#is that (at least to me) it was clear that she's not going to be an antagonist the entire time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariasont · 2 days

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Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear.

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen.

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly.

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest.

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped.

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily.

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand.

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip.

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down.

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all.

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny.

You went back to your phone.

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud.

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter. It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip.

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood.

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side.

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #criminal minds smut #hotch smut #hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #Spotify

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 days

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science experiment! reader would try to flirt back with jason with a comment that is not flirtatious at all and it would be the cutest thing ever

"How's that going?" Diana asked, nodding towards where Jason was talking to you, trying to get you to drink water and take a snack he pickpocketed from Tim as he walked by.

"It... has it's moments where it's disgustingly sweet," Bruce said. "And other moments, like now where we just want to to shake them."

She smiled a little, "It'll be okay, Brucie."

"I hope so." He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Jason wasn't touching you but it was clear that he was walking you to the transporters. You'd all done your part and it was time for you to go home. The others were going to run patrol, you were going to go home and take over for Babs for a while so she could sleep.

"It will be," she said confidently. "Jason has always had a soft spot for his tragic heroines."

"That's true," Bruce snorted. "He was always a Colonel Bandon looking for his Marianne."

"She's too practical to be a Marianne," Diana mused. "And there's no Elinor. Or Willoughby. Maybe they would be a better fit for Darcy and Elizabeth."

"He was a bit of a douche to her," Bruce admitted, "At least at the start."

"But. I'm sure that didn't last long. It's hard to hate someone that easy to love."

Bruce looked up at her and smiled a little, "Going soft on me, Princess?"

"I just want my little friends to be happy," she pouted. "Even if they're not little anymore."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science experiment!reader

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ajortga · 2 days

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just too late

pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary: where tara can't help but regret the outcome of her consequences, she was just too late. how can a heart love if it is no longer beating?

warnings: massive angst, death, stabbing, blood

word count: 3.5k+

a/n: based of a request i got on wp! honestly, i wrote this months ago and got to the end, but their request was so similar that i redid it. posting a small second part soon<3 also omg, thank you for 500 followers!

You had just visited Tara, a bouquet of roses in one hand as you knocked on the door. You had seen them when walking to her apartment and you knew that they were just perfect for her. You had to get them. As you heard the lock of the door click, Tara opened the door. She peeked out and saw you, smiling shyly. You thought she'd smile back, but instead her smile dropped.

That had never happened before.

"Y/N, we need to talk.

You knew something was wrong, something bad was going to happen. Your breath got stuck in your throat as she stepped aside to let you in. You knew the next thing that would happen would not be good.

fast forward 20 minutes

You stood there in Tara's apartment, Sam eyeing you with a penetrating death glare. You felt like sinking into the floor right there and then. You hated this kind of silence.

Sam broke the quietness, her gaze stern, "Y/N, this isn't going to work out between you and Tara." She states, crossing her legs as she sighs, "All of it just adds up."

You shake your head, but before you can retaliate, Sam speaks again.

"You know it too. You started dating my sister two weeks prior before the first ghostface attack. The police found your necklace right next to the victim, covered in blood. I can't trust you and have you near my sister. All of us," she states, twirling her finger in a circle, "Are in danger and I can't let my baby sister get hurt again. None of us trust you, not Mindy, not Chad, and definitely not me. You are going to stay away from her, no more coming over or seeing each other at school. Do I make myself clear?"

"You believe a piece of evidence that barely proves anything? They didn't even find my DNA anywhere!"

"Gloves."

You felt rage crawling its way out, you couldn't believe your girlfriend's sister would think you're the killer. Sam knows all too well how much Tara loves you. "You know I wouldn't hurt you! Least of all Tara! I love her with my whole heart and I would never even think of that! I-I don't know how my necklace got there, someone framed me!" You turned to Tara, blinking away tears that stung your eyes, "Tar.. You believe me right? Please tell her. I didn't do anything! Please don't leave me."

"Please.." you begged. You saw the way her gaze slightly cracked, you knew she didn't believe you. You could feel it, you wouldn't care for fucks sake if Mindy, Chad, or Sam didn't believe you. But Tara was different. It felt like a swing to the heart, it hurt so much. It felt heavy.

Tara didn't do anything but give you a hurt look, staring down at her fingers. You expect her to throw her arms around you, tell you that they all got it wrong and you can both live happily ever after in the end. Yet she doesn't.

"I'm sorry Y/N," she forces her shattered voice in her normal tone, swallowing a cry clawing to come out, "I don't trust you anymore, I don't love you. I-I never did. I just.. Don't think you should visit anymore. We're done."

You felt like your whole heart shattered at that moment as you heard her last two words. You looked at her as you sobbed in your hands. Hurt, mournful, betrayed.

All that Tara said was, "You need to get out please," her eyes pink and glossy.

"You don't understand Tara, please I'm begging you-"

"Y/N, I'm not going to say it twi- It's n-not me Tara!" you say, this point a small cry escaping you. The way Tara looks at you is wild.

Your girlfriend's voice raised, with a fury, she wasn't going to say it again, "Get the hell out! Do you need me to say i-it twice? I don't fucking love you! I don't want to see your face again!"

You flinched, you never felt more heartbroken in your life. Your heart hurt, it felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer. Tears that threatened to fall down were now dropping on the floor. All the moments you've spent together were now thrown away, stomped on. You felt your body shaking as you toss the flowers, leaving them to fall on the floor with a thud.

You simply nod, slowly.

"Fine." You say, more flat than ever, turning to leave as you feel the petals get stepped on by your shoe.

All you wanted was to brighten your girlfriend's day, entering with flowers in your hand and just wanting to cuddle her all day long. Yet, here you are, your girlfriend now turning into you ex, flowers dead, no cuddles, no more trust.

Tara felt horrible, the guilt eating her alive. All of her words were lies, she just knew that if you were to separate from her, she would keep you safe. You wouldn't be the target for ghostface if he thought you were just a normal person in Woodsboro. You would be safe. She tried to assure herself that as you slammed the door.

Her eyes met the squished flower that escaped from the bouquet on the floor and she wondered if she'd ever get flowers from you again after everything.

You stared at the picture frame placed on the counter of you and Tara together hugging with matching clothes, you choked on your sobs. Tara nor your friend group had chatted with you since then. Sam had blocked you on social media. At least your other friends had came along and checked up on you to make sure you were okay. Tara had sent a few messages, saying she was sorry that things had ended up like this, but to realize you blocked her.

You couldn't function properly, your eyes were dry with the amount of tears you released in the past week.

It's not your fault, you tried to assure yourself. You weren't ghostface. You can't believe the person you trusted most didn't even put her trust in you.

Maybe it all is your fault. Maybe if you were different, in personality, how much the core 4 really liked you, you wouldn't be here, crying like those teens in the movies that just feast on a gallon of ice cream. It makes you cry a little harder while you hug your teddy bear.

Especially the taunting memory of Tara screaming at you, tears blurring your vision as you stumbled back out of her apartment. Sam's eyes softening just a little bit, not meaning for this to happen. Yet you didn't even try looking into her eyes, too caught up with your own feelings to feel her sorrow.

The past few days, you've locked yourself up, abandoned school. Ignored the core 4, blocked Tara and the other three.

Your mind wandered, you were clouded in your own thoughts as you sobbed angry and hurtful tears. You cried to the point where tears stopped falling, and you were left with feeling nothing and your body feeling sore. Your breathing was still heavy, you let out heavy shaky breaths, but they started to cool down.

You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing, until you heard your phone buzz from the ground. You picked it up, there was a message.

A part of you expected your friends to check up on you, since that's what they've been doing every since you've stopped going to school. Instead, you were met with a picture from unknown of the abandoned movie theater not too far from here. There, you saw the camera facing a knife pointing towards Tara and Sam, threatening, daring.

Your eyes widened, as you immediately take your keys and bust out the door, grabbing a small knife, maybe you'll need it, unblocking Tara and calling her and all of those you knew must be in there. They're in danger.

Each call leads to voicemail, from both Tara and Sam, you search up their location. The only one shared for you is Tara's. You almost smash it to the front of your phone holder, locating where they are at.

As much as you hurt, you knew that you would never heal knowing that someone you loved was at risk. The car engine roars to life as you head for the theater.

With each texts and call ignored, you get paranoid, worried sick. Stepping on the accelerator of the car, your car turns a corner and is out of sight.

"She fell for it, she's coming your way," a taunting voice rasps into their phone, Ghostface.

"Our plan is just setting into action."

Carefully, you slip into the door of the run down theater. You hear clatters, and immediately you freeze, hiding a corner and peeking out. Tara's scream echoes through the theater, your eyes widen and you look around, for something sharp.

This is a stupid shrine committed to ghostface, you realize. It makes it a little better, at least you're guaranteed a knife to defend and fight with?

You sweep a corner, the room your in is silent, and you creek down the floor board, being greeted with glass display cases.

You're not good with blood, yet there's evidence from ghostface's mark years ago. TV's, a knife laced in the red crimson color. A gag almost leaves your lips, yet you open the display case and your hands grasp around a cool metal. It's a knife alright, not too sharp if you were to drop it you wouldn't cut your whole toe off. Yet it's do-able.

"Tara?" your voice echoes, walking around and exploring, you're frantic. You keep hearing her voice mail ring through your ears and your worry increases.

You thought the room you were in was obsessive with ghostface, yet when you go into the middle of this shrine, it's filled with obsessive things. Masks, robes, knives, even the TV that Stu Macher was killed by. A shiver escapes you.

You look up, and you see the chaos going, glass shattered on the floor, action buzzing around. You see Tara.

"Tara!" You shout, trying to keep your voice low, your eyes meeting the ladder that goes up, you climb on it, grunting in effort. You climb, climb, climb, climb, until you reach the top.

Tara is with Sam, they're talking about their plan, they're a couple hundred feet away from you. The sister's clothes are smothered in blood, Sam's arm has a wound, and you feel sick seeing the blood seeping from your girlfriend's clothes.

Your about to say her name, until you see a shadow emerge. It's not any that you know, this one is dark, tall, more man-like.

It's not until you see the tilt of their head the sliver of light reflecting off their mask. Ghost face.

You don't know what gotten into you from the adrenaline from the moment, but your legs begin to run, move, nothing sounds more fitting than slow motion. His knife lifts from his chest, the sharp metal edge glistening.

You try to scream, the words bubble up in your throat, comes out in a dry cough.

Your legs feel like jelly, run faster, damnit.

They can't see him, he's behind them, tucked just 2 feet away in a corner, yet you see him. You can save Tara and her older sister, you can save the both of them, you have time.

You can save the both of them, your love outplays your brain. It's telling you to stop, you're going to get killed. But your heart overwhelms it, beating quicker, with each beat all you can hear is

Tara

Save

Her!

Tara

You

Have

Time.

The knife ghostface is holding gets brought down.

"Tara!" You finally scream, it comes out as a desperate cry as you lunge towards her. Her eyes turn from the setting below her to you, confusion, then shock as your hands shove her shoulders. The strength you built up finally goes to use, pushing her out of harms way, she shoves into Sam, as they both stumble back.

You hear them both say your name, confusion at first, before the second time they holler it out. It's a scream, yet it dies down in your ears, feeling the cool metal of the blade slam into your shoulder. The ring from Tara's screams fade, replaced with the blood pulsing in your ears. The pain, the sharp knife sinking into the flesh of your shoulder. All you can do is let out a soft cry, too tired to scream.

Your eyes water, looking up at ghostface, the ugly mask boring into your eyes. He tilts his head, shocked for a moment. Until he tilts his head back again, like the target he hit is even better than what he wanted. They didn't expect you so soon.

The knife tears out from your flesh, a sob leaves your throat, kicking and flaring your arms.

"Y/N!" Tara screams your name, this one you can hear. She's crying, sobbing, wailing. Begging for her older sister to let her go and save you.

Sam shushes her, all they can do is watch. All Tara can do is watch you suffer.

His knife slams into you again, your abdomen. You hear a disgusting squelch as it goes in. The pain is unbearable, this stab hurts even more than anything you can think about. You thought the 4 foot thorn going through your foot was bad. You cry, grabbing the knife that's tucked into your pocket and slam it against the black coat, right where the neck meets the shoulder.

A raspy whisper escapes your lips, "F-fuck you." You snarl.

You barely hear him grunt. Yet he doesn't back down, in fact, you hear the disgusting squelch again.

And again.

The pain lessens. You know why. You're dying.

You can't hear it anymore, but there are now several stabs on your abdomen. You collapse, blood seeping through your clothes, your hands, your face. It's warm, dark red, spreading. It oozes out of your wounds, and the squelching sounds are gone. Your eyes flutter, seeing the flurry of the white masked figure leaving you to rot. Your body collapses to the floor with a loud crash.

You saved Tara, you would die before he could ever kill her. Before she could ever die. If Tara died, you'd kill yourself, or you'd die quicker from a broken heart.

Sam's yelling, kicking ghostface as he lets go of you, you can barely see her bringing him down to the bottom floor, both of them collapsing off the second story.

Your eyes begin to close, your breath comes in short heaves and wheezes.

And then, you see her, barely, through your weak vision.

It's blurry at first, but you know it's Tara, who else would look so good with blood all over her face?

She presses her body down to you, her warmth barely seeping through, your body is colder. Those warm, soft eyes are wide, looking so scared, hands pressing down deeper to your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Fuck, no. Nononono.. Why the hell would you do that?" She yells at you, shaking your body, you whimper.

You barely respond, croak her name out, cough out blood.

She's crying, you realize, she's choking on sobs as she cradles you, lifting your body up to her chest. She smells like your favorite scent, sweet.. light.. vanilla.. So lovely.

You just want to be in her arms forever. Let her sweetness soothe the pain.

"Y/N," she sobs, seeing the way you're struggling to stay conscious, you're only holding on because she's there. She can tell the way your eyes are slowly glassing over, your vision is twitching, blurring, un-focusing.

Don't cry, you want to tell her, even though you know you're here, dying in your girlfriend's arms. But you're too weak to speak, instead, let a slurred murmur leave you. Her hand is clinging to yours, like if she were to let go you would immediately fall away.

"It's okay baby," Tara sniffs, clinging to you. Like if she lets go you'll shatter, "I'm here, help will come soon. Stay with me. Eyes on me baby."

You look at her, your girlfriend, being in her arms. It's your favorite thing, she has a small wound, around her arm to her shoulder, yet it's barely bleeding. Being here, in her arms. It's your favorite thing ever, you've done it so many times to feel her warmth. You never thought you would not be in Tara's arms at night with you buried against her.

Yet you know it's your last time you'll be in them. You can barely feel the warmth she's trying to transfer to you, you're freezing. She senses it too, the way she's hugging you tighter. Pleading you to stay here, with her. The brunette squeezes your hand, distracts you from the pain that's already leaving. Along with your pulse.

"I'm so fucking sorry," she sobs, "I love you so much, you don't fucking understand," she wails. Pulls you closer to her, "I should have never left you, you mean the world to me, I never meant what I said. I t-thought I could protect you if ghostface knew that you were no longer in our circle."

You wheeze, your eyes never looking away from hers. She notices, how you're studying her, like the moment you don't, you'll forget how she looks like in heaven.

Freckles, doe-shaped crying eyes. You lift her hand to your chest, let her feel your heart, to let her know that your giving her your heart, your love. You don't want her to forget about you.

You don't want to die.

Yet if you don't want her to die, you'll die before she could ever.

Tara's still sobbing, ripping her shirt and tying it against your stomach, the blood seeps through, she tightens it. Looks worriedly down at you.

Ugly shapes of swiggles and dots cloud, you see random shapes flying. Try to focus on Tara.

Sirens ring in the distance, Tara looks back, yet immediately looks back at you. A tear falls from her stained mascara cheeks, down your shirt. Weakly, you bring it up and wipe her cheeks. Assure her it'll be okay. Yet she knows it's not. They're just too fucking late.

You saved her. That's all that matters now.

"It's all my fault, I'm so sorry my love. I never meant to hurt you. I never thought it would end so soon. I don't want you to die."

You swallow, blood slightly gurgles through your throat, use your dying strength to speak, "I'm h-here." You croak, "T-tara."

"I love you so much," you slur, hiccupping on a cry. Trace the matching necklace she gifted the two of you years past on her neck. You're wearing it too. Hers was silver, yours was gold. A silver and golden dove.

The blood loss is too much, you can barely speak. But she's here with you, in your last moments. You're able to have a goodbye you might not have had. She might not be ready, but you almost are.

Time wasn't in your favor. It really wasn't.

This isn't goodbye this is a simply see you later.

She's okay, knowing that makes you feel a little more okay. A little more okay and soothe the worries.

Tara plays with your necklace. A proper goodbye. Her eyes glisten with tears, and she leans down, presses her lips to yours. You kiss her, knowing it'll be the one you'll live to feel. Then you slump back down on the concrete. You don't care about anyone but her anymore. Sirens holler, people bust into the theater, and you look up at her, taking off her necklace and putting it into the palm of her hand.

"I w-want you to promise me one thing."

She sniffles, tears wont stop anytime soon, keeps tying cloth around your deep wounds. It's no use. She nods, "Y-yeah?"

"Promise me y-you won't forget me. E-even when you find someone you love, maybe even more than me. You won't t-throw.." You pause, coughing, "T-throw our memories away. Promise me that. That when your h-hands hold theirs, you realize that mine was once warmer. When you're by yourself on F-Friday nights, you'll remember that you used to come to mine and cuddle m-me." You hiccup, losing your train of thought, blinking, your words are barely audible, yet Tara can still make them out.

"...When you look at the stars on the grassy meadow, you'll remember that that's the spot we always w-went to to get our thoughts out of things," you barely giggle, it hurts your stomach. "A-and, when you look at all my pictures, or maybe one day I won't pass your mind for once, you'll be ready to let me go. The thought of me still being here. Y-you'll be able to love, even though I might still scar your heart."

She sniffles, seeing the way you begin to struggle on your words, they grow quieter.

"But I won't let that happen, I don't want your h-heart t-to scar," You place her hand on your chest again, "You can have mine."

Tara swallows her tears, still, they drop.

"I love you, Y/N," she sniffles, it's the same word from every other time you both said you loved each other. Yet this time, it's so fucking different. It's the last time you'll ever hear her say it to you while you're still hear. "I'll never love anyone more than I loved you."

"I love you too, Tara," you whisper. It's the last time she'll ever hear it from you. A small, weak smile cracks on your face as she leans down one more time, kisses you softly, taking the last breath from your lips.

And it's time to go. Your chest stills.

And for the last time, she hears your heart beat one more time.

A heart that once beat for her was gone.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader

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violetasteracademic · 2 days

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The bonus chapter that ended Nessian

This is honestly really surprising to me. Apparently there are people out there that think Nesta and Cassian are going to end up together. Have they not read their bonus chapter? SJM effectively ended them.

First of all, the way they think about each other is not romantic at all:

Cassian has no idea where he stands with her, and as you can see, he is so unhealthily obsessed with Nesta that he can't stop thinking about her and literally rushed to interact with her even though she doesn't even like him and is mean to him! If Sarah wanted this be be romantic, she could have made totally different choices. We could have learned they shared secret touches or looks, have their fingers trembling or breath catching around each other. But no, just confusion and unhealthy obsession on Cassian's part. Honestly, he kinda seems like an incel here.

Worse than that, it's clear he obviously only lusts after her:

He literally has not said one thing about her personality! He's just weirdly obsessed with her boobs and her scent and is just thinking about her stroking him. If we were supposed to have gleaned he has real feelings for her, and not just lust, couldn't Sarah have added something more sweet and personal here? I don't know. Maybe he could have brought her a thoughtful present that shows how much he sees and understands her when no one else does. But no. He just wants to get laid and touch her boobs. Honestly, ugh.

And let's not even get started about the Mor thing!

Cassian slept with Mor because he was jealous of Azriel! And if you recall, in ACOMAF Morrigan said Cassian just wants what he can't have and it has driven Cassian crazy for centuries that Mor never wanted him again after they slept together once. Rhys confirms this too.

Nesta clearly is not interested in Cassian. In fact, she knees him in the balls right after this. Honestly? This actually seems like a really toxic perpetuation of the Mor situation. Cassian yet again wants what he can't have, and it is actually in the canon text that he has this problem. Also, notice that he's ashamed of this situation and embarrassed to tell Mor about it? That's not a very good setup for a romance. He should have the full support of his friends and family in order for Nessian to work.

He calls himself stupid, he knows it's wrong, he just doesn't care for a moment because of the lust. Again, Nesta knees him in the balls. Not interested. Take a hint you creepy incel! And even though he was fully planning on devouring her lips, he is clearly not anymore!

But here's the real nail in the coffin:

Nesta forbids him from coming back. She threatens that she'll scream if he does and she is only willing to work with and talk to anyone but him. How is he supposed to get around that? How is their relationship supposed to develop if he is forbidden from talking to her and seeing her? I just don't understand how this is supposed to resolve in the books. At least hundreds, if not a few thousand of the tens or hundreds of thousands of SJM readers have read this bonus chapter. There's no way to come back from this.

Also- did you notice in ACOFAS Nessian's same drama is still playing out, but SJM interestingly enough introduces a character named Emerie and they have a scene together? Seems like SJM is clearly telling us Nessian isn't happening and setting up a new love interest for Cassian. Based on their limited interactions, it's actually really obvious to me that they are a much better fit and there is already a ton of foreshadowing that they are endgame. In fact, I think they are mates!

I swear this has nothing to do with the fact that I dislike Nesta. I mean, do I dislike her, and do I think Cassian deserves better? Yeah. But that's not relevant here. What's relevant is text and foreshadowing and the fact that I don't like Nesta and think Cassian deserves better because I've self inserted myself into Sarah's writing and want her to do what I want and I don't want Archeron sisters I don't like winding up with a bat boy I love.

Wait no... Ignore that second part I didn't mean to type that out.

#elriel #pro elriel #just being silly #i actually love all the sisters and bat boys this is just satire!#elriel endgame #elriel month 2024

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hiraethwrote · 1 day

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your only competition - satoru gojo

[ satoru gojo - f!reader ]

✧ summary: constantly trying to one up each other, youre always at each others throat. swearing you hate the other, neither want to admit that you might enjoy your time spent together. until... ✧ cw: academic rivals, some swearing, poorly written combat scenes (sorry), injuries, mentions of blood, bickering, some angst, slight comfort, no use of y/n, somewhat proofread ✧ word count: 5.0k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Satoru Gojo was the best, in every sense of the word. Being the first sorcerer in centuries to be born with the Six Eyes definitely counted for something. And so he began to excel well beyond his classmates, fairly enjoying the spotlight that went with his rare abilities. Wasn’t it always nice to get recognition for your achievements? Satoru thought so at least.

Sitting alone at the top, he was sent on solo missions for curses his peers couldn’t face. That was, of course, until the day you showed up. He didn’t know it at the time, but that warm September day you walked into the classroom would be burned into his memory for as long as he’d live.

Everyone’s heads had perked up when an unfamiliar individual had paraded into the classroom, following close behind Yaga. You'd held your head high, hands tucked neatly behind your back while Yaga introduced you as the new student. It had to be a joke, Satoru had thought, a snicker playing on his lips at the sight of you. Gathering as much information as he could just by letting his eyes travel you, he couldn’t sense a single ounce of cursed energy, so why were placed in their class?

Your eyes shined with a childlike innocence, like you were totally unaware of the world you were all living in. One could feel you radiate a sense of hope that only came from being inexperienced. Oh, how hard the harsh reality would hit you once you were faced with what was out there.

After class, Shoko had yanked Satoru back into the classroom by his uniform, her eyebrows furrowed in a strict scowl. “I know what you’re thinking, Satoru.” He stared back at her with big eyes, pretending he didn’t know what she was getting at. “She’s been sheltered, we all saw it. So it’s important you behave!”

“I always behave.” He slumped over as he spoke, appearing more weakly to enforce his dumb act.

“I mean it, Satoru. She’s going to need our help.”

He took his index finger and drew an X over his heart. “You have my word.” His infamous smirk still danced on his lips, which made Shoko not believe him for a second. She knew there wasn’t much she could do if he’d already decided to tease you. With a disappointed shake of the head, she left him standing with his hands in his pockets.

Satoru kept his eye on her until she had turned a corner. The second she was out of sight, he darted in the opposite direction with a clear mission in mind, managing to catch up with you as you were walking down the hall to your dormitory.

“Hey, wait up.” With a curious look, you turned to the source of the voice that called your name. Pacing towards you, was a tall, lanky fellow with locks white as snow, the biggest shit-eating grin you’d seen in a long time, wearing a pair of characteristic sunglasses.

“You must be the one and only Satoru Gojo,” you said, mirroring his expression as you defensively crossed your arms over your chest.

“I see Yaga already told you about me.”

“No, not really,” you shrugged, your tone taking him by surprise. “But it’s not like your name is unknown in our world.”

“So what have you heard about me then?” He bent forward to be on your level, fishing for compliments, making you feel patronised.

“Don’t feel like inflating your ego more. It’s already dangerous walking around with a head big as yours.” Satoru instantly jerked back into a straight position, retrieving his hands from his pockets to regain a more dominant position.

“Well, aren’t you cute,” he said sarcastically.

“Was there something you wanted?”

Looking down on you, he began to wonder if you were putting on a face, intentionally giving off the impression of being reckless and empty headed. Therefore he had started to theorise the bounce in your step didn’t come from being inexperienced; it came from a film belief that you were better than what people gave you credit for.

“It not every day a new sorcerer joins us, so I’m just curious about what makes you special?” The self satisfied smirk was back on his face in order to seem unbothered by your snarky remarks.

“What’s it to you?” Fuck you, was the first thought that crossed his mind when you’d once again, shut him down. You weren’t giving him anything to go on, not verbally or on any level his Six Eyes could detect.

“We’re classmates now. A team — think I could benefit from knowing,” he said gallantly.

“You’ll know soon enough,” you smirked at him as you began to back away towards your room.

His smile slowly faltered, his eyebrows narrowing in frustration. “Good luck.”

“Sure, thanks,” you waved nonchalantly over your shoulder as you entered your room without another word.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he still couldn’t pin point anything about you. The only logical explanation to having an ignorant demeanour whilst having a sharp tongue would be you were able to fend for yourself. Then why couldn’t he sense any power on you?

But as you’d said, he would find out soon enough. Even as soon as the next day, when you’d all met for sparring. It was like the higher ups had heard his prayers, because he had been paired up against you. His excitement didn’t go unnoticed by Shoko, who kicked him weakly in the shin to try and smother it.

“You go easy on her, mister,” she’d said so only he was able to hear.

“Don’t worry, Shoko. I’m not cruel. I’ll end it quickly so she won’t humiliate herself too much,.”

Once you were both firmly placed on your respective positions, both with a staff in your hands, he made sure to capture your gaze. “Are you ready for this, sweetheart?” His tone was as sweet as sugar, never breaking the eye contact as you both leaned forward in a bow.

“Are you, sweetheart?” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. He hummed softly at your comment, entertained by the attitude he knew he’d wipe off you the second the sparring started.

After being underestimated for years and years, you'd eventually had no choice but to learn how to use it to your advantage. You leaned into the role of an unintelligent girl who went into every situation without thinking. People became sloppy when they faced you, confident they’d easily take you out.

Satoru was no different. What was worse, was how he didn’t even try to hide how sure he was that you were weak. His smile said it all.

Yaga signalled for you to start, instantly tightening your grip on your staff before striking it directly at him. He was a little startled at how you immediately went for the offensive, but he swiftly dodged the attack just as you had expected. You exploited his dodge, by having the staff spin around before smacking him in the back of the head, stumbling over the foot you had strategically placed in front of him.

Tumbling forward, he finally managed to steady himself only to be faced by Suguru and Shoko standing on the sidelines, both choking back the laughter about to spill out of them. None of the three students had expected you to be so aggressive from the get go, let alone succeed at it.

He shook off the shock, not to mention the pain, from the hit before turning back to look at you. The playfulness had seized to exist and now there was determination written all over him. The corner of your lips perked up in a content smirk.

His staff came piercing through the air, you spun away in the last second before flipping the staff and deflecting his next move, trapping his weapon under yours. You turned to look at him and he didn’t like the mischievous expression plastered on your face.

“What are you playing at?” He asked with a small pant. Your smile only grew at the sight of his frustrated demeanour.

This was the part you loved, the moment you could see it in your opponent’s eyes that they had severely misjudged you. And in their epiphany, you knew they still wouldn’t be able to read you clearly. That being said, you were fighting no other than Satoru Gojo, who even if he couldn’t predict your next move, could be able to take you out regardless.

Suddenly, you felt your staff slip and glide against his. He quickly took advantage of how you’d put your weight on the staff. Before you knew it, you felt the impact of his staff slam against your back.

You found your footing before you reactively threw your elbow at his face. A scoff of surprise slipped out of you when it stopped an inch from his face without him doing anything.

“Asshole,” you breathed. This was the oh-so-famous infinity you had been told about, but you didn’t quite understand it or how it worked. It was no secret that Satoru was well on his way to become the strongest, but he wasn’t there just yet. So maybe you could give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he wasn’t a hundred percent in control of his infinity, that it had been an instinctive reaction.

Nevertheless, it was what you had waited for. You’d wanted him to be the one to resort to his powers first so you could shamelessly use yours.

His breath hitched in his throat when an overwhelming wave of unfamiliar power crashed over him. “What the-“ he didn’t understand what was happening. Was this your power, and why hadn’t he been able to sense it earlier? Had you really been able to block him out from getting insight in your technique?

He didn’t even realise what was happening until he was jerked into the air before slamming against the floor with immense force, landing on his shoulder. The room were quiet for a solid ten seconds before he staggered back on his feet before slow claps in your honour was heard from his friends.

“What the hell was that?” He panted, approaching you with quick steps as his hand rubbed circles on his shoulder.

“That was how you win,” you said in between heavy breaths, leaning your hands on your knees.

“That’s not what I mean,” he nearly growled. Before he was able to interrogate you further, a friendly slap was placed on his back.

“Just admit it, Satoru. She beat you,” Suguru said with a low chuckle. Satoru didn’t even flinch, he kept his gaze pinned on you.

“But you cheated,” he said with a displeased chuckle. You didn’t even entrain his comment, only turning away from him and starting to walk out of the gymnasium. “Hey, I’m talking to you. That last move was dirty.” You heard his footsteps hurry over to you again.

“How’s that?” Snapping around to face him, folding your arms over your chest. “By using my technique? If that’s the case, you’re nose should be bleeding right now.”

With worried eyes, Shoko and Suguru watched your bickering from afar, knowing exactly how this relation was going to play out. The loud argument in the gymnasium was only the beginning of your rivalry. Every person unfortunate enough to witness your public displays of hatred, quickly learned that both you and Satoru were extremely headstrong — maybe stubborn was a better word.

Both of you brought your petty arguing with you into the classroom the first chance you got. It became a never ending competition of who could answer the questions faster. And if the chance offered itself, you would instantly argue with the other person to the best of your ability. No one could tell if you did it to show off who knew the most, or if it was simply to humiliate the other. Either way, it got annoying fast.

Yaga had on several occasions tried to shut down the fighting, but had little success. You would both find one way or another to go at each other anyways. On one occasion, you’d gotten into a fight so bad that Yaga had ordered for the rest of them to leave the room and just let you two hash it out. He’d come back an hour later, only to see through the door crack that you were still going at it. He also saw how Satoru was fighting to let his smugness show, clearly getting a kick out of provoking you until you were red as a tomato.

“Are you really that stupid, Satoru?”

“Please, for the love of all that’s holy, shut up!”

The only place Shoko and Suguru managed to catch a break was during sparring, when they would sneak out for cigarettes the second you and Satoru said the first word to each other.

In every session, neither of you accepted going against anyone but each other. After your first sparring match, Satoru was determined to win the next one, which he did. And how he had won would probably haunt you forever.

You were just about to win yet another match, but it troubled you that Satoru didn’t seem worried about losing. You had the staff pressed against his, sweat dripping down your brow. He was heaving as much as you, but a small smirk was lurking at the corner of his lips.

That’s when he cocked his head forward, revealing the pair of most hypnotising blue eyes you’d ever seen. You had no control of how your muscles relaxed and expression softened. As a soft sigh slipped out of you, he instantly saw his opportunity to down you, knocking the wind out of your lungs when you’d hit the floor.

You'd gone to bed fuming that night, the image of Satoru laughing and teasing you flashing behind your eyelids as you so desperately tried to fall asleep. You were absolutely mortified by the fact that he’d won simply by his appearance; no combat skill, no infinity, no technique, no nothing!

The next morning you got up at the crack of dawn in order to work out and prepare yourself for the next time you’d face him. Never again would you give him the opportunity to embarrass you like that.

Neither is you would probably admit it, but as the training went on, you both learned a lot from each other. Especially when you began to make use of your powers.

Finally you were starting to understand how the most powerful sorcerer functioned, absolutely astonished by the sheer possibility of it. But as you got to know him more, you also so that his powers wouldn’t have been nearly as special if it hadn’t been for Satoru himself. The extraordinary way he so casually carried himself despite of it all, you couldn’t help but admire it. Though you wouldn’t let him know that.

Satoru too, was intrigued by you because it was only during sparring sessions he was able to see what your cursed technique could be capable of. Outside the gymnasium, you kept the cards close to your chest, revealing absolutely nothing about yourself. But in here, you let that shield down. The power you held was so intense, to the point he knew you were definitely holding back on him — just as he was with you.

As the matches got more intense, Suguru and Shoko kept betting the same 1000 yen on who would win. Not only that, they both seemed to notice the growing tension between you, despite the fact that you said you couldn’t stand each other.

And tension there was, as right now. Satoru had his arm around your neck, pressing against your chest. You had your hands tugging on his forearm as your back was pushed up against him. Cursing his name under your breath, you fought the small smile that was sneaking its way onto your face.

The hair on the back of your neck raised when you felt him lean in forward, his hot breath agains your ear before he spoke, “think I like you in this position better.” If you weren’t so focused on trying to beat him, you would probably have paid more attention to the flirtation in his voice.

In a matter of seconds, you benefitted from his playfulness and reversed the roles where you had him pinned against the ground in defeat. “Don’t go soft on me now, Satoru. Ain’t going to be any fun here anymore if you make it too easy.”

“I’m just trying to get in your head.”

“Hmm, funny. Doesn’t seem like it’s working,” you teased before you stood up without offering him a helping hand.

Satoru had his eyes follow you the entire way out of the gymnasium, a genuine smile dancing on his lips. He quickly snapped back to reality when he heard Suguru’s voice.

“Satoru!”

Turning to look at his friends, there was no signs of the smile that was present just a second ago. “What?”

“We called your name like four times!” Neither of them looked pleased, Shoko with her arms crossed over her chest and high shoulders, and Suguru with his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry, was just lost in thought.”

“We can tell,” Shoko sighed as they both began to follow him close behind as he walked for the exit of the gymnasium.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Suguru teased, instantly earning him a tired scoff from Satoru. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Give it a rest.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s a menace. You know I think so.”

“Yeah? Could have fooled us,” he shrugged in response.

“What do you mean?” Shoko and Suguru shared a quick glance in question if he was playing dumb or if he actually didn’t know what they were getting at.

“When you’re not seeking her out to argue, then you do not shut up about her.”

He tried to shrug them off. “Because she gets on my last nerve.”

“No, Satoru, you don’t get it,” Shoko interrupted him, clearly annoyed. “If you disliked her as much as you say you do, you’d think you would want as little to do with her as possible.”

“Everyone complains about people they don’t like.”

“Every once in a while, sure. But it’s all the god damn time!”

Satoru just shook his head, trying to shake off their accusations. “Whatever it is you’re getting at, you can drop it. You’ve never been more off.”

With a deep sigh, Shoko turned to Suguru with a stern look in hopes he could get him to realise how absolutely insufferable he had been since you'd arrived. The second they managed to peer him away from throwing insults in your direction, he went on to complain about anything you’d done. Your answers in class were stupid, your technique when training was sloppy, you had immense power but didn’t know how to use it.

But the absolute worst was when you and Satoru had been on missions. Seeing as the two of you were significantly stronger than the rest of them, you were often sent on more demanding missions just the two of you, on several occasions facing special grade curses.

When both Suguru and Shoko were present, there was only so much new information Satoru could provide them with. But if you were gone for a day or two, there was no shutting him up. He went on and on about whatever curse you met and went into detail about what you’d done to exorcise them. To anyone listening, it sounded like he admired every move you made, throwing in random, cruel remarks just to keep up the image of hatred.

“Look, if you can tell yourself you talk so much about her because you hate her, fine. But how do you explain the looks,” Suguru continued the discussion.

“Looks?” Shoko swore she could punch him.

“You can’t be serious?” He huffed.

Truth was, Satoru was fully aware of how his gaze lingered on you for a second too long. He knew he couldn’t help but smile whenever he saw you thrive in battle, whether in practice with him or on missions. And whenever your skin got in contact with his, he became idiotically aware of himself.

But he could never in a million years admit that. Not after being so adamant in his disdain for you. “You guys are reaching,” he said with his characteristic, cocky chuckle as he began to walk away. “She’s my only real competition. It’s only fair I stay on top of it so she doesn’t surpass me.”

His friends only scowled at him as he exited the gymnasium. “1000 yen they’re sleeping together in a month.”

“Nah, you’re winning that bet,” Shoko said with a defeated chuckle.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Satoru couldn’t understand what had happened. He was only staring empty at Yaga, the ringing in his ears completely blocking out his words, feeling his mouth run dry.

The last thing he remembered was Shoko’s frantic voice on the phone, telling him to hurry back to Jujutsu High. He’d only ever heard her voice that panicked a handful of times before; she was usually so calm and collected.

He’d wasted no time getting back, being rushed by both Suguru and Yaga the second he had set foot within the premises. The first thing he’d noticed was Suguru limping and clutching his stomach while his lip was bloodied.

Oh no.

“You alright?” He’d asked weakly, as he has begun to place the pieces together.

Suguru simply nodded with a wince in pain. “I’m fine, but Satoru-“

“You both made it back, right?” He tried to smother the desperation in his voice.

“Yes, but-“

Satoru had already begun to zone out, realising what they were about to tell him. He knew you and Suguru had gone on a mission— a mission which was originally meant for you and him.

However, last minute the higher ups had decided Satoru had to go on a solo mission. Though he had tried to argue, they had been very adamant. The only deal he had managed to make with them was for Suguru to go with you so you didn’t find yourself alone on a mission intended for the two of you.

“Satoru.” Though somewhat muffled, he managed to make out Suguru calling his name again.

“What happened?”

Suguru struggled to form the words, only stuttering a few sounds before Yaga jumped in to explain. “The curse that met them was special grade, not first grade like we first thought.”

“Okay, but she should be able to-“

“Satoru, you didn’t see it. It was unlike anything we’ve faced before,” Suguru finally managed to form a sentence as he could hear the stress start to appear in the voice of his best friend.

“No, but you’re both strong. Next to me, you’re the strongest!” He was starting to get severely anxious, his heart beating faster and faster. It was only made worse by how they didn’t seem to give him all the information straight forward.

“She got me out first.”

“Wait, got you out first? Is she not here?”

“Satoru?” Shoko’s shallow voice drew their attention to her, as her head perked out the door. Slowly, she made her way over to them, genuine concern on her face.

“Can someone please tell me what happened?” He pleaded, turning restless by the way they were all looking at each other while he was still left in the dark.

“She managed to hold the curse at bay long enough for me to go in again and get her.”

“She’s stable for now, but I… I’m not sure when she’ll wake up.”

This couldn’t happen. You always knew what you were doing when you were out on missions. Never reckless, despite what one might think. You took every precaution imaginable, avoiding every risk that you might face.

So how come they were telling him that you’d taken one hell of a beating? He felt the only reasonable explanation was that this was a sick joke.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, before hesitatingly asking what he’d wanted since he arrived. “Can I see her?” Shoko simply nodded before leading him to the door, carefully opening it up for him. Slowly stepping into the dimly lit room, his eyes immediately landed on you.

The first thing to hit him was how he couldn’t sense your cursed energy, and not because you were blocking him out like you usually did. But you just felt weak, and he couldn’t ever recall seeing you so peaceful.

Laying completely still on your back, your covers only covering your legs revealing your bandaged torso, a tiny bloodstain seeping through. Your face was different shades of blue, evidence of the battle.

As much as both of you had faced strong curses before, you’d never been this beaten up before. He became a little nauseous at the sight, beginning to picture how every thing had gone down wherever it was you had been sent on mission.

He cautiously approached your bedside, scared that if he made any sudden moves or sounds that he would somehow make it worse, before sitting down on the chair beside you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely a whisper. The guilt had hit him like a truck, taking responsibility for not being there.

If he had wanted to, he knew he could have convinced the higher ups not to send him on that solo mission. And if so, he could have been there and helped— saved you.

Against all odds, through all the fighting and bickering, you had become a strong team. Neither of you would say it out loud, but somewhere along the line, you had both grown to care for each other. Satoru, however, hadn’t realised it until his breath had hitched in his throat at the sight of you so fragile.

As the days past, your wound healed and your bruises faded from your face, but you showed no signs of waking up. Satoru grew more impatient for each day that went by, especially when no one had any more answers to give.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. I’ve done all that I can,” Shoko explained desperately almost on a daily basis, but he kept asking everyday.

Day in and day out, he sat in that damn uncomfortable chair, only occasionally pacing around the room for two minutes to stretch his legs before settling down in the chair again. He barely slept, so adamant on meeting your gaze when your eyes finally fluttered open.

“You gotta wake up soon,” he pleaded to deaf ears. Three weeks of waiting had been pure torture. “I need you to come back.” A somber chuckle left his lips.

Reluctantly, he dared to carefully grab your delicate hand in his. It was a weird sensation, as the only time he had felt your skin was when you were in combat training. Now it was soft and tender, letting his thumb glide graciously over the back of your hand.

“Do I have to beg you?” His voice was so careful, like he wasn’t able to let it out in its entirety. “If that’s what you’re trying to make me do, that’s not funny.”

Still nothing. Not a twitch in your eyelids, not your lips opening to speak, not your nose flaring as you took the first deep breath waking up.

“Wouldn't put it past you,” a faint smile reactively found its way onto his face. “Just please. Wake up.”

Dead silence filled the room, his eyes locked on your small hand resting in his. He didn’t realise his eyes had actually shed a tear until it hit your hand, his own intense emotions surprising him.

“You are going soft on me, sweetheart.” Satoru attention shot towards you, barely making out what you had groaned out. Muttering your name in shock, a self satisfied smirk grew on your lip. “Water, please,” you squealed before breaking out in coughs. Scrambling out of the chair, he clumsily filled you a glass of water.

“You’re awake.” His voice was so light, unlike how you were used to hearing it. Usually there was always a smirk to sense in his voice, constantly smug. But now he was so gentle, as he carefully placed his hand on your back to help you up before handing you the glass. You were so used to having his hands throw punches at you, it was a delightful change when he tenderly placed his hand on the back of your head as you drank.

“How long have I been out?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat before sitting back down in the chair. “A little over three weeks.”

Your eyes widened, another small cough escaping you. “Three weeks—“ a low whistle. “Bet you’ve surpassed me by far now.” You were only half joking, genuinely upset that you might have fallen behind. But, to your surprise, he gave you a nervous chuckle.

“Uhm, n-no,” he said before clearing his throat, shaking away his uneasiness. “Not really.”

“Okay? What have you been up to this whole time then?” The weak smile on your lips gradually faded when it dawned on you. With adoration glistening in your eyes, his gaze met yours. “Oh,” you spoke hoarsely. “You haven’t really sat here all the time, have you?”

“No, I’ve walked around the room a few times.” Blinking rapidly at him, you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing. This only confirmed the suspicions you’d been too scared to even think, that there might have been stolen glances and smiles with intentions shared between the two of you.

Without mentioning it, he had intuitively taken your hand in his again. Your cheeks heating from the feeling of his compassionate touch, pleasantly surprised by how natural it felt to have him hold it.

“I should probably get Shoko-“ he was about to stand up, but tightened the grip on his hand to prevent him.

“Just-“ anxiously clearing your throat. “I feel fine, we can wait a little longer.” His eyes captured your glare and he had never looked at you with so much passion before, making your heart skip a beat. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

“Wanted to be there when you woke up,” a tired smile on his lips.

“I’m glad you were.”

“Me too.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

a/n alright guys... "ill take a break from writing this week" im full of crap. so when I was 2k words deep, I rewrote the entire thing. then i just kept writing and writing, it never ended. i thought it was gonna be much shorter. had to perfrom some killing of darlings. when i finished it first it was like 5.3k words so.

reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated

plagiarism not authorized

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blogfullofemos · 3 days

Text

My Look Precedes Me

Based from this picture:

Synopsis: You're sitting on Eddie's bed with nothing but homework dispersed around you. And well... Baby has been in the corner... FOR FAR TOO LONG!!!

Word Count: 1k+

Warning: explicit words and a lot of angst. Italics is for flashbacks. I also believe that Eddie is very anxiety ridden, like moi. So yeah. Do what you will with that lol. Also has been proofread multiple times. (I wanna give you the best of the best okay 🥲)

Pairing: Eddie Munson + female reader

Lastly thank you so so so so so much for the shockingly amazing amount of feedback I received on my last 2 Eddie Munson blurbs. Thank you for the hearts, reblogs, and follows. Also I love the commentary cuz yes this man indeed drives me feral. But at times, he's just like me. 😭 Enjoy and let me know how you feel darling.

Eddie’s antsy. Eddie’s pissed. Better yet, if he has to deal with this any longer!! Eddie’s going to bring the upside down, downside up!! Or however the fuck they would reverse it. Sitting on a bean bag at the corner of his room, Eddie blatantly stares at you with furrowed brows. Wearing nothing but his favorite, black-ripped skinny jeans, his right leg bounces rapidly. His guitar resting still from the action as his hands fidgets all around it. Rolling his brown eyes, he presses his hand against his bottom lip to bite at the skin. Trying his best to distract himself from his fuming impatience.

For 2 and a half weeks, you’ve been…. Distant. And with no reason. The first week you started to make conversations between you two short, didn’t acknowledge when he wanted to make you the priority, and lastly you didn’t answer his phone calls. At all. You’re his girlfriend, right? Obsessively he checked if you still sported his guitar pick necklace. His heart finding some semblance of solace, as he watched your habit of twirling the pick between your fingers when talking to others, never stopped.

“Hey… Uh-umm are we o-okay?” he asks shakily. With his hands in his pockets, he picks at the skin on his fingers. Clammy, heart burning, and thoughts racing for the worst; he kept his focus trained on the gravel crunch of his shoes. Never wanting you to see the fear anticipating to implode if his assumptions rang true. “You’re too in your head, Eds.” you giggle softly. Trying to break the unnerving silence, you scatter tiny rocks with a kick but nothing changes. You give it a few more steps. “Eddie?” you say, looking beside you with worry. Taken aback, you whip your head to look behind you. With a 4ft distance, Eddie stood still. His curls lightly drift with the wind as his head remains drooped. ‘Then why didn’t you notice I stopped? You must be in your head too.’ he thinks as a sniffle betrays him. In an instant, he hears you drop the scholarly books you held close to you and run towards him. “Eddie, baby..”, “Eds you’ve done nothing wrong..”, “Baby its me, not you okay.” you rush out. And with perfect deflection, you kissed him deeply.

The 2nd week was pure Hell. You made it your mission to not cross paths anytime during class hours, and when it came to lunch. You would just sit next to him, hold his hand, and if he was lucky you would laugh at a joke he made. Eye contact was the least of your worries.

“Sooo what’s happening here?” Steve abruptly asks as he dips his french fry into ketchup. Sitting across from you at the table, Steve quirks his brow at you as your focus snaps to him. Successfully cutting your convo with Robin down completely. “What do you mean?” you laugh off.

“Well Lisa needs me.” Robin announces, quickly freeing herself from the table. Your eyebrow raises at her sudden departure, but she just smiles and waves before scurrying to whatever table Lisa is at. Who even is Lisa? You don’t realize Eddie profusely shaking his head at Steve, before smacking his hand on his face as Steve clears his throat. “You and Eddie.” you look at Eddie with confusion. With his hand covering his mouth and nose flared, he just stares at Steve. “Something’s off.” Steve finishes, biting his ketchup covered french fry. Eddie squeezes your intertwined hand with his, needing to break your inquisitive eyes from his teetering restraint. Even if it was just for a moment. Steve chuckles, “I mean…” he takes another bite to a fry “Why are you-?”

“Steve. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Eddie warns, trying his best to keep his hands at where they were.

“No. Munson. It’s… “ Steve slowly pushes the styrofoam plate aside, contemplating his next words wisely. Your eyes searched for what was to come out of Steve's mouth, but he sighs. “You are no Madonna.” Steve points at you, “And YOU!!” he points at Eddie “Are no Sean Penn!!”. In seconds your jaw drops, milk splatters onto Steve as Eddie tosses its small carton at his head, and Steve is now over the table grappling Eddie.

The taste of iron seeps within his mouth as he recollects himself from his triggering memories. Slapping his hands on each side of his bean bag chair, he shoots himself off of it. Quickly catching his guitar from falling, he swiftly places its strap on his shoulder. “I wrote a song for you.” he says heated, snatching the sheet you were filling out and crumbling it.

“EDS!!” you yell out in shock, trying to snatch the balled-up paper from him but he puts it in his mouth. Before you could even say anything, he scratches his pick against his guitar strings. The scratchy sounds reverberating throughout his room loudly, since he always has his amp on max. Chewing the paper, he strums a quick solo, spitting the saliva-soaked blob at you. Disgusted you watch him headbang to a heavy riff, “WHY ARE YOU DRAGGING ME ALONG, SO FUCKING HIGH STRUNG, ANOTHER DAY OF THIS AND WE’LL BE DONE!!” he bursts out, strumming his guitar strings like he was punching it.

Your heart sank as he continues the angry riff, his brown eyes twitching as tears slowly begin to creep their way out. “LOVE YOU BUT IT JUST SEEMS TO BE FUN, YEAH EDDIE, THAT’S A GOOD ONE!! DOES SHE LOVE YOU, DOES SHE EVEN KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS!!” he continues. The vein in his neck protrudes from how loud he was screaming. You nibble on your bottom lip, your eyes welling up, but Eddie didn’t care to stop. Because when did you ever 'cared' to stop? Your intense stare never once faltering as he stalks towards your laid-back body. “CUZ IF SHE WANTS TO UP AND R-.” his voice cracks as his eyes winces, heavy tears running down his cheeks. His nose flares as he struggles to breathe, his hands not keeping up the harsh tempo. Opening his mouth, you scream “MY PARENTS ARE PLANNING TO SEND ME AWAY!!”.

“What?” Steve says, thrown back and silencing his guitar strings eerie screeching. Finally, you explain your past actions followed by a full blown breakdown. Believing you were invincible, your father always seemed to catch you in an act. And this one labelled you his grandest mistake. During a rage fit, “NO DAUGHTER OF MINE WILL BE WITH A DRUGGED-OUT LOSER!!” you repeated to Eddie. Causing Eddie to turn away from you, walk a few steps away, and plop on the end of his bed. Your father gave you an ultimatum. If you chose Eddie, he would send you away to live with your great grandmother. Well more like take care of your prudish great-grandmother. But if you chose different, then life goes as usual. And the only way he knew you weren't seeing Eddie, is if you focused on getting your grades up. Eddie looks up to his ceiling, bemused on how oblivious he was in all of this. The puzzle finally putting itself together.

“BUT- but I choose you Eddie.” you cry, quickly placing your hand on top of his. Eddie stared at the walls while you vented out your frustration, silently crying. He hates your dad. But he understood his smothering defense. If they were to reverse roles, he would've done the same. But God he felt so wrong for placing all of his pent-up rage towards you. It wasn’t you who was pulling away, it was your family prying you off of him. Broken, he finally looks at you with soaked lashes, “A drugged-out loser huh.” he sadly repeats your father’s remark. You pout. Bringing him close, you rest his head on your chest. The strong sound of your heart beat causing him to sob.

As it was the first time he ever heard a precious thing give texture to his ostracized existence.

#stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #special guest steve harrington #with another special guest robin buckley #eddie munson angst #rocker eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson boyfriend

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idkwhatever580 · 1 day

Text

Karma’s A Bitch

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt: Natasha pranks reader without knowing r is petty and will double back on the prank war with much more force

Warnings: angst, some crying, fake blood, fake period, pain, pranks :)))

Pronouns: unspecified I think? but AFAB

A/N: I definitely did not take inspiration from a certain person that totally isn’t named jojo siwa 😅 guys I swear I think I’m funny

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

Y/n’s pov

Natasha and I got into a little bit of a scuffle earlier. I finished off the peanut butter and she couldn’t make a peanut butter sandwich (gross)

So I kinda was a little bratty and she was mad. I feel really bad now and I know she won’t be mad at me because that’s just how we are but I’m going to apologize.

I walk to the living room where she and Wanda are not really watching a show. Well. Wanda is crocheting and Natasha is playing on her phone. So I walk to her and sit on her lap.

She looks up at me and I say

“I’m sorry nat. I shouldn’t have gotten so stubborn about the peanut butter”

She smiles and I know I’m in the clear and she says

“That’s okay baby. Thank you for apologizing and I also want to say sorry. I realize that it’s not that big of a deal.”

I smile and kiss her and say

“So we’re all good?”

She nods her head and says

“All is forgiven.”

Natasha looks at her watch and says

“Oh! I have to go”

I furrow my eyebrows and say

“Go where?”

She moves me off her lap and says

“I have an appointment at 12:00”

I nod my head and pout my lips for a kiss and she leans down to softly kiss me goodbye

“I love you”

I say as she leaves and she says

“Mhm bye babe”

I furrow my eyebrows when she doesn’t say it back and I think maybe she didn’t hear me

“Nat? What time are you getting back?”

“Around 1 or 2 o’clock”

I nod my head and say

“Okay be safe, I love you”

I put a bit more volume to the I love you. And she nods her head and says

“I’m always safe. Bye. Bye wanda”

She waves bye to Wanda and walks out without ever saying i love you back to me

I try to think why she would do that. Before I can dig myself too deep into my thoughts Wanda cuts in and says

“Uh- what was that about?”

I look at her and say

“I don’t know. I tried twice and she wouldn’t say it back”

Wanda sits up and sets her crochet down

“Is she mad at you? Is everything alright?”

I shrug my shoulders and say

“You heard her, she forgave me. Did it sound genuine?”

She nods her head and says

“She is also not the type to just leave without saying I love you to you. At least I don’t think so”

I shake my head and say

“No. Even if we’re fighting she always says I love you. She never leaves without resolving it. I know she’s only going for an hour but still.”

Wanda shakes her head and says

“Well. Maybe she forgot”

I nod my head trying to convince myself of that too but I leave to my room and spend the whole hour overthinking about it. I end up crying from all my overthinking and Natasha walks in an hour later and says

“What’s wrong baby?”

She immediately runs to me and holds me and I sob into her neck and say

“You don’t love me anymore!”

She shakes her head and says

“No baby! No I was pranking you to get you back for eating my peanut butter!”

I sniffle and tears are still running but I look at her and say

“Really?”

She nods her head and says

“I love you so so much baby. I just wanted to mess with you a bit”

I shove her shoulder a tad and say

“That was mean!”

She chuckles and I glare at her and say

“Did you forget what happened to Tony when he pranked me?”

Her eyes widen and her face goes a bit pale.

Last year Tony thought it was a good idea to make me think I was getting kicked off the avengers. He brought fury into it and everything.

Obviously it ended in tears and stuff.

The next morning after the prank he woke up with no eyebrows and green hair. And I keyed one of his hundreds of cars. And wrote “fuck you” on it. (One of the cheapest cars he owns don’t worry I’m not crazy)

It was really funny to me and the others but he never messed with me again.

I smirk at her even though my eyes are still a bit blurry from crying and I say

“You should have thought about that one.”

She shakes her head and says

“You can prank me back as long as it doesn’t involve breaking or ruining something”

I nod my head and say with an evil grin

“Deal. But you’ll never see it coming and don’t forget. The wise JoJo Siwa once said ‘karma’s a bitch. You should have known better’”

She pushes my shoulder and says

“You’re so dumb”

I giggle a bit at my joke and Natasha joins in with laughter until we’re laughing a lot.

——————————————————————————

It’s been a week and Natasha finally let her guard down. She thinks I forgot or something. I didn’t. I’m getting her back today.

I know it’s kind of insensitive to do this prank but it’s the only one I can think of that she won’t immediately guess it’s a prank.

Yes. It’s a period prank. I know what happened in the red room but she says it doesn’t affect her. Like the period part.

I feel like it’d be different if I was like making fun of her or something but I’m just gonna pretend I bled a lot.

Natasha had only a few periods before the “ceremony” she doesn’t actually remember any of it. So she doesn’t know much about it other than from what she’s seen with me and Wanda.

Usually my periods aren’t bad. Thank goodness. Yeah I get cramps but I don’t always throw up. Okay maybe they’re bad. But it’s really the cramps that are the bad parts. I usually have like a regular to super flow.

I woke up early for me. Natasha is already training at her usual time. I have about thirty minutes until she comes back after her gym shower.

I get up and grab the fake blood I bought earlier and I wipe it on my shorts. I put it all over and then I sit down on the bed where I’m gonna be “sleeping”

I make it look like I’m bleeding out or something serious and then I hide the fake blood bottle in my bedside table. Thankfully I didn’t get any fake blood on my hands so it doesn’t give me away.

I lie down and pretend to sleep. Then Natasha comes in and does her morning routine with me. She comes over and lies on top of me softly to wake me up.

I immediately cringe in feigned pain and she pulls back a bit. She hovers over me and brushes my hair out of my face and says

“Baby? Are you okay?”

I don’t answer and she says

“Y/n?”

I open my eyes and pout at her and try to say something but I grab my stomach in pain and groan

“What’s going on baby? Do you feel sick?”

I shake my head and frown and say

“Cramps”

She sighs and nods her head and says

“Have you started?”

I shrug my shoulders and say

“I think I start tomorrow”

She nods her head and says

“I’ll go get you a heat pack”

I nod my head and she pulls away and kisses my forehead and says

“I’ll be right back okay?”

I nod my head and she walks to the bathroom to grab my heat pad.

Once she’s out of sight I pull the covers up a bit to make it look like I just looked and I say

“Nat!?”

She comes in and says

“Yeah?”

I put on my best panic face and say

“Natty I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to!”

She comes over to me quickly and sees the blood and she freezes.

“Nat?”

She clicks into her help mode and says

“Okay baby. Something is wrong. We need to get you to medbay”

I shake my head and say

“No I just- I just bled through my shorts.”

Natasha shakes her head and says

“No y/n. That’s not just bleeding through your shorts…”

She hesitates

“Right?”

I shake my head and say

“It’s fine nat this has happened before”

Her eyes go wide and she says

“You mean this exact thing has happened more than once?!”

I nod my head nonchalantly and say

“Can you just help me get cleaned up?”

She freezes trying to make sense of everything and nods her head.

She picks me up and carries me to the bathroom.

“Do you need help?”

I shake my head and she steps out. I smirk knowing I put another bottle of fake blood in the bathroom and I quickly grab it and sit on the toilet and pour some in there to make it look like I bled even more. I put the bottle away and sit down and prepare to freak out.

Natasha barges in and says

“I just called Wanda and she said this isn’t normal. Why would you lie to me?!”

I take this as my chance and I look up at her with a dazed frown and thankfully I somehow managed to make myself look sickly. She furrows her eyebrows and says

“Y/n? Are you alright?”

She walks up to me and I show her the toilet and she gasps.

“Is it bad?”

I ask. Before she can respond I sway a bit to the side to make it look like I’m about to pass out.

Wanda bursts into the room and comes close to me as Natasha grabs me softly to help balance me

“Oh my god! Y/n! Natasha this is not okay we need to get her to medbay immediately!”

I grab Natasha’s arm and say

“Why am I bleeding so much?”

She looks at me and says

“I don’t know baby but this is serious. Let’s go”

She tries to pick me up but I push her hands away and say

“Let me get up. It hurts to be carried.”

She reluctantly nods her head and says

“Wanda get Bruce to get ready for when we get there.”

Right before Wanda leaves I say

“Wait!”

I stand up tall and then randomly start doing the jojo siwa karma dance and say

“Karmas a bitch! You shoulda known better!”

And Natasha and Wanda look at each other then back at me and I say

“You just walked the prank!”

Natasha stands up and says

“What?”

I look at her and say

“It was a prank dummy. I told you I’d get you back. You know I don’t mess around with pranks”

She lets out a sigh of relief knowing I’m not actually dying and she then gets a bit mad and says

“You got that shit on everything! You’re so dead”

I giggle and say

“But it was a good one right?”

She glares at me but when I give her my puppy eyes she kind of scoffs with a smile and looks away and says

“Yeah. It was pretty good. Even if I thought you were bleeding out”

I smirk and say

“I’m sorry. I love you baby”

I go for a hug but she stiff arms me and says

“Not until you clean every single thing you got blood on up”

I drop my head and say

“Okay. You’re not mad at me are you?”

She laughs a bit and says

“Oh no I’m pissed. You’re sleeping on the couch for that one”

I pout and nod my head and Wanda says

“By the way. You’re a bitch. I thought you were actually dying. I still love you though hoe”

I giggle at my best friend and say bye as she leaves

Then I look at Natasha and say

“I love you”

She nods her head and says

“I love you too baby. Now get cleaning or else you’ll be on the couch for a month”

I widen my eyes and run to clean myself and everything else up.

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

I finish cleaning up and I go out to the kitchen and sit next to Natasha on a barstool who is now eating a peanut butter sandwich.

“Are you still mad at me?”

She looks at me surprised and says

“Why would I be mad at you?”

I furrow my eyebrows and say

“Because I did a mean prank?”

She chuckles a bit and says

“Oh. Yeah I was a bit frustrated but I was never mad. I don’t think I can be mad at you for that. I should have seen it coming”

I smirk and say

“Yeah. I did promise that. But thank you for caring about me.”

She smiles and says

“I really thought you were crazy when you said it was normal.”

I smile and say

“I am pretty crazy”

She sets her sandwich down and says

“I love you baby”

I smile and kiss her softly and say

“I love you more”

She smirks and says

“I love you most”

We’re in a battle for the love now. But I have the winning hand

“I loved you first.”

She frowns and says

“Dang it. That’s unfair. You can’t use that against me!”

I smile and rub my nose softly against hers and say

“Yes I most definitely can and I just did”

She narrows her eyes and says

“Fine. You win this time!”

I giggle and set my hand on her leg and say

“I win every time.”

She crosses her arms and says

“Yeah you do.”

I smile softly and then I get an impulsive thought and I jump up and Natasha starts

“What are you doi-”

I shake my hand down and stomp my foot and start yell singing

“KARMAS A BITCH I SHOULDA KNOWN BETTER!!”

She shakes her head and says

“What am I gonna do with you?”

I shrug my shoulders as I sit back down on the barstool.

“Throw me in the trash?”

She thinks about it and says

“Although that would be fun I think I might just throw you on the couch”

I smile and step back and say

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

Then I bolt and she says

“You’re never gonna win this game!!”

——————————————————————————

A/N this is totally off topic but I think I’m going to stop posting for a while. I’m having a hard time with family and stuff going on and I am about to graduate so a bunch of things are coming up. I love yall so much and I am still taking requests I just might be taking longer to post them. <3

#avengers #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #prankster #prank

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carmenized-onions · 2 days

Text

Do the Thing | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear x you #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction

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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 day

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To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

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screechingsandwichtriumph · 2 days

Text

Bau x reader : how they first meet

Warnings: nothing really , kinda awkward (?)

Summary: you had just joined the bau , already familiar with some of the members of your new team

Note: this is meant to be written to a gn tone , but since I identify as a female and use those pronouns , I might have made some mistakes. If there is anything to this or any other of my stories please inform me

Penelope Garcia

You had just been informed that you were accepted to became a part of one of the most elite teams in the fbi. The behavior and analysis unit.

You were told that you were to became a member in two weeks , since they needed to file some paperwork

That some night you received a message that read:

Hello, heard you gonna join the team! I'm Penelope Garcia the teams analyst

So you and Penelope had been chatting a long time before you met almost any other member of the team

Aaron Hotchner

Being in he office as long as he did , it was natural that he was familiar with most of the important agents. Same thing happened with you

He had met you maybe twice or three times already

Once when you had just joined the fbi and he was a low level agent back then that had been tasked to shaw you around and help you with any problem you may have had

He had assured you that you could call him if you needed any help ,but you never did

The next time he had met you was around two years before you were to join the team

It was in an official fbi meeting. He was one of the first agents to arrive and when you entered the room , your face shined

You went right on him , expressing your happiness to be seeing him and all the typical stuff, before lightly chit chatting

He had thought you were funny and quite amusing

Then on the meeting one of the agents spoke up saying something stupid

He turned to look at you with a ' really?' face and you almost burst out laughing

He felt comfortable around you

So when your name was on the ones on the new recruit list , he was quick to chose you

Emily Prentiss

Emily was known by a lot of names all around the world

So you an agent that had been to multiple countries , once happened to fall on her

It would have been a little awkward on your side because she was kinda your idol

She had been the agent that had hopped around in most of the federal organisations and had the best of names with the most successful cases

So meeting her was unique for you

You though that she wouldn't remember you , but boy you were wrong

She had clear memory of who you were , since you had been the first one to show such an awe at her achievements

She didn't know who you were until she heard Penelope talking to JJ about you

JJ met you the morning that you were to join the team, since she had offered to help you navigate your way throu the place and also fill you in

But this was not the first time she heard of you

Penelope had been talking about you , how funny you were and how she thought that you would be an excellent addition in the team

She showed you around , unable to not notice the way your lips curved at the place around you

A slight smile you were trying to hide behind a serious persona

She completely understood why Penelope perceived you as a good addition to their little family

You were easy going , charming and bubbly a little pep on your step

She couldn't not notice how you sent Gotcha little smile and a cute wave

In hers and your surprise , he offered you a timid smile too

Derek Morgan

The man™.

The moment you entered the room and jj told them who you were , he was on his feet , a strong hand extended as to greet you

' Derek Morgan '

He'd say in his deep voice

Everyone had at least an idea about you , through Penelope, except for him somehow

He quickly noticed your slightly fidgety hands and the way your eyes skipped in between everyone

Once he had his moment , Penelope rushed in

' I'm so sorry my sweet chocolate thunder , but you can't keep my friend away from me'

She told him and he stared in shock as Penelope hugged you and you instinctively hugged back

Spencer Reid

Spencer was the last one of the bunch to meet you

The whole time you were interacting with the team he stared at you his gaze analytical , his glasses falling downwards his nose every few minutes

Once he understood that the energetic part was over , he figured it would be a good time for him to meet you

' I'm Spencer Reid ' he'd say , extending his arm

You had looked at it started out , throwing a quick glass at an equally confused looking Penelope

' i- uhh, you don't have to shake my hand I was already told that's not your thing'

He felt seen at this comment of your shooting at his blond haired girl a grateful smile

He decided right then and there that he liked you

117 notes · View notes

flowerwrites06 · 2 days

Text

plucked blossom — myg

PLUCKED BLOSSOM | Yoongi | Oneshot | Request or Original

Original Request: Arranged marriage au?? E2L?? They were enemies but yoongi finding out she was just a hurt precious soul. Ending up with Yoongi being protective of oc Plot: Two nobles are rushed into marriage and struggle to navigate the pressures of the court. Pairing: Noble!Yoongi x Noble!OC (Name: Kiku) Genre: Historical AU Rating: R18+ Word Count: 4k+ Warnings: coarse language, angst, marriage troubles, explicit sexual content (unprotected) Author’s Note: I wanted to experiment with this sort of period historical style for a story. Hope you enjoy!

“This is the third ball you’ve refused to attend,” Yoongi said as two servants placed a white box onto the bed.

Kiku only glanced at the object before going back to her embroidery, still working on the same daffodil which was already fraying from her lack of focus. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood.”

Yoongi lets out another frustrated sigh, his white sleeves rolled up by the afternoon and his patience thinned as he placed his hands on his hips. “Eventually we need to become public.”

“We have become public, we had a wedding so big, the money could’ve fed the entire country.” The two servants quickly walked out of the room, wanting to avoid what was the fifth argument they’ve had.

“Oh you’re a pure, giving soul now?”

Kiku rolled her eyes, stabbing the fabric again for the next stitch. “If you want to go to the ball so bad, why don’t you just go by yourself?”

Yoongi shook her head. “That’s not a good look.”

“Why not? So many men there attend a ball only to fuck some other noblewoman in the garden.” She raised her eyes to glare at him directly. “At least you’ll be honest with yourself.”

Frustration laced his gaze. “I don’t go there to fuck some random person, it’s just tradition.”

“Well, I’m not going.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, clearly to gather whatever saintly patience that was hanging by a threat. With another deep breath, he walked to the box and opened it to reveal a beautiful pale blue dress, transparent outer kaftan with a silk white inner dress. “I brought you a new dress. It’s your favourite colour.”

Kiku looked at the dazzling delicate silver embroidery at the edges, just the way she preferred it. “Did you go to consult my brother to find out?”

“No, your brother thought it was yellow.”

Kiku’s brows furrowed. “Of course he did.”

The tension between them slowly cooled as it always did. Something about Yoongi’s seemingly endless way of handling her quips and her own demeanour becoming gentle caused their arguments to end swiftly. Granted, they were still frequent but it was shorter everytime.

In a softer voice, Yoongi spoke. “Just one night a month, I’d like you to come public with me.”

“I don’t have good relationships with the court members,” Kiku said empathetically.

“Then ignore them, just come.”

“Why’re you being so insistent? You were never like this before.” Kiku crossed her arms over her chest. “You have been talking to my brother, haven’t you?”

“He…we think that the people might be whispering certain things.” Yoongi waved his hand.

Anger flared in her chest. Of course the court started muttering poisonous rumours. Everytime someone wanted some alone time to actually think about their life for once, they wanted to punish those people. Because it meant too much honesty in a world so used to pretty lies. “They whisper a lot of things, what is it this time?”

“They think you might’ve gone mad.” Yoongi didn’t waste breath saying this, as if he had already convinced himself of it.

Kiku chuckled, putting her embroidery away and walking to look at the window. “What delightful conversations you and my brother have about me.”

“We didn’t come up with it.”

“But you’re perpetuating it, aren’t you? Trying to drag me out of my comforts to prove something to people who don’t even clean their own shit.” Kiku moved to closer to Yoongi. “And don’t you think you both have devised enough plans to control my life? Is secretly discussing for my hand not enough?”

“We were not secretly devising, you had an illicit affair, we were protecting you.” Yoongi grew frustrated in his tone.

“Then protect me from the rumours, go to the ball and leave me be.” Kiku nodded to the door.

“Kiku, you’re coming to the ball tonight.” Yoongi said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, are you going to make me, beloved husband?” Kiku smirked bitterly. “Or you can go complain your good friend about her mad sister. I’m not going.” She turned away to her vanity, sitting and taking off the pins in her hair since it was giving her headache.

Silence plagued the room as Yoongi pushed the box away and sat on the bed. A thoughtful sigh passed through him.

“I know it’s hard when rumours spread, Kiku. I’ve had it done to my mother before and she became a recluse, unable to speak to anyone.” Yoongi said, softening again. “I don’t want that for you. There’s a certain strength to showing your face too.”

Kiku sighed, remembering the way people made the most heinous rumours about Yoongi’s mother when she was a lovely woman, simply broken by the pressures of perfection. “Don’t use your mother against me,” she said, looking at him through the mirror. “One hour. That’s all.”

Yoongi’s expression softened as he returned her gaze through the reflection and nodded. “One hour, I promise.”

The one hour seemed like forever once she entered the ballroom at young nightfall. Kiku adored her new dress as she matched it with soft pearls and a loose hairstyle. Yoongi wore a dark blue velvet suit to match her, linking his arm with hers.

Everything was beautiful with delicious smelling food, delicate wines and comfortable seats to lounge around.

“All your favourite food here too,” Yoongi muttered in her ear.

“I’m here now, you don’t need to convince me.” Kiku said with a smile which Yoongi returned.

A noblewoman rustled towards them wearing an elaborate yellow gown. “Kiku, you’re here!” She smiled far too wide for it to be genuine. “It’s so nice to see you bravely walking.”

Kiku hummed in agreement, pushing down the frustration in her belly.

Kiku’s brother, Daiki sauntered over to them after leaving his wife at the corner of the hall. He smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You got her out of hiding, good.”

“I wasn’t hiding, I simply enjoy my private company.” Kiku didn’t bother smiling back at him since he perfectly knew how she felt about him.

Daiki scoffed. “Just enjoy yourself.” He patted her shoulder before walking away from his wife who tried to ignore wherever her husband was going off to. “Yoongi, come to drink.”

Yoongi stammered, looking between Daiki and Kiku.

“Just go, he’ll need more supervision anyway.”

Yoongi nodded before walking over to Daiki.

Kiku took a drink and took a comfortable seat away from as many people as possible. She took a book that was haphazardly thrown on an end table, beginning to read.

Unfortunately, nobles were more like vultures than humans. The moment noblewomen noticed that it was mad Kiku sitting at the lounge chair, the more they flocked for the picking.

“How’ve you been, Kiku?” One noble lady asked with her cheeks rouged until it looked blood.

“Are you feeling well?” The other asked.

“I’m alright, thank you. Just needed to be alone.” Still want to be alone, Kiku thought.

“It’s a shame with all that’s happened,” the first lady said. “With that boy.”

Kiku cleared her throat, keeping her eyes on the book. “It’s in the past now.”

“It looked very serious at the moment. You were so ready to give up your riches, I was concerned.” The second lady said. “I knew you were getting far too swept away with him. I told them that I could recommend a physician.”

“Now, now, I’m sure she has her own physicians to tend to her.” The first lady patted her shoulder.

Kiku narrowed her gaze then. “I’m sorry, a physician?”

“Well…you know, people have been talking and your brother is so private about you. We thought you were…destabilizing. I mean you were going to leave your home for that boy.” The second noble lady, Charlotte her name was, laughed. “It was so obvious he wanted the fortune, why else would they bother to break such rules?”

Kiku felt her body burn but she kept a neutral face. “It may be a struggle to understand but I was in love, not insane.”

“Clearly, it wasn’t requited, darling.” Charlotte snickered. “Your poor brother had to fix the mess in such record time, I admire him.”

“Sounds rather similar to a mess you got yourself in recently, Charlotte,” Yoongi’s voice cut into the tension.

Charlotte chuckled bitterly as her eyes flickered back. “Excuse me?”

“How your baby was born in record time of six months. Your husband managed to be stupid enough to believe that his strong seed shortened the pregnancy,” Yoongi said.

Charlotte blushed, stammering.

Yoongi held out his hand. “Come, we should get some clean air.”

Kiku tried not to smile too much at Charlotte’s dumbfounded face as she held onto Yoongi’s hand and followed him out into the gardens.

The air was so cool and sweet out here that she could’ve cried. She had clearly forgotten how stifling ballrooms were despite looking like opulence sent from heaven. Kiku let out a deep breath of relief.

Then they looked at each other before Kiku let out a laugh. “Charlotte’s baby?”

“It’s Matteson’s.”

“Wow. I didn’t even know they liked each other.”

“They probably don’t.” Yoongi chuckled.

Kiku stayed silent for a while as they settled themselves near a patch of flowers. They sat like this for a while as if Yoongi knew she was getting adjusted the welcomed calm of it all. “Thank you for taking me out of there.”

“I made you come here. It’s the least I can do,” Yoongi said. “I’m sorry I forced you.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t know it was gonna be that brutal.” Kiku rested back against the plum tree, still slowly picking up blossoms. “But it always is.”

He hummed. “So…this boy…”

Kiku looked at him curious. “He never told you?”

“I mean, it was vague, I didn’t really know what happened.” Yoongi raised his shoulders.

Kiku pursed her lips together.

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“If they knew, you may as well.” Kiku chuckled sadly. “I fell in love with a commoner boy, he was one of the cooks. I grew lonely in the palace and I thought…maybe if I ran away with him, I’d be happy. But he wanted the entire garden, not just the single blossom.” She had never been able to voice it out ever since it happened.

Daiki spent most of his days trying to pretend it never happened and in some way, Kiku wanted the same too. Even the wedding was meant to be a haphazard way to pretending nothing was wrong. It was only now she truly expressed it to someone. And her heart clenched, finally understanding that it has been broken and bruised. She didn’t cry but it was a quiet realization of her pain. One she could now share for a moment.

Yoongi’s heart dropped as he looked out to the garden. “I don’t like too many flowers choking my sights anyway.” It wasn’t the most clever of comforts but it was the most he could gather as every statement or insult thrown at her played in his head. He liked Daiki but he had very much adopted the dismissive nature of his parents when it came to uncomfortable topics. Yoongi’s mother taught him different.

Kiku chuckled. “Good to know.”

The days had become far more pleasant ever since that night in the garden. Kiku and Yoongi managed to compromise on going to balls twice a month instead of every week while also keeping a time limit on how long they could withstand the nobles. Although, other rumours became far more interesting as Kiku was established as a recurring face. Even Charlotte and Matteson’s affair turned stale on everyone’s tongues.

Kiku spent her mornings strolling around her gardens as a way to heal her mind. Yoongi usually read during this time and Daiki hadn’t quite visited to make his presence known, so it was a delicate calm over the estate.

She thought it would be another gentle day. Another day to appreciate the new feelings of joy thrumming through her. And yet here he was.

The face she was so excited to see after a frustrating conversation with Daiki. The face that had given her so much comfort and then so much unimaginable heartbreak.

“Hanzo,” Kiku said.

Hanzo smiled sweetly. “My lady.”

“Why’re you here?” She asked.

He stammered, smile disappearing, clearly expecting Kiku to be elated in some way. “I wanted to see you.”

Kiku scoffed. “You’ve seen me now.” She tried to turn away back into the house to see Yoongi. Anyone else to make this go away.

But Hanzo walked past her, stopping her in her tracks. “Please, I just wanted to explain myself.”

“No need.” Kiku tried to push past him but he was persistent.

“I was foolish, okay?” His voice turned desperate. “You were asking me to run away with you, I needed the money.”

“Do you want money right now?” Kiku glared at him.

“No, I—I didn’t mean to leave you. I was going to lose my job if you eloped with me.” Hanzo gestured. “We would’ve been destitute, you need to understand.”

“It’s in the past now, why’re you coming back here?” Kiku pursed her lips together.

Hanzo paused for a moment, using up her time as much as he could apparently. Just like before. All that time and love used, drained from Kiku until there was barely anything left. “I have another job now. It’s better pay, I have a house and it’s in the forest, like you wanted.”

Kiku shook her head. “You left me without saying anything.”

“But you have to understand.”

“I would’ve understood if you told me,” Kiku spoke through gritted teeth. “What the hell did you take me for?”

“Well, you can come back to me.”

Kiku chuckled bitterly. “The court deemed me insane for trying to be with you.”

“You’ve never listened to them before.”

“Yes, well, my brother does and he tried to counteract it.”

He was confused only for a moment before realization captured his face. “Who is it?”

“Yoongi.”

“That’s not fair.” Hanzo tried to reach out to hold her.

A weak part of her wanted to let him but her feet stepped back out of instinct. “You should know a lot about that.”

“Just come with me then,” he muttered like sweetness.

“I’m not coming with you.”

Hanzo’s expression turned sour. “You were willing to when I was some helpless cook.”

Kiku’s heart squeezed. “Is that what you’ll keep telling me when we live in your house in the forest? Everytime you hurt me, you’ll excuse it by saying you were some helpless cook that I preyed on.”

Hanzo shook his head, stammering. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“We’re going to conveniently forget that you found me crying and thought it was a wonderful time to gain some money. And when you realised you couldn’t get it, that you’d just get a pathetic, sad lady, you ran away.” Tears burned in her eyes. It wasn’t the quiet realization she had in a calm mind with Yoongi but this was messy, uncomfortable and unsafe. She was falling into vulnerability to a man who would let her descend to her death if there was gold on another path. There was no comfort in these tears, just hurt.

He shook his head. “That’s not—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Kiku said, eyes glossing. “I gave you my heart, soul and body and you discarded it because it wasn’t enough of a promotion.”

Hanzo raised his hand in defense, reaching again for her arm. “I spoke out of turn.”

Kiku pushed his hand away roughly. “No, you expressed exactly who you are. If I ever for a moment miss you again, I’ll remember this so thank you.” She pursed her lips together. “Now get the fuck off my estate.” She turned and walked back into the house.

Kiku entered the lounge room in a thrumming of heat, taking off her hat and tossing it on the nearest chair. Yoongi was reading a book on the main couch which was cushioned with a gorgeous pale blue velvet. He had it made a few weeks ago just so Kiku would feel more comfortable in the estate. Remembering this gesture seemed to have reminded her to breathe.

Yoongi peered over his glasses to see Kiku’s cheeks and eyes flushed red. His expression softened as he lowered the book. “Are you alright?”

Kiku closed the door behind her for privacy and walked towards him, pacing around. “I just…I just need…” Her heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it in her ears, unable to think or feel anything from the numbness of her fingers.

Yoongi placed the book to his side, placing all his attention on her now. The sunlight softly kissing his flesh, showing the fuzz on his hair like gold wisps. “Okay.” It wasn’t accusatory or questioning. Just an acknowledgement that he was there.

This made Kiku breathe a bit calmer although her hands were still shaking. She had desperately wanted to see Hanzo’s face for so long. Why was it that the moment she was finally content with her life he had to come back again? Rip out all those mended patches and make her bleed in front of him. “He came back.”

“Oh.” His dark brows quirked behind his gold rimmed glasses.

“He just came back as if I was waiting patiently for him.” Tears blurred her vision but as she blinked, it began to dry from a rise in anger. “Like some puppy left for a few hours.”

“Is he still here?” Yoongi nodded to the door.

Kiku shook her head, chest heaving up and down. “I sent him away.”

“You sent him away?” Surprise laced his tone.

“He wanted me to be his housewife in a forest cottage,” Kiku said before scoffing. “I’m such a fool. I thought he was a good man.”

“Perhaps in his way, he might be.” Yoongi shrugged, tapping his fingers on the top of his book.

Kiku glared at him in her rush of fury, although it was not directed at him completely. “Are you defending him?”

“I’m defending a past version of yourself that trusted him,” Yoongi spoke calmly. “You said yourself that you needed company and he was there. Thus he was a good man in his own way.”

Kiku took a breath to say something but couldn’t. She looked away to the mirror before staring at him again. “When did you get so intelligent?”

Yoongi had a gentle shocked face. “I’ve always been intelligent.”

“Not with my brother.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You really need better friends to bring more of that out.”

“I have you, it seems to be helping.” Yoongi gestured to her.

A small smile creeped on her face, the tremors of her fingers now soothed and her body gently still in the comforts of the home she began to adore. “Good. I like it.”

“Did you tell him you married me?” He asked.

“I did.”

“What was the look on his face?” It wasn’t hard to notice the small quirk on the corner of his lips.

Kiku couldn’t help but smile. “Why’re you so interested?”

“Merely curious.”

She hummed in interest. “He was quite upset.”

“He looked pathetic, didn’t he?” Yoongi didn’t hide his smirk now.

“He did a little.” Kiku’s smile widened.

“Good,” Yoongi said. “You deserve better.”

Kiku scoffed. “Says my husband.”

“Am I not better?” He gestured to himself.

“I don’t have enough materials to be the perfect judge for that.” She tilted her head.

“Well, you’re free to gather them whenever you like.”

Kiku smiled, feeling a burn on her cheeks but not from anger. She took a deep breath. “I’ll go take a bath.” She turned on her heel.

Yoongi hummed, picking up his book. “Let me know if you need help.”

“I’ll be fine.” She smiled over her shoulder.

As she walked out of the room, Kiku rested her back on the door to calm her breathing for entirely different reasons. Her cheeks burning and her heart delightfully beating against her chest. She quickly tried to clear her throat and straighten up when a few maids walked down the hallway to clean the house.

Hanzo had no impact on her life anymore. All thought or memory faded so quickly just by the smallest conversation with Yoongi. So why waste the whole day caring about him? Or reflecting on him? She had taken enough time.

Opening the door again, Kiku closed it back again and rushed over to Yoongi. He was only just putting his book away again before she pounced on his lap and pulled him into a kiss. The book now pushed away and forgotten, Yoongi encased his arms around her, cupping her cheek and deepening the desperate kiss.

Kiku gently untied his shirt, sneaking her fingers and brushing them against his warm skin. Thumb caressed the bump of his neck as she ground against his hips, feeling him harden against her movements.

Yoongi unbuttoned her dress, letting her shrug off his outer layer before placing feverish kisses on her chest. He placed her on the couch, kissing the valley of her breasts sweetly.

The door opened behind them. “Sir?”

“Not now,” Yoongi groaned and the door promptly closed.

Kiku laughed as she undid his pants. “It could’ve been important,” she said.

Yoongi hovered over her. “Not important enough.” He kissed her neck, biting down the skin until it bloomed like a rose.

Kiku pushed him to lay him back, pulling out his cock, blushed at the tip before taking him into her mouth.

Yoongi intertwined his fingers into her hair, latching off the pins to let it flow prettily against his hand. He guided her mouth up and down his length. The warmth of her tongue sending waves of pleasure to his head, sending him to the edge quicker than he could control himself.

He pulled her up swiftly and kissed her.

Kiku straddled him with a sly smile as Yoongi untied her inner dress, pushing it down to expose her breasts. He suckled on one of her nipples, caressing the other. Kiku kissed the top of his head. She lifted herself up, positioning to the tip of his hardened cock and sliding down. They both moaned in tandem as her warm, sodden walls engulfed him completely.

As the slight ache passed, Kiku swayed her hips, feeling the tip of him touching deep inside her that pleasure bloomed like a tulip in morning light. She threw her head back, giving Yoongi the chance to kiss trails down her neck and chest.

Yoongi pushed her dress up, digging his nails in the skin of her back, encouraging her to move faster and she did.

With a fervour, she bounced on top of him, pushing them both to the height of pleasure as their skin began to sheen and heat with passion. Kiku let out a shaky moan before Yoongi pulled her for another kiss, catching whatever breath she let out so it belonged to him in this moment. And Kiku gave it to him happily.

She gripped the couch for balance as she targeted her own sweet spot, throwing her head back in ecstasy. A long needed pleasure that she had been deprived of for over two years.

At the sheer rush of speed and pleasure, Yoongi reached his climax. A flurry of bliss fluttered through him.

Gorgeous heat filled Kiku, making her fall forward, grasping him for dear life as she felt every drop of his release inside her. Hot breath heaved against his cheek.

Yoongi snuck his hand between her legs, rubbing at her clit until she peaked to her own orgasm, pulsing against his cock until the mess was slick on both their clothed thighs. Kiku let out a shaky whimper, pressing her forehead against his.

Yoongi kept rubbing until she jerked against his hand.

She pushed him away gently as the sensitivity began to twinge. “Stop, stop,” she whispered with a light chuckle.

Yoongi laughed breathlessly, kissing her jawline.

They stayed this way, calming their breath and stilling their trembles. Kiku hugging him closer, nose nudging against his.

Yoongi traced the edges of her hairline. “Do you have enough materials now?”

Kiku chuckled through her nose, kissing him. “Alright, you’re better.”

masterlist

#yoongi #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi imagines #bts historical au #bts au #bts x oc #yoongi x oc

73 notes · View notes

vampirebloodie · 3 days

Text

Doctor Y/N | Soldier Boy x Reader

Warning: smut 18+, mentions of sexism

"Do you want me to examine Soldier boy?"

You asked still a little incredulously, looking at Butcher.

"It's not a big deal, we just need to know if he's fit to fight Homelander."

"Okay, and you've forgotten that he's simply the most sexist, misogynistic guy there is?"

"It's just a check-up, beautiful. He won't swallow you alive."

You sigh and agree, knowing that if you said no, Butcher would suck you up until you agreed to help him. So you and the bearded man walk up to the apartment where Soldier is, Butcher opens the door and the two of you walk in, finding the man sitting on the couch, watching television and with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. That room looked like a mess, the coffee table was full of half-eaten fast food. You took one last look at Butcher before focusing on Soldier Boy.

"Is that Soldier Boy ?"

You whispered to Butcher, you didn't have a certain sense of who Vought's first generation of supes were, but you expected Soldier Boy to be an old guy.

"Yes, it is. This is Soldier Boy." *

Butcher answers almost off-handedly, not seeming to be paying you as much attention as the supe was. You can almost taste the disdain in his voice, as if he's talking about some common criminal and not one of, if not THE most dangerous supe in history. Soldier Boy didn't seem to be as bad a person as Homelander, but his powers were still dangerous.

Soldier Boy makes an immediate eye-contact with you, and you can almost feel his eyes on you, watching you. You get the feeling that he's judging you, analyzing every inch of you. This goes on for a second or two, before he gets up and walks over to you, Analyzing you carefully from top to bottom.

"So, who are you?"

He asks right away, his voice harsh and rough like sandpaper

"I'm Y/N."

"Y/n, huh? What the hell's a cute young thing like you doin' with Butcher and his dogs?"

Despite his harsh tone, his eyes are full of amusement and curiosity as he talks to you. After being trapped in a russian lab for so many years, it was something "new" to see women.

"I work with Butcher."

You say in a serious tone, crossing your arms. You weren't too fond of Soldier Boy's joke, but Butcher had already warned you that he had that kind of personality. And well, wouldn't it be nice to mess with a supe that can blow everything up in seconds.

"What a shitty job."

He scoffs, seeming amused by your expressions of disapproval at every word that comes out of his mouth. You'd love to give him a paw, but Butcher's look under you alerted you that it wasn't a good idea.

"Believe me, i've saved the boys' boots several times."

He notices you for a few moments again and his green eyes focus on the gray briefcase in your hands.

"What is that?"

"Briefcase. I'm going to need it."

"What's in the briefcase?"

He asks a little impatient and suspicious, the PTSD really seemed to affect him quite a bit.

"Relax. She will not hurt you."

Butcher says, trying to calm him down a bit.

"Of course she won't. She can't, she's a woman."

You squinted at the brunette, he was quite cheeky, and unfortunately you'd have to get used to it during the examination.

"At least is pretty."

His greenish eyes wander from your head to your feet, watching you closely. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

"I didn't come here to flirt with you."

Soldier Boy chuckles, amused at your attitude. He's seen every trick by now, and he has a feeling he'll have quite a bit of fun with you.

"Then what the hell did you come here for, sweetheart?"

"Because i'm the group's doctor. It's not a good idea to take you to a hospital, so Butcher wants me to examine you."

"Examine me for what, exactly?"

He asks, his tone a bit confused and slightly intrigued. As the woman mentions her role of being the doctor in the group, he looks closer and notices a first aid kit on her belt. It doesn't take him long to put two and two together before chuckling again.

"After what happened to you in Russia.... We just want to know if you're really able to fight against Homelander."

Butcher was unsure after learning what the russians had done to Soldier Boy had in any way affected his strength, even though the experiments had turned him into a time bomb that could explode at any moment, they would still need to weaken Homelander as much as possible before exploding him.

Soldier Boy's chuckle quickly turns into a scowl, and his facial expressions hardens immediately, his eyes narrowing again.

"So you just assume i'm weak now?"

His tone is sharper than before, as if he's trying to hide any kind of weakness he might have after spending years in a lab. His voice is much more agitated compared to his flirtatious one. He wasn't liking people thinking he was weak, especially a woman.

"Nope. But after everything that's happened, we need to know if what russians injected into you made you stronger... or weakened"

You've been very clear on the possibility that he's gotten weaker

Soldier Boy seems annoyed at first at the implication that he's gotten weaker, but he seems to mull it over for a couple of seconds before relaxing a bit.

"You have a good point. But it won't make a difference, sweetheart. I'll be as fit as ever. But if it makes you worry any less, I'll let you examine me.".

You take one last look at Butcher and MM, who were still inside the room.

"You guys can go now, I'll be fine."

Butcher and MM just nod, giving you a reassuring smile before walking off. You put the briefcase on top of the coffee table and open it, there were some medical instruments inside. Soldier Boy watches you with an amused and curious expression, sitting down on the couch and getting comfortable. You can tell that he's definitely a little curious about you and what your intentions are with him, but he's keeping his tongue, for now at least, as he waits for the examination to begin.

"Take off your shirt."

Soldier Boy raises his eyebrows in surprise for a bit but complies quickly, standing up and taking off his sleeveless shirt. Underneath you can now see just how fit he is, being leanly sculpted and having defined muscles all over his body. The man is definitely cut. He stands in front of you, waiting for the exam to begin, You gesture and he sits back down on the green couch.

You grab the stethoscope and sit next to him on the couch, placing the device in your ears and pressing the other side of the device against his chest, in his heart.

"Take three deep breaths and inhale"

Soldier Boy obliges, taking the three deep breaths like you directed. As he exhales, you can hear just how calm his heartbeat is. He's definitely got a good heart. You can hear the strong beats pumping a steady pace.

"A healthy heart."

You take out the stethoscope and grab a small flashlight.

"Don't close your eyes"

Soldier Boy raises his eyebrows once again, but doesn't say anything, instead just looking at you as you take out the flashlight. He seems both curious as to what you're going to do next, and skeptical at the same time, but keeps his eyes wide open even when you tell him not to close them.

You examine his eyes with the flashlight, it was all right. He didn't seem to have any eye damage even with the lab experiments.

"Good vision too."

Soldier Boy smiles at that, clearly pleased with your approval. But his expression quickly changes to a frown when he remembers what else you were going to examine.

"What else are you going to do?"

"This depends. Do you feel any pain? Any pressure? twinge?"

You run your hands over his body, giving it a gentle squeeze, to see if maybe he could feel pain due to some muscle or bone damage.

Soldier Boy seems to tense up a little whenever you run your hands over him, but you can't tell if it's because it's uncomfortable or because he's liking it. But whatever the case, it's clear that your touch affects him in some way, and he quickly takes in a sharp breath each time you touch him, as if he's feeling quite a bit of sensation. He definitely doesn't seem to be feeling any pain, though.

"Yes or no?"

Soldier Boy thinks for a few seconds before finally answering your question.

"No. Nothing hurts. Everything feels pretty normal."

You just nod and pull out a syringe and an empty tube.

"Can I get some of your blood out?"

"Yeah, sure."

His tone is neutral and a bit uncaring as he holds his arm out to you. You can tell that he's not as wary about all that's going on as he was before, and he seems to actually trust you after this little examination. His expression returns to a smirk, seeming to be entertained by your efforts.

You take his arm, squeezing until you feel one of the veins, then you stick the needle into his blue vein. Soldier Boy seems to wince somewhat as you stick the needle in his vein, his face making a slight frown for just a second before he quickly regains his composure and his neutral expression. He doesn't flinch or even try to pull away from you, and he just seems to be patiently waiting for you to get this all over with.

You connect the tube with the needle and wait for the tube to fill with blood, then you take out the needle and close the tube carefully. You clean the hole in his arm with a cotton pad and put on a Homelander infant bandage.

Soldier Boy seems to be slightly amused at the band-aid, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead he just raises his eyebrows slightly and waits to see what you'll do next. You suddenly stand up and face him, your hands go to his neck and you move his neck a little.

"Any pain? Discomfort?"

Soldier Boy seems to tense up slightly when you touch his neck, but once again, it doesn't seem to be a feeling of pain, but rather of sensitivity. He almost seems to be enjoying the touch from you again, your hands were soft, he liked it, and you can see a slight grin on his face for a moment before he answers your question.

"No. Feels normal."

You take your hands off his neck and put the things back inside the briefcase. You take a small machine and pour his blood into a glass, letting the machine analyze it.

Soldier Boy waits patiently as you put the things back in your briefcase and run the analysis on his blood. He seems more than just a little bit curious as to what the results will be, but he's not expecting anything serious to come from it. He stays quiet and waits for your results.

After a few minutes the machine prints a paper with the results, you pick up the paper and start reading it. You read calmly without saying anything, and this seems to make him extremely anxious.

Soldier Boy continues to just wait patiently as you read the results, seeming to be waiting to see how this will go. The results from the paper will definitely decide whether he's ready to get back in the game or not. So he's keeping his mouth shut for now and just awaiting your verdict.

"...What is it? What does the paper say?"

Soldier Boy asks, starting to get a little impatient and anxious from not knowing the results yet. His scowl starts to return as he speaks.

"I think you're not Soldier Boy anymore."

You look at him, Soldier Boy's scowl almost immediately transforms into a look of pure shock. His eyes suddenly narrow and he starts standing up.

"What the hell do you mean I'm not Soldier Boy anymore?!!?"

His expression becomes one of pure anger at your remark. You decide to correct yourself quickly, remembering that he is a ticking time bomb and could destroy everything with the slightest amount of anger.

"You are the super soldier boy! Whatever the russians injected into you, it made you stronger than before."

His expression changes again to a smirk, this time, an amused one.

"Oh, so that's what it is- they made me stronger, huh? So that means I can get back to doing what I do best."

He says proud of himself.

"Exactly. And look, you've become fertile again. compound v made you infertile, but what russians injected in your body brought your fertility back."

Another change in his expression as his smirk once again grows large over his face.

"Wait, you're telling me that now I can actually have a kid again?"

He seems thrilled and excited at this discovery, his body language and tone indicating that he's quite pleased with these results, And a mischievous idea begins to run through his mind.

"You look great, better than ever. Your results are perfect!"

"Perfect results, huh?!"

Soldier Boy's scowl suddenly turns into a big grin. He seems to be very pleased with your assessment, but he's not quite convinced that he should completely trust you just yet. And he's definitely not going to let on just how happy he is to hear his fertility is back.

"So I'm better off than I've been in a long time, right?"

"Right. You've got what it takes to kill Homelander, and it looks like it's going to be an easy task."

Soldier Boy can't help but chuckle at the way you're talking about this as if it'll be some walk in the park. His smile is clearly amused but also showing his arrogance as he speaks

"And what about you? You think you can handle your part of this little task, as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it can't be all me, can it?"

He seems to be looking down at you as his tone and expression become more teasing with each word. He's enjoying this interaction, his whole body language turning flirtatious and playful.

"I'm not a supe. I will not fight Homelander."

"Awww, really?"

Soldier Boy seems almost disappointed by that answer.

"I feel like this is such a shame now."

A sly grin spreads across his face before he quickly takes a small step closer to you on the couch. His tone still remains playful but he's now closer to you than before.

"Honey, I'm the doctor of the group. I keep my partners alive and tend to all their injuries, but I'm still human. Homelander is 30x stronger than me, it would be suicidal to try to bust him. Believe me, I've tried."

Soldier Boy seems to chuckle at that.

"30x stronger than you? Sounds like a whole lot of talk. And you've tried to fight him before? What happened? Did you get your little ass handed to him?"

You roll your eyes, feeling disgusted by his comment.

"Well, he tried to take me to bed and I refused, and he almost blew my head off with those laser beams."

Soldier Boy once again bursts out with laughter, his amusement now turning to pure humor. He can't stop cackling at what you had said. You'd stare at him blankly as he burst into laughter, but it wasn't really funny at all.

"Wow...he tried to take you to bed? How charming of him. Almost blew your head off too? Well, you know what they say- girls like the "bad boys."

He finishes that last sentence off with an amused wink. If he wasn't a supe you would definitely have punched him in the face now. You sigh.

"Look.. Homelander isn't ugly, but he's still Homelander, the fucking supe psycho, and i don't even like blondes"

Soldier Boy arch his eyebrow.

"Oh, so you have a type, huh? What about me? Am I your type?"

Soldier Boy seems to just be enjoying messing with you as his expression and tone remain playful and flirtatious.

"Misogynistic, sexist, closed-minded guys don't interest me."

"You're pretty brave to talk to me like that, woman."

You lose your temper and get up from the couch with the exam paper still in hand.

"I need to show your exams to Butcher, he's going to like this"

Soldier Boy seems both amused and a bit concerned about your mention of Butcher. So he nods his head in understanding, although he's not about to let you off the room so easily.

"So, are you just going to run off and show Butcher right now? Because if you're about to leave, I've got something else I want to ask you..."

"Ask what, Soldier Boy?"

You look at him crossing your arms.

Soldier Boy smirks as he leans back a bit on the couch and gestures for you to come closer.

"Did you think I was going to let you leave like that?"

You look at him with confused and suspicious eyes. Once again, he's being quite playful and flirtacious in his tone and body language. Soldier Boy's smile only grows as you get closer to him. Once you're right next to him, he grabs your waist and pulls you even closer to him. Then he whispers softly to you in a very teasing tone,

"Oh, I wonder what it is that I could possibly want from you now..."

"Let me go."

You try to break free from him, but his big, strong hands keep you in place like you're a doll.

Soldier Boy leans in even closer and whispers to you again, this time keeping his hands firmly on your waist, pressing himself firmly up against you. His body language is still very playful and flirtatious, but he's not giving you any space to pull away or escape right now.

"So do you think you can guess what it is that I want from you now?"

"I'm not going to fuck with you!"

You say firm. Soldier Boy pulls you in closer yet again, still holding you by your waist. This time he whispers right into your ear very slowly and seductively, making no effort to hide the flirtatiousness of his tone.

"Oh really? You won't do anything at all with me?"

"Exactly! You heard me very well."

You try to take his hands off your waist again, a waste of time, as soon as he pulls you once again you end up falling on top of his lap, your hands go to his shoulders automatically and you stare at him with wide eyes.

Soldier Boy's smile grows even bigger from your reaction as you fall into his lap and your bare hands press up against him. He's still smiling and looking down at you in a way that is very flirtatious but also very intimidating, as if to say that you have no chance of escaping him now.

You try to stand up but he pulls you again, harder this time, losing his patience, you moan softly as your pelvis slams into his thighs in a strong way.

Soldier Boy lets out a low-pitched growl as you bump up against him, and the sound of your moan does nothing but further turn him on. Your body brushing up against his is sending shivers of pleasure through his bones, and he doesn't seem to want any of this to stop anytime soon. So he pulls you even closer yet again, still keeping his hands firmly on your waist.

"You say you don't want to, so why do I feel your panties soaking wet all over me?"

Soldier Boy's voice is low and predatory as he continues to pull you in even closer towards him, his whole body language now showing that he's enjoying this little encounter of yours. You feel your cheeks get red, he catched you, You try to get up again but he pulls you once again, this time holding you tight and keeping you in place.

"Be quiet."

His hands squeezed your waist tightly, as an act of possessiveness.

"You've examined me, now it's my turn, and i want to do it internally."

You didn't even have time to react before Soldier Boy pushed you against the couch and climbed on top of you, kissing you fiercely and aggressively, you in turn returned the kiss quickly, even though you knew it was wrong and that Butcher and M.M could come back at any moment. You couldn't deny it, as much as he had been imprisoned in Russia for years as a prisoner, he still had a great grip. His hands roamed your body and you surrendered right there to him, his strong hands ripped your blouse at once, exposing your breasts. Ben looked into your eyes as if he could see your soul and smile, his mouth quickly landed on your breast and you threw your head back and opened your mouth, surprised.

You pushed him back and started unzipping his pants belt like a ferocious animal, you had been sexless for a while, so that stimulation activated your libido on a total animalistic level, and Ben's as well. He stands up and turns you around at once, throwing you against the couch and kissing your lips fiercely, spreading your legs and fitting into the middle of them, her hand goes to his pants lowering it completely along with his underwear, Ben takes off his underwear in an impressive quick way and quickly fits his member into his entrance, thrusting himself at once into you, you two moan in unison, your arousal eases the act and makes it less painful and Ben takes advantage of it, beginning to move rapidly back and forth, making a wet noise echo through the silent room that was now only filled by this noise and sound of moans.

His face hides in your neck as he inhales your scent and you grab his strong and big back, your legs curl between his waist, squeezing him tighter to you, you wanted him. Ben was almost roaring like a lion from how excited he was, years without sex couldn't be bought for the months you were without.

"Do you like it, hm?"

He asks taking out your hair that was stuck to your forehead due to sweat, you couldn't even answer, you just nodded your head amidst moans. Ben closes his eyes and screams burying himself once and for all in you at once, making your legs tremble, you both breathe hard and he comes out of you after a few seconds, sitting on the couch, while you continue lying there gasping for breath, his forehead rests on your knee.

"I'm glad you let me know that now I can have children again."

He says and you widen your eyes, staring at him.

"What?!"

You ask in shock and he just winks at you, flashing that scoundrel smile again.

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#imagines #fanfic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #the boys imagine #the boys #jensen ackles

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