheek. "I did."

Footsteps were coming towards you, slow, like the wolf hunting a doe, and that was when your body alerted, when he had stepped into your space, head snapping towards him. He looked as calm and collected as his tone, a rich black suit fitted to his lean body, a hand lazily in his pocket as his legs bracketed in your knee. "Then why are you in here? I have a whole party out there for you and you hide away in my home.”

"Too noisy." You stared up at him with red rimmed eyes as he towered over, your vision fuzzy at the corners.

His knuckle came up to your cheek collecting the tear freshly traveling down makeup covered skin. "You should be celebrating." He repeated the moisture glistening on his bone. "Not crying."

You sniffed, your voice cracking from crying, "Sorry sir."

"Mr. President." He corrected.

"Sorry, Mr. President sir." You cleared your throat offering him a fake smile.

His hand came under your chin, a pinky resting on your jaw his thumb tracing puffy, wine stained lips, "That's a good girl. Too much wine I suspect hmm?" You only nodded as he held you face, held your life with it too. You might have won his games, but he could still ruin everything, ruin the little family left back home. He had always made that clear to everyone; it wasn’t a shock people started dying soon after they crossed him.

"Yes. Mr. President, sir.” For some reason another tear slipped out with a wide eyed blink.

"You look so pretty when you cry." He traced over your lip one more time gently pushing in until the pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue. You heard the wet noise of his lips parting, as he took a quiet deep breath your teeth grazing his skin. Then he popped it out, bought it to his mouth, sucking gently on your leftover wine. "Come." He wrapped his arm around your bicep pulling you to your feet in front of him. "Let's get you some food, introduce you to some more friends of mine, and then bed." Two hands stroked down your hair holding your head between his palms. "How does that sounds my little victor?"

A dark gaze lingered in his eyes that there was no way around what he wanted, no telling him no. So you let him bend down and slip your shoes back on keeping your face towards the opposite wall. ”Yes Mr. President, sir.” His hand lingered too long on your bare ankle before he rose.

He smiled, a snake like gleam in it, like he had finished wrapping his body around his victim to suffocate it. One more day, and then you were done. He could introduce you to whoever he liked, feed you whatever he wanted, but come tomorrow on that beautiful train ride home the Capitol, the games would be a distant traumatizing memory, and he would just be a face on a screen come next year.

He plucked the white rose off the front of his suit jacket, took the pin out, and tucked it behind your ear to sit prettily in your hair.

His hand wrapped around your waist causing you to grip his forearm to stumble out into the party once more. Your eyes scanned the party, catching on a young girl, the winner from District 4. Her name started with an M, but you couldn’t find the rest of it in you hazy brain. The only thing you could focus on was the sad frown etched upon her pretty face as President Snow dragged you through his party.

6 months later

You wiped dirt off on your pants standing up to admire the blooming garden spread out in front of you. A smile flittered onto your face for only a moment before it fell staring at the wilting leaves on top of wet soil. They had fallen no doubt during a weeding or pruning or plain decay, but they were there ready for the earth to absorb them for nutrients.

Did the arena absorb their decaying bodies too or were they flown away somewhere else? Did they go back to their families so they could rest in peace?

You shook the thought grabbing gardening tools and the water can heading back to the house. Time was helping, the white noise of the district was helping, the trains going by were helping. The only reminder you had ever been carted away...well that and the large sum you had been gifted upon winning. You decided to ration it, save it but comfortably. It was the only thing truly stopping you from drowning yourself in alcohol or morphling, and the disappointed look your father had given you when they had carried you off the train, too wasted to walk. You took up gardening soon after the initial withdrawing, rotting period needing to keep you hands, your mind busy.

The scent of vanilla hit you as soon as you entered the house your body freezing on the threshold. It was a warm vanilla scent, which meant your mother had made tea, which meant there was company. You set your tools down, peeling off you mud stained boots. Your mother laughed as you slowly continued down the hall, the sound muffled by the kitchen wall you had yet to curve around to enter the kitchen. Alarms shot off in your head, the hair on your neck standing up knowing it wasn't anyone from District 6.

"Mother." You called seeing the outline of her at the table.

"Darling." Your mother smiled as you turned the corner, eyes flitting over to the man across the table from her sipping on his tea. A fresh bouquet of white roses sat in a new vase at the center of the table. "We have a guest."

"Mr. President." Your mouth dried out, feet heavy, gluing you to the middle of the kitchen. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Your mother only stood up rushing towards you, taking your hands to sweetly drag you to the table. "Come sit, my darling bluebell." She forced you into an empty chair around the modest circular table, a plaid green table cloth covering it. You kept eyes on him as she poured tea into the only empty cup. Once the kettle was down she discreetly tried to wipe dirt off your face, "Always covered in something from your little garden."

President Snow mouth quirked up. "Garden?"

You only managed a nod. ”It was a small little thing, something to help…” Her eyes dropped, “Something to keep her busy, and well before you knew it it had taken up most of the lawn." Another discreet pat on the cheek. "I have never been more proud than when I see her out there working on it." She chuckled, "Well besides when you put the tiara on her head." You inwardly cringed at the word tiara, at the reminded of what had been done to earn it.

"My grandmother grew roses." He motioned to the red one he worse pinned to his blue suit. His eyes met yours, "Do you?" A small nod as steam swirled up from the tea that would never be drank, "May I see them?"

Your mother stood up answering, "Of course." Her hands came upon you shoulders, "Go change and show our lovely President." You pushed the chair back using it as an escape for the moment, "Wash your face, and put on that pretty blue sun dress." You didn't answer, only walked back down the hall to your room finally able to breath normally away from his suffocating presence. What was he doing all the way out here? You had figured, had clung, to the fact you would never have to see him, or the Capitol again, and now he was here invading your home.

After washing your shaking hands and face, digging the dirt out of your nails, and braiding your hair back did you put that stupid sundress on and walk back out. Your mother was standing by the door a forced smile on her lips, "Yes sir, no sir." She reminded you, pulling small tendrils of hair loose around your face. "Don't speak unless spoken to."

"I know." You told her, forcing her hands away from your face reciting what your father and mother had both instilled in you. "I am grateful for what you've done for us President Snow."

"Mr. President Snow, sir." She pinched your cheeks to give them color then let you step around her and out of the house.

He was standing near the edge of the garden just before the walkway split separating each sections. "It truly does take up most of the lawn." He smiled holding out his arm for you. You slowly allowed him to hook it under his elbow to lead down the walkway. "It smells divine."

"Thank you." You swallowed, "Mr. President, sir."

He only smirked, "Your mother raised a well mannered woman."

You offered him a shy smile, ”My father and mother always instilled proper etiquette as best as they could. They emphasized respect and dutifulness."

"Important traits to have." He agreed. He was Capitol, he was the president, no doubt relishing in the fact district folks weren't born with those traits, they had to have it beat into them.

His hand clamped around yours, trapping it in his arm. Your breaths shook, don’t stutter. "My roses are just this way." You motioned up the path for him to lead in that direction.

The rose bush could have looked better, but it had always been a work in progress, a difficult flower to manage, and your heart had never truly been fond of roses. Red and yellow seeds were the only color you could acquire so the colors sometimes missed their mark or died all together. “Troublesome for you?” There was no hiding the disappointment in his tone.

“Yes.” An embarrassed response. "I'm tempted to rid myself of them."

"Hmm," He stepped forward fingers running along the soft petals. "I have a garden full of white roses, I brought some for you today."

You gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I'm sure my mother adores them."

"They're for you, not her." He flatly told you a sneer on his face. "A gift of sorts to my favorite little victor." He smirked down at the bush plucking a perky red rose from its stem. "Or what did she call you?" He turned back towards you, "Her darling bluebell?"

The blush bit at your cheeks, "Thank you. Mr. President sir." He smiled deeply tucking the stem of the rose behind your ear rooting it into the braid. "They are lovely." I lied. The scent of roses overtook the air to the point you felt dizzy with it, felt them swallowing you whole like he did.

"I do hope your mother won’t mind looking after it all.” He sighed his hand running down your arm as blood drained out of you, the question sitting leaden in your mouth. "We're trying something new, something Dr. Gaul believed would bring good publicity to the games." You chewed on your cheek, biting the refusal back. You remembered hearing about her death a year or two ago. "A victory tour of sorts." Both hands were on your arms holding you in front of him, "You'll go district to district letting them celebrate you and then finish at the Capitol. I'm going to throw you another party."

Oh

His hand came under your chin tilting your face up to him, "How does that sound my little bluebell?"

"Okay." You whispered because it was what was supposed to be said to him.

He beamed, "Such a good girl." His smile fell, "Since this is the first time we're doing it I'll be going with you of course to make sure everything goes smoothly."

Ice coated you. How long would this be? Would he ever let you remain in peace? Would the garden wither and die in the time you would be gone? Why did he stare like that?

You only nodded the obedience in your spine locking into place.

It wasn't horrible. The train was comfy and reminded you of home, the rumbling sound it made, the smell of the smoke and gasoline, the horn blaring through the night. They had written words, of course, to say at every district, reciting from a script how sorry you were for their losses and how thankful you are for the Capitol and their generosity. President Snow talked the most which was ironically a godsend since you didn't want to speak at all.

Mostly, there was food, tons of food...and wine.

You more self-indulgent habit to make the time go by smoother. Even more so now because you could, because it was free, because your parents weren't here to shame you. You would stop once you got home; you had done it before. When the tour was over, you would stop, you would go back home, relish in the normalcy, the garden, where it was safe. Where no one could find you.

Snow wouldn't be on the train ride home.

It unnerved you that he was here simply a few train cars down, eating, sleeping, plotting murder no doubt, planning more games. It only made you swig from the bottle more to shove the anxiety down.

You had crawled in the train car window, a comfy seat under it, curling you feet under you to watch the night blur past. Each bump comforted you, like you were in the older train cars carting people around the district. The moon wasn't out making any outline impossible to see, so you closed your eyes, pretending to hear the bustling square at home. You took another drink of wine savoring the lazy feeling coating your body.

The door slid open no doubt an Avox coming to do some chore, so you didn’t even bother to look. "You didn't come to dinner." Your head snapped up seeing Snow standing in the door a tray of food in his hands, "They said you only grabbed a bottle of wine and left."

"I wasn't hungry." Not a lie, you had felt ill since leaving District 9 the tributes faces beginning to gnaw at you once more. You had survived, and they hadn’t, and it felt wrong. "Mr. President, sir."

He wasn't wearing his normal suit instead a pair of dress pants, and a starched white button up, the top two buttons undone. His immaculate blonde hair was slightly mused a stray curling piece falling onto his forehead. "Come eat with me." You weighed the options before unfolding your legs out and turning to slid off the sill. You tugged at the nightgown they had shoved in the closet for sleep, a soft thin robe covering your shoulders over it. They hadn’t allowed you to bring any clothes from home. His eyes glanced up your body as you pulled it tighter around you.

"Excuse my appearance Mr. President, sir." You sat down across from him.

"No need." He only smiled as he pushed the tray. "Do you like the train?"

You nodded picking at the food, "It reminds me of home. We used to live by the test track before it moved, and it used to rumble the house. I used to hate it growing up, but now it seems to have grown on me."

"I bet it has." You should enjoy the food more, shovel it down until it was nothing. Your family had never suffered too much within the district not like the others, like 10,11,12... but it wasn't exactly always easy. The Capitol was always cramming food down your throat before and after the games, before you had reveled in it, the after...it tasted like dust in my mouth sometimes. You set the fork down pushing the half eaten tray away, but he only pushed it back. "Eat, please." You began to open your mouth in protest, but his jaw ticked. "Eat." A command, "All of it."

You watched his face, bottom lip trembling at the new tone he was using. It was bound to come out, but you had been so kind, always listened. You slowly began eating again forcing each bite until nothing remained, until your chest was tight with a full stomach. You took a sip of water. Always thank him, your mother had whispered on your way out of the door, Even if you are not thankful.’ “Thank you, Mr. President sir."

"You are so good to me, my little bluebell." He leaned forward the darkness engulfing the blue in his eyes. "Can you do something for me?" You made yourself nod even-though fear was trickling down your skin. He motioned with his head, "Go lie down on the bed."

The color drained from your face, "Wh-What?"

Don't stutter.

You cursed inwardly for the slip. ”Be my good girl and go lie down on the bed." His grin widened, “I won’t say it again.”

By the time your knee hit the bed tears had slipped over, you tried to stop them, but they welled anyways as you turned to look at him. He stalked towards you unbuttoning his pants, unzipping them, so you forced your gaze upward taking in the sounds of rustling. His hands pushed the robe down your shoulders letting it pool onto the bed. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to stop him as his fingers trailed along your bare shoulders, along your collarbones, up your neck. "Spit." He held out his hand. You swallowed, pulling the liquid back up and spit into his palm watching him bring it between his legs. You forced yourself to not look down, not look at what his hand was doing with a large length, to not look as he slid his hand along it. His other hand came up to your face, once again dragging across your bottom lip, pushing his finger further in, hooking it onto your bottom teeth. "Suck on it." He growled. You blinked fresh tears out before letting your tongue poke and lick up his finger, swirling around his knuckle listening to his pants. A cry of protest sat in your lungs, but would it matter? Were you always bound to be at his mercy, cursed to obey his whims to exert his power. “You listen so good." His head fell back a little the small groan hiding the sounds of him stroking himself. “Will you take my cock good too?”

"Please." You whimpered against his hand finding the smallest resistance in yourself at his words. "Please sir...I'm a virgin. I-I don't-!"

He shoved you back onto the bed with a growl his knees straddling your thigh as he pumped his hand faster and faster groaning into the air as two fingers invaded your mouth thrusting along your tongue. You felt violated, but all you could do was lie there and take it, let him do whatever he was doing because you were good, because he was the president and you had to obey. You closed your eyes tears burning your skin on the way his movements shook your body, until finally he stilled warmth shooting over your skin.

You finally breathed as he removed his fingers and stepped away. You lied there, listening to him straighten his clothes back on. "Don't change. Sleep in that." You glanced down at the white clumps running down your nightgown, some even drying to your exposed chest.

He stared at you expectantly. Thank him, even when you're not thankful. "Thank you Mr. President, sir.”

His grin was haunting as he left.

The rest of the tour went unbothered. He only occasionally came back to repeat those events, but each time it got a little easier as you began to know what to expect, each time you dared to look a little bit more. Sometimes even getting lost in the way his hand glided across his glistening cock covered in your spit. On the rare nights, you even gazed upward at him, at his hooded eyes, sweat dripping down his forehead, tongue between his teeth. You even began to listen to the noises he made, the heavy grunts, the soft groans and grit of his jaw, his vulgar words at you when his eyes suddenly met yours making you look away with heat in your cheeks.

And then he would cum over your body.

You threw up after the first night only forcing it to stay on your body because he had said so. After that it became easier to withstand the feeling, the warmth, the smell. You realized after a few times it gave off a scent you had only attributed to him, you only knew that because he often stood so close to you. It was so mild and hidden that you could only tell when you brought some close to your nose, and since it was already there you tasted it and you figured his skin might taste like that too.

It was fine, until you finished the tour of District 2. The boy's face stared down at you, and you remembered how it looked covered in blood.

Please!

The crunch of bone.

You could barely get through the reading, crying halfway through before someone had to usher you to the side. Snow was angry; you could see it in his dark eyes but maybe he could find pity. You had been so kind, so good.

It didn't matter by the time he found you curled into the corner of my room you were covered in smeared make up and tears. You couldn't even take off the stupid pink dress they had given you. He stood there for a moment taking you in then he grabbed you by the hair yanking you up onto the bed. Then he reeled back and slapped you across the face so hard your head snapped to the side. "You were very bad today bluebell."

"I-I..."

Another slap the other way. "Don't stutter."

Your cheek was stinging, "I'm sorry." A pause, and then another hard slap stars split your vision. "I'm sorry Mr. President, sir." You closed your eyes waiting for more but then you heard the familiar noise of his pants unbuttoning and your body began to lay itself back like it had registered before you did. He only darkly chuckled as he pulled you back up and shoved you to your knees in front of him, "I know you didn't mean to break the rules. Right?” You nodded, “And why do I know that?”

"Because I'm your good girl, Mr. President, sir." You stared up at him with red cheeks and pouting lips.

He groaned, his hard length pressing against your mouth. You glanced up at him with furrowed brows not knowing how to do what he was asking. “Open your mouth,” You did. “Don’t bite. I'll do the rest." He pushed past your lips, taking ahold off your face and began rocking his hips into you, his cock sliding along your tongue. "Oh fuck," He shivered shoving himself deeper the tip of him touching the back of your throat. You swallowed the gag as he pulled out to slam back into you bring your throat more tears spilling out, spit running down your chin. You squeezed your eyes as he used your mouth for whatever he wanted as he thrusted his cock into your mouth viciously. "Swirl your tongue around it." He hissed and you obeyed running it along the shaft, around the head feeling him stutter his movements, but pick up speed. His hand was rooted in your scalp yanking your face up, pain bubbling up with each abusing stroke, but something else was there too, and you realized his skin didn't taste bad. "You like that? You like when I fuck your mouth?"

You mumbled out incoherently not even sure what your answer was.

He shoved your head back, neck craned against the mattress his hips pinning you as he blatantly fucked into your mouth. ”I wonder what pretty sounds you would make if I fucked you hmm?” His hand bobbed your head against him as you gripped his thighs to hold yourself up as saliva dripped across your chest. "I can't though...too many others want it."

Your eyes shot open just as his thrust turned sporadic and warm liquid shot down your throat. Your face was covered in fluids, covered in drool and cum, dribbling down your chin as he slowly removed himself. ”What?" Your throat was raw and torn.

"I was going to wait to tell you." He sighed tucking himself back in. "But you are very desirable as a Victor, and once you told me you were a virgin...well it made you a lot more desirable." He patted your tears and cum stained cheek, "But you have been so good to me despite this slip up, so I will try to pick someone you will like. Hmm?” You were too stunned to respond. He was selling you to people, selling you to the highest bidder because you had killed a boy. You weren’t even supposed to win everyone had let you know how the tribute from 10 was slated to win, but he got taken out while you were hiding, and they had lost money. Because your life was a bet for them.

"I want to go home." You cried softly his hand cradling your face.

He cocked his head to the side, "Oh bluebell. You can't leave me yet." He stood up and began to walk to the door, "I might just have to keep you."

He left you there on your knees. No he didn't quite taste bad, in fact, you thought maybe you enjoyed the pool of him on your tongue. You cried even harder.

PART TWO here!

(if you care)

[natalievoncatte]

Lena could feel the weight in her hand. A little extra swing in her fist as she walked, sending a jolt up her arm as she jogged up the steps to Kara’s apartment. She’d decided to walk today, to clear her head a little as she went to see her best friend. She had a lot on her mind lately- usual Luthor stuff like defusing random death traps that Lex left behind, fending off attempts to dethrone her as CEO and challenge her status as he brother’s heir, and cures for intractable diseases and solutions for the energy crisis and thorny ethical issues around the advance project department’s latest AI experiments… and Kara.

Kara was on her mind. She had a way of sneaking into Lena’s mind at the most inopportune moments, like a board meeting, or a symposium, or her TED talk. It was really a TEDx talk; the organization wasn’t *quite* ready to invite Lena to the real deal, no matter how many photo ops she did with Supergirl or cancer research facilities she paid for. That didn’t stop Kara from following her around saying “thanks for listening to my Ted talk” for three weeks after the fact.

She had been thinking about Kara so much that it had finally been noticed. Sam flew in from Metropolis earlier that week for a catch up lunch, and as usual, after business was handled they shared a bottle of wine and things grew informal.

“Lena,” Sam said. “I’ve been talking for five minutes and you’ve been holding that glass of rosé and staring at it for the entire time. What’s going on?”

Lena almost dropped the glass when she heard her name. “Oh, right. Yes. Wine.”

She took a sip, hoping Sam would drop her question, but she persisted.

“I know that look. You were miles away. What is it? Did the cure for cancer pop into your head?”

“No,” Lena said. “It’s nothing, I was just lost in thought.”

“Mmm,” said Sam. “I’m sure.”

“What?”

Sam smiled enigmatically and finished her wine. “I’d better get going. I’m taking a red eye back to Metropolis.”

“Sam, you’re flying on a Lexcorp charter. It doesn’t work that way.”

Sam snorted and left Lena sitting there, wondering what that was about. Of course she’d been daydreaming about Kara, about her hands specifically- she’d nodded off last weekend and woke to see Kara at her ease, brow furrowed and hands moving wildly as she painted something. Lena had remained still and watched, fascinated by Kara’s hands, the skill and dexterity she showed.

It was that day that Kara had passed her the key she now carried in her hand. A key to Kara’s apartment. Unfettered access. Lena didn’t have to knock (she would anyway) and could stop by when Kara wasn’t even there. She hadn’t said anything but she’d been holding back tears the entire ride home; Lena had no problems with *access*, but trust was another matter. That was what the key was. It was a talisman of trust, Kara’s confidence in her given form.

Lena did knock before she turned the key and swung the door open. She was expected, but part of her worried that Kara wouldn’t be alone. It seemed odd to Lena that Kara hadn’t started dating again- her best friend had taken the whole Mon-El thing very poorly, and it was bizarre to begin with, so Lena understood why she’d stay single for a while, but it had been years.

Years of kindling a soft, secret hope, a desire so fragile and so brittle that Lena rarely dared think of it, afraid that the tiniest brush of longing would crumble it and with it break something inside her permanently.

The apartment smelled like cookies. Burnt cookies. Kara was in the kitchen, brow furrowed, bent in concentration over a cookbook, eyes darting to a mixing bowl. Foul smelling attempted cookies practically filled the garbage can.

“Hey,” Kara said, cheerfully. She gave Lena a soft, gentle smile that seemed only for her, and brushed a loose gold curl from her eyes. “You’re early.”

“I wanted more Kara time,” said Lena. “I was hoping to get a few minutes alone with you before the few shows up. Just us.”

Kara looked at her curiously, then turned to her project.

“I can’t get this right. I cream the sugar like it says, but they keep coming out wrong.”

Lena moved closer, stopping her hand from seeking the small of Kara’s back. When she saw the carton of cream on the counter, she busted out laughing so hard she snorted.

“What?” said Kara.

“Darling, you don’t put actual cream in it. Here, let me help you.”

For the next half hour, Lena and Kara made cookie dough, laboriously, by hand. Every step brought them closer together, literally. By the time they were scooping out evenly sized blobs of it together, they were hip to hip, both floured and sugared, hands greasy with butter.

“I’ll pop them in the oven,” said Kara. “You go clean up and relax.”

“Alright,” Lena said.

She ended up on the couch. Game night would begin hours later, and Lena turned on a nature documentary. (She had her own distinct username on Kara’s Netflix.)

Lena must have dozed off, because the alarm on the oven, along with a warm, pleasant, homey smell, woke her up. She padded on her stocking feet into the kitchen to see how the cookies came out.

Kara had already taken them out and was holding the tray, hot from the oven. Something was off. It nagged at Lena’s mind.

Then it hit her. Kara seemed to realize at the same time.

She wasn’t wearing oven mitts. No heating pad. Not even a dish towel. Kara was holding the hot tray, fresh from the oven, in her bare hands.

Lena yelped. “Kara! You’ll burn yourself!”

Kara started to move. A cry rose on her lips, then died. She stared at Lena with such softness, her eyes full of hesitation, but more than that, a kind of longing that echoed Lena’s own soul.

“I’m tired of lying to you,” Kara said, still holding the tray. “It doesn’t hurt. I can barely feel it.”

They stood for a frozen moment that lasted an eternity, the truth just on the wrong side of revealing itself. Lena already knew, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Say it.

“You’re Supergirl,” Lena whispered, soft and breathy.

Kara nodded, starting to choke up. She put the tray down almost violently and stepped back.

“I’ll understand if you need time, if you’re angry, if you don’t want to continue our friendship-“

She didn’t finish her ramble. Lena crossed the space between them in three quick steps, firmly took Kara’s face between her palms, and kissed her.

Pure terror gripped her. What if she was wrong? What if this was a mistake? Why wasn’t Kara moving, responding, reacting?

That question responded when hands that could crush diamonds moved her her body with surpassing tenderness, turning the awkward kiss into something more, Kara guiding Lena as their bodies molded together and Kara kissed her back with hopeful desperation, drawing it out as if she was afraid to let it end for fear it might never be repeated.

It was, intimately and immediately. Lena was shocked but pleased when Kara let Lena push her back against the counter, bending her back lightly, almost climbing her. Kara almost shocked Lena when her hand slid up her side and found her breast even as Lena grabbed a double handful of steely buns and squeezed.

Then someone coughed and they jerked apart.

Alex stood by the door, arms folded.

“I’m going to go ahead and text the others so they know game night is cancelled,” she said, smirking. “Next time, hang a sock on the doorknob or something.”

“This is my house,” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving now.”

As the door slammed shut, and Alex could plainly be heard blurting, “Jesus Christ,” Lena turned back to Kara.

“Should we talk?” she said, her voice small. “What is this? What are we doing?”

Kara swallowed, hard. “What do you want it to be, Lena?”

Lena couldn’t answer. She just stared.

“I know what I want it to be,” said Kara. “I want us to be an us. I’m so tired of wanting you so bad it hurts, but being scared to touch you a certain way or look too long or too openly or be afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. I’m tired of hiding so much from you.”

Lena licked her lips.

“The truth is, I’ve wanted you for years.”

Kara’s gorgeous eyes lit up with unbridled delight, and with shocking quickness, Kara had Lena in a bridal carry. Lena instinctively curled up in her arms, practically wrapping herself around Kara’s body.

“What do you want to do now?” said Kara. “I don’t know how to do this part, Lena.”

Lena smiled. “I think what you do now is carry me back in the bedroom and cream your sugar.”

“You want to make more cookies? Why… oh.”

“Oh indeed,” said Lena.

Lena didn’t make a habit of it, but this one time, she let Kara talk her into cookies for breakfast.

[moraxsthrone]

♡ ⋆｡˚ — WHEN HE PUTS IT IN

ft. diluc, itto, kaeya, thoma, zhongli (separately, x f!reader)

be warned: nsfw. mdni.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — DILUC

oh my gods, is there a more attentive, conscientious lover than diluc ragnvindr? the redheaded vintner has been kissing, licking, and sucking nearly every inch of your body in his candlelit bedchamber for almost an hour. your fingers are tangled in his soft hair as you pant into his mouth when he rises to kiss you. your legs are still shaking from the orgasm he sucked from your clit mere moments ago when the underside of his big, veiny cock drags slowly between your slippery folds. “f-fuck me, luc,” you breathe as he holds your face in his rough, loving hands. finally, his leaking tip catches on your opening; the pressure and delicious drag of his girth against your tight walls as he spreads you open takes your breath away. “fuuuck, you always feel so incredible when i take you, my love,” diluc groans against your neck as you suck him in deeper and deeper.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — ITTO

honestly has almost no self-control. the moment he dips his monstrous cockhead inside your cute pink pussy, he’s bullying his fat length inside you with a growl, one thrust after another. but he’s not a mean or selfish lover, no. he just gets a little…excited…sometimes. so all you need to do is gently remind him, between sobs, to go slow. and he will, apologetically. your oni will tower over you, strong hands planted firmly on either side of you, holding himself up to keep most of his weight off you. he’s going much slower now, almost too slow as he carefully nudges his heavy cock against the resistance put up by your tiny, wet pussy. keeps asking “are you okay?” “does it feel good?” “am i hurting you?” “are you sure?” when the broad head of his beast-cock eventually kisses your cervix, there’s still two inches of him to go. but he handles you like a porcelain doll until you dig your heels into his firm ass and demand that he start fucking you already.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — KAEYA

his cock bounces when he swipes his thumb over his slit to collect a drop of his pre before pushing it to your lips. “tell me, how do i taste, lover?” you moan, eyes sliding closed as you suck his salty flavor from his thumb. “so, so good, kaeya. i could drink you like wine, baby.” he smiles, pleased as punch with your answer. “perhaps that can be arranged,” he purrs, sultry as ever. “i’ll have plenty more where that came from…” he pauses to slap your clit with his cock a few times…"after i ruin this beautiful pussy of yours.” watches you with fascination, those gorgeous heterochromatic eyes of ice and gold watching every flutter of your eyelids, every quiver of your lip, every crease of your brow as he fills you up with his perfect dick. your hole stretching around his thick tip as he pushes it through with a soft pop. you fill his mouth with whimpers and coos as he fills your sweltering cunt with his throbbing cock.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — THOMA

has been dry humping you for what feels like hours, the rough material of his pants soaked with your need as he grinds his hard bulge against your clit. you’re keening and squirming under him, nearly in tears. “what’s the matter, pretty baby? is something wrong?” thoma asks, his tone so sweet and innocent that you almost believe he doesn’t know until you see his crooked smirk and the teasing glint in his kind, green eyes. “t-thoma please…need to feel you…please!” ever the pleaser, he raises to his knees. you watch, licking your lips as he unfastens his pants and pushes them down to mid-thigh. his pretty cock - long and pale with an angry red tip - springs out and slaps his taut, naked belly with a wet smack. “how can i say no to my baby when she asks so politely?” he guides his erection to your opening, pre drooling from his slit as he gives it a couple of strokes just before pressing inside you. you’ve been so keyed up for so long that the second his cockhead rubs against your sweet spot, you cum on the spot, mewling and pawing at his chest. but thoma doesn’t stop there; he just keeps on easing his length through your slick, clenching walls as you whimper and whine his name. you squeeze your thighs around his narrow hips as they begin to rock, mercifully rewarding you by spreading your sopping wet walls around his girth again and again and again.

♡ ⋆｡˚ — ZHONGLI

presses his blunt tip against your opening then settles down on top of you, sinking inside one exquisite inch at a time. wants to be close to you and look into your eyes as his cock invades your helpless little cunt. the intensity of his golden gaze is too much; between his beauty and the way he’s easing his godly cock deep inside, you have to look away, too overwhelmed to maintain eye contact. but he quickly corrects you as his thumb caresses your flushed cheek. “darling love, open your eyes. look at me when i’m entering you,” he says, a low growl rumbling in his chest and your slick oozing out around his wide base when his balls finally press all the way against you.

m.list

♡ ⋆｡˚ — could you feel them? hear them? see them? ;) if so, please consider reblogging. i love the love you all have been showing me. tysm, baby loves. <3

[auteurdelabre]

Something to Fight For (series) (PART NINE)

Word Count: 13.0k

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no age or physical descriptions)

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT   

A/N:

1. OVER 13,000 words. I did that. And I did it for YOU. But you can thank Linda and her latest review because its the reason I'm uploading tonight instead of tomorrow.

2. I love Bill & Frank. That is all.

3. Joel Miller is a giver. This is my HC and I will not be dissuaded.

4. NOW: This chapter contains some imagery that non-hornies might find ... intense. What I'm saying is there is smut, and my smut tends to be on the descriptive side. I have tried to tame it down for this M rating, but I kinda don't really know what the difference between M and E is. If smut really doesn't appeal to you (that's fine darlings! I ain't offended - skip to the next chapter when I update).

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maria brings you home later that week. She attempts to help you from the car as if you're an invalid but you wave her off with a grumble. "I'm fine."

"I guess if I was Joel you'd let me help, hmmm?" Maria says lightly.

You both move towards the house but this comment causes you to stumble before you right yourself. You dart a glance out the corner of your eye at her. She’s watching your face with a smirk.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying that I told you I would take you to the doctor's four separate times,” Maria reasons. “Joel Miller swoops in and immediately you're in the emergency room?"

"He forced me."

"I've known you since we were teenagers," Maria says with a roll of her eyes as you enter into your suite. "No one can force you to do anything."

"He was very insistent."

"You like him."

You want to say something more but you're stopped, your eyes wide as you enter into your domain.

Twinkling Christmas lights are hanging around your bed frame, the fireplace, your window. A small artificial tree is resting in the far corner decorated with red and gold baubles. The knitted sock with your name stitched on it is hanging off the fireplace mantle. 

It's all of your Christmas items decorating your place. And your entire place has been cleaned - even the windows look clearer. It looks so beautiful in here, the kind of beautiful you’ve only seen in cards and movies.

After you'd moved in here, the thought of decorating for holidays hadn't seemed too appealing. You thought the space was too small, that your ornaments and decorations would look out of place. But it makes your space seem so homey, inviting and warm.

"Did you do this, Mar’?" 

Maria is grinning widely at your reaction. She looks around the space satisfied with her handiwork. 

"Didn't want you coming back to a messy place after being in the hospital. I know how you feel about hospitals."

You blink back tears before you gather her into a tight hug.  For the millionth time that year alone you are just so thankful that you have her in your life. If nothing else goes well for you in life, at least you can always count on Maria.

"Thank you," you say through a lump in your throat. You walk over to the electric fireplace, wanting to warm the space up. It smells delicious in here like cinnamon and fresh peppermint.

"Frank and Bill helped," Maria adds as she straightens the stocking on the mantle. "I mentioned you didn't have any Christmas lights and Frank said Bill had tons so, they came over yesterday and helped string them up."

Your heart, already softened, thumps with affection. Imagining the men from next door coming to do that just for you makes you feel overwhelmed with gratitude. 

"That's so sweet," you say making a mental note to buy them a bottle of wine or something as thanks. As for Maria, you need to make sure her Christmas gift is perfect.

"Wasn't my idea about doing the Christmas stuff though," Maria adds with a glance over at you, gauging your reaction to the next sentence. "That was all Joel. Called me and said it'd probably cheer you up." 

You school your features into a sweet smile and look over to her. She's standing with her hands on her hips, a brow raised and her full lips curled.

"Bless him," you say with a tone of 'aw shucks' and go back to the fireplace. 

Before you can say anything more there's a rap at the door.  Frank and Bill are whispering loudly to one another as you both draw over to it. Bill is muttering about Frank's cholesterol and Frank is telling Bill to hush up. You and Maria exchange amused looks and giggles before you open the door.

Frank is holding a plate of some divine smelling baked good while Bill just stands looking awkwardly around, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Just the sight of them makes tears prickle your eyes.

"You two!" you say before throwing your arms around both their necks. Frank laughs, holding you with one arm while Bill just stand there and tolerates the embrace. 

"We heard you two coming in and wanted to make sure you're feeling better," Frank says after you pull back.

"Much."

"Thanks to Joel forcing her to go to the hospital," Maria says flashing a meaningful look to Frank that you don't see. You also don't see when he returns it with a subtle smile. Frank can see the way you’re avoiding both their eyes and decides to change the subject.

“We also wanted to tell you both that we’re throwing a Christmas party.”

“Holiday Party,” Bill corrects. “Christmas is nothing but a-“

“Whatever we’re calling it, it’s happening in two weeks so make sure you’re free,” Frank interrupts with a wide grin. "We want it to be a real good one so invite your friends. Maria, invite your man Tommy of course. Oh and invite that brother we've been hearing so much about, and his little girl."

Your stomach flips. Joel and Frank are actually going to meet one another? Frank is the only one who knows about that night. And you know he’s got his suspicions about the two of you.

“Of course!” Maria nods enthusiastically.

“It’ll be a nice one too,” Frank tells you both seriously. “Classy. No jeans and sweaters.”

His look at you lingers, knowing you’re not the best when it comes to dressing up for events. You give a lighthearted push to his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.”

They leave a short while later after giving you the dessert (homemade pecan pie!). You and Maria decide there’s no better time than the present to dig in and do so right there, standing in the kitchen with forks in hand.

“Hope Joel can make it to the party,” Maria says casually. So casually you don’t even know you’re being watched and led right back into a discussion you thought you’d avoided previously. You nod, your eyes on the dessert she’s holding between you.

“Mhmm.”

"You know if you did like him it would be okay, right?" Maria hedges, watching you take a bite of the dessert. "That me and Tommy would support it?"

This gives you a momentary pause before you remember exactly why you can't be with Joel. And while some if it is has to do with your best friend standing across from you, the large majority of it is Sarah. You can't do that to her. You can't come into her life just to leave when things don't work out with her dad. 

"I really don't, Maria," you insist, internally congratulating yourself with how confident you sound. "He's really nice and I really like being his friend. I adore Sarah. It's just not like that with us."

Maria looks around your suite, taking in the glowing lights that hang all around, the small tree with its colorful baubles. She takes stock of all of this before replying to you. 

"Does Joel know that?" 

///

Joel and Tommy are on one of the job sites and Joel is in a terrible fucking mood. Sarah is in the corner of the room, sniffling and reading one of her picture books.

“You okay babygirl?” Joel calls over to her. She responds with a big smile and nod before going back to her book. His little girl never complains, even when she’s green around the gills like she is today. According to Tess, Daniel’s also really sick, something going around at the daycare they both attend.

Sarah’s had the cold the last few days and that means Joel has gotten no sleep since then. Because you’re not around he also doesn’t have any reliable child care, so poor Sarah has been carted from site to site all day today because he and Tommy are under a strict deadline from Kathleen.

Despite Tommy living with Joel in his basement, he rarely sees his brother anymore. The younger Miller is constantly off with Maria or he’s talking about Maria or he’s thinking about her (Joel can tell by the far-off look he gets). And most of the time this doesn’t bother Joel.

Lately however? It fucking infuriates him.

Tommy has always gotten what he wants. Joel started this company from the ground up and Tommy had joined when it was already becoming successful. Tommy had spent most of his twenties fucking around while Joel bailed him out time and time again. Tommy got to find the perfect woman and fall in love. Tommy never truly works for anything.

This is in his mind when Tommy’s phone goes off in his pocket and Joel has no patience reserved for his brother.

“Leave it,” Joel growls, intent on finishing up quickly.

“It’s Maria, hey baby,” Tommy greets with a smile. He goes to light a cigarette which Joel promptly scowls at. Tommy frowns at his brother, pocketing the cigarette before going back to the conversation. “Uh huh, yeah. Just finishing up here.”

Joel can hear the chatter of Maria on the other end of the phone but he can’t decipher what she’s saying. He doesn’t care, he has to make sure that this-

“She’s home now? Good, I know you said she hated the hospital,” Tommy says, his hands going to measure the drywall even as he talks. Joel’s own hands still on the wood he’s been cutting, pausing as he realizes what Tommy’s saying.

You’re home.

Joel pretends not to listen as he prepares the drywall, but his head is tilted so he can catch what his younger brother is saying.

“Yeah, pneumonia’s brutal. Uh huh. Yeah, ‘course.”

When did you get home? Today? Should he go over?

Joel cannot think of anything else. He has not been able to get you out of his head and if he's honest with himself he's not trying. He likes you living in his thoughts. 

No. Stupid. He shouldn’t want you in his thoughts. You don’t want him.

Why would he go over to see you? He’s got a sick Sarah to think about. Plus what would be his excuse? No, he needs to give you space. You ran from him when he tried to touch you, and that was the clear indication that you two are meant to be friends.

Just friends.

There are worse things to be; Joel decides as he nails the drywall to the plank he and Tommy have raised, he just can’t think of any now. In fact, thoughts of just being your friend are putting him in a decidedly shitty mood.

He needs to stay away from you. He needs to ignore this flame that starts up when he’s near you. He needs to stop pursuing something that isn’t going to happen. He needs to stop thinking about you in the way you will never think of him.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy says, lowering the phone to his shoulder. “Enough nails!”

In a daze Joel looks to the drywall he’s hammered, frowning to see it dented in areas from over pounding. Tommy goes back to his phone, shaking his head at his suddenly distracted brother.

“Yeah he’s here, why?” Tommy glances over to Joel, listening before speaking over to him. “Joel, you wanna go to a Christmas party? You and Sarah? Maria’s neighbors invited all of us. Next Saturday.”

Joel frowns and shakes his head. He doesn’t feel like a party right now. He feels like going to sleep. Between the additional jobs Miller Construction has taken on and his sick daughter he can’t imagine doing anything other than sleeping for the next month.

And he knows that if it’s Maria’s neighbors throwing the party then you’ll be there. You’ll be there and he can’t see you right now. He needs a break. He needs a few weeks to just get his head on straight so he can stop thinking about you in a way that makes his pants grow tight.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Tommy says into the phone, his voice dropping. “But yeah ‘course I’ll come.”

“I wanna go to a party!” Sarah shouts from her corner of the room, her little voice raspy. “Daddy, please!”

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fine.”

///

You keep replaying Maria’s words in your head.

“Does Joel know?”

No.  He doesn’t because it’s all a fucking lie.

You want Joel Miller more than you want most things in this world which includes than the ability to eat heaps of chocolate without gaining weight, and that’s saying something. 

But what you want doesn’t matter. It’s not about you.

You need to keep your distance from him. He’s not for you. He’s a lovely man with a lovely daughter. Their connection to you is strong precisely because you are not dating Joel. You can’t risk losing him. Losing him means losing Sarah.

You can’t lose them.

But still, that selfish desperate feeling of connection with him is what you crave. It pulses in your mind, your heart and you can’t stop yourself from calling him later that night. The phone buzzes and you wait, almost chickening out before he answers.

“’Lo?”

His voice is rough and sleepy sounding. You dart a look to your watch to see that it’s almost ten at night. Phone manners dictate that you’re impossibly rude calling him this late and you hold in a frustrated sound.

“Fuck. Were you asleep?”

You hear Joel clear his throat and you can imagine him sitting up on his sofa, his eyes sleepy. “Just napping.”

You don’t believe him, but you’re not going to say it. You’re standing in your kitchen but you walk over to the sofa in front of the fireplace, feeling antsy.

“Hey, so,” you repeat, feeling your cheeks flush. “I just wanted. . . Thank you for taking me to the doctors.”

“Of course,” Joel says as if there was never a choice in the matter. “Next time maybe you’ll listen to me before the emergency room is needed.”

You roll your eyes at his subtle dig but then you remember the initial purpose of your call.

“Also, the place looks great and uh, Maria said it was your idea? The lights and everything?”

“You seem like the type that likes to celebrate things,” Joel replies and you’re convinced you can hear the smile in his voice. “Thought it’d make you smile.”

Jesus, Joel. Stop making it impossible for me not to want you.

“Yeah well… I loved it.”

“I’m glad.”

He sounds glad. He really does and that makes your stomach flip.

“How’ve you been?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you want to punch a pillow. You sound so stilted, so awkward. You can hear the smile slide from his voice.

“Not great. Sarah caught a cold-“

From you.

You made Sarah sick.

You’ve given that sweet, tiny child pneumonia. Immediately your stomach drops.

“No! Please, tell me not from-“

“No, not from you,” Joel reassures you. “She’s in daycare and about six other kids have the same bug. Getting sick is just part of the deal there. Gonna keep her home the next little bit though. After seeing you in the hospital I’m a little paranoid ‘bout what’s going around.”

“Of course.” You think about her sweet little face. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay outta hospitals?”

You both laugh lightly at that and you feel your pulse slow. Hearing Joel laugh has a strange, soothing affect on you. It makes you close your eyes as you lean against the shelf on your wall, feeling warm all over.

“She wants to make sure she’s better for the party,” Joel adds almost shyly after a beat.  “The one your neighbors are throwin’?”

“I’m glad you're coming,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” you say quickly. “It’s gonna be fun. Frank and Bill make the best food…”

You continue on like this, enthusing about the party. Joel interjects with his own ideas on what makes for a perfect party and before long an hour and a half has passed and you’ve talked about everything around the topic of parties and Christmas. You hear Joel try to stifle a yawn on the other end of the phone as he tells you about what he’s planning to get Sarah for Christmas and you smile.

“I better let you go. G’night Miller.”

“’Night. See ya at the party.”

///

You knock hurriedly on Frank’s door as you smooth down your hair.  Maria and Tommy have already arrived at the party because they are the kind of beautiful, shiny people that are on time for things while you are the kind of woman who stumbles into a party late but waving.

You’re weighted down with bags full of gifts for everyone.

You wait for Frank to open the door, pull you into a tight hug and welcome you in. You're surprised when instead it's Sarah pulling open the door. One hand is on the doorknob, the other in her father's hand. 

Universe, please give me a break.

You haven’t seen Joel since the hospital and right now he looks so good it should be illegal. Dark slacks and a deep green button up. He’s forgone the tie, leaving the first two buttons at his throat undone. His hair is brushed, and he's half crouched so he can hold Sarah's hand. He looks up as you enter, his eyes strangely guarded.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you say softly before remembering yourself and looking down at Sarah.  "Hey bug, you look gorgeous as always. I must get the name of your stylist."

Sarah is dressed in a bright red velvet dress. Her hair is in its natural loose coils with tiny red bows at the temples. She looks like an absolute doll come to life. 

She smiles shyly; her dimpled cheek a mirror of her father's, before looking over your dress as you shrug off your coat. Frank had made it clear that this party was a fancy one. None of your jeans and sweaters.

So you'd bought an off the shoulder dark green dress that made you feel sophisticated and holiday theme appropriate. 

"You look like a princess," Sarah informs you with eyes that are filled with stars. 

You smile and murmur your thanks, flushing when you feel Joel's eyes on you. You can’t let your eyes to settle on him so you look past him to the sea of old and new faces gathered around the piano. Some old lady is playing something festive while a group of exuberant party-goers sing off-key.

You reach into one of the bags you’ve brought before producing a parcel with shiny purple wrapping. You hold it out to Sarah who takes it with an excited squeak. 

"No opening until Christmas," you insist. When you see her start to pout you hold back a grin, reaching into your bag again and producing a small wrapped item. “But you can open this one now.”

Joel watches as Sarah tears open the paper to reveal a chocolate reindeer in a foil package. She smiles giddily at the treat before holding it to her father and asking him to open it. He does so with a soft smile. Sarah takes a bite as you consider your next moves, wincing and then you reach into your bag and with a deep inhale shove a small parcel at Joel. 

"Same goes for you," you laugh breathily. "No opening until Christmas."

It’s nothing that great. Just a pick and a new strap for his guitars. Neither of which he has asked for. Neither of which he needs or probably even wants. He doesn’t even play them anymore.

It’s just that when you were shopping for Sarah earlier that week you’d passed a music shop. Something had given you pause and you walked in, listening to the gentle lull of the shop’s holiday music, letting your fingers trace the pearlescent picks until you’d found one the perfect shade of ochre that just felt like Joel when you saw it. 

The strap had been a last minute addition because giving Joel a single guitar pick seemed really stupid the more you thought about it. You’d picked a buttery feeling leather one the same color as his eyes.

“Thanks,” Joel says looking surprised and a little bit uncomfortable. “I didn’t expect a gift.”

You hadn’t expected him to get you anything so it’s not that which makes you uneasy. It’s that the sweet Joel you’ve gotten to know the last few weeks has been replaced by his quiet, withdrawn doppelganger.

You don’t know what else to say so you attempt to move past the two of them into the roar of the party when Sarah stops you with one tiny hand on yours.

"Mistletoe!" Sarah says through a mouthful of chocolate, pointing to the plant above your heads in the door frame. Joel looks stricken and you try to hold in your shock at the sight of it. 

"Jesus," Joel mutters. "Where did that come from?"

"Frank," Sarah cries enthusiastically.

You stare at Sarah in confusion at this. "Why-" 

"You have to kiss her, daddy," Sarah says clapping her tiny hands in delight and looking from Joel's face to yours expectantly. “You kiss people under mistletoe. Frank told me.”

No fucking way.

You don’t want to kiss Joel.

Scratch that, you desperately want to kiss Joel.

You desperately want to kiss him because his mouth looks so soft and you just know deep in your bones that he’d kiss so perfectly. You want to kiss him because just being in Joel's eye-line makes your body tingle. You want to kiss Joel because you really, really like him.

But Joel looks really, really uncomfortable at the thought of kissing you right now. More uncomfortable that you at this point and for some reason this makes you feel awful, even though you feel the same.

He’s also staring at you with this look you haven’t seen in so long from him. This dark pile of bricked up wall that insists you stay on your side. It makes you physically take a step back, suddenly unsure of whom it is you’re looking at.

"C'mere babygirl," Joel says bringing a squealing Sarah into his arms and pressing a peck to her cheek. 

You feel immense relief at this diversion, smiling over at Sarah and backing away from the offensive plant. Sarah is complaining to her dad that he was supposed to kiss you, but you sidle past them and go towards the party.

The music is gliding over the crowd of festive attendees. Everyone is dressed beautifully and not surprisingly Tommy and Maria are stunning. Tommy has left off the baseball cap and he’s clean shaven. He dresses similarly to his brother, but his shirt is a deep burgundy that matches Maria’s slinky dress perfectly.

It occurs to you belatedly that you and Joel have picked similar shades to wear this evening. You will yourself not to cringe over that fact.

“You look stunning,” you tell them both, holding Maria’s hands in yours. The three of you chat for a bit, amazed at the decorations and the food spread of this party. You idly wonder how Bill is handling all this attention and frivolity in his home.

“I don’t know how Bill is surviving all of this,” Maria giggles as if reading your mind.

Frank and Bill’s place is by no means small, but with the group of people it’s packed with and the decorations it feels cramped. You note that the tasteful decorations right out of a magazine.

A few kids a bit older than Sarah are at the gingerbread cookie decorating station (of course Frank thought of that), some are gathered around the piano, and some are watching a holiday movie in the other room.

Frank swoops in wearing the gaudiest green suit covered in candy canes that you’ve ever seen. Strangely enough he pulls it off. He presses a kiss to your cheek and says he’s so glad you came and dressed in something not covered in animal hair. He tells you to mingle before moving onto the couple who has entered after you.

Your eyes fall onto your other host and you hold back a laugh. Bill has been forced into slacks and a black sweater with a snowflake design. His hair has been brushed back and Frank forced him to trim his beard.

When you approach him you realize now how Bill is surviving all this chaos. He's absolutely tanked. His cheeks are red and he's smirking intermittently behind his wineglass.

“Enjoying the party?”

“Yes,” Bill says with a crisp tinge to the ‘s’.  “I love strangers in my home eating my food and touching my shit.”

There’s no malice there, only amusement. You watch as the party swells with more people of all ages, the music loud and the night beautiful. Seeing all these happy faces dressed so beautifully in the soft glow of winter decorations makes you feel cozy.

When Sarah enters into the room you take her by the hand and insist the two of you decorate a gingerbread cookie together. She is only too happy to do so, squealing in excitement and tugging you towards the messy table.

Joel watches the two of you and feels a pang in his chest.

Coming to this party was a terrible idea. How could spending more time with you make him want you less? Especially when you’re dressed like that? You’re kneeling beside the child’s table, squeezing icing onto Sarah’s cookie. Joel holds in a moan when you lean forward to place the sprinkles and his eyes are drawn to the swell of your breasts.

He needs to stop wanting you.

He needs to do something drastic.

You and Maria are nibbling on the cheese spread later that night when Joel approaches you, tapping you on the shoulder. You turn, surprised to see him looking at you agitated. He shifts from foot to foot slowly, his shoulders tensed.

Something’s wrong.

Maria seems to sense this too because she tells you both she needs to find Tommy even though you both know he’s over with Sarah and the other kids playing some reindeer ring toss game. You swallow your cracker, wincing as it scratches your throat going down.

“What’s up?”

"I can't accept this," Joel says shoving your gift back into your hand. You stare down at it, the small rectangular gift; a present you had wrapped twice because the first time you had decided it wasn’t good enough.

"Why not?"

"I just - I can't," Joel grumbles. 

You feel everything in your body go cold. What happened? What did you do wrong? You take the gift back, holding it in your palm and feeling humiliated.

“I don’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t be right to take it. I didn’t get you anything.”

"I didn’t expect a gift from you,” you insist, trying to hold in the tremor starting in your voice. “You're not gonna make Sarah give hers back too are you?"

"No. Course not."

"Then why-"

A loud cheer sounds from the other side of the room, drawing your attention over Joel’s shoulder because someone has convinced Bill to play the piano. 

Deciding that you don’t want to talk about this topic anymore with Joel, you move past him to stand near the crowd gathering at the piano. You watch fascinated as your usually reclusive neighbor taps a few of the ivory notes, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Everyone shut up. I’m going to play,” Bill announces his face pink and his hair going wild at the temples. Frank is coming to stand near you, his face open in wonder at the sight of his normally quiet husband commanding the room. Several voices pop up suggesting songs for Bill.

“Play Jingle Bells!”

“Away in a Manger!”

“The twelve days of Christmas!”

“None of that shit!” Bill insists with a scowl as he places his fingers on the keys. “I’m gonna play you all the song that made Frank fall in love with me.”

You hear Frank take a sharp intake of breath, his hand going to rest at his sternum as he watches Bill. You feel your mouth hitching into a smile as you watch your dear neighbor’s eyes fill with tears at the first notes played.

“Love will abide Take things in stride Sounds like good advice But there's no one at my side And time washes clean love's wounds unseen That's what someone told me But I don't know what it means”

Bill is by no means a professional singer but you can’t explain the spell cast when he sings. His voice normally harsh is more muted when he sings, soft and unsure of itself. It makes the song feel intimate, like it was made for them to sing and hear alone.

“Caught in my fears Blinking back the tears I can't say you hurt me When you never let me near And I never drew one response from you All the while you fell all over girls you never knew”

You’ve heard this song before you think. One that your Mom used to play when you were little. But you’ve never really listened to the lyrics and they’re heartbreaking. This is the song Frank fell for Bill over?

Maria is a few steps away from you, shooting you a surprised look. She was obviously not prepared for this side of her neighbor either. Bill continues, his fingers moving deftly over the piano keys in a way that is so graceful and at odds with how you view him.

“Wait for the day you'll go away Knowing that you warned me Of the price I'd have to pay And life's full of flaws Who knows the cause? Living in the memory of a love that never was”

You sneak a glance at Frank to see his eyes are wet with tears, some of which have slipped down his cheek. Yet he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the burly man who sings with abandon, his blue eyes shut lightly.

“'Cause I've done everything I know To try and make you mine And I think I'm gonna love you For a long long time”.

Bill’s eyes open to land on Frank as the song concludes and it’s like the room collectively sighs in adoration. 

The applause is gentle but warm. You glance around to see a lot of misty eyes, Maria is dabbing the corner of her eyes with a napkin and Tommy is biting the inside of his lower lip so hard you think he might be drawing blood.

Joel is nowhere to be seen.

"Okay, you can all leave," Frank jokes to the room before making his way to Bill. 

The crowd laughs and you watch as Frank leans over the piano to press his lips to his husband's waiting ones. Bills eyes flutter shut as he returns the kiss, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile under his beard.

They pull back and the open adoration in both their gazes takes your breath away.

That’s love.

You're surprised to feel your own eyes burning at the sweet sight accompanied by a wave of melancholy that washes over you. It morphs into a selfish, clawing ugliness that makes you back away from the crowd and leave the room, needing to go somewhere quiet.

You need to be away from everyone.

You move into one of the rooms off the hall, quiet and dark and realize instantly that its Frank’s paining studio, a place you rarely venture into. Like Bill, Frank is a bit protective over his things, though he’d never admit it.

An easel with a half-painted portrait of Bill sits in the corner. A wall of well organized oil paint implements greets you as you enter into the space. The floor is wood and your heels click over it as you move to observe the large windows leading out into the dark of the night.

A plain grey sofa sits at the far wall and you collapse into it, letting your head hang. It’s not long before you’re cupping your face in your hands and crying softly.

This is the first Christmas without Paul. Your first Christmas not going home. And while you don't regret either of the decisions that lead you to these ends, you can't help but feel a little sad for yourself. 

Poorly paying job, no car, no real apartment to speak of. Single. Last guy you dated was a coke head. Obsessed with a guy you’re pretty sure currently hates you for reasons you aren’t even privy to. The list is looking pretty grim. 

Your gift for Joel is placed beside you, only adding to your misery. You don’t hear the half-opened door being pushed completely. You only hear the rough timbre of the last person you want to see right now.

“Are you okay’?”

You immediately stiffen, wiping at your face with your hands when Joel enters the room, closing the door behind him.  You don’t bother answering him, hoping that if you twist away from him he’ll get the message to leave.

The room is cloaked in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the glowing lights along the outside of the house. It bathes you and Joel in a softness that belies how prickly you’re currently feeling.

“Is this because of the gift thing?” Joel asks, looking guiltily between you and the present sitting next to you on the sofa.

“No,” you snap, embarrassed at being caught in such a state. “Not everything is about you, Joel.”

He turns to leave, realizing that coming in here was a terrible idea. For some reason something is bubbling within you, an overarching anger that makes you stumble up from the sofa and over to the door that Joel is attempting to open.

You push it closed, squeezing between he and it.

“What is your problem with me all of a sudden?” you demand, your eyes blazing as you look up at him.

“N-nothin’” Joel stammers, looking strangely wild-eyed.

“Then why are you acting so weird tonight?” you insist, not even realizing that you’re moving forward as Joel steps back to get away from you.

“I’m not-“

“You are so! Why won’t you accept my gift?” you snarl. “I’ve always accepted everything you’ve given me with thanks.”

“Not everything.” It jumps out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Your hands are at your sides in angry fists that loosen when he says this.

“What?”

“Gimme space,” Joel rasps out at you, his eyes travelling the entire circumference of your face as you stare up at him in confusion.

You don’t realize when you crowded Joel against the wall, but you have. You step back immediately before you shake your head in disgust, throwing yourself back onto the sofa. His present is there and just the sight of it makes your anger rise again.

“Just keep the fucking gift Joel,” you snap, throwing the parcel at his feet. “Stop acting childish.”

Joel had been about to duck out of the room, his large hand on the doorknob once more. But at the sound of the gift hitting the floor beside his feet and your guttural insult he stops abruptly.

You can almost hear the moment that he goes from concerned to furious.

“I’m acting childish?” Joel counters, throwing himself into a kneeling position on the sofa next to you. One of his wide hands is on the back of it, the other palm on the arm of the sofa that you’re now pressed back against. He’s caged you in and up this close you can see the vein at the side of his throat ticking angrily.

“You’re the one who ran away from me and then never returned my phone calls.”

The shame you feel is immediate. There it is, the truth laid bare. It makes you feel panicked and you realize that you and Joel have swapped emotions seamlessly. Because now you feel cornered and terrified and Joel looks absolutely incensed.

His dark eyes are boring into yours, his mouth inches from your face as he breathes, his warm breath buffeting your cheeks. You can see his teeth are clenched angrily.

“We already talked about this, Joel.”

“No.” Joel shakes his head sharply. “No, we didn’t. I tried to make it easy on us by not pushing it. But I’m done pretending that I don’t want you.”

Your eyes blow wide. Did you hear him right?

“Not as a friend, not as a babysitter,” Joel continues his tone harsh despite the sweetness of his words. “I want you for my own.”

“Joel,” you plead in a whisper.

Fuck. You want him so badly.

“I wanna take care of you,” Joel insists, his eyes morphing from furious to completely undone. “But I can’t do that if you won’t be honest with me. You ran from me that night and I wanna know why.”

You can’t keep looking at his face or into his eyes. It’s too intense. You close your eyes, wincing as you say the words you tried to hide. It’s too late to tell Joel the lie that you just want to be friends. It’s too late to pretend like he doesn’t do something to your insides. It’s all too late.

You have to be honest.

“I was scared,” you admit, your cheeks blazing. Joel’s eyebrows saddle as he looks down at you.

“Of me?”

“No,” you shake your head, tsk-ing that he would ever think that. “Of what it would mean.”

Joel seems to be calming because his jaw loosens and he nods, moving back from his looming over you.

“Sarah.”

“Yeah, Sarah.”

The two of you lapse into silence, unsure of what to say next. Joel has retreated now, just sitting next to you on the sofa in the quiet and you shift to a seated position, your eyes cracking open. Your heart still races though, and you’re unable to stop looking at him. Even now, flushed and defeated he’s striking.

“There is something here isn’t there?” Joel says gently, his imploring eyes turned on to you. “Something strong… I’m not imagining it?”

Your heart literally squeezes when he says that. You have to close your eyes again and steady your breathing because right now anything you say will be a stammering mess. He’s right there is something here, something strong. And it terrifies you. Not just because of Sarah.

"Yes there is," you finally answer, feeling the flush rise through your body. “You’re not imagining it.”

Joel’s eyes read relief at this and you feel a stab of guilt knowing that he’s carried around this confusion for so long.

“But still probably not a good idea,” you finish lamely.

Joel doesn’t reply, but you can see him absorbing this information. Joel’s eyes often give him away, but in the semi darkness you’re not quite sure what he’s thinking. You can’t get a read on if he’s upset and angry or just dejected and accepting.

You can hear the sound of the party raging outside, muffled from the closed door.

“I should get back,” Joel announces quietly, making a move to shove off the sofa and stand. He pauses when your hand flies to his wrist, your fingers pressing gently there. His dark eyes dart to your face, but your eyes are on his mouth.

You don't want him to leave. You want to stay in his space. You want to breathe the same air. You want him to touch you.

I’m done pretending that I don’t want you.

You want him so badly it dwarfs the fears and anxieties you’ve carried with you. This palpable need is so intense that it makes every other emotion seem insignificant.

You can't help it.  Joel Miller is just so beautiful and his words keep curling around your heart.

I want you for my own.

You don't even realize you've shifted forward and tilted against him until your palms land on his broad chest for purchase. You hear him take a shuddering inhale before your lips press firmly against his soft mouth. 

Immediately his hands are wrapping around you, holding you to him tightly. One hand moves to lie gently astride your neck, thumb resting on your jaw. The other is banding around your waist to pull you closer to him. 

The sensation of his lips shocks you, half because you never thought he'd return it so immediately.

The kiss is gentle and sweet and you wish he never had walked into this room because now that you know what it's like to kiss Joel Miller, nothing else will ever come close. 

This is the kiss to which all others will be compared.

Then its intensity picks up, and you feel yourself being pushed back to lie on the sofa. His hands are sliding along your body and yours are carding through his curls as he groans gently. Your thighs squeeze his midsection as he moves between them, his body heavy and warm atop yours. 

You crack your eyes open to see his staring down at you.

You hold in a whimper. He's just so delicious. Your mouth finds his again, your body arching against his. Your dress has ridden up and you can feel him there lengthening under his slacks, his clothed member pressing directly against your core.

Your eyes blow wide at this sensation and you pull back from his mouth,

Being here kissing him feels so impossibly right but so terrifyingly serious. Like a spotlight shone on you and all your insecurities you've ever had about the two of you together. Every concern you’ve ever had suddenly springs up, overwhelming you. It makes Joel search your face, seeing the anxiety overtaking your features. When the haze of lust is overtaken by a very unwelcome rationality, you feel your stomach hollowing in panic. 

It makes you want to run. 

"No," Joel insists gently, as if he can read your mind, his wide hand spanning over your sternum and holding you there. "You're not runnin’ again."

Joel wants to keep kissing you. From the feel of your full lip under his fingertip weeks ago to your mouth on his seconds ago, this is all he has thought about. Seeing you in that dress tonight, watching your face go from furious to completely lusty just now?  Having you hold him between your legs? It's heaven.

You look so good right now. Your hair is dishevelled and your mouth full and reddened from his ministrations. You look like you're ready to be fucked and Joel desperately wants to oblige but he can also see the wild look expanding in your eyes, like a skittering rabbit.

He can feel your heartbeat under his fingertips and he dips his mouth to yours for what he hopes is a reassuring kiss.

"We don't have to do anything more," he murmurs as he pulls his face back. "I'll stop touching you right now if you say the word. But you're not running again. Not from me." 

He's not going to move again until you do. 

You didn't really want to run from Joel Miller. Not now, not ever. It's just that wild fight or flight in your brain that insists you close off yourself to the potential hurt. Was it really Sarah this whole time that was holding you back? Or that secret part of you, the one that believes you’ll be abandoned?

You don’t know anymore.

"Joel," you start to say you should stop. That you’ve already gone too far. That this entire thing is a bad idea. Your hands fly to his broad shoulders because you're going to push him off of you. 

Except you don't. 

Your hands keep grazing up his shoulder and moving to wrap around his neck, pulling his face back down to meet yours. And now with this silent admission of desire, Joel unravels. His voice becomes tight, grainy and he murmurs what you think is: "So fucking beautiful."

You're not sure you heard him right, and if you did you don't know what to say to that. Your eyes are fixed on his full mouth. His lower lip is so full, so inviting you want to nibble on it. 

Then his mouth is on yours again and now you're clutching at him, trying to remain calm even as his tongue sweeps between the seam of your lips your thighs tremble around his midsection.

Where did he learn to kiss like this? If it was Michelle I’m sending her flowers.

It's not fair, you decide as he begins licking into your mouth desperately, one hand on the architecture of your jaw, the other spread wide against your lower back. It's not fair that one person should be so handsome, so strong and so good at kissing. 

"This is what I wanted to do that night," Joel rasps against your mouth.  You moan as his mouth moves to your jaw because you wanted him to do more that night. He’s got you pressed so tightly into the sofa you’re concerned you’re going become one with the cushions.

"Want you so fucking much," he murmurs. His mouth moves to skim along your jaw and you shiver as his wide palms travel along your body, brushing your tits through your dress. You arch as his thumbs brush over the peaks of your nipples through the dress.

Your arms are around his neck and you're clinging to him because you don’t want to let Joel go. Not now. Not ever. He's hovering over you, one forearm holding him up while his free hand goes to cup you through the fabric.  

"Christ," Joel moans, his head dropping to kiss along your bared clavicle. His hands are kneading your breasts through the flimsy fabric. A distant part of you is realizing what's going to happen if he keeps going. You’re going to let him fuck you right here on this sofa in the middle of a bustling party.

“Joel, I . . . “ you trail off because you don’t know exactly what you need, you just know it involves Joel and his touch.

"Need to -" Joel's murmur trails off. He makes a grunting noise low in his throat, pulling down the neckline of your dress with ease to expose your bra.

You don't even care if he rips the dress, you'll buy a new one.  But then you realize with a wince that he’s now revealed the cheap bra you always wear. A part of you internally screams at your poor choice of underclothes because in them you don't feel particularly alluring but Joel's eyes are almost black with desire.

He tugs down the dress and pushes you up and out of the cups of your bra, his eyes fixed on your bared chest in the near darkness. It causes your arms to go to your side, fixed there by the tight fabric. Joel takes his time, blowing gently on your nipple and sighing when it puckers further under the sensation.

"Fucking perfect," he murmurs before lowering his mouth to begin sucking on one hardened nipple as his fingers pluck and graze the other. The result is electric, like shots of fire going through your body, starting at your breasts. You grip the back of his neck for purchase the best you can, holding back the moan that threatens to escape you. 

You arch along the arm of the sofa as Joel's hips hold yours in place. He's grinding against you, the feel of his thick, warm member very apparent even through his slacks. 

"Joel," you sigh because that's all you can formulate in the moment. He makes a deep groaning noise before pulling off your nipple with a pop and moving his mouth back to yours. Your hands tangle in his tousled hair as you kiss him back fervently. Your bared chest rasps against the buttons on his shirt.

You love kissing Joel.

God, his mouth, his tongue. His hand is sliding to your throat while your hands are skimming the front of his shirt, your fingers itching to undo his buttons. You want to feel the warm skin of his torso. You want him in your mouth. His hands are going to curl around the waistband of your panties, his breathing erratic.

“Need it,” he moans softly in your ear. “Please let me taste you.”

You are boneless when he says those words. His voice is so low and velvety and despite the fact that he posed the question, it’s you who feels uncertain. His mouth is on yours again and he’s tugging at your panties.

He’s going to fuck you right here on this sofa in the middle of a party. With everything in your power you pull back from his seeking lips.  

"W-we should stop. Anyone could walk in."

He pulls back, his body aching against yours. You try to focus on his face but you feel like you're head is swimming. Joel glances at your mouth as if considering kissing you again. But instead he nods and brushes a hand against your cheek before pushing himself up and out from between your legs.

He leans back up and you follow suit, dragging your dress back up over your chest. Joel seems deflated at that. You can’t seem to make your brain work because Joel sitting there with his hair tousled from your hands and his mouth all swollen. You know you wanted to stop but right now you’re forgetting why. It seems like Joel’s handsome face is too impossible not to focus on.

"We need to talk," Joel murmurs. And you know what he means. If this is going to work you need to talk about this.  This is a huge step for both of you.  It shakes you from your lusty focus and you nod.

"Yeah," you agree. 

“Your place?”

“Sure.”

"I'm gonna tell Tommy to take Sarah home." 

"Okay."

“And you’re not gonna run?”

You glance up at Joel’s face when he says that, his voice tight and his eyes impossibly vulnerable. There is so much reflected in Joel Miller’s dark eyes, these wide open galaxies that pull you in. Right now they show hurt and concern and this deep, deep need.

Your hand comes to cup his bristled cheek and you hold in a sigh when he leans into your palm, his eyes falling shut. A look of peace has overtaken his usually stern features, smoothing them into the face of a man surrendered.

It makes it imperative to cup his other cheek and move your mouth over his, kissing him gently and reverently, as if you can transfer all your affection and care for him through the action before pulling back.

“I’m not gonna run.”

He smiles at you in a crooked way that makes your heart skip before he quickly stands and moves out the door of the studio, closing it softly behind him. 

What just fucking happened?

You sit there catching your breath for a moment before forcing yourself to a stand. Your entire body is shuddering, like you're getting over a fever. You make your way out of the room because you need more of Joel. You need his hands on your body and you need his tongue in your mouth and-

"Not your type, huh?"

You’re immediately startled when a voice reaches out to you. You glance over to see a very amused Frank looking at you from the top stairs of the basement. He's holding a new bottle of wine and looking decidedly too smug. 

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

You scowl at him harshly, about to say something when Joel reappears wearing his jacket and holding yours. Your face immediately morphs into a stupid, dazed sort of smile when he grins at you.

“Ready?”

You nod, pulling on your jacket and feeling your heart kick as he takes your hand in his, leading you to the front door.

You don’t even notice Frank holding in laughter before going to rejoin the party. 

You’re thankful that the rest of the party is in the main room, leaving you both to escape undetected.

As you walk the short distance to your place the ache between your legs is staggering. You feel giddy and anticipatory as he scissors his long legs across the grass, his eyes fixed on the darkness in front of you, navigating you both safely to your door.

He drops your hand only so you can pull out your keys to unlock your door. Why did you fucking lock it tonight of all nights?

Joel’s arms are crossed loosely as he leans against the door watching you fumble with your keys. For some reason you’re having trouble making your hand and brain move. Those soulful eyes of his dart from the lock to your face.

Cupid's bow couldn't have struck harder than Joel Miller's eyes in that moment. They're glazed with fear and guilt mixed desperately together and you see it mixed up with open lust when he speaks softly. 

"Do you still want-"

He doesn't even get the sentence out because you've launched yourself at him, your arms instinctively going to wrap around his neck. His mouth comes crashing into yours, the deep relief of your reciprocation clear in the way he holds you to him. 

He's got you pressed against your front door with his pelvis, his broad frame dwarfing you as you fumble with the knob at your spine. You kiss him with abandon, your hand continuing to scramble over the handle before you feel Joel pull back. 

You crack your eyes open to see him smirking down at you. (How have you never noticed how impossibly sexy he is when he does that?) He moves his right hand from the side of your neck to the knob, turning and pushing the door open. 

You're about to say something self deprecating about how you're normally an expert at door opening, but then Joel's hands are on either side of your jaw and his lips are on yours again and - fuck, you can't think straight, your mind is consumed with this beautiful man kissing you so well. 

Joel walks you backwards to your bed, kissing you the entire way as you both discard your jackets onto the floor. When the back of your legs hit the end of your bed Joel is gripping you by the waist, licking into your mouth with such need that your back arches. Your hands are on his shoulders, gripping there to keep from falling. 

"I've imagined this so many times," you sigh against his parted mouth. You don't have time to consider if you should have kept that to yourself because Joel's reaction to this confession is electric. 

He hits his knees so quickly it's dizzying and before you can think or say anything, Joel is hitching up your dress to bunch at your hips before kissing you there. It's obvious what he intends to do and despite everything in you telling you to stop him, that it's all going too fast, you can't. Instead you arch back, your hips dropping towards him. 

You stare down at him, your heart beating like mad as he curls his forefinger around the lace of your panties and looks up at you with a face that asks your silent permission. 

You nod without hesitation, your breathing becoming staccato-ed as you watch him pull your already soaked panties down your legs. You step out of them, your hand going to brush his cheek. Seeing Joel kneeling in front of you, his hair tousled and his mouth parted in wanting causes you to shudder all over.

He gently urges the crook of your left leg over his broad shoulder, opening you to him. He's so fucking seductive kneeling there in front of you, his eyes taking in your sex with the look of a man meeting his salvation.

His hands are trailing over your thighs, the back of your knees, your calves, as if he's trying to map your body by touch alone. You can just see the curls of his hair as he leans forward, inhaling deeply and groaning again, his lips trailing over the tops of your legs languidly. 

Did you ever think that you would go from yelling at Joel Miller to having his mouth between your legs? 

He's murmuring against the soft skin of your hip now, something deep and low. You want to ask him what he's saying but then you whine low in your throat as he brings a hand to your leg on his shoulder, holding you in place as he presses gentle kisses to your silken inner thigh. 

"Tell me to stop and I will," he says looking up at you from his place half-knelt on the floor. 

Then his mouth descends. 

Any reply dies in your mouth at the first swipe of Joel's tongue. 

"Jesus!"

You clap a hand over your mouth, suddenly aware that Maria might hear you upstairs if she didn’t go to Tommy’s. But Joel is gripping your hands, pulling them down and making you fist them through his hair. 

"Hold," he tells you plainly, urging your hands to tighten in his locks. You're powerless to deny this request as his mouth returns to your aching core. Your hands hold onto his curls for dear life as he begins to taste you.

Joel is so talented at this that you genuinely consider sending Maria a fruit basket along with the flowers. Within seconds he has you gripping his hair as you tilt back, your body trembling.

“So fucking good,” he says between licks and deep, open-mouthed kisses.

Your head tilts forward on your chest, looking down the length of your body and holding in a moan.  DaVinci's ‘Mona Lisa’. Michelangelo's ‘David’. Van Gogh's ‘Starry Night’. All beautiful works of art and yet to you nothing comes close to being as exquisite as the sight of Joel Miller moving between your legs. 

His eyes are shut languidly, his nose nuzzling your clit as he works his tongue between your folds. Jesus Christ he's a work of art. His tongue is teasing you, flicking lightly. With every passing moment you feel the sparks building within you and you start to feel the familiar lightheaded sensation.  

"I-I need to lie down," you gasp, your knee threatening to buckle. Joel nods, coming to a stand and easing you back onto the bed. He straddles you there, his body curled over you as he kisses you. You can taste yourself on his lips and this makes you groan into his mouth. 

“Need to keep tastin’ you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. You whimper, nodding as he begins to push your dress up your abdomen again. 

He brings his body down the length of yours and off the bed. He stands there, looking down at you with your wild hair and full mouth and you suddenly feel so exposed. The dress is resting just over your hips and you go to cover your aching pussy. Joel frowns, batting your hands away.

“Don’t hide,” he says gruffly before surging towards you. You give a small sound of surprise as Joel tugs your ankles until you’re at the edge of the bed.

There he kneels again as if in prayer, his hands coming to coil around your thighs before placing them over his shoulders. You watch this moaning softly as Joel’s dark eyes dart up the length of your body.

You expect him to look away or at least close his eyes, but instead he fixes his gaze to you before moving his mouth against your core in silent worship. You can’t keep looking at him there, your thighs parted wide on his broad shoulders, his soft mouth pressing kisses to your cunt before his eyes flutter shut.  

“Joel,” you whimper, feeling impossibly selfish. He’s mapped most of your half naked body and he still has his fucking clothes on! “Let me touch you.”

Joel shakes his head slightly before his hands have found yours again, urging them to grip his hair. You acquiesce as his palms push your thighs open wider, so that his tongue can reach deeper.

“Wanna make you come first,” he grunts lazily. “Need you to come on my tongue.”

Joel Miller is a giver.

His voice is low and thick and the desire wraps itself around every syllable.

If Joel just stood there at the end of your bed saying deliciously filthy things like that, never even touching you, you are convinced you could just come from that alone.

You’re about to shakily say something when you see him palming himself through his slacks as he tastes you. His hand is wide and squeezes intermittently, his groans increasing as his mouth devours you. Is he getting off to getting you off?

That’ll do it.

"Joel!" His name tumbles from your lips as you crest, your hands tugging at his hair urging him deeper. He acquiesces readily, fucking you with his tongue and sending you into that sweet, blissful state of release watching you the entire time. 

You arch off the bed, your hands going from his hair to clutch the sheets next to you as you come, your body jerking against his mouth. You expect him to stop, to join you in the bed but his eyes have fallen closed and he’s still going.

"Fuck! Joel I-" you can't finish because Joel isn't stopping. 

“You can give me another,” he says flicking his tongue lightly.

He’s smiling dreamily, his eyes still closed as he continues to suck on your clit, and now his finger has come to slide into your sopping center. You’re making obscene noises, rutting against his palm as his tongue continues laving at your clit and another finger joins the first; curling in that sweet spot you can’t reach yourself. 

Your hips are thrusting shallowly, and you feel yourself tumbling into another orgasm, this one sharper and more localized. You come raggedly calling his name, your thighs trembling along his shoulders.

Only after you come down from this second high does he pull back with his damp mouth curved into a self satisfied grin. You know your eyes must betray their every thought because he climbs up the bed, his mouth slanting over yours.

He kisses you sweetly, his mouth full and warm before he lays himself next to you in the bed, watching as you pull the dress back down over your hips. You roll onto your side to face him, your heads both resting on the same pillow.

He can’t stop smiling at you. It’s a subtle one, one that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle slightly. The kind that makes your heart pound for reasons that have nothing to do with sex. And yet, it sends your body into an internal frenzy and your reaching a hand across the space between you to land on his hips.

“We said we were going to talk,” Joel murmurs when your hands begin to untuck his shirt from his slacks.

“Yeah, you’re right. We did.”

You want to talk like you both agreed, but being in bed with Joel is making logical thought really difficult. Your hand is sliding down his hips, down to palm his heavy cock through his pants before squeezing gently. You watch in fascination as Joel's eyes shutter and how slowly he moves against you, extending the sensation before something in him stops him, his hips pulling from you. Your palm falls to the bedsheet between you.  

“So we should talk.”

You can’t help it. You want to see Joel’s face do that thing again. That little brow flick and neck bob. That unguarded way his eyebrows banded when you first squeezed. You find yourself completely taken with how Joel looks when he’s aroused. Your hands are moving back over his slacks and he’s watching it with a look of a man faced with an impossible decision.

“Maybe we can talk after?” you suggest lightly as your hand slides down his pelvis.

“A-after?” he asks in a low groan as your hand slides over the length of his cock, squeezing. You’re rewarded with another eyebrow band and deep swallow from Joel.

“Yeah,” you soothe, starting slide your palm to curve around the shaft the best you can through the fabric and rubbing gently. “After I make you come?”

Joel is fighting for his life, his eyes shut tightly. “We need-need to-“

“You could finish in my mouth if you want?”

Joel makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat before his head falls into the crook of your neck, his hips thrusting into your hand. You smile, feeling something bloom within you when you hear the ragged groans coming from Joel. This strong man who could ask you to do anything and you’d oblige readily and all he wants right now is for you to touch him through his pants.

But just as you’re really starting to enjoy yourself, just as you feel Joel’s fingers digging into your hip you feel Joel shake his head, extricating himself from you gently with a growled “No” while breathing heavily through his nose.

You lean back, a small smirk on your face that he returns. 

“You’re a fucking menace.”

You laugh breathily at that, observing with delight that his eyes can’t stop going to your mouth, your breasts, your eyes. He sees your own gaze resting on the vee of his legs, his hips arched away from your still wandering hands.

"I want to," Joel promises you, his finger going to tap your chin so you’ll look at him. "You have no idea how much I want to."

"Good, I think I have a condom," you attempt to shift over and roll towards your bedside table but Joel stills you, holding you by the waist and pulling you back to face him. That strange guarded look is back in his eyes and it makes your stomach jump.

It's so surreal to be laying here beside him. He's looking at you with such a tensing of his jaw you're concerned he's going to crack a tooth. Self consciousness, that insidious beast in the back of your mind makes you curl into yourself.

Did you do something wrong? Did he regret what just happened? 

"You changed your mind.”

"It's not that," Joel insists. "Never that.”

When he sees a flicker of doubt cross your features he groans and grabs you by the wrist. You say nothing as he brings your limp palm to the crotch of his slacks. There you can feel the thick warmth of his cock pulsing as your hand grazes him through the fabric. 

"Hasn’t this been proof enough all night?" 

“Still,” you say warily taking your hand back. “What’s wrong?”

"This'll change everything," he says in a voice halfway between hopeful and worried. You consider his words, your breathing choppy because he keeps staring at you with the kind of eyes that people write poems about, the kind that move mountains and lessen resolve. When you don’t immediately answer him, you can see the flash of indecision cross his features.

“We can stop it all right now,” Joel whispers as his eyes search your face. “We can stop and we can pretend it never happened. I can do that if that’s what you want. It’d be hard but I could.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

His answer is immediate and you feel a shuddering breath of relief leave you. It’s not what you want either. Joel has told you, has shown you how he feels. You need to say something that will make him understand.

“I want it to change, Joel,” you say truthfully. “I want you. Not just in bed. Not just as a friend.”

He’s nodding now, his eyes wide and innocent looking. As if he can’t believe what you’re saying but he’s so fucking happy to be hearing it. You realize that you’ve come this far, you need to say everything that’s been dancing in your mind.

"I want you Joel," you tell him softly, your pupils blown wide. “I want you.”

His reply is whispering your name against your mouth as he kisses you. As he presses his lips against yours, pulling you tightly around him you feel yourself surrender completely.  His touch make you feel something you never felt with Paul or James. Safe. He makes you feel safe.

"I think we’ve talked enough.”

The meaning is clear because your hand has come to rest on his belt buckle and your pupils now dominate your iris. You can almost hear whatever restraint was holding Joel back snap like a rubber band. 

"I-- f-fuck, okay," Joel nods sharply, and while you undo his belt buckle his hands are coming to unbutton his slacks and bring down his zipper. 

You're over-eager, your hand skimming under the band of his slacks and boxers to where his hardened shaft lays pulsing. When your hand wraps around it, sliding gently from base to tip his hips jump off the bed. 

“Fuck!

His eyes are slammed shut as his hips thrust into your hand. His teeth are clenched so tightly the dimple in his right cheek has popped out.

“Joel look at me,” you plead, needing his eyes on you. They open a crack, glittering stones shining out at you from a pinched face.

“Just relax,” you soothe, your hand gently stroking him. “We don’t need to rush.”

This seems to get through to him because Joel nods. You watch his jaw unclench, and his fingers release the death-grip they’ve had on your bed sheets. His hand moves to twist in your hair, holding there for purchase. His eyes open fully now, limpid and staring at you while he grunts and thrusts into your hand.

You can’t help but lean forwards, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving your lips to his ear.

“I need you in my mouth, Joel,” you whimper against the soft skin of his earlobe, relishing the shiver that runs through him at the sound of it. Joel is shockingly responsive to your touch, as if he’s gone so long without it.

“You don’t have to-“ he starts but you ignore him because you're desperate to taste him, to just drag your tongue over the swollen head of his cock.

You’re pulling down his slacks and boxers, groaning when his erect cock is freed. It throbs there on his belly, golden and thick with a rosy head that is begging for your tongue. Joel is so fucking gorgeous laying there, his dark eyes wide as your tongue trails over your lower lip. Your hair has drifted in front of your face but Joel’s wide palm comes to brush it back.

“Thanks,” you say huskily as your mouth curves into a smile. “I want you to be able to see everything.”

His cock twitches at that and he makes a choking sound in the back of his throat.

“Jesus.”

It’s a guttural sound, like you’ve ripped it from his chest. You love it. You love that you’re the reason the normally reserved Joel is rapidly unwinding.

A sinful thought breaks into your mind: could you get Joel to whimper for you? The thought of turning a man like Joel into a needful, whimpering mess under your tongue makes you teeter on the edge of orgasm by thought alone. You see his neck bob as he swallows thickly again, his eyes fixed on your face. Your eyes drift towards his cock.

You need him in your mouth, you need to taste him.

And you would have accomplished such a feat if Joel's cell phone hadn't suddenly gone off loudly in his pocket, startling you both.

The beep is loud and sharp and it sends you almost tumbling off the bed as the red-cheeked Joel digs into his pockets looking furious. With a trembling hand he pulls out the phone, reading the message that’s come through before swearing.

“Everything okay?”

You’ve crawled back up the length of him. For some reason you can tell that your night is about to be cut short.

"It's Tommy asking where I am."

You can see the indecision in his eyes and frown at the rapid softening of his cock. You watch with disappointment as he shifts his hips, pulling his clothes back on in a hurry.

"Stay," you insist, not caring that you sound plaintive. “Please stay?”

Joel looks momentarily flustered at the sound of your voice pitched low and begging. You can see him biting back a groan as he turns his gaze on you.

“Sarah’s had a nightmare. She’s asking for me.”

Immediately you sober, knowing that there is no way you’re going to ever make Joel pick between you and his daughter. That’s a battle you were born to lose. So instead you sigh, disappointed but understanding as he pulls on his jacket. You force a smile on your face and tell him you understand.

“Tell bug I said hello,” you offer with a smile.

Despite the fact that she’s a major cockblock in this moment, you still love the kid.

Joel looks over at your form in the bed, your eyes big and sad. You may be okay with him leaving but that doesn’t mean that you’re happy about it. To be fair Joel looks so fucking disappointed, maybe even more than you.

He stands beside the bed, knowing that if he stays a second longer he physically won’t be able to leave. You watch him pull on his jacket, willing yourself not to focus on how good he looks when he’s getting ready to leave you.

"How about breakfast tomorrow?" Joel concedes out of nowhere. “Just you and me so we can talk more about this?”

“Like a date?”

Joel’s answering grin causes something in your heart to gallop. He leans over, his palms pressing onto the bed so he can reach you to plant a full-mouthed kiss to your lips before pulling back.

“Exactly like a date.”

Delight blooms in you and you nod with a grin.

"Yeah, I’d love to.”

Joel stays leaning on the bed for several seconds, his eyes scanning your face. You would ask him what he’s doing but you’re doing exactly the same. You’re memorizing every line, every eyelash. You’ll hold those small fragments of him until you see him next.

Finally with resolve he pushes off the bed and goes to the door, pausing only to turn back and say in the most devastating of low tones:

“And then after breakfast I’d like to come back here and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

He closes the door to the sound of your nervous giggles.

///

It's finally happening. 

Joel's heart is pounding against his ribs so brutally that for a moment he considers if he's going into cardiac arrest. When he remains upright and alive minutes later, he continues walking up the path to your door. 

You want him.

You admitted it.

You said it.

He can still see it, the intensity in your gaze as you whispered those words: “I want you, Joel.”

He’s still having trouble believing it. Still having a hard time understanding how something went from being so complicated to being so simple. He knows you’re worried about the same things he is – how your relationship will affect Sarah if things go wrong.

Simple, they aren’t going to. He knows this in his gut; he knows that you are his. It has been so clear to him these past few months and he hates that you spent any time at all not seeing it like he did.

He knows he’s smiling like an idiot as he strolls up to your door, because having you in his arms last night had felt so right he never wants to let you go. Never.   

He turns his mind to more carnal aims, recalling your body’s response to his. He can’t stop thinking about the way your face looked when you came, the sweet way you tasted on his tongue, the gentle curve of your mouth when you looked at him from between his legs.

After putting Sarah to bed last night he’d thrown himself into his own bed with the sound of your moans and whimpers dancing through his brain like music.

“I need you in my mouth, Joel.”

“I want you to be able to see everything.”

“I want you, Joel.”

He had put off stroking himself no longer than thirty seconds.  

He could still smell you on his clothes. The perfume you'd worn, warm and tantalizing, had done nothing to stop the stiffening of his member. Had done nothing but fuel his already ardent desire.

Joel… Joel…Joel…

Just the sound of your mouth and tongue wrapping around those four simple letters had him fisting himself under the sheets, his body trembling with want. A few tugs, strokes and images of your head thrown back as he made you come on his tongue caused him to erupt in his hand, grunting and then gasping out your name. 

And when you'd asked him to stay? Your face flushed and your eyes bright? You’d been so beautiful that it actually pained him to look at you. That had been the hardest thing to walk away from. 

It's this image of you that he carries with him as he knocks on your door, his hands trembling slightly in anticipation. He hears you shuffling inside and suddenly hyperaware he internally berates himself for not bringing flowers or something to mark such a moment.

And then the door opens and instead of your smiling face greeting him, you’re wearing a face you've never worn before. This one is lifeless with eyes that seem devoid of emotion.

It stops him from pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply as he had planned to, as he had imagined the entire drive over this morning. Instead he just stares at you, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

Something is wrong.

When you speak to offer a very quiet hello, it's with a voice he's never heard from you. Flat and distant sounding. There are dark circles under your eyes that makeup can't conceal. You’re leaning against the door frame as if you can’t support your standing frame. Joel tilts his head, trying to capture your eyes with his.  

"Still on for breakfast?" Joel begins, feeling uneasy when you won't make eye contact with him.

He hadn't expected this reaction from you, this chilly indifference.

"I don't really have time for that," you say hollowly to his shoulder. "I'm heading out of town for a bit."

Heading out of town? Joel frowns not recalling you mention any of this. "When will you be back?"

"Couple of weeks," you answer tiredly, still not looking at his face. "Maybe longer. Who knows?"

Weeks? Maybe longer? What the fuck is going on? He takes a step towards you, reaching for you before something catches his eye. The suitcase next to the door, packed and ready to go. When he realizes you’ve had time to think about this, time enough to pack a bag he feels his heart begin to pound for completely different reasons.

A woman he cares for and a packed bag.

How cyclical. 

He steps back and feels his entire body shutting down. All at once he feels incredibly stupid for coming here. So incredibly pathetic for sharing everything with you last night. It’s as if someone has taken his chest and squeezed it painfully from the inside.

"Right," he says laughing humorlessly. "Right." 

He turns and stalks away from you without pausing. He hopes he’ll hear your snap out of it, that he’ll hear you call his name and you can chalk this up to a weird moment. But he doesn’t because you don’t.  Instead he hears your door click shut.

It’s only in the safety of his truck driving home that Joel allows a lingering tear to slip down his cheek. 

[buckyalpine]

OKAY!!! Hear me out...

Lemonade AU but holiday drabbles!!

Like the thought of y/n spending Christmas at the Barnes household makes me 😭

Or like y/n forcing Bucky to dress up for Halloween or vice versa 💘💘💘💘 and Winnie can’t help but laugh at their ridiculous costumes

OMG this au is underrated, yessss and we're just in time for Christmas. We love our sweet College Bucky with his pretty older reader (for reference, Bucky is in his early to mid 20's and reader is later 20's to mid 30's or just pick your own ages)

Lemonade Lemonade AU drabble Sour

Bucky spent the whole day with his mama putting up the tree and getting the lights set up outside. His nose and cheeks are red from the cold and he runs straight to you to warm up. You coo at how cute he looks, letting him nuzzle his face into your neck for warmth, sighing contently. He smirks, slipping his icy cold hands up your sweater making you squeal but he doesn't relent, hugging you tighter, stealing all your body heat. Imagine how excited Bucky gets when you come over later in the evening, dressed in the comfiest of clothes; his college sweats and hoodie which you love so much. You giggle at the way he trails behind you as you make your way to the kitchen, letting down the bottle of wine you bought for you and Winnie to share later.

Christmas is in a few days and you've already spoiled him by filling his stocking to the top and he's acts like a little kid, poking and prodding at the little gifts you've wrapped up, blushing whenever you catch him.

"Bucky, put that down, you'll get to see what I got you soon" You shake your head while he pouts, still clutching onto a red box.

"Just one, c'mon" He whines, only setting it down when you tempt him with some hot chocolate. He doesn't want you to lift a finger though so he scoops you up in his arms, plopping you down on the kitchen island before getting started on making some. He knows you love his ma's recipe and he's perfected it, seeing her make it every year, chopping a few slabs of dark and milk chocolate.

"Wan exta marmallows?" His voice is muffled after stuffing about 3 in his mouth and you snort in response, while he blinks at you with his cheeks full.

"Yes please, baby" You kiss his sugary sweet lips while he adds them to your mug, before pouring some for himself as well.

It would not be Christmas without cookies and it's a Barnes holiday tradition. Winnie and Becca join to measure ingredients and roll out dough while George gets started on a roast for dinner. It's absolutely chaotic and you wouldn't want to be anywhere else, surrounded by love in the kitchen, your cheeks heating up every time Bucky tries to sneak in a kiss when no one is looking.

-

As usual, this wasn't meant to be part of the story BUT imagine on Christmas day, everyone is unwrapping presents and its a house full of wrapping, sparkles, bows, hot chocolate and cookies. Winnie got everyone matching Pj's like she does every year. Steve and his family had joined as well, adding to the madness while Bucky cozies up with you on the couch, the fire place keeping you toasty along with how warm your boyfriend is.

Winnie gives George a knowing smile, the both of them proud of the son they raised, their little boy head over heels in love with you and ready to treat you right. They also know the gift you'd just opened from him isn't what he actually got you.

He brings you your actual gift later that evening when it's just the two of you in his room. A tiny box, wrapped perfectly with a gold bow on top. Everyone knew exactly what Bucky is up to because he'd been planning this for months. Working extra shifts, saving money on the side, anything and everything he could do just for this.

For you.

"Open it" he whispers, nervous while you pull at the bow, the both of you sitting in his bed.

"Jamie-baby, what did you do" You gasp, lifting the box, tears already welling along your lash line. The little diamonds on the tennis bracelet sparkle under the low light with a small note on the inside, reading from your Jamie.

"I-I couldn't get you anything for stocking because I wanted to get you this" He says with a small smile, feeling bad he couldn't spoil you more the way you deserved. "Do you like it?"

You wordlessly nod, biting down on your lip to keep from crying while he takes the box from you because you want him to put it on you. He takes the dainty bracelet, carefully clasping it around your hand, admiring how pretty it looks on you.

"You didn't have to baby" You whisper, sniffling while he pulls you onto his lap, "Bubba, it's too much-

He shuts you up with a kiss, shaking his head.

"It's not too much for you. I wanna spoil you" His puppy eyes are so sincere; you're it for him and he's it for you.

Let's not act like the night doesn't end with you wearing just the tennis bracelet with your hands covering each others mouths to keep your voices down while he-

[gamerwoman3d]

Please Be Bi-Han 🙏

🔞 An MK1 x Reader 🔞

Part 2a(i): Sub-Zero discovers F! Reader

PART ONE HERE

🔞 Spicy/Explicit after the cut 🔞

The men split up to look for you. Liu Kang with his glowing eyes was the first to pinpoint the real path you'd taken. He slid up next to the almost imperceptible crack in the marble floor, knelt and listened. From just under the floor in your coziest panic room, he could barely hear you whisper.

"Please be Bi-Han, please," he heard you say.

He smiled to himself. To him, it was cute that you wanted Bi-Han. He found you first, sure, but the others didn't need to know that.

He looked into the shadows where he thought Sub-Zero might lurk. He gave a nod that direction, and then concealed himself nearby, intending to let Sub-Zero "find" you and lay claim. It was important to Liu Kang that you be amenable to changing your ways- getting the thing you truly wanted would make you friendlier, he believed. But he also felt a great deal of compersion as the creator of this timeline; he enjoyed seeing people get what they desire so deeply, especially when they are his friends. In short, Liu Kang would feel less excited about claiming you for himself knowing that you wanted Sub-Zero for yourself as badly as Sub-Zero wanted you. But what would excite him greatly, is the energy he would feel from the both of you uniting.

Liu Kang truly thought he was the first to find you. Until he heard your muffled shriek, barely audible over Bi-Han’s gravely laughter, which if anything sounded like a tiger tearing open a cello.

"How did he get in there," Liu wondered aloud.

Rewind a bit.

You'd snuck to the kitchen where a marble door opens in the floor. It leads down to a pretty, hidden designer wine cellar which does double as a panic room as it is well hidden. You thought the only way in or out was through the hydraulic marble trapdoor; but Sub-Zero had proven that theory wrong.

Truth was you were holding a glass of a very fine beverage you'd decided to indulge in while waiting to be "caught."

The cellar lacked seating. Seating would have been a waste of space in this vault; several of the wines in your collection were worth more per ounce than gold. But the value stored within the vault was the reason the room was constructed to be so incredibly secure.  You perched yourself atop the curve of a secured, horizontal wine barrel, feet dangling over the edge of the hoop to kick against the lid.

The thought of how his muscles moved when he ripped the steel door handle apart replayed in your mind. As the memory washed over you, you kicked your legs out straight and hummed from the sensation of anticipation these thoughts brought you. 

This was exciting. You found yourself absentmindedly humping the curve of the barrel just to put some comforting pressure on your excited cunt. Realizing it felt good, you let yourself straddle the barrel, toes dangling above the floor on either side of the lid. You pushed yourself down to press into the seam of your pants as you thought about it. You rocked yourself back and forth, trying to self-soothe the growing excitement before it boiled over.

“Please, please please be Bi-Han,” you muttered to yourself.

You swear you heard him chuckle from somewhere among the wine. You knew these men could be sneaky - they were ninjas, after all. You wondered if you'd hear them coming at all. The chuckle must have been your imagination.

You couldn't tell the red wines from the white any longer without putting the bottle up to the glow of your phone. This dark, the colors at a short distance all faded to blues and grays and blacks.

Then you saw something man-shaped in the dark. You illuminated it with your shaky phone flashlight, only to discover it was just a hoodie laid across a wine barrel at an odd angle.

“UGH. I wanted you to be Bi-Han,” you grumped.

This time the laugh was undeniably real. You didn't bother to question how he got in, you were simply shocked that the trapdoor never opened after you first shut it behind you. You turned and saw a man shape - different this time, undeniably male, large, and moving. The color of his ninja uniform faded to the same bluish gray as the other wines in the dark cellar.  You hoped this time it was really Bi-Han, but you had to brace yourself. You knew that without seeing the color of the uniform, it could be Smoke, or even Scorpion.

“Cute,” the gravelly voice said, “Cute, rich, calling my name all alone in the dark, aching for me, and all mine? Not to mention able to manipulate the global economy at a whim. I must be dreaming.” 

His voice alone had gotten you wet. You knew it was him. You wanted to run to him.

“Bi-Han!” you gasped.

He strode up to you, stopping when his hips hovered above the hoop of the barrel. He wrapped an arm around the small of your back and pulled you. His other hand went to his face to pull away his mask. You slid forward, into his arms, where he kissed you gently. Your legs wrapped around him and you squeezed, keening into the kiss.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said.

You started to undress. You wanted to flash him. He held your shirt closed.

“Leave that on unless you want my brothers to find you naked. I can take you someplace they'll never find you. Not even Liu Kang could find you,” he purred against your neck.

He slipped the pads of three of his fingertips between the barrel and your clothed cunt.  He rubbed long firm strokes along the mound before gripping it lightly. He alternated between the stroking and the squeezing while he licked and suckled the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“I bet you're going nuts right now,” he said, “so let me ask, where did you learn my name, to call it out so sweetly?”

You felt prepared to pop. You tried to hump him dry, but his fingers on your seam held you back by the pussy.

“I know about you from… ungh oh god please… from another timeline. Mmm… yes… fuck… yes… It isn't important, Bi-Han, please fuck me,” you said.

“No. You would like that too much. I'm not going to fuck you until everything in this house is legally mine.”

“What?”

“You're gonna marry me. You're going to sign over all your assets, and I'm going to keep you, forever. You're mine. And there is not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Next Part:

Part 3a(i): Sub-Zero toys with F! Reader

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 2.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 2.7k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

who wants to live forever - sarah brightman • nothing's new - rio romeo

chapter specific warnings: non-descript smut, blood

Sleep was easy to find that night for Lyanna– her body and mind were exhausted from the events of the day. She felt sore everywhere, especially between her legs. It ached like she had ridden a horse hard for days and she would most certainly need to be drawn a bath in the morn.

It was easy for her to fall into a state of unconsciousness, but it wasn’t a true sleep. It felt very much like being ill with a fever, flitting in and out of being awake, dreams and nightmares dancing behind her lids. Sweat skimmed her brow as she tossed and turned.

Squeak, squeak.

 The Red Keep was the noisiest, creakiest building she’d ever slept in– not even comparable to Storm’s End, which stood tall for generations against the most ferocious of storms, waves crashing against the weathered bricks.

Squeak, squeak.

Lyanna’s eyes fluttered open, light illuminating behind the curtain. She turned to the side, seeing that Aegon was gone, feeling better for it. She couldn’t quite shake how he looked at her last night after they coupled– something akin to disgust and pity, as if she was no more than an inconvenience for him. Mayhaps she was. She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the errant hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, sitting up. A gnawing pain gathered at her lower belly, as if she’d lost something precious to her. 

Stepping onto the stone floor, she slipped on her house slippers. A flash of red caught her eye– blood was on the bed. It wasn’t much, a spattering spit inked into the cotton sheets and it was reminiscent of when her moon’s blood would catch her off guard at times. But this wasn’t her moon’s blood. Her pulse hammered in her neck, remembering Aegon’s words from the night before, her eyes leading to the now dry, stiff cloth on her nightstand, which was also stained with blood. It was a reminder of what she lost– a part of her innocence, a chapter of her life closed. She was no longer a girl, fretting with girlish thoughts and girlish problems– she was a woman, a wife– she was the Queen. 

The realization came to her like a ton of bricks falling on her and her legs wobbled under her like a newborn fawn’s– she was the Queen. People would look to her for guidance, for an example– she felt underprepared for it all and her insides continued to swirl like a storm off in the distance, ever looming, ever there.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Lyanna’s eyes narrowed, the incessant squeaking noise that had woken her up was still going– there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, no pattern. Walking to the window, she drew back the curtain and looked outside. It was a perfectly calm, tepid, sunny day– clear skies.

Fetching her house coat, she wrapped it taut around her body, snuggling into it and covering her silken sleeping shift– she didn’t know if Aegon would be out in the solar and didn’t want to chance it. She felt ill at the thought of being… exposed to him in broad daylight. 

Squeak, squeak. Bump. Bump.

The noise was rampant now, irritating Lyanna. She wished to find the source of the disturbance, mayhaps it was something simple, like a window left open or a rat. She had hoped it wasn’t a rat.

The solar was empty upon investigation, the curtains half-open. The noise, now speeding up in its frequency, appeared to be coming from the washroom on the far side of the chamber. The door was ajar by an inch or two. Huffing, she padded over to the door and peeked in.

In hindsight, she very much wished it had been a rat. A big, fat, disgusting rat with protruding teeth and a hundred babies scattered around it. Anything would’ve been better than what she saw.

Aegon, she surmised– his backside to her, a few errant scars and burns littered around his torso. He was naked as the day he was born, his muscles taut as he drilled into a woman– she was littered in jewels and pearls in her matching outfit with Aegon, nude. She had dark brown hair and fair skin, her body undulating and shivering against each thrust Aegon made– Lyanna came to the quick conclusion that she was a whore. Lyanna’s husband was fucking a whore. Fucking a whore in their chambers, with all the vigor and fervor of a dragon, panting up a storm and whispering to her, even smacking her ass and praising her. 

She was going to be sick. She was going to vomit on the floor, cry, scream, confront him, claw the whore’s eyes out– she had to get away. A small gasp escaped her lips unwittingly as she fled back to their bedroom. Her hands were shaking as the image replayed in her mind– she never expected her and Aegon to love one another, she couldn’t ask that of him, of anyone. But he seemed pained to even touch her the night before, to lay with her– he couldn’t even look at her fucking face. Was she so hideous that her own husband couldn’t… she grabbed a pair of embroidery scissors, her body moving faster than her mind. The squeaking noises of Aegon and his whore coupling was going on for well over thirty minutes, when he could barely be inside of Lyanna for three the night before. 

The sound of his voice, the little she had heard, as he whispered to the woman, citing her as beautiful, lovely, sweet– Lyanna clutched her skirt with one hand, the scissors in the other as she began her descent. 

Her hand stabbed into the bed, cutting and slashing around the stained sheet, the edges frayed into a jagged mess. Once the twisted fragment of cloth was free, she discarded the scissors as she slammed through every door she could– out of the bedroom, out of the solar– she didn’t know what to feel, she felt too much. 

The bloody token was clenched in her fist, her knuckles white as she knocked fervently on the door of the Queen mother. 

One of her handmaidens answered, her head bowing, “Your grace–”

“Lyanna?” Alicent’s voice called. She was sitting at a table near the open window balcony of her solar, tea cup in hand. She was still in her nightgown, hair down and flowing behind her. She took one look at her good-daughter’s face and eyed her handmaiden, “Leave us, Talya.”

“This– this is proof,” Lyanna whispered, holding out the stained sheet, “This is proof that I… have done my duty– I tried, I am trying–” she sniffed, tears running down her face as her hands shook violently. 

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her face soft, “Oh, dear girl,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around Lyanna, all encapsulating and warm, “I know, I know. You’ve done so well– did… did he hurt you?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was almost unheard.

Lyanna shook her head as she dropped the sheet, slotting herself against Alicent’s chest, sobbing her heart out. 

“I know it hurts, my sweet girl,” Alicent breathed, “It won’t always hurt. Eventually… you become numb." She moved the two of them to the couch and simply held the poor girl while she shook and sobbed for the better part of an hour. Alicent petted her head softly, not saying anything more until Lyanna’s sobs quieted to simple sniffs. “Mayhaps– we should have you move into your own chambers. It isn’t uncommon for husband and wife to be in separate chambers. King Viserys and I did not… sleep in the same bed for the better part of our marriage. I’m all the grateful for it– you need your own space to curate, to make your own. You are the Queen now, mayhaps we shall set up luncheons with the ladies in your new chambers, hm? We shall break fast together every morn before we go to the Sept, and we should even charter a weekly trip to the Grand Sept– but let me not get carried away with plans so soon. Let us focus on getting you into your own solar, your own bed,” she put her hand under Lyanna’s chin and tilted her head upward, “It gets better, I promise.”

– 

Lyanna returned to their– no, it was Aegon’s alone now– chambers a few hours later, after calming down and breaking her fast with Alicent. It was completely empty now, she checked the washroom, just to make sure.

After properly dressing for the day in a simple blue gown, tying her hair up in a braided bun. A quick peek in the mirror disappointed her slightly– she didn’t look queenly yet, merely a little girl trying to play the part. But it would have to be worked on.

Slowly, she gathered her things– mostly just one or two things to carry, and the rest for the servants to take down to her new chambers. Sometime during her organization, she heard the door close. Expecting it to be a servant, as they’d been in and out for the past hour taking her things, she didn’t turn around. “Please, don’t forget the chest near the door– it has all of my cloaks in it.”

“What’s going on here?” A voice, Aegon’s she quickly surmised, spoke.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the scene from earlier in the morn plagued her mind. His voice to her now sounded to cold, versus the warm, husky drawl to which he praised the whore with. She took a breath and stood up straight, smoothing out her skirts. “I am moving my things to my chambers.”

“Your chambers? Is this not your chambers?” he spoke with a sarcasm that made her blood boil, his brow raised.

“It is yours. Husband and wife have separate chambers all the time.”

“Did my mother tell you that? It sounds like her words,” he scoffed, walking a bit closer to her. He smelled of musk and fire, something deep and animalistic she couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I must say, it’s quite a record. A mere day it took for my mother to poison your mind against me. Tell me, did she use her infamous line about me being a sinner? Talk about my voracious, impure appetites?” 

Lyanna’s brow knit in irritation, hands clenched onto a half-finished embroidery piece. It was of Sunfyre, Aegon’s dragon, whom she’d never seen, but had heard of. She started it when the betrothal was announced and it was to be a gift for him. The wood of the hoop cracked under her fingers. “Was she good to you, dear husband?” 

He was confused now, tilting his head. “Whom? My mother?”

“Did you purchase her those pearls? Or was that a gift from one of her other suitors?”

Aegon’s face blanched slightly as he cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you expected.”

“What I expected?” Lyanna’s voice quivered.

“Yes, what you expected,” Aegon countered as he clenched and unclenched his fist, “My… proclivities aren’t exactly a secret. You knew what you were getting into–” 

“Don’t– don’t! I expected to marry a king– and yes, I’d heard… rumors. I thought mayhaps you… might’ve turned a new leaf after the war.”

“Fucking hell, you sound like my grandsire. Is that what you expected then? Batting your lashes and exchanging a few words between us and I’ll swear off of other women’s cunts for the rest of my life? Mayhaps if you weren’t so…” 

“So what? Say it, so I know where I stand.” 

“You’re plain looking. You aren’t some great beauty that they write songs about, that men go to war for, hm?”

Lyanna stopped then, her throat going dry. Her finger tips felt numb as an aching feeling spread through her body in waves, emanating from her chest. 

“When my grandsire told me I was to marry one of the Baratheon girls, I’d hoped it to be one of your sisters. Cassandra, or mayhaps Floris. Now that is a woman! Blue eyes always were a favorite of mine. Mayhaps when they come to visit again I’ll stick my cock in one of them– I doubt their husbands are satisfying them as well as they could be.”

It felt as if her blood was on fire, her hands twitching. She could feel her pulse in her neck, her head spinning. She could hardly believe the words she was hearing– it felt as if he had stabbed her and each word was another twist of his knife in her gut. 

“Cat got your tongue, wife?” 

She felt her blood pumping through her body whilst feeling like her body was devoid of blood at the same time. A blank stare came over her, her eyes glazing over. Her mouth was taut in a line. Was it possible for the numbness to hurt? It rolled through her in waves like a sickness and she felt bile rise in her throat. It was acrid, stinging her mouth and poisoning her tongue. 

Her movements were a blur, she could hardly see a few feet in front of her, her body was autonomous as she left Aegon standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face, as if putting her down was some great feat, as if he’d conquered her already fragile disposition and proven himself better.

She locked herself in her new chambers for three days after that, only taking Alicent as a visitor. She didn’t cry– she just hid. She had the mirrors removed temporarily, thinking herself so ugly she couldn’t bear to see her own face, just as Aegon couldn’t even look at her face. 

–

“Have you no shame, son? Where did I go wrong in raising you that you could be such a brute, a monstrous cad to your wife?!” Alicent continued on, going on for the second hour of yelling at him.

“My ability to feel shame was ripped away from me at a young age, mother. You and grandsire should know best about that.” he replied dryly, swirling his wine in his goblet.

“She is a sweet girl, Aegon! A bit naive, yes, but so was I when I married your father.”

“Is that what this is about, mother? You see a small version of yourself in that girl? Is that why you so valiantly protect her– would that make me my father then?” He took a sip. “That is a new insult, quite creative you are with that one.”

“You are hopeless, Aegon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. We are all fucking hopeless.”

Alicent left, slamming the door behind her.

Aegon stared at his half-empty cup of wine, staring into the red, swirling liquid. He was a vicious, monstrous cad. Not like his brother was, at least he was useful in his monstrousness, bringing half the realm to heel on that geriatric dragon of his.

 Aegon was more akin to a dog than a dragon, feeling the yank of his chain once more. Mayhaps he was a bad dog– he bit the hand that tried to feed him, leaving him starving and alone.

He got up from the settee and moved to refill his glass when he saw a flash of gold in the corner of his eye. Bending down, he picked up an embroidery hoop. The edges were cracked, splinters of dark wood jutting out. The thread weaved in it was golden and pink, in the shape of a dragon– half of one, anyhow. He could spot the likeness of his proudest achievement half a mile away. It was a depiction of Sunfyre, half finished. It was quite good.

He put down the bottle, discarding his goblet for the time being. He wondered who did this– mayhaps Helaena or Jaehaera. 

Then it dawned upon him– he had seen Lyanna holding it when she was gathering her things days before.

Just before he said those things. Hurtful, awful things. His fingertips traced the stitches of the embroidery, amazed that she was able to portray Sunfyre so accurately without ever having seen him.

Aegon’s lip wobbled slightly as he felt tears well up in his eyes. He wasn’t a bad dog– he doesn’t know why he bites. He just does.

taglist: @mariahossain @zillahvathek

[mochalate]

"dreams in gold" ; levi/f!reader

w/c: 612 ; fluff

sort of a continuation of 'visions in red'.

Levi used to see red, and think of you. Your red skirts and blouses in every rose, your lips in every stain of wine. But now, when he looks at you, he thinks of gold.

Gold, like the lamplight on the night you'd stayed with him well past dark, until it was too dangerous to send you back home across the open fields. Like the sun shining through the windows the next morning, illuminating your bare skin and warming the sheets he laid in with you.

When he sees red wine, he can't help but remember the golden beer that also flowed like water at the wedding; and gold, in your ears and around your neck— presents from your father, who wasn't truly sure he'd be able to take care of you.

There's the single band of gold around your finger, the only thing he could afford on a scout’s salary.

You told him it was your favourite.

You tell him you feel so lucky to have met him all those years ago, under the light of golden stars, the night before he left for his undercover mission in Marley.

It's said through tears, because you won't see him for months now. He holds your face as gently as he can manage and he wipes the tears away. He thinks you've got it backwards. You're the most golden thing of them all. He's the one who's lucky

It's a month after the Rumbling when he sees you appear over the horizon at the refugee camp; and it feels so much like the time he saw you coming across the green, rolling fields in Paradis wearing that mud-speckled dress.

You're carrying a brown-paper package again too. But this time, it can't have had anything important in it, because when you see him— tired, broken— it carelessly falls from your hands. You kneel in front of his chair, crying, heartbroken; and he doesn't have enough fingers to hold your face and wipe away the tears at the same time.

Levi thinks he must be the worst thing in your lucky life. You seem to shed your tears only for him.

He says he's sorry for taking you away from all the shiny things in your past life. He's sorry he was selfish enough to ask a nobleman's daughter to become a soldier's wife. He's sorry your life isn't as golden as you deserve. He's sorry he lost his wedding band along with his fingers, somewhere back on the island.

He tells you he's worried you're sorry too.

You listen to him patiently, and at the end you stand up and roll back your sleeves, and show him that your arms are covered from wrist to elbow with golden bracelets and bangles. Everything you could carry, you say; because you knew you weren't going back, one way or another.

You're golden enough for the both of you, you tell him, so he needn't worry about all that.

Months pass, and the only gold left on your arms is that old band around your finger. All that metal has turned into a roof over your heads, and the fields around you— five hundred paces in each direction. It's the new pairs of boots you keep giving to Falco because he keeps outgrowing them, and the dresses Gabi insists don't suit her, but wears anyway.

All these things are golden too.

You send Falco and Gabi off to the fields with a smile and warm brown-paper packages, then come back to sit with him at the breakfast table. 

“How’s your pain today?” you ask him, rubbing your swollen belly.

Levi lays his hand over yours, and tells you it's manageable. It's even a little true. 

thank you for reading! please leave a like/reblog/comment; I would really appreciate it <3

(divider @/cafekitsune.)

[genjv4rse]

𖥻 THINGS — enhypen ◌ ִ ۫ ּ

syn ; things enha reminds me of !

heeseung !

dangly earrings, pendent chains, skinny ripped jeans, rock guitar, clubbing, late studio night, concerts, rainy empty street, love songs, specs, ice cream, deers, rainforest, going over the speed limit, long drive, polaroids, balcony, tattoos, collage campus, basketball, getting into fist fights, breaking rules, warm breeze, kisses, sharing earphones, untied shoelaces, sleeveless tops, cross jewelries, chase atlantic songs

jay !

red wine, ball dance, guitar, empty kitchen, champagne bubbles, tuxedo suits, runaway, black cat, fashion magazines, gold jewelries, camping, eucalyptus, biking, biker jackets, street racing, late night walks, city lights, porsche, cologne, the weeknd songs, loose tie, fancy restaurant, chanel bags, iced americano, home, long hugs, words of affirmation, eye contact, autumn, posh music, v necks, opera, musical recital, marriage, ancient churches

jake !

pancakes, golden retrievers, empty parks, cardigans, picnic, wolf pups, landscapes, abstract art, lip piercings, makeout sessions, mornings, cream, sheets, swimming, sand castles, tree houses, venus, varsity player, rings, clashing waves, sun shinning through curtains, backyard, champagne, sparkly eyes, netflix and chill, forehead kisses, caramel fudge, winter, jb songs, garden, lilies, lipstick stains

sunghoon !

sculptures, greek mythology, snow, ice skating, pointe shoes, swan lake, ice rinks, rhinestones, vampires, sharp canines, royalty, huskies, novels, cruise, 90s songs, ear muffs, moon phase, poetry, dandelions, maple leaves, vanilla shake, pearls, penguins, blush, lucid dreams, confessions, lullaby, archangels, romance movies, boyfriend coats, monsoon, hair blowing because of the wind, moles, tears, old love, unrequited love, ribbons, weddings

sunoo !

sun, tulip field, solar system, marshmallows, tteobokki, street food, shopping, karaoke, smiles, cute stationeries, stickers, secret diary, cheek kisses, mufflers, red foxes, bratz doll, playdate, selfies, carnations, easter, boba tea, bestfriends to lovers, cherry blossoms, lip gloss, skincare, disney shows, late night face timing, gossiping, watching kdramas, sanrio stuffs, blowing bubbles, photo booths, texts, horizon

jungwon !

kittens, valleys, teenage dream, gold fish, aquariums, subways, cds, headphones, empty bus rides, babybreaths, holding hands, first love, taylor swift songs, messy hair, vacation, countryside, group study, constellations, piggyback ride, dimples, converse, empty classroom, sheep cubs, indoor plants, mini cactus, namsan tower, han river, late fall, vintage hand written letters , young love, romcom, kitties

ni-ki !

graffiti, sunsets, baggy pants, late night dance jam, empty beach, bicycling, sea shore, ear piercings, watermelon, summer, slow dancing, grass field, bungeoppangs, duck chicks, disneyland, ps5, arcade, puma cubs, eskimo kisses, bracelets, youth, climbing fences, skipping school, skateboarding, mangas, school festivals, footsies, cute band aids, oversized attires, j-rock, night sky, laughters, slice of life, teenage, playfulness, photo booths, anime, shoujo manga

© aenfilmz / 02072023

taglist ; @solarwoniii @shiningstar-byulxx @wtfhyuck @ichiibunztwt @enhawhoreist

[storiesoflilies]

cherry cola, cigarette kisses

pairing: guitarist!toji fushiguro x singer!reader

warnings: slight age gap (reader is 25, toji is 30), mentions of drugs and alcohol, smoking, swearing.

a/n: a little drabble for the ‘jujutsu journal’ collab by @ayyy-pee. dividers by @/benkeibear. toji drabble collection here.

people came to see the band live really just to catch a glimpse of the two of them in person.

of her, with her cream linen summer dresses, lips painted red like the cans of cherry cola she drank on stage between sets, dainty gold rings adorning her fingers, silk red ribbons tied in pretty big bows on her wrists, and matching platform heels. her with a voice so cool and suave, like ice, that it made all the boys go crazy for her.

and of him, toji fushiguro. with his cigarette smoke voice, all husk and fire, and veiny hands that held his guitar with practiced finesse. with his guitar solos that made you want to throw your head back in ecstasy, and his rolled-up sleeves to expose his corded forearms, driving the girls wild with desire.

people came to see them play and see the way they moved together.

when she sang, toji would close his eyes and tilt his head back, lost in the ecstasy that was the privilege of listening to her art. plucking the strings of his electric guitar along to play a tune to support her voice, like a flowing stream carrying along a floating feather. he let the vibrations of the bass through the speakers and reverberate into his bones, feeling the thrum of the crowd with their phone lights flashing and swaying, and inhaling the scent of sweat and dreams in the air.

god, his girlfriend was so fucking cool, and they all didn’t even know the half of it.

they didn’t know how pretty she looked when she danced naked in the dark in front of their penthouse views of the city lights below. with red wine swirling in her glass amidst a smokey haze, he’d exhale a big fume of his joint, and think to himself that he was so goddamn lucky to have picked up that crumpled, wet ‘guitarist wanted’ flyer all those years ago.

of course, the world didn’t know just how lucky toji was just yet.

she’d sing such pretty words, especially about the world thinking you were too young to understand the things you felt. words about everyone telling you that you couldn’t possibly grasp the way things were supposed to work, when in fact, you actually did – perhaps better than everyone else did. toji had been one of those things for her before. their bandmates had been adamantly against the older man pursuing her when they first met four years ago. she was their sweet little cherry, and they didn’t want the ash of him and his cigarettes falling on and ruining her delicate skin.

“she’s too young,” they’d all said. “too dumb to know what you are, fushiguro.”

toji had let their words get to him, the indignant and prideful fire within razing everything to the ground, and disappeared into his studio apartment with only his bong for company. he’d been there for a long time, refusing to answer any of her or the band’s calls, until she showed up knocking at his door in the middle of the night. her makeup was smeared and her vanilla scented perfume still lingered, while he was lost halfway in a dream of minefields, complex labyrinths, and booby traps.

“don’t leave me too,” she’d begged, a tumbling mess of tears, and practically collapsed as she gripped his arms for all she was worth. “not you, please.”

he melted into her right there and then.

toji shushed her softly, holding her close as they lay there in a tangled heap on the floor. he watched as his tears landed on her hair, feeling his high crashing down. “but i’m no good for you, babygirl.”

“nobody is good for each other, toji. love is fucking awful and tears your heart apart, but i still want to do it with you.”

and that was that.

but nobody else knew about them.

they’d been a secret for two years now, and toji had decided that this was it – she was it. his best girl, no other woman would ever compare to her. but she was so nervous, always so good, about what their bandmates and the fans would think. she didn’t want to break anybody’s heart, but toji didn’t care about that anymore.

they belonged to each other, and fuck, the whole world needed to know it. and if they didn’t like it? well, they could go and choke on it.

she swayed back and forth, staring at toji with heart eyes, and and teasingly stuck her tongue out to the side. that was his cue, and the fans knew it too, for him to take control of the music with his fingers and let himself and his guitar run wild. of course, it was to put on a good show, but he knew it was really because she loved his guitar solos more than anyone else did.

“i want you to play guitar for me all the time,” she said one time, teeth stained gray from the wine, twirling in lazy circles as toji strummed his acoustic guitar. “especially when i die, so i can hear the sound of heaven before i go.”

toji abruptly stopped playing and frowned, “don’t even talk about something like that. i’m supposed to go before you anyways, y’know i’m the old one.

“shut up, i can’t live without you.”

he stared at her as he played, never taking his eyes off how she danced and swayed. he watched as she went over to their drummer and pressed a kiss to their cheek. a hot flare of jealousy coursed through his blood, and toji picked up the pace, forcing their drummer to focus and step it up a notch to keep up with him. sweat dripped from his forehead, his dark hair sticking to it in stringy strands, and he licked his lips, tasting salt.

“yeah,” toji thought. “it’s do or die now.”

she took a swig of cherry cola, lipstick stains on the rim, as toji coaxed his solo into an earth-shattering crescendo, sending the crowd into a frenzy of whoops and cheers. still, he never took his eyes off her, following her every movement as he stopped the music suddenly in a dramatic conclusion.

the crowd clapped for the end of the song, and toji lit a cigarette to settle his buzzing nerves, his chest heaving with exertion. she floated over to him, smiling softly, red lipstick slightly faded from the cola, licking her lips as she tilted her head at him. he knew she could read him like a book; she knew something was wrong.

“what is it?” she whispered, being careful not to face the crowd directly.

“let’s do it, babygirl,” toji rasped, taking another long drag from his cigarette.

her eyebrows shot up, and she gaped. “now, toji? right now?”

“yeah, c’mon. let’s drive ‘em all crazy,” he chuckled, blowing his smoke away from her face.

“you mean it, toji?” she frowned, her pretty little heart so goddamn nervous about everyone else’s feelings but her own.

toji flicked his cigarette, adjusted his guitar to his side, and smiled. “let’s not think anymore, let’s just do.”

with that, he pulled her in by the waist and planted a kiss right onto her plush lips. bitter cigarette and sweet cherry flavors mixed intoxicatingly as their mouths danced together, eliciting shocked gasps followed by an almost deathly silence.

and then, it exploded.

the camera flashes went astronomically wild, accompanied cheering that bordered on plain screaming and raving, as a thousand hearts broke and millions swooned. she relaxed into him, putting her hands onto his broad, sweaty chest, flushed from the heat of the moment and the thrill of performing. they pulled apart, his lips swollen and hers tingly, and it was just the two of them amidst the eyes of thousands. she giggled, a nervous bark at the revelation of how their lives were going to change now, and toji beamed.

“you’re trouble, toji fushiguro,” she breathed out, chin on his chest as she gazed up at him in adoration.

toji chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead and mumbled, “i’m your trouble.”

general taglist: @tadabzzzbee

[artemis-potnia-theron]

How I perceive different deities' energies

(based on personal experiences)

Apollon ☀️: Light coming up from somewhere deep in the gut. An ache that almost burns. And it might if I stare too long. Swelling gold. A chorus of music too perfect to be written, words that could shatter my tongue if I tried to speak them.

Brigid 🔥: A lump at the back of my throat. Tears in my eyes while I smile. Joy and grief mixed together under my ribcage. Melodies sung through the ages, and through tears. Warmth at my back and a hand on my cheek. Baked bread. Garden herbs. Clear water from a well. An embrace that could last an age.

Nyx 🌌: The low, echoing hum of something eternal. Something too ancient to comprehend and too overwhelming to be perceived. Endless. Ethereal. Peace and chaos. Quiet and thunderous. Coffee. Red wine. Onyx.

The Morrigan 🐦‍⬛: A chant of words I can't understand, spoken in a language I never knew and never forgot. The cold steel of a blade's edge. Sharp, precise, and unwavering. Her language of secrets and ancient knowledge could swallow you whole if you let it.

Hekate 🗝: Whispers. Shadows against candlelight. A flickering flame that knows how to dance in the wind and never extinguish. The smell of old parchment and herbs. A ripple on the water. As intricate and mesmerizing as a spider's web. Silent and sharp like a viper. A bark and a growl heard from somewhere too far away for me to see.

Aine 🧚🏼‍♀️: Sunlight breaking over the surface of a river. Citrus. Wildflowers. Fresh grass. Wind sweeping over a meadow. Chimes. Fruit trees finally coming into bloom. The juice from an apple trickling down my neck. Laughter. So much laughter.

Aphrodite ❤️: Flower petals. Something sweet and soft like honey that trickles down the back of my throat and seeps into my belly. It spreads all through me like starlight trapped in my veins. Bells. Bliss. A want that could dissolve me. A yearning that would hurt if it didn't taste so lovely. The pain feels like a lifetime away.

Tiamat 🐉: Clusters of stars. Endless reflections of light on the water's surface. The deep song of a whale that echoes through the pulse of the sea. An eye that gazes down from the cosmos.

Caer Ibormeith 🦢: A lullaby that has been with me for longer than I know. A kiss pressed to my forehead. That place between sleeping and awake, between real and not. Cool air at twilight. Dew on the glass before sunrise. Clean fabric. A veil. Flying over the world as it sleeps.

Artemis 🦌: Freedom. Breath-taking, devastating freedom. A stag drinking fresh water from a spring. A doe and her fawn, sleeping as the songbirds chirp at dawn. A rush. An absolute rush like mountain air in my blood. Fireflies in an open field. Bones bleaching in the sun. The thrill of a wolf pack chasing its prey. The moon over the ocean at night. Teeth. Bird calls. Wildflowers. A great bear that walks in the stars. Hymns only beasts can sing. Jasmine and animal fur and the midnight air.

[achaotichuman]

Eris Vanserra

Through a combination of spite and wanting to write out my feelings, I've created this slice of tragedy. Thank @fell-in-luvs for putting the idea in my head.

Trigger warnings- Domestic violence, physical abuse, mild thoughts of suicide, implied self-harm.

Head between his knees, hands over his ears. Just keep breathing. 

Porcelain smashed against the ground, and he heard her screaming. Just keep breathing. 

He yelled at her, voice reverberating through the hallways. 

She screamed at him, still young, still unknowing of what pain it would cause, to never raise his voice at her. 

Then she screamed, she screamed in pain and Eris sobbed into his knees. His small, red face, wet with tears. On wobbling knees, barely big enough to open the door he had been sitting beside, he reached up and pulled down the door handle. The glistening gold burning from fire leaping under his skin. The five-year-old threw the heavy wood open with all the strength in his body.

She was thrown across the wooden floors of the bedroom, crying so loudly as blood poured from her nose, and her eyes swelled from a bruise now blooming. Beron reeled his fist back, screaming at her disrespect, at her insolence. 

Eris screamed, the boy leapt at his father, flames sparking on his hands, “Stop!”

He hit his fathers legs as his lungs burned for air. The continuous chant of begging and demanding pouring from his hoarse throat, “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Even with all the fire he found within himself, Beron grabbed his short red hair and threw him down to the ground. Eris cried as the air whooshed from his lungs, he gasped and gasped, but his throat refused to allow any oxygen within. 

“See what you’ve taught him, you fucking whore!” Beron screamed at his wife. 

She cried, arms trembling as they tried to lift her from the ground, but it was of no use as her husband descended upon her again. Fist pulling back, a scream and the cracking of bone as he met her jaw again and again. 

“Let her go! Let her go!” Eris shrieked. A bruise appeared on his face as a red mark. He was shaking until it was so hard to so much as walk, he tried to rush at Beron again. But the male pulled up a wall of fire that scorched Eris’s hands and face. 

Eris screamed and threw up across the floors. Darkness edged in his vision and he looked up to see the image of his mother, bawling as she bleed and bleed. She begged and pleaded, but Beron’s hand wasn’t merciful. 

“Stop it! Please stop it!” Eris cried from the floor. 

He remembered the light of the moon from that night. How it shone in through the large glass windows, all shut and locked. He remembered how it shimmered across his mother’s blood smeared across the floor. 

Eris blinked the images away, forcing his eyes back to what he was seeing. His mother stared into her food, hands neatly folded in her lap. Beron howled with laughter, and the sudden laugh caused both to flinch suddenly. Though Eris’ was far less noticeable. 

With no eyes on them, with every courtier at the dining hall preoccupied with sucking up to Beron. No one at any particular spot, as the formalities had been forgotten after the thirteenth bottle of wine had been opened. 

Eris reached out, hands gentle and calloused, they just managed to brush the back of his mother’s hand. The six-year-old that begged for his father’s hands to keep off his mother’s skin peeking through. 

But this was no longer the woman that remembered her own will. This was no longer the woman who braided flowers into his hair at celebrations, and she was no longer the woman who patched his knees when he fell off his horse. 

She pulled away from his fingers so abruptly a nearby lady looked over. Quickly her eyes turned back to Beron’s sneering grin. 

“Mother-” The word slipped from his throat before he could stop it. 

“You’re just like him.” His mother hissed. 

Eris stared. 

Not one of his father’s hits, not one of his words, or training, had ever…

Punched him as hard as that. 

“Mother-” His voice cracked, breathing was hard again. 

He was back on the floor, without air in his lungs, he was back in that bedroom. He saw her behind that wall of fire again. 

“You are just like him.” She said again.

Her flaming russet eyes looked up to see him. They burned. They burned with a hatred so bright, Eris flinched again. 

Those words held words, words that stung more than ones she actually voiced. ‘Go on, tell him I am willing to defy you.’

“Please-”

He wanted to sob. He wanted to run into the arms of his mother in a field of grass under the protection of oaks and Autumn leaves. He wanted her to look at him and smile. 

‘Please.’

‘Please, I’m still your baby boy, aren’t I?’ 

“Please-” 

“I hate you.”

Beron standing over her, tears streaming down her face as she cried and begged.

Eris felt his father’s leg underneath his hands again as he tried to burn the male. 

I hate you. 

You’re just like him. 

Just like him. Just like him. Just like him. Just like him. 

“Eris!” Beron boomed. Eris’ head snapped up and his face fell into the mask of false respect and bitter smirks.

“Yes, Father?” The words had the slightest of shakes to them. Not enough that anyone noticed. No one would ever notice. 

“Come join the head of the table, my boy! Lord Entrice has some news to share.” Beron had such a sadistic glint in his eyes. 

Run, every bone in his body said so. He didn’t feel safe. He wasn’t safe. He was never safe. 

Eris stood and beside him, his mother huffed a laugh. His eyes snapped to her once again, and there she stared at the meal before her, but he saw her hating eyes, and her smirk, ‘Go suck up to him.’ Was what that smirk said. 

She didn’t dare lift her head to meet his eyes. Beron called again, voice beginning to border on agitated. 

Just like him. 

“Yes, Father.” Eris answered. 

When Eris retreated to his quarters that night, he saw nothing. He felt nothing. Like his whole body was on another plane. His soul retreated to some small corner where it heard nothing. Like a child putting their hands over their ears and chanting ‘Lalalala I can’t hear you’.

He didn’t remember when he locked the door, he didn’t remember when he bathed or changed, or sat down beside the fire. He didn’t know why he was sitting on the floor and not on the lounge. He didn’t know why he was sitting so close to the flames, and he didn’t know why he was staring into them without ever looking away. 

Just like him. 

You’re just like him. 

A smile curved on his face, even as tears welled in his eyes. 

I hate you. 

Then what’s left?

Lucien was gone. 

His other brothers refused his help. 

If his mother hated him?

What was left? 

The rest of the Autumn Court, a logical voice told him, trying to pull him back from the edge. The rest of the Autumn Court would need him one day, he would have to be living for that. 

The Autumn Court had survived this long, was he that necessary? 

To improve their lives he was. 

Was he? 

Just like him. 

He was just like him. 

Eris didn’t remember taking a knife in his hands, and he didn’t remember holding it over the fire. 

But he did remember the pricks of the blade over his arms. And he did remember the marks it left. 

Just like him. 

I hate you. 

What was left?